tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61382319021359347792024-03-14T06:28:24.183-04:00The Midnight CreepshowKeithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-18118386623021790672011-11-03T22:30:00.001-04:002011-11-06T08:06:25.376-05:00Post Halloween Syndrome and a new story to shareSo, halloween has come and gone again. Used to be my favorite holiday of the year. I would spend hours setting up my mom's front yard and staging elaborate makeups on me and my girlfriend ( wife now, so apparently all that smelly glue on her face either wasn't so bad, or the fumes caused permanent brain damage) for a mere few hours enjoyment. Now it's just another day, but one my son enjoys. And I get to share in his candy. And I didn't even keep up with my tradition of viewing the original Halloween (no offense to Rob Zombie, but you shouldn't mess with a classic). And of course, the second halloween is over, you jump right into the Christmas season. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas too, but even it has lost a lot of what it's really all about. Every year I say I'm gonna do something special next halloween, and then fail to do so. It's just the new routine.<br />
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Let's move on, shall we? I originally submitted the following story to the Writer's Digest short story contest. One of 11,000-some entries. The results have been published. A grand prize winner, and ten top winners in several categories, including genre fiction, which I submitted in. The names of the winning authors appeared in the newest issue. Mine was not among them. Oh well. So we persevere. At least now I can safely share it. (And Kevin, if you're reading this, you probably already heard it at the Circle.) It's not too long, about 2900 words. Hope you like it.<br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;">MY BLUE ROSE</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">If you lost something, the most important, and the most cherished possession in your life, what would it be? Think about it. What means the most to you? How would it affect your daily life? Your emotions? Even your sense of being; your existence, your reason for walking this earth? I lost the most important thing in my life once. My reason to live. Several years ago, seven to be exact, I lost my wife. She was gone for three years, and then I got her back.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Our day had begun simple enough. I was about a year in from saying hello to retirement, and I was fortunate enough to create a comfortable nest egg so as to afford me the luxury of retiring early. I was fifty-six, new lease on life, married for thirty-two wonderful years and thoroughly enjoying every aspect of it. We were planning on traveling. As a matter of fact, that particular day we were going to the mall to shop for supplies and items to stock the RV we had ordered. We were to pick it up a week later. That would never happen.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The mall was busy as usual, on a weekend and a month and a half before Christmas. First we stopped and picked up some plastic (but nice) dishes and drink ware. I don't much care for it because I can taste the plastic, but it was necessary for durability I suppose. Then onto another store for cookware. At this point we were a bit hungry. It was a little past lunch time, and we had eaten a light breakfast, so our next stop was an Olga's Kitchen. By this time we had quite the bulky ensemble of packages being toted around. The next move was going to be one of those storage lockers you can rent to put stuff in, thus freeing your hands to accumulate more. Very convenient. But then, Rose's radar zeroed in on a pair of shoes in the Baker's window. There was no stopping her, she had to investigate. Feeling both tired and stuffed to bursting, I told her I would park my keester with our booty of traveling kitchenware on the mall bench that looked so inviting, about three or four stores down, and I would wait while she quenched her shoe euphoria. Off she went, and that was the last time I saw her for three years.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don't feel the need to go into a great deal of detail about everything that occurred after. I'm sure you have all seen enough news programs and such depicting the procedures that follow a disappearance. Needless to say, the entire mall was scoured, top to bottom and inside and out without the slightest trace of her found. I would have thought at least some of her jewelry would be discovered, tore from her as she no doubt struggled against her kidnappers, particularly the fragile blue-rose pendant that I had just given her three months earlier for our anniversary. The rose has significance for us both, but I don't feel at liberty to say why. Some things just need to remain personal.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There were never any leads, never a ransom demanded, and...no body ever found. It was as if she simply vaporized into a puff of smoke and merely wafted away. I was crushed to say the least. Devastated. Unable to cope. My daughter, God rest her soul now, came to stay and care for me. I was a complete ass; all I wanted was to be left alone and waste away. I didn't care. Without Rose, life meant nothing to me. Twice I was hospitalized, rushed there by my daughter to have my stomach pumped following my first two suicide attempts. By the third one, as I held the knife to my wrist, something in the eyes of that broken creature staring back at me in the mirror stopped me. It is something even now I cannot explain. The closest I can come is that it was a feeling of being lost, of wandering around in a gigantic room filled with darkness and yet searching for something. Like I had unfinished business on this rock and I hadn't yet discovered what it was.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I couldn't remain in the house that Rose and I shared. It was too painful. It was sold and I moved into a modest condominium. I could not rest. I had to go on, alone, without Rose but with only her memory and the precious time we had together. I wish I could say that my feelings of self destruction had completely left me, but they hadn't. Not, at least, until my first discovery, and I can't say if it simply took the place of those feelings, or if this was what the unfinished business was, and I was embarking on a new journey. In either case, books saved me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">My maiden book, a first edition of A Farewell To Arms by Hemingway, was chanced upon in the basement of an old woman who had passed on by her daughter who had erroneously just cast it into a box of other books to become garage sale fodder. I admit I have always had a soft spot for literature and in particular old books, first and second editions and even more so in those that contained a dedication or note by the authors. I once owned a second printing of Tom Sawyer, inscribed with a note of gratitude to a girl named Marie written by Mark Twain himself. Apparently she had found Twain's stray cat and returned it to him. A little research told the story of a nine-year-old neighbor of the author's whose name was, in fact, Marie, and the edition was no doubt signed and given to her. It was passed to me- given as a gift actually-by a friend's well-read son who worked summers in the basement stock room of the local library. How it came to be there remains a mystery.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So, anyway, now I seek out old and rare books for clients as well as buy and sell unique editions on Ebay. Retirement had lost its luster with Rose gone, and I just didn't know what to do with myself. Perhaps it wasn't so much a calling as a distraction from my never-ending heartache to losing Rose, a mystery itself that still held no answer. Eventually, the assumption that she was no longer alive had to be realized, and I finally came to grips with it as I watched my daughter die of ovarian cancer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">No one should have to experience their child dying before them. It is one of those moments in life that force you to question if there is a God and how could he allow such a thing. Another of the great mysteries of our Heavenly Father. The death of my daughter was unbearable enough, but to watch her go the way she did nearly brought up all those suicidal thoughts once again. First Rose and then our only child. She was thirty-five but still my little girl. All that time she spent caring for me while I grieved the loss of my wife, all the while my selfishness not even considering how much pain she could be going through from losing her mother, and now I had to witness her wither away and die and there was nothing I could do for her but hold her hand at her bedside. It was the most helpless feeling in the world and I wouldn't wish it upon anyone. It was three weeks after I buried her that I received a request from a client that would eventually set me on the destructive course that brought me to where I am now, but soon that won't matter any longer. As a matter of fact, nothing will. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I was searching around, mostly on the web, for a first edition of Dicken's Tale Of Two Cities. This particular individual owned a second printing that was a little worn but all in all in fair shape. But it wasn't enough. The man wanted the first edition, in good shape, and was willing to pay whatever was necessary to obtain it. I was curious if I could actually find it, the client would then hope for the actual document in the author's hand and the previous find being inadequate for the book junkie's greed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had developed several very good resources, and barring disclosure, I admit that some of them were also a little less than legit. I mentioned I had done well in my previous working life, with finances enough to carry me to my eventual end with no problem, so, regardless of what the client was willing to pay, that was not the motivating factor. For me, it was more about the thrill of the hunt, and the victory of discovery. I actually get a bigger kick out of that very first awestruck expression that washes over a clients face when I produce the goods that they hired me for. I wonder if some do it just to see if I can deliver. My track record's not perfect, see, I did have a few dead-ends, but that is also how I became privy to the black market. Is there a dark side to book collecting? You bet there is, and I was just another pawn to fall victim to it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In my searching, I discovered a small shop of antiquities and obscurities online, a source I hadn't come across before, and so perhaps that is how destiny works. I was also overjoyed to find that it was only a hundred and fifty miles from home. So upon discovering this establishment, the Guginol Shop Of Trash , Treasures and Obscurities, a hell of a title to fit on a business card, I decided to make a day of it. Take a little trip in the mini van I used for my hunting (it's much easier to load books-some quite heavy-into the rear gate of the van) and check out the area where the shop operated, see if it was a culturally hip place, like Portland Oregon, but in the warm Florida climate. The shop's website mentioned that they had books, so I was intrigued and I could have called, but I get a kick out of perusing the shelves, always on the lookout for a gem. On the day I walked into the place, I discovered a gem that I think very few, if any, in this day and age, ever do.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It was very warm the day I stepped into the Guginol and, like nearly every establishment in Florida, the a/c was humming steady which is good for old, fragile texts. Obviously moisture and humidity are a natural enemy. I thought I stood a decent chance of finding something salable and in good shape. A first edition of A Tale Of Two Cities, probably not, but it was a day of discovery in an entirely different way.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I wandered around the shop which was larger than what I was expecting, and struck up a conversation with Saul, the curator of this little museum. After some idle chat that gave Saul an idea of my fervor that was book hunting and that it was a serious passion, he eluded to the hint that the books on the shelves in the storefront weren't the only ones in his possession.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He asked me to follow him into a back area that was uniquely hidden from the rest of the shop behind a false wall. It was like something from Scooby Doo, and Saul explained that it kept his more valued treasures from view of would be thieves and scoundrels. It was, in fact, quite ingenious. Saul clicked on a light that illuminated a twenty by twenty room with all manner of organized shelves and racks and what appeared to be a couple of built-in closets. There were only curtains drawn across them which made them look like fitting rooms.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Here in this room were more antiques and some rare and unusual museum quality pieces. Saul began a little tour that seemed rehearsed, almost like a carnival barker but quiet and subdued. He showed me weapons of old and other torturous devices. He showed me a few animals, both jarred and preserved and some strangely taxidermied. He showed me human bones and a particularly interesting skull cut down the middle vertically and hinged at the rear so you could open it up-like a book-and study the interior structure. Although not actually a book, it was quite fascinating and I had to consider it as a possible item to purchase, although Saul had not yet suggested if these items in the hidden room were for sale, but I suppose everything has it's price, and after all, why else would he bring me back here. It's as though he knew there was reason why I was here and that there was indeed something I was searching for and in one magical, horrifying and enlightening moment, the object of my deepest desire was revealed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Something caught the light and glittered, attracting my attention. I craned my head to see what it was, merely from curiosity which was certainly heightened in this room of oddities.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You want to see her?” Saul asked me. I assumed another of his unique possessions that he was quite proud and fond of, hesitant to part with but, as I thought, everything has a price. Before I could even reply, Saul had nearly glided across the room and pulled the curtain aside. A small spotlight mounted inside the closet was what caused the sparkling that caught my attention and when Saul slid that curtain, I staggered back a couple of steps and had to steady myself against a glass cabinet to keep from falling. Suddenly my legs were like rubber bands and I thought surely I was going down.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“She” was revealed to me, and at that moment, all I could think of was Dorothy yanking that green curtain back exposing Oz. The glittering was the intense spotlight reflecting off the gilded sterling framework that held the blue rose pendant together. She was still wearing it, but she was very different. It sickens me still to know that upon seeing the mummified remains of my beloved wife, I could only liken her to jerky. She was still wearing the same clothes she had on when she went missing. Her body was completely intact, but of course, she was dead, her skin perfectly preserved, shriveled, but still beautiful. The hide of her face had shrunken and pulled taught to her skull, her lips were stretched thin and receded some, exposing more of her teeth than I remembered. And, thank God, her eyes were closed. I don't know that I could have bore looking into those dried marbles that had been so intense and lovely. But there she was. I could do no more than gape, open mouthed, aghast at the love of my life. I think Saul began speaking, attempting to bring me back to the day, but my mind went somewhere else. They say that love makes you do crazy things, and that is absolutely no lie.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I did return, Saul standing between Rose and me, waving his hands in front of my face, I only looked at him and blinked. I did not believe that this man was responsible for her death or mummification. And strangely, I didn't care who did. I had her back and that's all that mattered. I asked Saul how he had come about her, not revealing that I knew her identity, and wished I wouldn't have when he simply told me “craigslist”. That hurt.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had to have her, caring the least what it would cost me. Frankly, I honestly believe that if Saul absolutely refused to relinquish Rose, I could have killed him, or at least cold-cocked him good and ran off with her. I decided however that to be unwise. I didn't even want the authorities involved. I wanted my wife back. And, I got her. It did cost a lot, but worth every penny. On top of the twelve thousand dollars, well, lets say that my entire book collection was transferred and has put me out of that business. At least for now. I'm sure I could start it up again sometime, slowly of course since Rose and I were now practically broke, but not before I purchased a new RV. It's funny the way life works out sometimes, how it twists and turns and occasionally spits you right back out where you were to begin with. The first motor coach we ordered was planned out for every aspect of comfort imaginable. Now it seemed my only absolute requirement was a full-sized onboard refrigerator to ensure that Rose would be with me for as long as that big rolling home carried us off into the sunset.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Rose was gone three years, and now I have her back. Our conversations are just as enjoyable and entertaining as ever, and the only faux pas is trying to get used to more of a toothy kiss, but, as somebody said, love makes you do crazy things. It turns out, even at times of tragedy, you can still have your happily ever after.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">THE END</span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">The inspiration for this tale came mostly from watching an episode of Oddities on cable. Used the old what if? question. Anyway, until next time, I'll be planning what special thing I'm gonna do next halloween.</div>Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-45423394509011583242011-10-20T10:31:00.000-04:002011-10-20T10:31:00.666-04:00I suck at bloggingYes, you heard right. I'm not good at blogging. Sometimes (most times) I cannot think of anything clever to post. Does everything need to be clever? No. Informative? Not necessarily. Entertaining? Probably. I mean what's the point, bottom line so to speak, for a blog if nothing else but to be entertaining. Does this entertainment always have to be in the form of the written word? I guess not. That being said, let me share this pencil sketch I did several years ago of the late Donald Pleasence, someone that ought to be with all of us with interest in horror.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6V1Foglri_7njKGAF0eQUPG0b04I3mvdslI1Lq5oLi-J9IH_h-N8_Pgyf2AycmHlhj92tX6U0PboELYi1OsoA_baHwwV2jlfR-PmDQb3CSUihCpMDv-mV5Q22G9d0JViv79zdCnJuH1w/s1600/Donald+Pleasance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6V1Foglri_7njKGAF0eQUPG0b04I3mvdslI1Lq5oLi-J9IH_h-N8_Pgyf2AycmHlhj92tX6U0PboELYi1OsoA_baHwwV2jlfR-PmDQb3CSUihCpMDv-mV5Q22G9d0JViv79zdCnJuH1w/s320/Donald+Pleasance.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><br />
It is taken from a rather old photo I came across. My apologies to the photographer. I don't know who shot it, but the lighting was cool enough for me to want to reproduce it in graphite. I'm trying to determine if I'm a better artist or writer, both or neither. And I guess, does it really matter? So long as I do what I enjoy right? I know, your thinking, what is he talking about? Where is the discussion on Italian horror movies? Well, I just had to post some thoughts on weather this whole blogging thing was right for me or not. I'm not sure. I suppose, time will tell. <br />
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As for Italian horror movies. The top of the list: Dario Argento and Lucio Fulci. Zombie, Suspiria, Demons, Gates Of Hell (or City of the Living Dead if you prefer), The Beyond, Phenomena (Creepers here, with Jennifer Connelly(sp?)), and I know I'm forgetting some. And as for the music? Don't even get me started on Goblin, Claudio Simonetti, or Fabio Frizzi!<br />
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Until next time.Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-62969739744199425432011-09-21T20:48:00.000-04:002011-09-21T20:48:08.956-04:00Ok, so... now what?Yeah, yeah I know. Finish the story and I bail on you. Sorry. Just been busy. I've returned to the north and am settling back into my comfortable and familiar routine. Although I'm not really looking forward to the winter here. Oh well, at least I'm used to that too.<br />
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So I have two possible stories to post next. One is a story written in blog form and is meant to seem like an actual blog. It's not exactly a horror story per se, but it has horrific elements to it. The other is a good old fashioned ghost story with the main character, a writer (new concept huh?) haunted in a rather unusual way. I haven't decided which one to share with you yet.<br />
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In the reading department I have finished Scott Speigler's Infected and found it quite enjoyable and interesting that it takes place in locations that I am familiar with. Particularly in the end. Now I'm on to (and don't say anything like it's about time) reading Stephen King's Dark Tower series. I'm only on the second one, The Drawing Of The Three. Interesting so far. I also have an old Clive Barker novel, Sacrement, that I've never read and am looking forward to. I sometimes find I have a difficult time trying to read authors other than these two, but I'm working on it (like Speigler's story).<br />
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And next week perhaps we'll have a little discussion on the awsomeness of Italian horror films, some of which are big favorites (who doesn't love Lucio Fulci's Zombie?).<br />
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For now I'll bid you adieu. I'm slightly distracted trying to watch The Goonies with my kid.Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-67065379342586660142011-09-03T17:19:00.000-04:002011-09-03T17:19:34.531-04:00Finally...the conclusion of Last StopWell here we are. Finally to the conclusion of Last Stop. I hope you have enjoyed reading it. I've been glad to share it. We will meet again here very soon to ruminate further on the subject of horror. Why else would we be here? So sit back, put on your glasses if need be, and read on. Last Stop Part 11.<br />
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<div align="center">Last Stop Part 11</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> David regained consciousness with incredible pain in the back of his head. He attempted to raise his hand to rub the spot and realized he couldn’t move. He also realized that he was looking up at the ceiling, and upon turning his aching head around, discovered that he was in the middle of the kitchen, restrained to the central table, and also discovered he was completely naked.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His first thought was embarrassment at such exposure, then all of the events of the night came swarming into his mind, culminating in the discovery of the caged children, and he was suddenly filled with alarm, remorse, and anger. He struggled against the bindings to his wrists and ankles, arched his body up from the nylon table, then dropped back down, the motion reminding him that his nakedness and limp member was on display for whoever put him into this predicament. David screamed and the sound echoed off the stainless steel cabinetry. He heard a deep voice shush him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nobody can hear you,” it said, and David craned his neck, his skull pounding, and settled his gaze on William walking up to the end of the table.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You crazy son of a bitch, let me up. Let me up and I swear I’ll kill you!” David seethed. William snickered and looked to his right.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey ma, you hear this guy?” William said. David glanced to the foot end of the table and gasped. Remarkably, Muriel stood over him, still slashed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, I ‘ear ‘im. Not much of a p’sition for that though is’e,” she said, reaching up and suddenly pulling the slashes from her face. David realized they were fake rubber. He again flushed with embarrassment that they had stripped him down and left him this way.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nope, he isn’t,” William answered his mother. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Something very wrong is going on here, </i>David thought.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why are you doing this?” David said and began to sob, “there are children…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,” Muriel said, pulling the last of the latex wounds from her face. She smiled. “They’re lambs dear, ‘member me tellin’ you that?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The horrific illustration hit David like a club to the head. His body broke out in a full clothing of goose bumps.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh my God,” he sputtered, realizing now what the meal earlier had actually consisted of. David began to dry heave, his stomach empty, and he choked, coughed, and gagged. Moments passed as his captors just watched as the fit passed and David was able to speak again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You people are crazy,” he said, “sick and fucking crazy.” He began to struggle again to no avail. The leather straps that bound him were too strong.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Now, now, you ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Muriel said, wiping the red, dried liquid from her face. David remembered something that he had heard or read somewhere and realized what the sweet smell was that he had encountered when he thought he had discovered Muriel’s dead body. Kayro syrup. That’s what they used in movies for fake blood. Maybe all this was a setup. One of those reality shows where they scare you real bad and have a laugh at your expense. Then, unsettled that it took so long, David remembered his wife. He coughed once more, “Where is Carrie? What did you do with my wife?” He feared she may have become a lamb also.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Muriel looked at William, who looked back at Muriel, and they laughed, then they looked past David.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hello David,” a soft voice said from behind him. He craned his neck up and back as Carrie came walking into view. She brushed her hand over his shoulder, down his arm, across his chest and then teasingly along his limp penis.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Carrie,” David gasped, “what?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I know,” she said, walking over now and standing beside Muriel, “this is the part that always gets me, right ma?” She glanced to Muriel.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Wha-?” David stammered his mind reeling attempting to process what he was witnessing. Carrie? Muriel’s… daughter? No, that’s impossible. Then again, he had never met any of Carrie’s kin. That makes William her? David looked to William.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes,” Carrie said, her voice slightly different than David had come to know it, a bit of southern inflection perhaps, like her… mother, “he’s my brother.” She nodded towards the man-child who no longer seemed like one.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David could tell his brain wanted to shut down, wanted to force him into unconsciousness again, not wanting to realize this and accept this. He forced himself to stay awake, to stay alert. He wanted to figure this out, wanted to understand, wanted to get away, and now he realized he no longer required to find his wife to escape with him. Why? Why? David repeated this to all of them, although he glared at Carrie.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why?” he sobbed again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s what they always ask,” Carrie replied.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“They? You…you’ve done this before?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mr. Wright? W-was he one?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“No,” Carrie said suddenly sorrowful, “Mr. Wright… is my dad. He was a great man. A brilliant man. My hero,” she touched Muriel’s arm gently, “he loved literature, and loved to write, would spend hours doing it, and so, well… after he died…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“Why?” David repeated. He couldn’t believe this was happening. It all seemed so surreal, like a psycho-delic nightmare.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Your inheritance David,” Carrie responded rather nonchalantly. There was no remorse in her voice. She mechanically spoke the words, as though she were simply bored and recited what she read on a teleprompter. “Your inheritance will help to fix up the outside of the house and sustain us for quite a while.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But…” David stammered, “my… you can have it Carrie. This isn’t necessary. You, your family, it’s yours, just let me go.” He couldn’t believe this seemed to be about money. The entire relationship. Their courtship and marriage. All about money. The money he foolishly told her about that started it all. David was enraged that he could be so stupid, and prayed he could find a way out of this situation.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Carrie, please, you can have the inheritance, just let me go.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Can’t do that son,” Muriel responded. David looked to her, then back to Carrie. A ghostly draft went through the kitchen, again reminding David of his vulnerability. He again struggled against the restraints.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Let me go you bitch!” he spat at his legal wife.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Now, now, calm down son, we don’ want ya to bruise y’self.” Muriel told him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What…what are you going to do to me?” David asked, but already figured the answer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re a lamb, dear,” Muriel said as David screamed. His mind could still not process what was happening. This only happened in movies. There was a real world out there, one that he was a part of. People would miss him. They would look for him. And although he couldn’t recall if he had told anyone where they were going, his new bride and himself, David had to believe that they could be tracked down, that somehow, these people would be caught. But of course, at this point, it would do him no good anyway. Tomorrow he’d be hanging out there on the front porch, tempting passer-by’s-not that there would be many-with his savory smell.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No, this all had to be an elaborate joke, a put-on. He had fallen victim to a terrible practical joke. Why else would they go to such great lengths to put on the show that they did? There had to be cameras throughout the house. The entire thing had to have been an extravagant production with David as the hapless, unknowing victim for all of America to be amused by. Carrie had just been a part of the whole scheme; it had been her idea even, maybe. David began to laugh as he continued to sob.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This…” he said to his captors, “this is all some big joke,” his voice trembled. “This is all just a big put-on, right?” You got cameras all over and this is just some weird cable show.” He chuckled slightly. “Right? Right Carrie?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The trio burst out laughing, looking at one another, looking at David who joined nervously in their laughter. Then Carrie stopped and the other two quickly relented also.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No David, sorry,” Carrie said and motioned a nod to William. Then man picked up the meat tenderizer that David had carried around all night.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No…please,” David pled. William walked up alongside the table, raised the tenderizer, and struck David in the head. And then he struck him again. And again. And again…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> THE END</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">So, what did you think? Did you like it? Was it too predictable? My wife figured it out before the end, but she has a knack for doing that. This story was written rather quickly without much editing. And would you believe inspired by many cinematic horror gems. I collected Fangoria magazine for years, and have every issue from #1 to a hundred and something. Anyway I hope this tale hasn't scared you off due to either fright or boredom and you come back for more. I may post another story soon. Until next time. </span></div>Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-2248821869008052392011-08-19T13:13:00.001-04:002011-08-19T13:14:24.917-04:00Say what you mean (or at least what your characters would) and Last Stop Part 10Before jumping in to the next installment I feel that I should caution you about the use of expletives. You know, dirty words, vulgarity. This part has one, as does the next (which by the way is the conclusion). Stephen King, often imitated, never duplicated, says to keep it real. Write what your characters may say, think and feel in their situation. Don't sugar-coat it. And so I take this advice as golden as many writers in the genre do. Real people say vulgar things, some often, some occasionally, and some only in certain situations, particularly when angry or terrified, as is the case here. So with that warning in mind, I caution you to continue with Last Stop.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">Last Stop Part 10</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> Upon returning to the kitchen, David had run several scenarios through his head as to what he might do in case he came across William. David was fairly certain he was capable of injuring the man enough to incapacitate him and allow escape. The worse case of course was to kill him, and when it came right down to it, regardless of all that had happened, David was unsure if he could take the life of another human being. Who was he to make that decision, and where would the nerve come from? What part of his psyche would he tap to put human emotion, right or wrong, and everything he had ever been taught about it aside and tap that primal instinct that was required. He was sure that if a confrontation presented itself, and particularly, depending on the state of Carrie’s being, which he didn’t even want to think of, his inner rage and will to live would take over leaving him safely on autopilot.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As David approached the door at the far end of the kitchen, he noticed that the plot had changed once more. The door stood slightly ajar, unlocked, and uneasily inviting. Did this mean that Carrie was now free and safe? Did it mean she was harmed and either incapacitated or worse, and no longer a threat to run? Did this mean that she was no longer behind the door, and taken elsewhere so this ridiculous and mind numbing game would continue? David prayed the first question was the one that would be answered but knew that, based on the night’s events, it wouldn’t be that easy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David slowly eased the door open, the tenderizer still in hand and ready to be used. It seemed to be heavier and it made David aware of how fatigued he was. No doubt, aside from the mental exhaustion, he had put a lot of ground on his still bare feet throughout the night traipsing around the peculiar hell house, up and down stairs and running about. He wanted nothing more than to find Carrie, get them out and just return to their normal life, if that would even be possible, and sleep for three days.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As David passed through the door, there was no light to allow a visual inspection of the room. The light afforded by the kitchen behind him gave just enough to see a fifteen foot pathway straight into the room, where David spotted a light bulb with a pull chain. Although the room was dark, it seemed rather unstill. David could hear shuffling-like noises and squeaks and scrapes, like metal on concrete, and it made him feel even edgier if it were possible, hearing these things in the dark and being unaware of their origins. His only recourse was to bolt for the light, pull the chain and hope that it worked, and be ready to retaliate against whatever or, more specifically, whoever, came at him. There was no doubt in his mind now that it would be William, and for the first time this evening, David gave thought to the man’s size and build, assessing how substantial he might be with what David could recall of the man, memories that already felt like they were from a year ago. Could he overpower him? William had the home court advantage, not to mention he probably wasn’t going about in his pajamas and barefoot, hoping that a kitchen utensil would suffice as a weapon. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">David scoffed at how ludicrous this all seemed, and heard a noise suddenly that sounded remarkably like a person sniffling, then more scuffling and squeaking. Was Carrie hidden in the darkness somewhere in this room, gagged and bound? If he called her name, she might be able to make enough noise for him to locate her, and it occurred to him that he had been standing here for a vulnerable amount of time, silhouetted by the kitchen light, holding what could appear to be small sledgehammer. Perhaps Carrie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">could</i> see him and, mistaking him for her captor, thinking he was here to finish her off, has remained subdued. David had no choice but to run for the light and hope for the best, but be prepared for the worst.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">David bolted suddenly into the room, his bare feet stamping damp footprints onto the cold concrete. He swung the tenderizer around him haphazardly to block and defend against any would be assailant, and as he drew nearer to the light, the weapon clanged against something metal causing whatever it was to shift and scrape against the floor. The light was within reach and David groped at it, tried to grasp the pull-string, hit it and sent it circling. He could hear shuffling and now grunting noises nearly upon him as he grabbed at the string and yanked. The light fluttered on and David swung the tenderizer around in a wide arc around him. It connected with nothing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The dingy, concrete-walled room seemed to disappear into darkness beyond the light’s illuminating capability, cavernous and stretching further then the house’s foundation. David glanced around and then downward and then sank to his knees, his lip quivering as he was about to shed tears at the sight before him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Sitting on the cold concrete floor was a semi-circle of six, large, dog cages. Some of them had stains under and around them, dark and unidentifiable. Two in particular were what brought David to his knees and to tears. Two of them were occupied. Dirty and disheveled, but rather quite plump, one boy, and one girl, perhaps around the age of seven, sat locked in cages with thick foam pads under them and blankets to cover with, staring blankly at David. Neither one spoke but just kind of uttered word-like sounds. It seemed they may have been rendered mute by some barbaric, surgical method. Heavy padlocks on the cage doors held the poor children captive. David noted that Carrie was nowhere to be seen and drew his attention back to the kids. He felt utter sorrow and instant rage. What kind of monster would do this? Again, the blame goes to William.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“I’m going to get you out,” David squeaked, his mouth and throat dry. He grabbed at the lock on the girl’s cage, yanked at it knowing it wouldn’t simply open, then reached into his pajama shirt pocket where he had stored the keys he found in Muriel’s room. David felt pity for all the unfortunate souls he had come across this evening, and for the one that mattered most to him that he hadn’t found. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yet</i>, he told himself. His mind began to wonder how he would continue his search for Carrie, be on the watch for William and now tote along the two children to safety and try to protect them from further harm.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">He set the tenderizer onto the floor and sorted through the small ring of keys, trying to choose one that looked like it would fit the locks, found one and reached for the padlock on the girl’s cage. The two children watched, then became panicked and grunted protests, their eyes wide and David realized they were both making pointing gestures, not at him, but apparently behind him. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh shit,</i> David thought as he turned, attempted to grab the tenderizer from the floor, saw a pair of slender, bare legs and feet, and then felt a tremendous force clock the side of his head and upper ear, splitting it open. Darkness swirled around in his vision and as he fell backwards, the light bulb came into view overhead, seemed to steadily grow dim, and then everything went dark.</span></div>Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-85752578284282052282011-08-09T22:39:00.000-04:002011-08-09T22:39:35.146-04:00North vs South, seperation anxiety, and Last Stop Part 9I must say that this blog was never intended to be a textual manifestation of my personal life, and I will attempt to keep it that way. At least as much as possible. But the past two weeks have been a mind-boggling, stress inducing, tumultuous roller coaster ride that seemed the car would certainly jump from the track. The transition of this Yankee to the south has been difficult to say the least. From exuberant optimism to complete disgust and disappointment in a matter of days. From all hope was lost and throwing in the proverbial towel to a complete reversal of fate in a single day. A bonafide horror story in itself. And one that I hope soon to turn around and have the ever so glorious Hollywood ending. Well, early Hollywood anyway. My family has gone back up north sans myself and now I face struggling and sacrificing to maintain our dream and yet not go Overlook Hotel alone.<br />
On a less personal note, the situation will at least afford me the opportunity to read more (reading Scott Sigler's Infected currently), and to write more (which as I have a few ideas and stories currently underway, the aforementioned issues of the previous paragraph I must now overcome and return to a creative state of mind. Get back into my <em>right</em> mind. Or is it <em>write</em> mind?).<br />
We shall see what the future holds. North vs South, left vs right, success vs failure. I'll attempt to keep <em>that</em> more to myself and get back into the task at hand; the horrific, both in print and in film. For now let us get back to our unfortunate protagonist, David, and Last Stop Part 9.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Last Stop Part 9</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> David advanced down the darkened hallway to the next door. He stood outside a moment, listening for any noise beyond it, and fearing what the next disturbing discovery may yield if any.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nothing more than heavy silence permeated the area and David readied himself again with the kitchen utensil. He glanced down and noticed a sliver of light coming through from beneath the door. Reaching out and sampling the doorknob, it turned easily and David swung the door open.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another lavishly decorated room, so ridiculously contrasted to the establishment’s outward appearance, welcomed him. And as David stepped into the room, scanning the dark spaces which the small lamp that sat upon the bedside table failed to illuminate, another grisly scene presented itself. David gasped and put a hand to his mouth, yet managed to hang on to the tenderizer this time. William had obviously gone berserk. It was the only thought that registered in David’s mind as his eyes moved over the sight upon the bed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One could easily have mistaken the bed sheets to be a rich, silky, red velour, but upon a more thorough examination, would conclude, as David now was, that the linens were saturated with blood. Lying in the middle of the bed was Muriel, who if not for the visceral state of her being, would seem to be sleeping. Long gashes ran diagonally across her face, and her nightgown was riddled with holes that David could only assume were from where she had been stabbed repeatedly. Blood soaked the gown and ribbons of it were splashed across her face, neck, and arms. Her bare feet, pointing to the ceiling were all that was spared.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David realized his stomach was about to purge itself, and it did. He vomited onto the floor beside the bed, the liquid and bits of undigested food from the great meal earlier, mixing with blood that had soaked the floor. He wiped his mouth along the sleeve of his pajama top.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh God,” he managed, attempting to comprehend the doubtless seriousness of his situation. Was this the same fate that he and his wife were to encounter? Did Carrie already?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,” David said, “I can’t accept that.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And if the gruesome scene weren’t enough to process, there was a sickeningly sweet smell about the room that David just couldn’t place. He attempted to will his wobbly legs to walk and remove himself from the room, almost feeling a little remorseful for the woman lying on the bed. Obviously she wasn’t a player in the evening’s events and all the blame could be placed upon her disturbed son.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David glanced around the room, unbelieving that there still seemed to be no telephone to call for help with. And then he noticed something shining upon the nightstand alongside the lamp. Keys. A small ring of them, and David was certain that one of them had to match the padlock on the door that held his wife captive.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Still determined to release Carrie to safety and get them out of this place and away from the psychotic William, David reluctantly walked closer to the bed to retrieve them. As he approached the bed, the odor became stronger. It smelled almost like cake icing or candy which made no sense at all. He again looked to the poor woman’s face and could have sworn her eyelids fluttered just slightly. Could she still be alive? He leaned a little closer, the sweet smell nearly causing him to be sick again. Muriel still remained motionless and David guessed it was just the light and his confused and panic stricken mind toying with his senses.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He leaned back, snatched the keys from the table and left the room, closing the door and the unfortunate fate of the old woman behind him. David prayed that he would encounter William and get the upper hand upon him and bash his skull in with the tenderizer. With the keys in hand and feeling rather confident, David ran back down the stairs, heading for the kitchen.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-22952297832542837022011-07-24T17:55:00.001-04:002011-07-24T17:58:09.635-04:00Last Stop Part 7 & 8So, the family and I went on a little camping trip this weekend both for fun and as a test drive for our rather old camper. Next week we will be taking it to Tennessee with the probability of being my new home for a short while as we transition ourselves down there. It might prove to be hectic next weekend so I will leave you with parts 7 and 8 of the story. Part 8 is actually quite short and so I thought it should tag along. And we are almost coming to the story's conclusion. Stick with me, the next couple weeks are gonna get bumpy.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">Last Stop 7</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Determination wasn’t a characteristic that David had been consciously aware of during his climb to a professional career, but it was now as he sought to realize Carrie’s release. He would begin his search of the second floor, first trying each door along the hallway, and if it wouldn’t open with a turn of the knob, he’d kick it open.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The first on his left did in fact open when he grasped the knob, turned it, and flung the door open, brandishing the tenderizer and ready to engage it. A quick scan of the room however deemed it void of any people, seeming to be used only for storage. Several pieces of furniture sat under dust covered sheets, some of it blowing up and swirling about from the draft caused by the rapidly opened door. David left it open as he ducked out of the room and moved onto the next.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">He came to the entry of the room that had been occupied by Carrie and himself on the right and for a moment he thought to skip it, then changed his mind in the event that someone may be hiding in the room possibly waiting for him. Muriel or William were the two he was obviously seeking and he wanted no space left unchecked. This door too opened with a turn of the knob, and as he did, David tried to recall if the door was opened or closed the last time he saw it. He couldn’t remember and went into the room. He looked around and realized the last time he stood at this threshold he was whispering to his wife lying on the bed, and his heart sank a little more.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">It occurred to David that it might do him well to call the authorities and make them aware of what was happening at the bed and breakfast. He glanced to the side table where he remembered leaving his cell phone and, no surprise, it was gone. He shuffled around to the bedside and checked the floor and under the bed, all the while assuming it was pointless. He looked over to Carrie’s side of the bed, or what used to be, and saw that her Blackberry was gone too. Obviously someone had removed them. David examined the room, trying to recall how it looked when he had last left it, and except for the missing phones and the absent wife, it all seemed the same. There sat their luggage and belongings, exactly where they had left them, untouched. David walked to the bathroom door, peered in, advanced to the shower, raised the tenderizer, and yanked the curtain back, but the tub was vacant. As he exited the room, his feet crunched something into the plush carpet and he looked down to find another portion of the chain that Carrie had been wearing around her neck. He picked it up and examined it, noticing the fragile chain broken open as though it had been forcefully removed. This only reinforced his determination and he continued on out of the room and returned to the hallway. That was when he heard a thump from behind the door across the hall and he rushed to this one next.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">David tried the knob and found this door locked. He knocked on it, wondering why as he did so as he really didn’t expect anyone to just open it for him and ask what he wanted.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">David tried the knob again which still refused to turn, and then pressed the weight of his body against the door. It continued to hold firm. He stepped back, considering giving it a solid, swift kick, but reserved instead to bumping against it with his weight as quietly as he could. It seemed to loosen a bit and he bumped it again. This time, the latch gave and the door swung open, bouncing off the wall behind it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">David’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the eerie red glow that was cast about the room, making it impossible to determine the décor of the space. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the rotten egg smell in the room and David focusing his gaze on the scraggly-haired silhouette of a figure sitting at a desk placed at the far end of the room. He also noticed a great number of shapes seeming to hang from the ceiling and as his eyes adjusted further he realized they were air fresheners, the kind that hung from automobile mirrors. They did little to repress the pungent rotting odor. The tenderizer firmly clutched in his hand, David walked slowly into the room, his eyes darting about, scanning the room and then back to the figure.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“Hello?” David questioned the stench nearly unbearable enough to open his mouth. No reply was offered. He advanced closer to the silhouette, undoubtedly a human being although the gender was indeterminable. David stepped closer, taking in and letting out small breaths, and then fell into a retching fit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The red light was coming from a small lamp upon the desktop and afforded David the sight of a human hand grasping a pencil which was poised upon a sheet of paper. David narrowed and strained his eyes to read what appeared to be a single word written. Help. David realized the hand holding the pencil was quite thin. Beyond thin. It was skeletal.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">David walked up alongside the figure and gasped, putting a hand to his mouth, either to suppress a scream or to keep from vomiting. The being appeared to be smiling graciously, but it wasn’t. The grin was caused by the dried and mummified lips pulled taught around large, nearly perfect teeth. The eyes were gone and the two black holes where they should have been housed a gathering of maggots. Still unable to determine if this was the corpse of a man or a woman, the clothes that hung on the mummified frame were those of a man. And the name tag that sank in one of the folds of the button-down shirt read, ‘Hello, my name is…’ with Mr. Wright scrawled in jagged letters in the blank space.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“Oh my God,” David stifled and backed away from the corpse. He bumped into the post of the bed behind him and let out a slight yelp as he turned and ran from the room. The finding of Mr. Wright made it obviously clear what the intentions of his and Carrie’s hosts were, and David scurried down the hall, intent on dismantling the ideas from the heads of Muriel and William.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Terrified and rather disoriented, David came to the next door down the hall and simply kicked it in. It easily gave, smacking against the wall and coming back towards him. With panic coursing through him, he smashed the tenderizer into the door to keep it open and burst into the room. It was dark and David felt for the light switch, found it, and clicked it on. Bright lights appeared leaving starry flashes in his retinas.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“Come out, damn you!” he yelled, but the room appeared empty, decorated in much the same way as the one he and Carrie had occupied. The only difference was a stack of magazines upon the dresser. David walked over and glanced at them. On the cover of the top one was a picture of a man, but with a pig’s head, brandishing a ludicrously huge chainsaw. The magazine’s title was ‘Fangoria’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“Who are these people?” David said to no one and turned to face the closet door. It was closed. He crept to it, the tenderizer poised and ready to strike. David listened a moment, his ear to the door, heard nothing, and grasped the handle. He flung the door open and raised the hammer-like weapon above his head. No one charged or assaulted. David’s eyes focused on shelves, floor to ceiling, and they appeared to contain heads. Many, many heads; some seemingly misshapen and distorted.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">David pulled the chain of the overhead light bulb and tried to hold back another scream but failed. Then, studying the heads, chuckled as he realized the heads were not decapitated trophies but rather a bizarre assortment of masks. Some were indeed human and grossly distorted and bloodied, but obviously rubbery and artificial. The monsters were all here too. A vampire, a werewolf, Frankenstein’s creature and more.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“What the hell is going on?” David said, and, attempting to think at least something resembling rational, began to wonder if this was all part of some practical joke, like one of those murder mystery parties. This was all too surreal to be real, wasn’t it?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">People don’t really act the way Muriel and William did, do they? Did we stumble upon some kind of hidden camera TV show? Did we miss something on the web site? This has to be some kind of a setup.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“Okay, I give. You got us,” David yelled aloud, waiting for the production crew to come out of hiding. But nobody did. Everything remained quiet and the masks just glared, scrutinizing him. David began to shake, his hands and arms twitching. It caused him to drop the tenderizer which landed on the top of his bare foot, causing pain and snapping him from the panicked jerking. His mind worked to comprehend the situation but was unable. A severe feeling of nothing more than wanting to live, wanting to survive, wanting to free his wife and escape this lunacy grabbed his mind and mentally slapped him back to reality.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“Oh God, please. Please get us the hell out of this place,” David said. He shut the closet door, not wanting the rubber heads to stare at him any longer. He picked up the tenderizer, took another glance of the room, the exited, determined to find somebody, anybody, find a phone, call for help and put this nightmare to an end.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> Part 8</span></div><div align="center" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> After a lifetime of living in the same house, William was able to quietly navigate his way down the stairs, unseen and unheard, by-passing the areas of the steps that he knew creaked. So far, David had acted just about how they all thought he would, proving to be yet again another predictable participant.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>William could hear the man upstairs, shuffling around, making discoveries, becoming more panicked and careless and was pretty certain what David’s next move would be. At most times, William detested playing the part of the dumb and quiet son, but after so many years it was a role that he had perfected, and it proved most effective on this charade. He glanced at the clock in the hallway and noted the time. The game was approaching the end and right about on schedule.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>William hurried down the stairs to the basement kitchen, ensuring he’d be in the proper place for the next phase of the game. He went to the steel door at the end, unlocked the padlock, and maneuvered through the entry, reaching around to re-hang the lock in the clasp but leaving it unlocked. William estimated David’s arrival back to the kitchen within fifteen minutes and needed to make sure that the camera was ready to go.</span></div><div align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>William turned and faced the dimly lit room and smiled a mischievous grin as he looked upon Carrie sitting on the floor amongst the cages, singing quietly.</span></div>Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-61798501796819822282011-07-17T21:48:00.000-04:002011-07-17T21:48:46.544-04:00Last Stop Part 6Wow, this past week went by quick! I nearly forgot to post part 6. Nearly. Here it is.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">Last Stop part 6</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Disappointment was what he felt. Standing at the bottom of the stairs surveying the room before him, David’s heart sank as he found the space empty. Carrie was not here, snacking as he had hoped. David looked around the room which appeared every bit as a commercial kitchen as you might find in a restaurant. Stainless steel was the dominant color, combined with overhead fluorescent lights making the room cold and uninviting, a stark contrast to the rest of the house above.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In one corner was the dumbwaiter that Muriel had spoken of, and cabinets and counters lined the walls. A large double sink was against the back wall with a commercial grade dishwashing system alongside. David wondered how a place like the Last Stop, so remote and seemingly struggling along could afford such a setup. Obviously the barbeque was serving Muriel and William well. Monolithic in the center of the room was a large, a very large, heavy, stainless table with a slab of inch-thick nylon serving as a table top. Holes were drilled into the two long edges and at one end. The table was stained disturbingly with brownish splotches and David assumed this was where the lamb meat was cut up and deboned.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">At the far end of the room was a steel door that was padlocked with a solid security clasp, and it was from behind this door that David heard a muffled thump. With thoughts of his wife’s safety swirling through his mind, David shuffled to the door, careful of giving the table that seemed to host death a wide berth. As he approached the door, he spotted something on the floor. A piece of fabric that, unfortunately yet again, was familiar. It appeared to be a fragment, torn and frayed, from the nightgown that Carrie had been wearing when he left her alone in the upstairs bedroom to begin this quest that he now regretted. A stupid, selfish quest that had yielded nothing but a disturbing find in the great room and, even worse, the inauspicious disappearance of his beloved new bride. David cursed himself for causing this by leaving her alone. He suddenly thought he should go back upstairs and start beating on every door in the house until he found someone that could provide him with answers or, better yet, produce his wife.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">He studied the clasp and padlock, even pulled on it, knowing it was locked anyway. He glanced around, foolishly hoping for a key to be lying nearby, but of course there was none. Anger began to build up in him along with the concern and yes, even a good dose of fear. He committed himself to find someone, anyone, that he could blame and force them to open this obstacle that he now was convinced held Carrie captive. Whoever he found should hope that she was unharmed. David picked up the piece of fabric and the smell of Carrie’s perfume hit him. This enraged him even more and he began beating the door and calling his wife’s name. Tears flowed from his eyes and he slumped down to the floor, crying. Why had he brought them to this place? Why hadn’t he just listened to her and turned the car around and left as she wanted? Because he was stubborn and foolishly optimistic? Too trustworthy? A sucker.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">And then he thought he heard Carrie’s voice from the other side of the door. Her simply asking his name, quietly and muffled. It couldn’t be, could it? He spun around and put his ear to the door.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“Carrie?” David sniffled, “are you okay?” There was no response. “Carrie!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“David? Help me.” That was all he heard, and it was all he needed. He rose up and called through the door.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“Carrie! I’ll get you out, hold on.” He ran through the room, opening drawers and cabinet doors, seeking anything he could use to beat the lock with. After several minutes of searching and clanging, no longer caring now if anyone heard him, he discovered a metal, meat tenderizer. David ran back to the lock and began hammering at it, but it was well built and held strong.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">David became frustrated that the lock held even as his hope was renewed. Now he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knew</i> that Carrie was alive and nothing but a stupid door stood between them. Even the new rush of adrenaline did nothing to help smash the lock free of the hasp. He was going to have to find a key somewhere. David put his head to the door.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“I can’t break the lock. I’m going to have to find a key,” he said. He waited for a response from the other side but there was none. This made him wonder if, although she was alive, Carrie might be injured.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“I’ll be right back,” David said with a sense of déjà-vu. The last time he had spoken the words to his wife, she had disappeared. Again he waited for an answer and again there was only silence. He whacked the lock one more time which continued to hold, then turned and ran for the stairs, still clutching the tenderizer as a potential weapon.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">David sprinted up from the basement kitchen and headed for the staircase to the second floor, intent upon finding someone and forcing them to open the door. There were other people in the house, and he was committed to find them and make them do what was necessary to get him and Carrie out of this insane place.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-25553839965177973232011-07-09T22:33:00.002-04:002011-07-09T22:51:50.187-04:00Last Stop Part 5... and I'm a winner!I'm a winner. And this isn't some self-affirming, confidence building scheme.(Well, maybe a little). Earlier this week I submitted to a contest on another blog I follow. The gentleman offered a mad libs type competition and so I sent my options. I was notified then, that I won! Granted there were only three submissions, and I honestly didn't expect to win, and I really liked one of the other entries, so imagine my surprise. For my effort he gave my blog special recognition and I truly appreciate it.(He's got a lot of followers!) So let me return the favor to Mr. Vincent Kale, fellow writer of things macabre, sick, and scary. Check out his blog <a href="http://vincentkale.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: red;">Crawlspace</span></a>, based upon his novel Crawl(which I have not yet read but is on my to-read list). Thank you Mr. Kale. Now... a little shorter but another installment of Last Stop.<br />
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<div align="center">Last Stop Part 5</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">David bounded up the stairs and was approaching the door to the room that he and Carrie had been assigned when he noticed the door that had been closed and locked was now standing slightly ajar. His heart dropped at the sight and his only thought was that he had to get to his wife. It proved to be a vain thought when he pushed the door open to discover the room vacant. David shot a glance to the bathroom door, praying it was closed and she was merely using the facilities but discovered it standing wide open with the light off.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh my God,” David said with growing concern taking hold of him. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Where did she go?</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now he began to panic, looking around the room, unsure as to what to do. Perhaps she just left the room, looking for him. The place was certainly a maze and if she had taken a different route than he, they could easily miss one another.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David went back out of the room and into the hallway. It was quite dark as there were no windows in the corridor and it took his eyes a moment to adjust. She was obviously not further down the hallway, so he turned and headed back down the stairway. He was desperately trying to remain calm although with his wife gone and the thing he was certain was a human tooth he had discovered, it was proving futile to try.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He hurried down the stairs, no longer concerned about making any noise, and thought that if he were to come across anyone besides Carrie he would bash them in the head with his bare hands. David roamed around the house, not finding Carrie or anyone else for that matter. Where was Muriel? Or William? And what about Mr. Wright? Was he merely fictitious or did he truly exist? David had certainly seen no sign of the man.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As he turned a corner, David found himself once again in the great room. It continued to be empty and quiet. He glanced over to the cavernous fireplace and he nearly screamed. There were several small hooks lined up along the front edge of the mantle, something one might hang Christmas stockings from, only these hooks were void of any such good tidings. Only one hook was occupied, and from it hung a necklace and pendant David recognized, which he should since he had given it to his wife.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh my God,” he said again, now completely terrified at what he could only assume was a message claiming that Carrie had possibly fallen victim to the furnace. But that was impossible. He wasn’t gone that long and it seemed to want to make sense to him that no one could have abducted his wife and placed her inside there so quickly. And so quietly. Surely she would have put up a fight or screamed or something he thought. David swallowed hard and refused to believe that Carrie had been incinerated.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And although he was in the process of convincing himself of this, his knees buckled and wobbled and he found himself wanting to collapse. He steadied himself against the mantle, then snatched the piece of jewelry from the hook. David regained his composure and was about to exit the room to continue his search for Carrie or anyone else that he would certainly beat some answers out of when he heard a noise in the corridor outside of the great room.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Carrie?” David questioned, but there was no reply. He entered and discovered the hallway vacant. Somebody was obviously toying with him and David had no doubt it was that creepy William and if he found him he was going to crush his skull.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">David was passing the door that he and Carrie had discovered earlier that led downstairs, presumably to the kitchen when he breathed in a familiar scent. Carrie’s perfume that, like the necklace, he had given to her. It was her favorite and he had ensured he knew what it was. The odor was unmistakable, but, had she gone down to the kitchen? For a bite to eat perhaps now that they knew where the room was located?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">David opened the door and stared down the stairs. The same cold light that they had</span><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> witnessed earlier was still shining. He bent down trying to see more of the room at the bottom of the stairs and could see the lower half of a stainless steel cabinet on wheels. Slowly, he forced himself to descend the stairs praying to God that he would find Carrie there snacking and they could laugh about the whole situation and then get the hell out of the Last Stop.</span></div>Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-75295929795133871792011-07-03T22:37:00.001-04:002011-07-03T22:50:40.259-04:00Last Stop Part 4We'll keep it short, but I must wish you a happy 4th of July.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">Last Stop Part 4</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> Later that night David and Carrie tried to relax in the bed in their room, but neither seemed capable. David had made a futile attempt at coaxing Carrie into doing that thing that most newlyweds do but she wasn’t going for it. She was convinced that that creepy man William had a peephole or two drilled through the walls and was probably spying on them even now.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David had finally given up and tried to focus on reading one of the books from the ‘library’. Carrie just sat with the blanket pulled up tight around her and seemed to be staring off into space just biding her time until they left the place. David was actually a little surprised that Carrie had not yet begun to pester him to leave the next day. He appreciated her willingness to see it through though. They were only booked to stay three nights anyway. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Perhaps she’ll come around,</i> he thought.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David had just begun to reach for the lamp on the table when there was a muffled thump outside the bedroom door. Carrie jumped and grabbed David’s arm. The two sat quietly watching the door when another series of the noises followed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Carrie nudged David letting him know that she was expecting him to get up and check it out. He looked at her dumbly so she widened her eyes and motioned toward the door with her head. David sat up and scanned the room, hoping to find something to utilize as a weapon. Undoubtedly, Carrie’s nervousness was beginning to get to him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There was nothing in the room that seemed to make for an effective club and so he settled for the Tiffany lamp on the nightstand. He got out of the bed and disappeared to the floor, unplugging the lamp. David picked it up above the base, the shade wobbling, and slowly inched to the door. He quietly slipped his hand over the doorknob and glanced back to Carrie who had pulled the blanket up tighter, right to her lower lip. Again the eyes and head motion.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Rather than open the door slow, David decided to yank it open, hoping to catch William-who he was sure it was-by surprise and brain him accordingly if need be. He swung the door open and raised the lamp, sure now that he looked completely ridiculous upon finding the hallway empty. David poked his head out the door and looked down to the far end of the hall. There was nothing. He shot a glance the other direction, toward the stairs and was certain he just saw the top half of William disappearing below the railing and out of sight. David sat the lamp down on the floor and looked to Carrie.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Stay here,” he said quietly. She responded the same way, barely above a whisper.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’t leave me here.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’ll be fine,” David said, “just lock the door behind me and don’t open it until I come back.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Where are you going? What do you think you’re doing?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Just stay here,” David said, holding up his hands motioning for her to stay, “I’ll be right back.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With that he went out the door and headed for the stairway. He glanced back and saw their door close quietly and heard the ‘click’ of the lock. David tip-toed to the top of the stairs and looked down them. He just caught a glimpse of William going down the hall. David started down the stairs, his bare feet making light, slapping noises on the steps. He peeked around the staircase and down the hall and again saw William heading for the great room. At this point David couldn’t help but think he was being led, but why would the strange man be doing that? He shook it off and followed. He nearly walked right into the great room but caught himself and peeked around the doorframe. William had finally stopped and was now standing in front of the gigantic fireplace.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David watched as William bent down and nearly disappeared into the cavern. There was a loud click, a low rumble, and William re-emerged from the fireplace, pulling a large metal rack out of it. The rack was a flat, grated thing that was ludicrously long for the depth of the fireplace. It was similar to twenty clowns emerging from a Volkswagen Beetle.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>William produced two plastic shopping bags that David hadn’t seen him carrying and placed them on the rack. They appeared to be packed full, like they contained grapefruits. William had also been holding a stuffed teddy bear which he also placed on the rack. The man grasped the rack and rolled it back into the fireplace. A plume of smoke burst from the hole which William waved away and reached into the cavern again. There was another rumble, a couple of clicks, then William came back out, stood up looking around, and exited the great room through the doorway at the opposite end. It was remarkably quiet and dark. David waited a few minutes to see if William reappeared and when he didn’t, David went into the room and stood in front of the fireplace, examining it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The fireplace looked like any other save for its mammoth size and seemed completely innocent. David glanced around, trying to determine if anyone was coming, the sparse moonlight coming through the large windows affording the only light to the room. Assured that he was alone, David bent down closer, leaning into the fireplace. He could hear a slight rumble that lasted a few seconds then stopped. He felt around inside the fireplace, running his hands over the brick interior, searching for anything out of the ordinary. He discovered what he was looking for when his hand reached the back wall, which was metal and incredibly hot to the touch. He yanked his hand back in surprise and slight pain, catching himself before he cried out.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David tried to see if there was a button or lever that tripped what he was now convinced as being a door at the back of the fireplace, but the darkness was too profound and allowed no insight. Again he groped around the interior, being cautious not to touch the metal again. He felt around inside the top of the fireplace, and after a few moments found what he was looking for.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mounted along the side of the brick in the top corner, David’s hand ran along a metal bar about a foot long, in a horizontal position. He poked his head back out of the fireplace and took another covert glance around. The room remained dark and silent. Butterflies fluttered around in his abdomen as he grasped the bar. It pivoted on one end as he pulled it downward into a vertical position. He heard the same click as he had when William had obviously pulled the same handle, although now in the cavernous fireplace it was magnified. The metal door at the back slowly opened outward against the side of the interior wall.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As soon as it opened, an acrid, burnt odor wafted out, making David gag. He tried to quiet himself as he attempted to get his eyes to focus on the space inside. He could just make out the edge of the rack that he had witnessed William pull out. David held his hand close to it and felt heat emanating from it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What the hell is this for?</i> David thought. It undoubtedly resembled a crematorium furnace, and although he had never encountered one himself, he had seen enough movies and TV shows to assume that this is what he was looking at. He felt he had to tell Carrie about this, and they would expedite their departure from the bed and breakfast. The Last Stop obviously had more secrets than meets the eye, and there had been enough unusual ones to make David feel uncomfortable enough to leave.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He tested the metal door which seemed cool enough to touch, and as he was reaching </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">to close it, something inside the box glistened on the rack in the moonlight. Curious, David </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">chanced leaning into the furnace to pick the object up. He pulled it out, blowing on it although </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">it didn’t seem as hot as the rack. He held it up in the moonlit room, trying to focus his eyes in </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">the dim light, and upon realizing what he was holding, began to shake, suddenly felt nauseous, </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">and attempted to settle his mind that was trying to process the disturbing find. David choked </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">down the urge to vomit and dropped the object, forgetting now about being quiet and </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">cautious. He ran for the doorway and to the stairs. In the great room, it would be quite some </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">time before anyone noticed the tiny human tooth on the plush rug.</span></div>Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-63865631967575554582011-06-25T23:21:00.001-04:002011-06-25T23:24:45.271-04:00Last Stop Part 3... and a little history So, when I was about eleven years old, I thought it would be a great idea to stay up late on a Friday night and watch the late night scary movie. Keep in mind that up until then, my closest experience with anything close to a horror movie was Ultraman, Johnny Socko, and the various Godzilla movies (Destroy All Monsters was the best!). The movie I decided to cut my young horror-curious teeth on was Night Of The Living Dead. George Romero's black and white classic. For an eleven year old that had lived a pretty sheltered life, what was I thinking! Scared the crap out of me! And I LOVED it. Flesh-eating zombies. What a concept. And then the totally unexpected ending! WOW! I think the next one was Bad Ronald, a cult classic IMPO. Or maybe it was Empire Of The Ants. In any event, it took a long time before something else comparable in its scare meter came along. The next one that honestly creeped me out was at the movie theatre watching Jack Nicholson several feet high in Stanley Kubrick's The Shining. For truly disturbing and uncomfortable imagery, and a classic for sure, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The original one. And then, the magic was lost for many years as a bunch of crap came out and I lost interest in horror movies for quite some time. Then I took a chance on a remake of a Japanese horror movie called The Ring and the magic was reinstated. It is truly a creepy movie full of atmosphere. And more recently, and yes I admit to seeing it, not a horror movie per se, but truly terrifying, The Lovely Bones. Stanley Tucci? Hated him. We'll talk more movies later. And books too. How about you? What movie, horror or not, truly terrified you? Here's Last Stop Part Three...<br />
<br />
<div align="center">Last Stop Part Three</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> The foursome met for dinner promptly at six o’clock. David and Carrie claimed one side of the table and Granny Muriel and strange and quiet William on the other. William kept his head down as they gathered, staring intently at the empty plate as if willing food to appear upon it. When David and Carrie had entered the room, the multi-course meal was already laid out across the expansive table. The four remaining empty chairs were all tucked tightly under the table, and upon noticing them, David remembered the other guest, Mr. Wright who was apparently late or absent.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No Mr. Wright?” David asked in Muriel’s direction. She glanced up from the table.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mr. Wright prefers t’be alone and takes his meals in his room after we’ve eaten. He was very ad’mant ‘bout it.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh,” was all David could reply with, then thought and added, “well, that’s what I hear about writers, or anyone creative really, ‘don’t mess with the vibe you know, stay in the groove’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Muriel looked at him a moment, possibly perplexed by his language, then smiled.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes,” was all she offered. Carrie reached for a towel-covered bowl that she assumed was rolls. Muriel reached across the table and tapped-not really a smack- her hand.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“we got to say grace first, dear.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Carrie stared at her blankly, then looked to David, then back to Muriel.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Of course,” she said quietly. William gave out a sort of half-snort, half-chuckle; the first sign of any emotion the man had.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes, let’s say grace so we can eat. I’m starving,” David said, both because it was true and to also corral the tension at the table. He and Carrie weren’t very religious and so never gave much thought to thanking the Lord for their meals.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Lord, thank you for this food we’re ‘bout t’eat and for the comp’ny of our guests. You are the giver, we’re the takers. Amen. Alright honey, go ahead,” Muriel said to Carrie.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank you,” she replied and again reached for the rolls. David attacked the various bowls and had a full plate even before he had ransacked them all. In the center of the spread was a mound of barbeque stacked upon a platter. He took several pieces of the meat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Pass me those beans please, William,” Muriel said to the man-child who held onto the bowl and shook his head.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“William,” she again said. A slight curl rose in his lip, not quite a smile but a mischievous prelude to one. Again he shook his head. David and Carrie just watched quietly.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“William, you hand over them beans or I’ll brain you good, you hear?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That was all it took. William frowned and handed them to his mother who let out a small, triumphant ‘hmmph’ sound.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Dear Lord. This is the best barbeque I’ve ever had,” David said, smacking his lips from the gooey sauce.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank you hon ,” Muriel started, “ if nothing else, we’re pretty well known ‘round here for it.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The idea that there was anyone ‘round here’ as Muriel put it amused David, who licked his fingers before continuing. Carrie gave his thigh a slap as to say ‘don’t be a pig, use a napkin’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What kind of meat exactly is this? It has an unusual after taste,” he said, then thought and added, “a good one I mean.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I know, and it’s a bit chewy too, ain’t it?” Muriel said, not seeming offended in the least bit, but merely stating a fact.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, it is. But I can’t get enough of it,” David said merrily, tore another piece off and popped it in his mouth. Muriel chuckled with delight.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Its lamb dear, slaughtered lambs,” she said. While this remark was odd and even a bit disturbing, it did nothing to slow David’s pace.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Try some,” Muriel said to Carrie. She looked at the meat, then raised her hand, passing on it. David looked to her, his lips slathered with sauce.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Really hon, it’s unbelievable.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No. Thanks, really,” she said and continued to merely pick at the sides on her plate.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David shrugged, Muriel shrugged, William did nothing but clean his plate. No one had noticed how fast he had consumed his dinner. He looked to his mother, not lifting his head but only raising his eyes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nice job son, you may be excused,” Muriel told him. William pushed his chair back and rose up, seeming to tower over the table and the three remaining diners.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Tell our guests goodnight,” Muriel said. William seemed to be struggling with his mouth until finally a quick and muffled ‘goodnight’ erupted from it. He pushed the chair back in and expediently left the room.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The remainder of the dinner continued with David gorging himself even though his wife appeared to be disgusted by it. She picked her way through her dinner. David, between mouthfuls of food, told Muriel the story of how he and Carrie met, at a bookstore as he was trying to find information on the procedures for receiving a substantial inheritance. His aunt, who had raised him awhile and had no children of her own, had died and left no small fortune to him. Sure the lawyers would explain it all but he was hoping to get answers that were in a language he could more easily understand. As it turned out, it was very straight forward without any hassles. He was also looking for a good book on investing said inheritance and settled on ‘Investing for Dummies’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Carrie had bumped into him as she was perusing the shelves of books. Simply an accident and yet one that fate seemed to bring them together. They ran into one another yet again in the bookstore’s in-house café. They talked, sat down, talked more, and from there the relationship bloomed and flourished. Several months later they were married, Vegas-style and now here they were at this unusual and remote bed and breakfast.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They wrapped up the night finishing the story of David and Carrie and were in the process of turning in when David glanced down at the decimated table. A thought popped into his head, surprisingly one that hadn’t occurred through the entire dinner until now.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“By the way,” he said to Muriel, “Carrie and I walked around the house earlier and noticed that there doesn’t seem to be a kitchen. Where did you make that wonderful dinner?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Muriel smiled.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, the ‘riginal one was on this floor but it was too small for our barbeque operation. We sell it to some of the local markets you know. Anyhow, we put in a big one downstairs to ‘commodate.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We found the stairs, but didn’t go down. That must be a hassle for dinner though. Bringing it all up here.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I ‘spose you didn’t notice the dummy waiter,” Muriel said, “right outside the doorway in the hall.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No, I guess not. Convenient,” David said satisfied, then added, “you must buy the meat at the market though. We didn’t see any animal outside anywhere.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No, we raise our own. They’re around. We slaughter’em out in the barn.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh,” David said, caught off-guard by the direct statement. He glanced to his wife who looked like she was going to be sick, “nothing but the freshest huh?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes,” Muriel said, “goodnight now, I’m retiring after I clean up.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David looked at the table, then back to Muriel.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Can we offer you any help?” He again glanced to Carrie who gave him an ‘are you out of your mind?’ look.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thanks, but you’re our guests, and ‘sides, I been doing this a long time. We got a dishwasher downstairs too.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What’s his name?” David said attempting to make a joke that neither woman laughed at. He cleared his throat. “Okay then, goodnight. And thank you again for the meal.”</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re welcome dear. Goodnight now. Sleep tight; don’t let the bed bugs bite.” Muriel smiled a big grin. David noticed there was a piece of chewy barbeque stuck between her teeth.</span></div>Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-41181412406837520442011-06-19T23:00:00.001-04:002011-06-19T23:06:09.663-04:00Last Stop, Part 2Welcome again everyone and Happy Father's Day to those that apply. Speaking of which, I want to share a video that they played at our church this morning that is off the hook. (How's that for a shot of true dorkappotomusness!) (How's that for a great made-up word?) When I decided to create this blog I didn't give much thought to how often I would post. I think about once a week is a good pace, or more often if there is something that just can't wait. Anyway, enjoy the video, then get to reading Last Stop, Part 2.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/DOKuSQIJlog?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
I just love the guy with the disney video. My wife says the guy with the socks and sandals remind her of me. I can only hope to be that cool(the 60 inch cut ya know).Ok, now for the real fun!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Last Stop Part 2</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> The couple spent the afternoon wandering around the large house, admiring its beauty. They discovered the library which was actually two bookcases containing about eighty books in all, hardly a library. David had scanned the titles. A lot of classics, all of them fairly old, a few non-fiction titles, most popular the everlasting Dr. Spock’s baby book and other out dated volumes, and none by ‘Mr. Wright’. The books themselves were quite dusty on the top edges; as though someone dusted the spines, not the tops, and showing that none had been read in some time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The two also found the dining room, a twenty by twenty square with a large rectangular table with seating for eight, three on each side and one at each end. A crystal light fixture hung above the center of the table. There was no other furniture in the room, and it was sans any windows as the room was centrally located on the first floor. A doorway led into the room from the hallway alongside the staircase, and another at the opposite end which David and Carrie exited through.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This doorway opened into an expansive great room, the grandiose of the first floor. The high, vaulted ceiling made no sense with the layout of the rest of the house, and David thought this room must have been added on at a later time. It had a more modern look about it, decorated a little more contemporary than the rest of the house, although still out dated. Like 70’s chic. There was a floral print sofa with oranges and browns, several wingback chairs, a desk in one corner, and a few tables, all arranged to face the focal point of the room. A cavernous fireplace, large enough to crouch in, surrounded by rough cut stone that ran all the way up to the eighteen foot high ceiling. And still there was no television set, let alone a plasma or LCD. David was impressed nonetheless and thought the room had to have been an expensive addition, more than what this seemingly hit-or-miss business could afford.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David heard a rumbling sound, loud enough that Carrie heard it too and looked at him. It took only a moment for him to realize it was his stomach. They hadn’t eaten anything since their breakfast on the road on the way to the Last Stop.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, I’m a little hungry too”, Carrie said smiling,” shall we try to find the kitchen? A snack before dinner?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Good idea,” David replied. The pair ventured off to find the kitchen and after wandering the entire first floor, was unable to locate one.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s odd isn’t it?” Carrie had asked David concerning the fact that there seemed to be no place for preparing meals. They searched a second time, a little more carefully just in case they passed a door that they overlooked. They walked down another long hallway with old photographs of people from long ago, many in the process of butchering, men and women both, wearing aprons and holding long, scary looking steel objects. The people in the picture seemed proud of their craft, and David assumed it was the family’s heritage.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Again there was no kitchen but they did find a few doors that were closed. David opened each one, yielding mostly closets. A small closet under the stairs contained an unusual and somewhat disturbing find. It was full of stuffed animals of all sorts, bears, bunnies, cats and dogs. Some seemed brand new, and others were old and tattered with the stuffing rupturing from their fabric bodies. Some of these older ones were stained with what could have been mud or coffee perhaps.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Carrie had given David that confirming look that asked at what point he would agree that this place was bizarre and a bit scary even. David only shrugged and shut the door. On their quest they came across another door which upon opening led down a dim, steep stairway. All that could be seen at the bottom was what appeared to be a cool, occasionally flickering light, like a fluorescent bulb going bad. David looked to Carrie and held his increasingly growling stomach.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The kitchen perhaps?” he said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Go ahead if you want,” she answered,” but I lost my appetite two closets ago.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David sighed and shut the door, then checked his watch.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, its five-thirty, dinner’s in a half hour.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I don’t think I’ll be eating much,” Carrie said, and looked at the closed door, then up and down the hallway. A door opened further down the narrow corridor and William came through it. He was holding a stuffed giraffe and his big hand squeezed it tightly. He glanced at the pair with nothing but a blank expression. He just locked eyes with them, held the giraffe to his chest, as if to hide it, then turned, shuffled down the hall and disappeared around the corner.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“David,” Carrie said, “do me a favor.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What?”</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’t leave me alone here.”</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="left" style="text-align: center;"></div>Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-25391569781673329102011-06-12T22:29:00.000-04:002011-06-12T22:29:09.651-04:00Last Stop, Part OneWelcome back. Had a great day. Horseback riding and Guitar Hero with my son. Life just doesn't get any better. So let's get on with it then shall we. I give you the first part of a long, short story( a problem I seem to have) titled Last Stop. Total word count is 12,185. Here it is broken into page breaks. Yes, it's a horror story. Enjoy.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">LAST STOP</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“Oh gross. This is the place? Are you kidding me?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David looked to Carrie with exasperation. “Well, the GPS says so.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The pair sat in their car and examined the facade of the Last Stop Bed & Breakfast. Instead of the charming two-story building displayed on the B&B’s website, the structure was worn, the paint faded and peeling. The photograph on the internet had obviously been taken some time ago, perhaps as many as twenty years, David supposed. The building was the same, but existed desolate and solitary with nary another establishment in sight. David hadn’t expected the Last Stop to be so remote, and now the name of the place made perfect sense.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The ‘gross’ that Carrie expressed no doubt had referred to the unusual bundles of barbequed meat, strung together with butchers string and hanging from the expansive overhang of the front porch. The odor that would occasionally waft over in their direction was so heavenly; it forgave the eerie sight of it. The front door began to open as David heard his wife’s voice.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I don’t want to stay here,” Carrie said as a woman emerged from the doorway that uncannily resembled Irene Ryan, the Granny character from the “Beverly Hillbillies”. David felt his wife of three months’ hand upon his.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“David.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The woman waved to the pair sitting in the Toyota Camry.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hello!” granny called from the porch smiling. David glanced to Carrie.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“C’mon. Let’s say hi at least. We don’t want to appear rude.” David looked to the woman and waved, then glanced back to Carrie who was fumbling with her cell phone.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What are you doing?” he asked.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Texting my brother saying goodbye since he’ll never hear from us again.” she replied. The brother that David had yet to meet.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh stop it. She seems friendly.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, they always do.” Carrie said. The woman had walked down the steps from the porch and stood waiting and smiling.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Come on dear,” David said. The two exited the car and walked up towards the woman.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hello,” David said as he extended his hand. The woman by-passed his outstretched limb and wrapped her arms around him. David was startled by the gesture and looked nervously to Carrie who only smiled. She turned and looked to the building. Granny noticed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I know. I ‘pologize for the way the place looks all run down. I been meanin’ to fix ‘er up, but money’s tight and it ain’t easy tryin’ to find someone to come out this far to do the work.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sorry,” Carrie said, “I understand.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“S’alright dear. I’m Muriel. Why don’t you c’mon inside. I reckon you’ll find the inside more inviting.” Muriel said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The woman turned and started up the stairs. David and Carrie followed. As he was about to be engulfed by the bed and breakfast, David glanced over to a rather new looking, metal sided barn about thirty yards away and witnessed a large, scruffy man exiting the building carrying a stuffed panda bear.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Strange</i>, he thought, and decided to not tell Carrie what he saw so as not to increase her anxiety and concern. The trio walked into a foyer with a staircase leading to the second floor. David looked around, taking it in. The interior was the complete opposite to the outside, decorated in a rich, Victorian style. Red, floral print wallpaper covered the foyer and down a hallway leading towards the back of the house. Tchotchke’s sat upon remarkably clean shelves built into the wall. A grand chandelier hung heavily from the second story ceiling.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s beautiful,” Carrie said, looking around, seemingly impressed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank you,” Muriel responded, “Like I said, the inside’s in better shape.” She turned to David, “don’t s’pose you know how to paint.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David glanced to Carrie who gave him a look that said, “yeah right”.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Uh, no, sorry. Me and home improvement don’t exactly get along.” Granny smiled.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Didn’t think so but thought I’d ask anyways.” As she finished her sentence, the scruffy man appeared in the doorway at the end of the hall and watched the trio uneasily. The bear was gone. David saw Carrie notice him, her face changing from smiling to, well, not. Muriel looked to the man and put out her hand, beckoning. He started slowly down the hall towards them.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This is William, my son. He can seem scary, but he’s ‘armless,” Muriel said, smiling to the man who hung his head, examining the toes of his boots, “He helps me keep this old place running. ‘Fraid of heights though, so he can’t fix up the outside of the place. Say hello to our guests dear.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>William hesitantly looked up, trying not to seem rude, but also attempting to avoid eye contact. “Hello,” he managed quietly and left it at that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hi,” David said, putting out his hand. William looked at it dumbly, then looked to his mother who motioned for him to shake David’s hand. William put his hand out and David took it. It was frigid, making David feel quite uneasy, but it was too late to pull back. He quickly pumped the man’s hand a couple times, then let go and rubbed his own hands together.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, may I show you to your room, it’s upstairs. I’m afraid we only have one other guest right now ‘sides you. Mr. Wright, he’s a writer. A connection was made upon Muriel’s face and she giggled. “Ooo, that’s funny,” she said, “you have any baggage?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>David, who realized he had been staring rudely at William, shook out of it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh, yeah, a couple bags in the trunk.” He took out his keys and pushed the trunk button on the fob.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“William, will you please retrieve their bags?” Muriel asked her unsettled boy, although he was no boy, he appeared to be at least fifty. William skirted past the trio and disappeared through the front door.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Muriel led David and Carrie up the stairs and to a room midway down the hall. David counted five doors, all of them closed. He thought of Mr. Wright and wondered which one the solitary writer could be behind, tapping away on a typewriter, then thought, how silly, it’s most likely a laptop.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The old woman opened the door and the trio entered into a beautifully decorated room, although the paisley wall covering was a bit busy and difficult to look at. Carrie glanced around and appeared to be pleased, almost admiring the surprising elegance of the room. A large, four post bed was the centerpiece, thick with mattress, linens, and a mountain of pillows. One window allowed natural light in and dust spun around in the rays coming through. Dual nightstands stood on either side of the bed with matching tiffany lamps. A door led to what David supposed was a private bathroom. A monstrous armoire sat against the wall opposite the foot of the bed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Carrie walked in, sat on the bed and had to rise up on her toes to do so.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Very comfortable,” she said. Muriel nodded in agreement. David glanced around the room, walked to the armoire and opened it to find it empty.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No TV?” he asked, somewhat perplexed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“For what?” Muriel said and smiled. David then walked to the window, pulling the curtain aside and peered out at the backyard, what little there was, and the expansive empty acreage beyond. He had a momentary sense of panic at the vastness of it all. He looked again to the yard. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No pool either.</i> He turned to Muriel.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What do you have for entertainment or activities?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Muriel looked up for a moment, as though an answer hung in the air, then back to David.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“There’s a small library of books down in the sittin’ room,” she said, pleased with herself, “even a couple by Mr. Wright.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hhmm,” David replied and looked to his wife who only shrugged her shoulders yet gave him a “I told you so” reply upon her face.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hope you enjoy your stay. Dinner’s at six in the dinin’ room. Feel free to wander, I’m sure you’ll come ‘cross it.” Muriel said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank you,” Carrie told the woman who hung at the door a few moments, then pulled the door shut leaving the newlyweds alone. Carrie looked to David, gearing up to say something.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’t. I know. We’ll cut our stay short, make an excuse like business or something, but let’s at least hang around until tomorrow. Get a good meal and a good night’s rest.” He walked over to Carrie and kissed her on the forehead. “Next time you pick.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She smiled. “Next time.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There was a rustling and a thump outside the door, but no knock. The pair looked at each other, then to the door. David walked over, opened it, and discovered their luggage in a heap on the floor. He glanced to the end of the hall, then to the stairway. William was peering through the balusters, halfway down the steps. The two locked eyes, then William scurried down the stairs, out of sight. David turned back to Carrie who had stood up from the bed.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Bags are here.</span></div>Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6138231902135934779.post-55935290699125468082011-06-12T09:53:00.000-04:002011-06-12T09:53:11.716-04:00The Strange Jekyll and Hyde-ish IntroductionHello and welcome to what I hope will be the start of something magical. Or maybe terrifying. Or perhaps, (and most likely) comical. All of the above? Time will tell.<br />
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My name Is Keith and in case you haven't noticed I have a tendency to ramble, mostly at the expense of my own amusement. Like I'm nervously talking with text. Why the weird title to start? Well, you see there seems to be two sides to my persona. The easy going, hard working, family man that I am most of the time. The Jeckyll if you will. And then there is the darker side. The one that writes things that make people look at me and go, "That's gross" or "You're demented". The Hyde. He's a lot of fun, but he ain't gonna pay the bills. Although it would be nice if he could pay a few.<br />
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Jeckyll is an artist, a commercial painter, a horse rider, a husband, a father, and all around mostly normal guy. Hyde is a writer, an occasional artist(although he may be becoming one more frequently) an avid horror movie fan, particularly those of the late seventies and early to mid eighties, and every so often pops out into Jeckyll's life for some oddball comment. Both enjoy following the weather and watching The Weather Channel. Silly, huh?<br />
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I still don't know exactly what I'll use this blog for, or even if I will be able to keep up with it regularly. Jeckyll works a lot and when he's not there are always things that need doing on a farm. Blogging isn't necessarily a priority. But Hyde needs an out. He has a once-a-month writer's group that gives great input, but the material is limited to basically the room it is shared in. I hope Hyde will get a chance to shine here on what I called The Midnight Creepshow. Because it was with him in mind that this seemed needed. It's mostly going to be his show. At least that's the plan. We'll see how it goes. At the very least you may pick up some tips on home improvement, painting, art related advice, some cooking and baking, horse, farm, family talk and the awesomeness of Dr. Greg Forbes.<br />
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I am going to try to post stories, excerpts of stories and novels(well, novel so far), and any publishing news I have to share. Also I may go off on tangents about things horror. Movies, books, art, trips through cemetaries, whatever. So, hang in there. Check back occasionally, and hopefully we'll have fun.Keithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00315495644215083083noreply@blogger.com0