“Wait.”
“Wait what?”
“That.”
“That what?”
“That!”
“That what? What are you talking about, man?”
“Can’t you taste that?”
“Taste… what? We’re walking down the street, we’re not even eating anything… what the fuck?”
“Calm down, man. I guess I had some pepper left over from dinner.”
“And why the fuck should I be able to taste it?”
“Well it was kinda strong.”
I need to move to a warmer climate. Here, the polar bears sit on me and the penguins poop on me and I’m just miserable, you know? It’s not easy being frozen inside an iceberg. Maybe if I bob out of the water and stare at a passing cruise ship…
It’s Just Jot It January! Click here and join in any time!
“And in other news, the big fluffy clouds will puke out some snow.”
Harvey the anchor smiles at the camera while whispering out of the corner of his mouth, “Jerry, what the hell am I reading?”
To which Jerry replies, “Just keep reading!”
“The snow will consist of styrofoam clumps, coated in coffee grinds…”
“Jerry! I can’t read this shit!”
“Keep reading!!”
“… and by five o’clock your afternoon commute will resemble …”
“Jerry! What is that word?”
“Shmoopimple.”
“Shmoopimple?”
“Yes! Read it!”
“…your afternoon commute will resemble shmoopimple, wall to wall traffic. And that’s the news.”
And that was the day Harvey quit his job at the community college television network.
It’s Just Jot It January! Click here and join in any time!
Come in
See what’s in store
for your amusement
come through the door
take all your money
place it right here
you know your friends want it
even more than a beer
Our wares are to die for
just look at them there
a ripped away pocket
a thin lock of hair
More juicy and flea ridden
I think you’ll agree
The moth-eaten clothing
Is better than free
So buy with abandon
Take home what you need
Your friends will be gleeful
For the free-for-all feed!
This mess has been brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click this link http://lindaghill.com/2015/12/18/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-dec-1915/ and join in today!
Mr. Strange was the normalest person he himself knew. He shaved every morning and put on his suit and went to work as an accountant in a perfectly normal firm downtown. He drove a Lexus and he lived in a three bedroom bungalow by himself with his dog and his cat and his three fish. The bodies buried in the basement didn’t count as other people. They were corpses.
***
Miss Harper enjoyed the company of Mr. Strange very much. She was a secretary at the firm in which he worked. She lived downtown a few blocks from the company in an apartment on the fifth floor. She didn’t drive, but she had admired Mr. Strange’s Lexus and even said so once. She was hoping he would invite her out to dinner.
***
Mr. Tarvell was Mr. Strange’s boss. He always thought there was something odd about Mr. Strange, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He knew his secretary, Miss Harper, had a “thing” for Mr. Strange and he wanted to say something but he didn’t quite know how.
***
Mr. Strange’s dog wouldn’t stop trying to get into the basement. He thought about giving the dog to Miss Harper, the secretary at work. She seemed lonely. Perhaps he would invite her over.
***
Miss Harper’s first visit to Mr. Strange’s house was an event that surpassed every event that she had ever had in her life. On the outside, Mr. Strange was a kind man. Gentle, it seemed. In fact he was the normalest man she had ever had the pleasure of working with. However, they had barely started into dessert when he swooped everything off the table, the table cloth included, and crawled over to her and kissed her passionately. They never made it to the bedroom. He made love to her under the dining room table, her head banging on one of the chair legs each time he thrust into her. She took a taxi home. She couldn’t wait to see him again.
***
Mr. Tarvell noticed a strange smell on Miss Harper’s clothes the next day. It seemed, somehow, that she had gotten moldy. Like she had spent the night in the refrigerator, cuddled up to a basket of rotting strawberries. He didn’t want to say anything lest it seem rude.
***
Mr. Strange was the normalest person he himself knew. That he would soon require a bigger basement meant that he would also probably need a new job. A better paying job. A job in a town where no one knew him. Leaving his present house to the dog seemed the wisest choice he had made in quite some time.
This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday. It’s only late if you insist on changing the clocks at 2am… http://lindaghill.com/2015/10/30/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-oct-3115/
“Dig,” she thought as she shoved the spade into the ground again.
“Dig, dig, dig, dug. Doug. It’s Doug I should be digging for. To hell with this root.”
But the root had been the bane of her existence since she moved into the house. Because it was more than a root. It was a stump. The stump of a tree that had been cut down maybe a century ago. God knew what was below it – maybe there was a cemetery down there, like in Poltergeist.
Chunk, went the spade. Chunk, chunk ching!! She hit something. Getting down onto her hands and knees she dug with her fingers until she uncovered something silver. Something shiny. A treasure! Could it be that all this work had made her rich?
With renewed determination she stood and wielded the shovel once again. The silver box was small – it didn’t take much to dig around it. But it was deep, like a tiny coffin that had been buried lengthways. By the time she reached the bottom of it, Doug had come home.
“Hey asshole,” she called to him. “Can you come and help me with this?”
“Go fuck yourself,” he muttered as he marched from the car to the house. He slammed the door behind him.
“Just a little wider,” she mumbled to herself. “And he’ll fit right in.”
***
Two weeks later…
The house had been deathly quiet for so long that it seemed as though noise had given up on her. Doug had woken up while she was still filling in the hole, but she took care of that with the spade. The silver box was the final nail in his makeshift coffin – or lack thereof. It was the deciding factor. Not only did she have the means to cover up what she’d done thanks to her discovery, she wouldn’t have to share whatever was in the box with him. Or anyone else.
It took three days to pry the lid off the box and then another day to figure out what was in it. A pair of glowing orbs, like cat’s eyes lay in the bottom, which was five feet from the top. Tipping it hadn’t worked, nor had turning it upside down. Now the object sat on the table in front of her. It had climbed out on its own it seemed, after she went to bed.
The object – what could she call it? A cat-box? – refused to move from the table. It smelled like toast in the morning, a chicken sandwich at lunchtime, and a steak at dinner. But every time she made something to eat, her food would disappear. Into thin air. The only thing it didn’t touch was her coffee and her booze.
She couldn’t leave the house; she was slowly starving to death. Except.
Every day for the past seven days there had been a note on the table when she woke up in the morning. The note read: if you’re hungry, dig up Doug.
This creepy tale is brought to you by SoCS. Click here and join in! Anyone can do it! http://lindaghill.com/2015/09/18/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-sept-1915/
Wednesday, May 20th, 5:00pm
Drew (and Zoey)
Drew sits at the window. Zoey takes the seat beside him.
Drew: There is a bird in a tree.
Zoey: I’m sorry?
Drew: There is a bird in a tree… or is the tree simply there for the bird?
Zoey: I think the bird…
Drew: (holds up a finger) You are going to say that because the bird moves and the tree does not that the bird is the one who must be the subject, the one who provides the action, and the tree is merely awaiting the bird’s arrival. BUT! Does not the tree live longer?
Zoey: (nods slowly) It does…
Drew: So again, I ask, is the bird in the tree or does the tree exist for the bird?
Zoey: …Both?
Drew: (frowns) I must contemplate this further.
Zoey: You’re welcome.
Next stop: Thursday, May 21st, 6:00pm
Author’s note: These Scenes are written independently, occasionally featuring the same character from a former scene. Please click on the names in the tags to follow a character’s story. (Zoey)
My life is an open bookstore
Ask anything…
but if you leave with the info you have to pay for the book,
otherwise these really annoying beepers go off
and everyone turns around
and stares at you…
It knows what I’m thinking.
I called my friend Josh and asked him to meet for coffee. I was going to tell him about the notes. Sure, I had no proof. I didn’t get to keep any of them. It’s enough to make me think I’m crazy, but Josh and I go way back. I really think he’d believe what I’m seeing.
But then I got another note, just before I was about to walk out the door.
What’s really fucked up about this? I still have the note. It didn’t disappear, even when I let go of it in my pocket.
Will this thing hurt me if I tell Josh? I have PROOF now.
What do I do?
I thought for sure something weird would happen yesterday. It was Halloween for fuck sakes. I walked around all day, looking over my shoulder, expecting to see a note pop up.
Nothing. No-friggin-thing. Even today. Nothing.
So I sat down with a beer to watch tv tonight, to catch a rerun of CSI. I just took a sip and turned to look where I was putting the bottle and when I looked back, there’s the note, stuck to the tv screen.
I got up to grab the note but then this (holy shit) feeling. It was like something was pushing on the side of my face.
I went in the other direction, towards the window. I… I looked down from my apartment window just in time to see a cab t-bone a Mercedes, right in the middle of the fucking road.
I’ve got to talk to somebody about this shit. I just have to think of who wouldn’t think I’m on drugs.
As usual, the note is gone.
To go to The Note, Part One, click here.
Linda G. Hill 