Breathe
Volume III
SMASHWORDS EDITION
PUBLISHED BY:
Breathe Writers Group on Smashwords
Breathe Volume III
Copyright © 2011 by Breathe Writers Group
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Cover image by Heather Hunt.
Breathe is a network of members, visitors and temporary partakers woven together into a community of writers.
This is our third book together. We share with you, the reader, our hopes, dreams, sorrows and failures. You will find all levels of writing, novice to advanced. Some of our group members have been published, some have not. We all seek to share.
While the majority of these writings are from our regular members, a few are from our visitors. We like new people and we like visitors.
Enjoy!
For the love of writing
CONTENTS
MAINSTREAM/SATIRE
FRANK FARMER’S WATCH by Larry Bubar
DESIRE UNDER THE FIDDLEHEADS by Chapman B. Flatt (aka Nathan White)
LONGFELLOW’S BACKYARD by Wendy Koenig
THE SILLY OLD CROW AND ME by Larry Bubar
FANTASY/SCIENCE FICTION
THE PAWN SHOP by Vince Michaud
THE ROYAL CROW by Michelle Carde
THE UNBLEMISHED ROSE by Jessica & Samantha Mayne
THE LORING INVESTIGATION SQUAD by Seanna Catron
THE TESTIMONY OF RED WHITE by Seanna Catron
HORROR/PARANORMAL
SHE’LL NEED NO INTRODUCTION by Heather Hunt
INTERSTATE 995 by Vaughn Hardacker
CALEB’S SUMMER DAYS by Levi Bickford
WOLF’S PATROL by Vaughn Hardacker
MYSTERY
“IT’S MY JOB” by Vaughn Hardacker
BAGGING THE TROPHY by Vaughn Hardacker
THINNER THAN WATER by Vaughn Hardacker
MAINSTREAM/SATIRE
(A Children's Story)
by
Larry Bubar
Ricky Rat is not your typical rat. Oh no, not at all, you see Ricky is the king of the pack rats. In his house, beneath the old Castle Hotel, he has stored the most elaborate collection of junk that anyone has seen. He has accumulated more stuff than probably all the other pack rats in the town, combined. He has old tin cans, string, keys, bits and pieces of most anything you can name. Why? Well he figures that one day he or one of his friends may need an item. Besides that, he often trades items for other things that he considers more useful. Yep, Ricky is the go to guy and everyone within the town, and beyond, knows this as fact.
One early morning, Ricky was taking inventory; well as good as you can take inventory of a pile of odd junk. “One of these days I’ve got to sort through this stuff and throw some of the more worthless junk away,” he mused. Of course, Ricky said this same thing each time he took inventory, which was mostly every day. Let’s see two sprockets, four bags of some sort of seed, one old bike tire, hmmm what’s this? Oh yea it’s a soup spoon…
“Hey! Ricky old pal what are you up too?” came a voice from the doorway.
“Darn you Clive, can’t you see I’m doing inventory?”
“Why? You know everything in this place by heart. You’ve taken inventory so many times you probably do it in your sleep,” laughed Clive Crow.
“What do you want Clive? Not that it matters to you but I am busy,” said Ricky gruffly.
“Well my friend I have a deal for you,” replied Clive.
“And just what would that be?” asked Ricky.
“I have here something that I know you will be delighted to trade for.” Said Clive, trying to build up anticipation.
“I bet you think you do,” said Ricky.
Clive paced around the room waiting for Ricky to become more inquisitive of what the great secret Clive had.
“Ok! Let’s see it, if it’s so great that I can’t live without it then dazzle me with it,” said Ricky, a little annoyed.
Clive reached under his wing and produced a shiny round object with a chain dangling from it.
“This, my friend, is something that no self-respecting pack rat would be without,” said Clive, half in jest.
Ricky took the object from Clive and began to exam it. It was a gold pocket watch, it had a design of a man on a tractor on the cover and the hands and numbers were silver. Although a bit worn, probably from years of use, it appeared in fairly good condition and was still working.
“Well not a bad piece there Clive,” said Ricky.
“Don’t know why I’d need it or even what I would do with it,” he continued.
“My good rat this has got to the item of the century. Why every pack rat from here to Timbuktu will be envious of you,” said Clive, trying to appeal to Ricky’s ego.
“My friend, I don’t really need it but if the trade is fair maybe I’ll take it off your hands,” said Ricky.
“I’ll give you two bags of seeds and two worms for it,” he said.
“That’s highway robbery and you know it. It’s worth at least three bags of seeds and six worms,” said Clive.
“Ok! Two and a half bags and four worms and if that isn’t to your liking be on your way,” said Ricky, in his masterful dealing voice.
“Darn you’re a hard rat to bargain with but I guess I’ll take the deal. I really don’t have much use for a watch,” said Clive trying to appear disappointed.
Ricky went out to the back and soon returned with the seeds and a small tin, with the worms in it.
“Here you go Clive, two and half bags of seeds and four worms just as we agreed,” said Ricky.
“I know I’m being fleeced but here’s the watch,” said Clive.
Ricky took the watch and place it in the pile with his other belongings.
“Anything else you need today?” he asked.
“Nope, being robbed once in a day is enough for me,” replied Clive.
“Well then I’ll be back to my work if you don’t mind,” said Ricky.
“Ok, chum see you again,soon,I’m sure,” replied Clive.
“Next century will be too soon for me,” mumbled Ricky.
“What’s that?” asked Clive
“Nothing, nothing at all, see you later,” said Ricky, with a smile.
Next morning Ricky Rat was puttering around his domain wondering if he should take inventory again, just in case he’d missed something the day before. He had just decided that he would let it go today and maybe go hunting for new and worthless things, when the door was throw open as if a hurricane had come through. In through the door came Clive. He appeared to be in a panic.
“Ricky, Ricky,” cawed Clive. “Ricky, Ricky,” he cawed again.
“I…I…I need the…the watch back, right away. Yea the watch, you know shiny and round and ah…ah…ah well you know,” stammered Clive. The watch it’s...
“Slow down Clive. Get your breath and talk so I can understand,” said Ricky.
Clive paused for a moment then started over.
“I need the watch back. The one I traded yesterday. I got your seeds and worms so we can just trade back,” said a very nervous Clive.
“Hold on Clive,what’s this all about? You seemed more than willing to give up the watch yesterday. What’s changed your mind?” asked Ricky.
“Well, you see it’s like this. I found the watch in old Frank Framer’s field and figuring he’d never miss it I bought it here to trade. This morning I was sitting in the apple tree and Frank was talking to some guy in a red shirt,” said Clive
“I Harry Huston. They call him red shirt Harry,” interrupted Ricky.
“Yeah! Yeah! Whatever. Anyway Frank was going on about this watch he lost and how it had been in the family for years. He had hunted high and low and had not seen hide or hair of it. He seemed to be very upset and angry all the time he was talking,” said Clive, becoming more panicked as he went on.
“So what’s that got to do with me giving back the watch?” asked Ricky.
“Well, Frank went on to say that he knew the darn crows were responsible. And if he didn’t find it before the end of the day he was going to get out his shotgun and do us all in. You know, bang, bang dead crow.” Said Clive, jitterier than ever.
“So I’ve got to get that watch back to him before tonight or it’s curtains. So what do you say we just trade back, I’ll return it and all will live happily ever after,” he continued.
“Well buddy, it would be a good plan, but you see I no longer have the watch,” said Ricky.
“What you mean you don’t have the watch?” asked Clive.
“I only brought it in yesterday,” he said.
“I know, but right after you left Molly Mole came in looking for a present for her husband. She traded three tulip bulbs for it and I do like a bulb now and then,” said Ricky.
“What does a mole want with a watch? He’s underground most of the time and couldn’t see it to tell the time anyway,” ranted Clive.
“That’s what I said too, but she insisted, so I made the trade,” said Ricky.
“Oh what am I going to do?” asked Clive.
“I’ve still got the bulbs, maybe we can go and talk Molly into trading back,” said Ricky.
“You’d do that for me?” asked Clive.
“I said I would; now don’t go getting all mushy on me,” replied Ricky.
“Do you know where she lives?” asked Clive.
“Yep over behind the old grain barn at Mrs. Field’s place,” replied Ricky.
“Then we best be on our way,” said Clive.
“Don’t panic, don’t panic, all will be done in good time my friend,” said Ricky.
They gathered the blubs from Ricky’s storage room and placed them in a bag.
“Clive you take the bag and fly over there and I’ll be right behind you. We’ll meet there and hopefully make the deal,” said Ricky
“Me! Why do I have to carry the bag huh why me?” asked Clive, being sort of upset at the idea.
“Because birdy, it was you that got yourself in the mess and besides, you can get the bag there easier than me since I have to travel on foot through town,” replied Ricky sternly.
“Ok! OK! I get the picture. I’ll meet you there, but don’t take all day getting there,” said Clive.
“You just make sure you get there, I’ll worry about me,” said Ricky.
With that as the final exchange they set out towards Molly Mole’s house. It took about fifteen minutes for Ricky to get there and Clive was already there, waiting and pacing, waiting and pacing.
“About time you got here,” said an impatient Clive.
“Hey it’s a long ways by foot so lighten up,” shot back Ricky.
Ricky went over to the entrance of the Mole’s home and knocked on the door.
“Anybody home?” he yelled.
He knocked again and was about to shout again when the door opened.
“Ricky, I’m surprised to see you this far out from town,” said Molly.
“What brings you out my way anyways?” she asked.
“Clive seems to have gotten himself in a mess and we were hoping you could help us or actually him out of it,” said Ricky.
“I will if I can, but you need to let me know what I can do first.” She said.
“The watch you got from me yesterday do you still have it? Clive really needs it back. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind trading it back for the bulbs you brought in yesterday,” said Ricky.
“I would gladly do that, in order to help, but I no longer have it,” she said.
“I gave it to Marvin but he said a mole has no use for a watch as it is too dark to see it underground,” she said.
“Oh my, oh my, what will I do?” shouted Clive.
“Calm down Clive, all is not lost,” said Ricky.
“What did you do with it?” Ricky asked.
“Let’s see, yes, I remember Rita Robin came by as I was sitting out here thinking of what to do with it and she took a liking to it so I traded it for some sunflower stalks, when they come out in the summer,” said Molly.
“She said it would pretty-up her nest for the little ones when they come,” she continued.
“I’ll give you the bulbs back and if you allow me to deal with Rita for the watch and we’ll called it square,” asked Ricky.
“Sunflower stacks are nice but since it’s sure an emergency I guess it will be fine,” she said.
“OK! It’s a deal,” said Ricky.
“Clive give Molly the bulbs and then we have to go find Rita Robin and see if we can make a deal with her,” said Ricky.
Clive handed Molly the sack with the bulbs in it.
“I thank you very much for being so kind,” said Clive.
“Molly do you happen to know where Rita lives?” asked Clive.
“Yes, she has a place over in Medlow Park among the birch trees. Such a lovely place too,” replied Molly.
“Well we thank you for your kindness and help Molly, but we must be off. Again thank you,” said Ricky
“That goes for me too,” said Clive.
“I’ll meet you there Clive,” said Ricky.
“Alright buddy,” answered Clive.
Medlow Park was on the out skirts of town. Why it was there no one knew, as very few people ever used it, not even the kids played there anymore. A waste of good property was the thought of most people. But there it was, in all its shabby glory, wanting care but getting none. The two arrived there and scanned the area for the birch grove. Once spotted, they hurried over looking for Rita. They found her nest, situated midway up a tree but from where they were they couldn’t see the watch anywhere.
“Rita Robin, Rita Robin, are you up there?” yelled Ricky.
“I’ll fly up and take a look,” said Clive.
“Good idea,” said Ricky.
Clive flew up to where the nest was sitting and yelled down at Ricky. “I don’t see her anywhere. Maybe this is the wrong nest.”
“It’s the only one here. It has to be the one,” shouted Ricky back.
Just then Rita came flying back. She had some twigs in her beak. She laid the twigs in the nest.
“Hi guys I was just gathering some more material to finish the nest with. Is there something I can do for you?” she asked puzzlingly.
“Yes there is,” said Ricky.
“Or at least we hope so,” interjected Clive.
“We understand you traded some sunflower stalks to Molly Mole for a watch earlier,” said Ricky.
“Yes, that’s right I did. I promised her the stalks in the summer when they come up,”
“You see, Clive got himself in sort of a mess and we were wondering if you would be willing to trade us for the watch?” inquired Ricky.
“It’s very important. A matter of life or death,” said Clive, in a very panic voice.
“Oh dear me that sounds very bad and I wished I could help, but you see I don’t have it,” said Rita.
“What…what did you do with it?” asked Clive, now in more of a panic than before.
“It was too big to fit on the nest without ruining it, so I traded it to Tommy Turtle for some colored string to brighten the place,” she said.
“Do you still have the string?” asked Ricky.
“No, Tommy was going to bring it by later when he had gathered it,” she said.
“What, oh what am I going to do now?” asked Clive.
“Don’t worry Clive, all is not lost,” said Ricky.
“Rita, what if Clive and I give you some ribbons to spruce the place up with? Would you let us then try and make a deal with Tommy?” asked Ricky.
“I guess that would be fine. Besides the speed at which Tommy moves, I’ll be headed south before he gets back with the colored string,” she said with a chuckle.
“Ok, now Clive, you go find some string or ribbons for Rita’s place and I’ll go and try to locate Tommy,” said Ricky.
“Which way did he go, Rita?” asked Ricky.
“Last I saw he was headed toward the old mill stream, over that way,” she said, pointing toward the tall grass.
“Thank you for everything,” said Ricky.
Ricky started toward where Tommy had been heading and Clive flew off to find some ribbons for Rita’s nest. Ricky caught up with Tommy a short ways from where he had started.
“Hey Tommy,” yelled Ricky.
“Oh, hi Ricky, what you doing this far from the town?” he asked.
“Clive and I are on a quest. Right now he is looking for some ribbons for Rita Robin and I’m here to see if maybe you can help us,” said Ricky.
“If there is anything I can do I’ll be happy to,” said Tommy.
“Earlier today you got a watch from Rita, is that right?” asked Ricky.
“Yep! That is correct. But what’s that got to do with Clive?” asked Tommy.
“It appears that we or anyway Clive needs it back,” said Ricky.
As Ricky was relating the story, Clive showed up.
“Did you get the items for Rita and was she happy with them?” asked Ricky.
“Yes I did. I found some ribbons at the playground and a few pieces of string by the school. She was very happy to get them or so she said,” said Clive.
“Good, and now, back to the problem at hand. I’ve explained the situation to Tommy,” said Ricky.
“So Tommy now that you know the circumstances, are you going to help me out of this mess?” asked Clive, hopefully.
“I’d be very glad to Clive but the fact is I no longer have the watch,” said Tommy.
“What did you with it?” asked Clive, disappointed.
“It was way too heavy for me to carry and was slowing me down. So I traded it to Ruben Rabbit, just a short time before Ricky caught up to me,” said Tommy.
“Ruben, hmm, I don’t think I know him,” said Ricky.
“He’s the one they call hip-pity hop,” said Tommy.
“Oh my, oh my, what am I going to do?” asked Clive.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it all under control,” said Ricky.
“What did Ruben trade for it?” asked Ricky.
“He offered me some lettuce leaves when they come up later this year,” said Tommy.
“What if we gave you something else in place of the lettuce? Would you be willing to release the trade to us and them we can deal with Ruben?” asked Ricky.
“Sure that would be alright depending on what you have to replace the lettuce with,” said Tommy.
“I got a can of turtle food and it has never been opened,” replied Ricky.
“That seems fair enough,” said Tommy.
“I’ll have Clive go back to my place, get the can and take it to your place,” said Ricky.
“Sounds good to me, I live over at Wallow Brook, near the oak tree,” said Tommy.
“Clive, you go back to my place and get the can and deliver it to Tommy’s and I’ll go on to find Ruben,” said Ricky.
“Why me, why always me?” asked Clive.
“Because you can fly faster than I can walk, therefore you can handle it faster and we can get on with the hunt,” said Ricky.
“I guess you’ve got a point. Let’s get on with the plan,” said Clive.
“By the way, what does this can look like?” asked Clive.
“It’s the one on the shelf that has a picture of a turtle on it,” answered Ricky.
“Tommy, by the way, do you know where Ruben lives?” asked Ricky.
“Yes, he lives over near Mrs. Mack’s garden,” said Tommy.
“Thank you for your help Tommy,” said Ricky.
“Yes thank you,” said Clive.
Ricky headed towards Mrs. Mack’s place as Clive flew off to get the can of turtle food.
It took Ricky about fifteen minutes to get to Mrs. Mack’s. By that time Clive had completed his mission and was waiting for Ricky at the garden.
“You take the back part of the lot and I’ll take the front and let’s see if we can find Ruben,” said Ricky.
The two separated and began the hunt.
In a few minutes Clive yelled “I’ve found him. He’s over here by the apple tree.”
Ricky headed over to where Clive had indicated.
“Hi, Ruben,” said Ricky.
“Hi, back at you,” said Ruben.
“Has Clive told you anything about our quest?” asked Ricky.
“He blurted out something about a watch and Frank Farmer going to kill him and some over stuff I couldn’t make heads or tails of,” said Ruben.
“Guess that is the rapid version of the matter. What we really need is the watch back,” said Ricky.
“You do still have it?” asked a very disoriented Clive.
“So happens I do. It makes a very nice ornament for the opening of my hutch,” said Ruben.
“What would it take for you to trade it back to us, so Clive can get out of the mess he’s in?” asked Ricky.
“I have already taken care of the deal you made with Tommy, so that part will not be a problem,” he continued.
“I really need a good soft warm blanket for my home. The winters here in the northern part of Maine can be very cold,” said Ruben.
“Well just so happens I have just what you need back at my place,” said Ricky.
“Oh no, I’m not carrying some old blanket in this beak,” said Clive
“You won’t have to I’ll have Billy Boxer drop it by tomorrow, if that’s ok with Ruben,” said Ricky.
“Yes that will be acceptable, as long Billy doesn’t think me his play toy to chase around,” said Ruben.
“I’ll make sure that he understands that,” said Ricky.
Ruben retrieved the watch from his place and handed it to Ricky.
“Thank you for all the help Ruben, you’re truly a life saver,” said a much relieved Clive.
“Yes thank you Ruben, we really appreciate you being willing to trade with us,” said Ricky.
“Now, Clive you take the watch back to Frank’s place and I’m going back home and rest for a bit. It’s been a long tiring day for me,” said Ricky.
Clive flew off with the watch and Ricky headed off toward home.
A couple days had passed and things were back to some semblance of normality for Ricky. He had sent the blanket to Ruben, as promised, and had done a complete inventory of his goods. On this day he was just sitting around happy that the whole watch thing was over. Over as far as his part was concerned anyway. Ricky just settled into his chair and was about to scan the paper when the door flew open.
“Hey buddy, how you doing today?” asked Clive.
“Doing all right, how you doing Clive?” answered Ricky.
“Doing great now that the watch has been returned,” said Clive.
“So you got the watch back in time I’m guessing,” said Ricky.
“Yes I did,” said Clive, sort of proudly.
“I put it in his seed bag and when he went to plant he found it,” he continued.
“So you and the other crows are safe for the time being I presume,” said Ricky.
“I’m guessing so. I heard him talking to red shirt Harry yesterday, telling him that he had found the watch in the seed bag. He went on to say that it must of fell out of his pocket while he was opening it and he just didn’t see it until he started planting,” continued Clive.
“Ricky I have another item I wish to trade, if you’re up to it old buddy,” he continued.
“I don’t know about that it seems to be a mess awaiting each time you have “something” to trade,” said Ricky.
“You’ll love this, I assure you,” said Clive, with a slight laugh.
“Ok! Let’s see what great treasure you have this time,” said Ricky.
Clive reached under his wing and pulled out a small thin object with a black dot on it.
“What is that?” asked Ricky.
“I believe they call it a tie-tack,” said Clive.
“I found it over by the church. Must have been dropped by someone leaving the sermon one Sunday,” said Clive.
“Has anyone been around looking for it lately?” asked Ricky.
“No, I hung around for three days and didn’t see anyone searching, so I figured it was safe to pick up,” said Clive.
“Alright, one and a half bags of seeds and two worms and that’s all I’m going to offer. No haggling what-so-ever on this. Take it or leave it,” said Ricky.
“Another highway robbery going on here…I tell you just plain highway robbery,” said Clive.
“As I said, take it or leave it, Clive,” said Ricky.
“OK, a deal you leech you,” said Clive laughing.
Ricky went and retrieved the seeds and worms and handed them to Clive.
“There you go my good crow,” said Ricky.
“Thank you and it’s been somewhat a pleasure doing during business with you. See you again soon, I’m sure,” said Clive.
“I’m sure you will,” said Ricky.
Clive took his goods and exited the shop. Ricky returned to his chair looked around and thought, I need to sort this stuff out one day and get rid of the junk. But right now, I need to do an inventory. Ah, a pack rat’s work is never done. One sprocket two old tubes one…
by
Chapman B. Flatt (aka Nathan White)
It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly a piercing and desperate scream rent the monastic fastness of the cabin on the Aroostook River. A keening lugubrious wail like the end of a horseknacker’s dream.
But, Gaspard LeBlanc, having his humble supper at the hand hewn table did not hear the plaintive cries. He was engrossed in the several baked beans that had fallen off his beard and back onto his plate. He scooped up the disobedient beans with the last scrid of johnny cake and wiped his plate shiny. He then proceeded to rip off a flatulent tribute to the meal that lasted at least thirty-eight seconds. Maybe more. He stood to reach the pan of brownies that Huletta Faugh, the libidinous octogenarian that lived nearby had brought with wickedly ulterior motives. His L.L. Bean hunting pants had become so critically stretched from the recent meal that a button flew off his fly-whizzed across the room. And boinked the cat right between the eyes. The cat hissed and spat.
As Gaspard troweled a thick coating of marshmallow fluff to the top of the brownies another sound jarred him back to reality. It was Sir Francis Bacon, the 375 pound three legged hog, oinking and squealing an alarm. Sir Francis was once a small piglet given to him in payment for a debt and eventually intended to provide when cash or game was scarce. But Sir Francis had proved to be a friend and companion. Once he had pulled one of the annoying coty brats out of the brook into which he had fallen and would have surely drowned and another time he had raised an unholy din when some shady looking tramps were seen lurking near the hen house. In appreciation for these good deeds, Gaspard had not the heart to make sausage out of him but the Winter of ‘57 was very stingy in both cash flow and available game and by mid-February Gaspard had developed a craving for New England boiled dinner which explained the missing hind leg.
But, my dear readers, the cries from without the cabin had become more immediate, more desperate. Gaspard donned his rainsuit and went outside to investigate the anguished sounds which seemed to be coming from the rain swollen river. He grabbed his peavey pole and flashlight on the way out the door and headed for the river with sir Francis gimping along behind. The cries had ceased and the night was now blacker than the inside of a crow. Sir Francis went off on his own snuffling and grunting excitedly. Gaspard was a little confused in the velvety darkness and unsure of what to do next when Sir Francis Bacon came rushing out of the pucker-brush squealing like a stuck pig. He ran around in tight little circles oinking and grunting excitedly. Gaspard knew that Sir Francis was trying to tell him something. When Sir Francis was satisfied that his master understood, he charged off toward the river doing the very best he could on his artificial leg. Gaspard had come to trust the porcine instincts of the handicapped hog and followed close behind until they came to a small bogan that had collected a lot of debris from the flood. There, fetched up against an old cedar log along with several tires and an old mattress, he spied what looked like a human body. Gaspard delicately prodded the human form with his udden and was able to dislodge it and drag it ashore. The body was as limp as Salvador Dali’s pocket watch and very difficult to handle-like trying to pick up a hundred pound sack of grass seed-but his powerful shoulders, grown stalwart through years of travail, managed to get the wet carcass upon his toil-broadened back.
Once inside the cabin, Gaspard put the limp form onto the divan and shined his Coleman lantern on the unconscious visage. “By Gar,” gasped Gaspard, “It is…it is…Chestina Muldoon!” Indeed, it was the fair and palpably nubile maiden lived on the family farm up near the oxbow. Her flaxen hair had become fouled and besmirched by the floodwaters. Her eyes were closed and not a breath escaped her chaste lips, which had turned the color of a pounded thumb. With great modesty and purity of motive, Gaspard pressed his lips against those of the prostrate form. The lifesaving kiss now became the eternal struggle between good and evil for Gaspard whose true and pure motives of restoring the maiden to life were now in mortal combat with the baser side of his libido. The electric jolt and the rockets and the ringing of bells he had gotten from kissing his now dead wife, Perfidia came back in a torrent of testosterone and stirred some long dead feelings. The fact that Perfidia had run off with Dick Heddington, an embalming fluid salesman from Iowa and that the treacherous heathens had been set upon and torn to bits by porbeagle sharks while skinny dipping in the Bay of Fundy had done little to diminish these feelings nor to offer any closure. Gaspard was smitten despite the thirty-five year difference in age.
Suddenly there came a coughing sound like the coming to life of a one cylinder Evinrude. Gaspard loosened the top buttons of her red shirt to allow her more air. Chestina’s milky white globes were now heaving and straining against the barely adequate hooter hammock that had become virtually transparent in the ordeal. Her eyes snapped open like the eyes of a doll brought abruptly upright. They were of a beautiful blue; as blue as the swimming pool at the Motel 6 down to Bangor. They gazed up at him and bespoke of such innocent admiration and gratitude that he was moved and a wave of hope that she would one day be his o’ertook his noble breast. “What in the great horned spoon were you doing out on such a dirty night?” he asked.
Chestina took a deep, cleavage enhancing breath and began to tell a tale of such woe and treachery-of such heartless greed and lust that Gaspard’s heart was aching. It seems that the unctuous and unsavory Randy Morningwood, who held the mortgage on the old homestead had knocked upon her door that very evening demanding the mortgage payment. Chestina had scrimped up enough money by taking in laundry and mending and darning socks. As the once bountiful flock was now reduced to one chicken, Ashley, now fourteen, the egg business was not much of a uddenness. What little she’d saved had been cruelly taken by the funeral-maker when her ancient father had recently died of the gleet at ninety-three.
Randy Morningwood had refused to listen to Chestina’s plea of an extension of just a few days until the fiddleheads along the river could be gathered and sold from her pushcart on the streets of Presque Isle. Instead, he had offered a counter proposal so vile, so dastardly, so leering lustful that her angelic face turned crimson in the telling of it and she almost swooned. Randy had pressed his lascivious and indecent proposal and had lunged at her with evil intent in his loins, So repulsed was the virgin that she took flight out the door and into the gathering tempest preferring whatever misfortune the fates had in store than to submit to the ravening Randy Morningwood. As the chaste and virginal fugitive approached three-mile Bidoux, a small brook she had crossed without incident countless times in her search for wild flowers and edible plants, she saw that it had become an angry maelstrom. She tried to cross but her dainty foot had slipped on a mossy stone and the unfortunate lass was pitched headlong into the cataract. She remembered no more until she awoke in the cabin of Gaspard LeBlanc.
Gaspard was in a turmoil of emotions. Wrenching heartache for the unfortunate and very buxom Chestina and raging hatred for the hideous Randy Morningwood.
“You cannot go home tonight,” he said. “It is still driving rain, the trail is dark and fraught with danger and that cad, Randy Morningwood may still be lurking nearby with his nefarious intent still boiling within his malignant heart. I can provide you safety and warmth for the night and freedom from fear and molestation at the hands of that brute. I have a spare bedroom and dry clothes that were left here by Perfidia,” he said making a gesture to help her out of the wet, clinging red shirt that appeared to be made of Cellophane and that contained the tantalizing, nearly visible gender identifiers of the distraught young woman.
“May God bless you for your kindness, Sir,” murmured the magnificently mammaried maiden modestly. “I will avail myself of your charity and protection but I must fly home at first light. Randy Morningwood has threatened to foreclose unless I can come up with the money or submit to his unspeakable demands by five o’clock tomorrow and I know not what to do.” She then went into a convulsive sob that animated her luscious ripeness and headed for the spare room.
When the child of morning, rosy-fingered dawn, had schmoozed into the Eastern sky and the fair Chestina had performed her dainty toilet, the pair set off for the old Muldoon homestead with Sir Francis Bacon following gaily behind. They reached the family home by mid-morning and the still slanted sun cast the structure in a most unflattering light. The old place that had once been vital and boisterous with activity had fallen into disrepair and fungoid gloom. The few windows that were not boarded up for want of the price of new glass seemed to frown their sadness. The woebegone veranda, once the welcoming feature, now seemed to warn people away like the moat of some Transylvanian castle.
Chestina tried bravely to busy herself in the kitchen pretending to be doing something useful. She had already ransacked the house looking for forgotten stashes of egg money and searched under the couch cushions for lost coins or maybe an unredeemed lottery scratch-off. Nothing but an old comb and some cat hair could be found. In keeping with her heritage of Aroostook county hospitality, she again searched the cupboards for any morsel she might have missed. But no, not a cookie nor a piece of gingerbread to offer her guest and savior. Even the surplus government cheese sent up once a year from Houlton was long gone. But in the cubby hole under the sink there lurked a yellow plastic jug of long forgotten content but bearing a prominent and ominously leering skull and crossbones. In utter despair, the unfortunate wretch pulled out the jug and poured herself about three fingers of the deadly draught.
“I’ll die the death of Durham’s ram,” she said, “before I give in to that hateful Randy Morningwood.” She was about to put the fatal drink to her full and sensual lips when suddenly there came a squealing, clattering clamor from the veranda. Startled, the would-be martyr to feminine virtue, dropped the tumbler to the floor where it spilled and hissed and smoked wickedly and ate a large hole into the linoleum.
Gaspard rushed to the door to see what was the matter. It seems that Sir Francis had wandered off to explore his new surroundings. He loved to root and dig up truffles and other porcine delights and this was fertile ground to him. He was now squealing and oinking and running in tight little circles as if possessed. Gaspard had seen enough Lassie movies to know that something was up. He knew that Sir Francis wanted him to follow him to the source of the excitement. Chestina followed too and they soon came to a large depression in the soil that Sir Francis had dug out behind the hen house. In his search for hogly treats, the precocious porker had exhumed an old leather satchel. Gaspard reached into the hole and lifted the old satchel out. It was heavy—very heavy. The old zipper had rusted solid but he was able to hack the thing open with his pocket knife. Gaspard could not believe his eyes! There-under a yellowed copy of Natural Sunbathing and a dog-eared copy of Tropic of Cancer was revealed a cache of gold coins. Beautiful glittering gold coins! Enough to pay off the mortgage and plenty left over to restore the old place to its former glory. Apparently the old patriarch, Silas Muldoon had been hoarding it for years but in his senility and decrepitude he had neglected to leave anything that would have revealed the existence or location of the bonanza.
Chestina Muldoon was in a near swoon from the uddenness and enormity of the unfolding events. She was nearly flummoxed by how close she had come to getting to meet Elvis and the realization that the homestead was saved and the evil Randy Morningwood foiled again. “Mon Dieu,” she managed to cry, setting her bodacious bustiness into overdrive. “You have saved my life, my virtue and the family home. How can I ever repay you?”
“You can come with me as my bride,” said Gaspard genuflecting, “For I love you since you said that you would take death before dishonor at the hands of Randy Morningwood.”
“Are you kidding, you repulsive old bastard,” said the maiden demurely. “I was thinking more like a gooseberry pie or a hand knit sweater.”
“I’ve got your gooseberry pie right here!” said the devastated Gaspard. “How about showing me your gazongas then?”
“Oh jeeeze,” said Chestina.
by
Wendy Koenig
I pushed the buzzer. Somewhere within the depths of the building, an eerie twinkling bell began an incessant and ever increasing volume. It was playing some melody that sounded familiar. Closing my eyes, I listened carefully, moving my head with the music. The theme from Chariots of Fire. I suppose it had a real name to it, but I didn’t know it. I remembered the first time I’d heard it, though. I was on a date with my, then, boyfriend, Rex, who was now my soon-to-be ex-husband. Rex had been an underdog and I was a hero-type. The trouble was, Rex liked being down there. After sixteen years of marriage, I’d left and come to live with my cousin and her family while I started a new life.
Opening my eyes, I stared at my reflection in the glass door. I looked fairly smartly turned out for the interview. Did I look like an activities director? I hoped so. Glancing at the brass plaque on the brick wall beside the door, I read, “Northern Maine Home for the Elderly.” Not exactly what I’d been hoping for, but I’d been with my cousin, Marcia, and her family for two weeks now and I felt a strain beginning in our relationships. I needed a job right now.
The minute the door opened, Chariots of Fire stopped. I wasn’t sure if the person standing before me was male or female. His/her jet black hair was cut short, but frizzing wildly in all directions and he/she (I wish I could tell) had dark ringed eyes. He/She wore all black clothing and I had the overwhelming impression of a giant crow. As if the music hadn’t been creepy enough.
I had a fleeting moment of wanting to run out the door, screaming to my old white station wagon like it was a getaway car. Then the white knight rose up inside me and I staunchly stepped in and asked, “Glenda?”
It shook its head and pointed down the hallway to its left, my right. As I headed that direction I had a hard time keeping myself from constantly checking behind me to see if it followed.
The hallway wasn’t long, but there were quite a few doors on it. Some were open and inside I could see occupants sitting on their beds, some with wild hair and dark staring eyes. A few had pets.
Suddenly the hall opened up into a large and spacious dining area with tables, chairs and a TV with three sofas at one end. It was empty of people.
I was just about to turn around and head back to my starting point to try again when a woman emerged from a hidden doorway.
She got about halfway across the room before she looked up and saw me. “You here for the interview?”
I nodded and extended my hand, beginning to recite my name, but she’d already turned around and headed back across the room to the doorway.
Not knowing what to do, I hesitated a moment and then decided to follow her. I could only assume she was heading toward what must be the kitchen because there definitely weren’t any more doors (I checked carefully this time).
I rounded the corner just in time to meet her coming back through again, carrying a coffee pot and two cups.
We both back pedaled as fast as we could while the coffee sloshed all over the floor. We missed and mumbled apologies to each other.
She moved past me and headed to a table far away from the TV where a few elderly residents had begun congregating.
I called after her, “Where’s a towel? I’ll clean this up.”
She, I could only assume now that this was the object person of my search, Glenda, answered something not quite loud enough for me to hear, and didn’t even pause on her way.
After another glance at the floor, I dutifully followed. When I caught up to her, I again asked, “Where are the towels? I can clean that up.”
Glenda, I hope, now settled in her dining room chair, waved her hand and said, “Lilly will get it.”
She looked tired and I wondered what I would look like if I got the job.
As I carefully placed my purse beside my chair, Glenda poured coffee and said, “Do you drink coffee? You can’t have the job if you don’t.” She smiled to let me know she was joking, but judging by what I’d seen so far, I thought there was some truth to it.
I took the cup and sipped on it, waiting for the interview to begin. I took the time to look around. She waited awhile, I suppose, to let the coffee settle in before she began.
Head leaned back on her chair, her first question, strangely, wasn’t for my name, but followed a deep sigh and began, “Have you ever worked with the elderly before?”
Somewhere down the hall, a shrill babbling scream began. I couldn’t tell if it was a female’s voice or not, though it sounded female. In answer to Glenda’s question, I shook my head. “No.”
She didn’t say anything so I began, “I’ve worked as a teacher for twelve years.”
I thought she was listening, but I couldn’t be sure so I continued, trying to make myself sound important. The scream increased in its wildness and intensity, so I raised my voice. “I taught all grades in a one room school in mid-Illinois—”
With that, Glenda said, “You’re hired.”
“Excuse me?” It was possible, with all the noise that I’d misheard her.
She raised her head and turned to me asking, “When can you start?”
I couldn’t think what to say, I mean, she hadn’t even heard my whole resume yet. Then again, she had.
The scream was punctuated by glass breaking. Glenda winced. She cleared her throat and asked, “Can you start today?”
I considered her disheveled hair and the dark bags under her eyes. Would I look like that in a few months? A few weeks? Maybe it only took one day. Did I really want this job? Then again, I needed the money.
A resounding “Yes,” gurgled its way upward from deep inside me, belching forward in its audacity. The heroine escaped her confines. I had learned, the past few years, that most people didn’t appreciate the heroine and seldom acknowledged her help and frequently abused her. I’d locked her thoroughly and solidly away. I thought. The moment I opened my mouth to answer, the screaming stopped and my single affirmation shouted out into a quiet room.
Glenda sighed and nodded, laying her head back on the chair.
I waited a moment, and then curiosity got the better of me. “Why are you hiring me? Don’t you want to check my references first?”
She chuckled and gestured toward the group in front of the television. “If you can control a mob of kids in a one room school, you stand an even chance with this bunch. And I will check your references, don’t worry. But I need someone to start now.”
I didn’t feel reassured.
Launching to her feet, she said, “Tour time.”
The male/female that let me in the door passed us as we began traversing one hallway leg.
Glenda said, “Lilly is our kitchen. What she says goes, or we don’t eat.”
The question was answered: Female. We didn’t stop or exchanged introductions. Lilly only smiled toothily and continued to the kitchen. I knew she’d be cussing when she found the coffee. The dining room was to be my activity room. This did not bode a happy beginning to our relationship.
Embarrassed, I scurried to catch up with Glenda who had marched ahead.
“We have seventeen residents currently. Some of them take medication, some don’t.”
As we passed rooms, she rattled off names, diagnosis and medication.
We had only gone through the one leg of the building and my head was already spinning. The place had more rooms than a castle. Glenda stopped at a door, marked “Office”. From behind the door came the sound of a phone ringing. Producing a key from a huge ring, she said, “We always keep it locked. I’ll give you your own key. I have to get this call.”
I checked my watch, Marcia would be wondering by now. I’d seen a pay phone near the entrance and I wanted to call her. “I’ll be right back, then.”
Glenda nodded as she opened the door and ran for the phone. I found my way to the front. There was, indeed, a pay phone there between the two sets of doors. Marcia answered.
I started the conversation. “Well, I got the job. She wants me to start today. Is that okay with you?”
She was silent a moment, no doubt as blown-away as I had been, then answered, “Yeah, it’s okay. Are you sure you want this job? I mean, you can tell her you need to think a couple days.”
I considered. True, it would have been smarter to have said that, but I hadn’t. “I’m not sure I’ll like it, but I need the money. I need to get started on my new life. The sooner I get started, the better. Besides, if I get a better offer, I’ll quit.”
“Alright, good luck.” She gave me instructions to grab a bottle of wine on my way home to celebrate. Then, she hung up.
I pulled on the door handle to get back in. Locked. What? Double locks? Now what? Looking around for a buzzer produced nothing. I knocked on the glass and cupped my hands around my face to peer through into the darkened interior. Nobody. I knocked again. Still nobody. I knew there was no other way in that wasn’t locked. It occurred to me that the only buzzer I had access to was the one outside. So I pushed my way out the final set of doors, startling a small murder of crows. I buzzed. And waited. And buzzed. Chariots of Fire played louder and louder. In the reflection on the glass door, I saw crows hopping closer on the sidewalk behind me, watching me with cocked heads. Very creepy. Finally, just when I was about to give up and run for the shelter of the car, Lilly appeared.
She smiled as she opened the door and handed me my own buzz card. She said, in a bland, matter of fact tone, as I walked past, “I’m gay.”
I pushed past her and turned to face my crow antagonists. Unperturbed at my escape, they hopped away. I faced Lilly with my hand outstretched. “Nice to meet you Lilly. My name’s Susan. I’m not.” She smiled and we shook hands, and then went our separate ways. Lilly toward the kitchen and I to the office.
As I hurried to Glenda’s office, an elderly man in a red shirt and leaning on a cane entered the hallway ahead of me. He stared down at his hand and it wasn’t until I was almost upon him that I realized he was looking at a pocket watch. The way he was standing, square with his legs braced and his cane stretched out to the side, meant he was blocking the hallway.
“Excuse me,” I said. I got no response from the gentleman. Perhaps he was deaf. I repeated myself, much louder this time. Still, I got no response. Finally, I squeezed past him, gingerly stepping over the cane. He gave no notice that he wasn’t alone and I wasn’t even sure if he knew there was anyone in the building.
Finally, after only one wrong turn, I again reached Glenda’s office and opened the door. There she sat, behind her desk, telephone plastered to the side of her head. Her face was red and I could guess steam was about to come from her ears. To her credit, though, she never let her temper go. She just kept up with the (I imagined) automatic chanting, “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I know sir.”
Then, after a long moment of silence, she finished with a final, “Because the state says so sir.” And she carefully put the receiver back in its cradle.
I thought I had detected a small hint of vindictive sarcasm in that final statement. But now, watching her hold her head in her hands, elbows propped on the desk and softly muttering to herself, I wasn’t sure.
At last she lifted her head and I could see the red had faded to pink.
“Insufferable Prick,” she said.
I raised my eyebrows.
“This establishment has a benefactor who swings the monetary balance to the plus side every month. Without him, we would go under.” She said by way of explanation. “Mr. Harms placed his father here several years ago when we were in dire straits. He’s never come to see him, but sends a healthy donation in addition to the regular monthly payments. Guilt, I suppose. Mr. Harms, senior, has Alzheimer’s. He doesn’t even realize he has a son.” She shook her head sadly and I wondered if the gentleman in the red shirt had been the elderly Mr. Harms.
“Our benefactor is forever wanting to change the rules.” She got up to water the only plant in the room, a lonely, wilted single leaf of a Philodendron. She was quiet for so long, I took advantage.
“What’s with the crows outside the front door? I thought I’d fallen into a movie.”
Chuckling, Glenda said, “A little odd, aren’t they? Lilly feeds them scraps to bring them close to the windows. The patients love them.”
“They’re a bit unsettling when you’re trapped outside with them.”
Glenda was silent a little longer, but then she asked, “Do you think I should give up on it?”
Startled, I tried to formulate an answer to a woman who had apparently devoted her life to the elderly. Was she really thinking of giving up on the home? Or was she speaking only of the plant? There was something about her deep concentration with the plant.
It occurred to me that she could have been speaking about me. I shook my head, my mind suddenly in accord with my heart, and answered, “No I think it still has some life left in it. It just needs TLC, some water and a little fertilizer.”
Glenda frowned at the plant and poked the soil in the pot with her finger. Then she turned to me and smiled. “Indeed.”
by
Larry Bubar
It was an old castle keep
when I first met the silly old crow
who uttered
neither a caw nor a peep
“Go away shoo I’d say”
the silly old crow
flapped its wings but decided to stay
I went to the courtyard and the castle grounds
everywhere I wandered
the crow would follow me around
“Scat be gone you silly bird”
the crow stared as if it never heard
the sun started to go down
I went back to town
ate supper went to bed
that silly old crow still in my head
next morning as the sun began to shine
I packed my bags
checked my pocket watch
to ensure I’d make the plane on time
as I prepared to go
a shadow on the wall did show
I looked out the window
there stood that silly old crow
with a grin
I grabbed my bag
shook my head went out the door
knowing I wouldn’t see
that silly old crow anymore
across the ocean I did fly
at my home sweet home
I sat in my chair
to watch tv
but the thought of that silly old crow
still bothered me
in early May
I stepped out to enjoy the day
out of the corner of my eye
I spied something strange in the sky
it swooped and landed in a tree
there was that silly old crow
staring down at me
days came and days went
but that crow wouldn’t relent
it would follow me here and there
follow me everywhere
I would shout and scream
chase it away
but it would return the very next day
finally I had enough
I sold my house
and some other stuff
packed my few remaining wares
fled to the remotest corner of northern Maine
spring soon became summer
with no sign of that silly old crow
then came fall with its colors
which were ever so nice then came winter
with its snow and ice
I was now sure
I had escaped that silly old crow
January brought a nor’easter
the wind howled and the snow flew
caused such a fright
I stayed awake all night
come morning
the snow was piled almost to the sky
I donned my rubber boots
my warmest red shirt
grabbed my gloves
headed out to shovel the snow
to my total surprise
on top of a giant drift
stood that silly old crow
I finally realized this was a battle I could not win
so I invited that old bird in
cause if it froze I’d know not what to do
as I didn’t have a recipe for
old crow stew
we spent the winter
becoming the closest of friends
through sun rain sleet or snow
it would follow me everywhere I’d go
in town
people would smile and chuckle
to see