WHO NEEDS HEADLIGHTS

BUILDING SUSPENSE
(Find the original post on Adrienne Monson's blog.)

CC Stan Shebs /Wikimedia

Kingston Range Excelsior Mine Road 1

 

          Summer vacation was here at last. Jay Bell along with my brother Hugh and I were ready for an adventure. Jay borrowed his dad’s old pickup truck, and we told our parents we were going camping for a week. When we said camping, we meant exploring. We could drive hundreds of miles in just about any direction from Trona, California, and not meet another human being or even cross a paved road.
           From Searles Valley to Panamint Valley to Death Valley, the terrain was rugged with mountain trails climbing thousands of feet above sea level into regions of permanent snow and valley trails dropping hundreds of feet below sea level into arid country that rarely saw rain or moisture of any kind. Many trails were washed out, overgrown with sage brush and barely usable, but they were the only way to get to old mining sites and ghost towns. Some sites didn’t show up on any maps, and we were always excited to stumble across a new find.
           That morning, packing was easy–we threw everything in the back of the truck. We were careful to bring lots of extra batteries for our flashlights. Sometimes we spent days exploring old, abandoned mines that we found along the way. In addition to topping off the gas tank, we also brought along a backup can of gasoline. We would need to make our gas last all week. Of course, this was B.C. (before cellular phones), so it wasn’t unusual for us to be out of touch for days at a time. It didn’t dawn on us to tell our parents where we were going, or even which direction we might be going in–and they didn’t ask. We were always going camping.
           The first day out, we drove into the mountains, getting as far away from civilization as possible. Though the desert seems desolate on the surface, we saw lots of wildlife. Vultures, hawks and eagles filled the sky. Besides the ever present scorpions, tarantulas and snakes, jackrabbits bolted from the scrub as we passed and, in the distance, a scraggly coyote appeared at times, watching us warily. We knew mountain lions prowled the high country, but they were usually too smart to show themselves. The sky was clear, life was good, and we didn’t have a care in the world. This was our kingdom, and we were the unchallenged rulers.
           Finally realizing the sun had long disappeared over the mountain tops, we knew that darkness was imminent. It was time to pick a campsite safe from wildlife and weather while we still had daylight. We were driving up a deep mountain ravine, just coming out onto an embankment along the wash, when suddenly loud popping noises rang out from behind the dashboard. All the dashboard lights blinked out and the engine died. I turned the key off, put the truck in park, and tried to restart the engine, but nothing happened–nothing at all. The truck’s electrical systems were totally dead.
          We sat silently in the deepening gloom, surrounded by smoke and the smell of an electrical fire, before the acrid smoke forced us to wind down the windows to air out the cab.
          After a long silence, Hugh leaned out the window and said, “I don’t think this is a very good place to park.” The truck was perched perilously on the edge of the ravine and straddled what seemed to be a well used wildlife trail.
           After another long silence, Jay asked, “Did anyone think to tell our parents where we were going?”
          When no one answered, I said, “No, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because we told them we were going camping for a week. No one is going to think to worry about us until the week has passed.”
          Hugh leaned back and closed his eyes. “It will take a week to hike back to that last paved road we crossed.” He let out a long, weary sigh.
           Jay nodded. “And another week, if we’re lucky, before anyone drives by.”
           “And,” I added, “Unless we can figure out how to carry one of those heavy jugs of water, all our water will be back here with the truck.”
          Daylight was fading fast, so we decided to get out and look around while we could still see. Things didn’t look good. Numerous smaller gullies fed from above into the large ravine, on the edge of which our truck was precariously stalled. If it rained higher up in the mountains, we could lose our truck in a flash flood. Also, all the wildlife trails coming down the mountain merged together in a wide path going under our truck and down the deep ravine.
           Our truck was now a road block for any local critters passing through the area in the night. The mountain grade was too steep for us to push the truck up the hill away from the ravine and the trail, and there was no way we were going to roll the truck back down the hill where it would be deeper in the ravine and in even greater danger from flashflood. Like it or not, our truck was stuck right where it was.
           Once the deep blackness of a moonless night was upon us, we hauled out the flashlights. While we continued scouting the surrounding area, we gathered sticks and brush into a pile on the trail up the slope from the truck. As Hugh got a fire burning, we heard the yelping and howling of a coyote pack not far away in one of the higher gullies. Our bon-fire wouldn’t last long–there wasn’t much wood in the area, and we hadn’t brought any fire wood with us. Without a fire, the coyotes would soon be down to see who was trespassing in their territory.
           Suddenly, we heard the sound of rocks cascading down the side of the ravine not far downhill from us. Something big was coming up the wildlife trail toward the truck. Without a word, we all quickly climbed back into the cab, rolling up windows, locking doors, turning out flashlights, and slumping down in our seats–as if it couldn’t see us, if we couldn’t see it.
           Outside, everything had gone quiet–even the coyotes had stopped howling. After holding my breath for an eternity, I slowly lifted my head to peek out the driver’s side window, just in time to see a dark shadow glide around to the front of the truck, out of sight. Lifting my head slightly higher to look through the windshield, I saw our little bon-fire had died down to a few glowing embers, blowing in the gentle wind.

lawren / 123RF Stock Photo

           As I watched, the dark shadow raised up slowly in front of the truck, blocking my view of the embers, but still not revealing any detail of what it was. If only I could turn on the headlights and see what was out there! But all the truck’s electrical systems were dead, and I knew if I turned on my flashlight, the window would reflect back as much light as it let through. Whatever was out there would see us in the cab.
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          Suspense is the result of proper plot development, and a writer has many tools to use in developing a storyline that will capture the reader’s imagination and carry her/him along towards an anticipated destruction or salvation. Tools like point of view can put the reader in a character’s mind, building an empathetic bond. Repetition of seemingly innocent facts can build tension. Foreshadowing creates curiosity, and the list goes on. Make the reader hungry and then slowly, carefully feed and starve the reader as the tale unfolds.
          Suffice it to say, in my story above, after a very long night, the truck’s headlights become the eventual means of our salvation, but that’s for another day.
          Of course, the story doesn’t end here, but the scene has been set and hopefully your expectations have been prepared for a journey through the unknown. The best part of the story is yet to come and the reader should now be voluntarily on board and excited for the ride–hungry for the rest of the story. Suspense is like an unsatisfied hunger that keeps the reader reading until the end of the story, where the hunger will be satisfied. In the best stories, the reader relishes both the hunger, while it lasts, as well as the eventual satisfaction of that hunger.
           What about the story?  Want to know more?

It flows in the veins!

           I received an email from my daughter with a copy of a scary story written by my 7 (almost 8) year old grandson, Scott.  I could not be more proud.  So, without further ado, I am pleased to initiate the writing career of Scott Wessel:

A GHOST STORY!

            Once upon a time I was sitting next to a fire and I heard a noise.  I asked my dad.  He didn’t know.  I wasn’t scared.  I went to investigate.  I saw two red eyes.  I got a little scared.  But I was brave.  I saw a ghost.  It was scary.  It wanted to scare the people.  But before it did I scared it!  The End. 

            Watch out Stephen King!  Here is the original version:

 

            And here is Scott, (he is also a soccer star):

 

            It is so fun being a grandparent.  I just wish you didn’t have to wait so long to get there.

 

HALLOWEEN IN JANUARY

            The holidays are past and most of us are back at the day job.  But writing is still what oils the cogs and wheels of daily life at our house.  Around Halloween, I wrote a story for the Creative Frighting contest sponsored by our publisher, Jolly Fish Press.  Both Andy and I had fun writing Halloween stories and he has already posted his.  (Scroll down the blogs to see "Trona Honeymoon.")

            But I never got a chance to post my story.  Somehow, it didn't seem appropriate during the Christmas holidays. So now that dreary weather is upon us, we'll put the candles back in the jack-o-lantern.  Hope you enjoy.

Millie

           

            Sighing contentedly, Millie slowly closed her book.  She had feared the story wouldn’t end right.  She hated stories that didn’t know how to end, but this ending was perfect.  Relishing the moment, she sat immersed in the book’s final, triumphant scenes when a sudden unfamiliar noise jolted her from her reverie.  Disoriented, she stared up into a room engulfed in nighttime blackness.  Except for a crisp circle of light on her lap, everything else was hidden by darkness.

Her aging eyes didn’t see well in the dark any more.  Her husband, Gregory, had gotten tired of watching her squint when she tried to read in the old house’s dim lighting.  “Your face is all puckered up like a prune, trying to read that page,” he’d complained.  Last Christmas, he had presented her with a bright, battery-powered clip light that she could take with her anywhere around the house.  Right now it dangled from a hook on the wall above her, encasing her in a narrow shaft of light.

She sank back into the softness of her over-stuffed chair and closed her eyes, feeling suddenly weary.  The waning autumn sun had gone down unnoticed while she read, and the big, creaky house still needed to be shut up for the night.

            When Gregory was out of town on business, Millie was careful to close windows and lock doors before the sun went down, but this evening she had been distracted.  She wasn’t scared to be alone, but the neighborhood had changed in the last few years, as old friends moved to warmer climes or smaller homes, and the newcomers were not as neighborly.  Millie had suggested to Gregory that they move to a newer, smaller house, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

            Irritated, Millie sniffed and immediately crinkled her nose at the unpleasant scent.  The old house always had a musty, dead smell, so on warmer days, she liked to throw open the windows to collect as much fresh air as possible.  With the cooler fall weather, she now opened only the downstairs windows.  It had been weeks since she had last unlocked and opened any of the upstairs windows.

Rising stiffly from her chair, Millie reached for the clip light behind her, but her hand brushed it off the hook before she could grasp it.  With a loud crash, it smashed into the hard-wood floor, shattering the bulb and sending broken glass tinkling across the floor in all directions.  Everything was suddenly enveloped in the inky blackness of the night.

Millie stood still, her bare feet frozen in place.  With broken glass all around, she dared not take a step until her eyes adjusted to the darkness.  The dark shapes of the larger pieces of furniture began to appear, but strain as she might, she could not make out the tiny glass shards she knew were scattered around her.

Millie’s locked knees began to complain, making her fear they might buckle.  Swishing out her breath in frustration, she was about to take her chances in the dark, when she was startled by that strange, unfamiliar noise again--like someone whispering far away, saying something she couldn’t quite understand.

Alarmed, she took a quick step forward, and immediately, a sharp pain flashed in the heel of her right foot.  The glass shards!  But, fearing the strange noise more, she kept moving.  On tip-toe, protecting her injured heel, she groped towards the backdoor, where she knew a light switch waited in the dark.  Miraculously, she did not step on any more broken glass.

When her hand finally touched the wall, she paused to listen, but all was silent.  Taking a shuddering breath, she followed the wall until she found the door, and then the light switch beside it.  She flipped the switch up.  Nothing happened.  All was still dark.  Frantically, she flipped it again, repeatedly.  Still nothing.

Millie tried to calm her rising panic.  Staring out the window in the backdoor, she wondered why someone would shut off the power to her house.  Suddenly, she realized that not just her house was dark.  She could see several houses to each side of her backyard as well as many of the houses across the street from these back-door houses.  All were black.  She could not see a single light in any of these homes that were normally filled with warm, living lights.

Relief flowed through Millie.  No wonder her light switch didn’t work.  The power in her neighborhood must have gone out while she was reading.  She smiled, able to laugh at herself a little.  The power outage was strange, since there had been no storms for days, but now there was a logical reason, rather than a diabolical reason, for why her lights didn’t work.

Suddenly, as if carried upon a wisp of wind, that distant, unfamiliar noise came again.  Like a breathy whisper, the sound came together as a single word, “Millie.”

Sure that the sound had come from outside, from somewhere in the backyard, she called through the door, “Who’s there?  What do you want?”  She was answered only by silence.

Millie struggled to calm her breathing.  It’s just my imagination, she thought.  I’m the only one here.  I need to get a flashlight and get all the downstairs windows and doors closed and locked.  And get that piece of glass out of my heel!

Gregory always kept a flashlight in the kitchen tool drawer, and Millie wanted that flashlight.  After making sure the back door was securely locked, she felt along the wall until she reached the large den window.  Everything outside was quiet and dark.  The breeze coming in through the big open window was cold, icy cold.

Suddenly, Millie remembered that the weather forecast in the morning newspaper had said there was a chance of frost tonight, and she was immediately angry with herself--she should have shut all the windows hours ago.  The house was going to be freezing cold all night if she didn’t get all the windows shut up now as fast as possible.

The den window did not slide smoothly, so she had to use both hands, one near the top and one near the bottom, to get it closed.  Tugging hard to close the final inches, she distinctly heard that breathy whisper again, “Millie.”

Someone is out there calling my name!

Frantically, she pulled the window shut, and with shaky hands, slammed down the metal latch.  For long moments, she sagged against the wall, struggling to slow her ragged breath before peeking out through the window again.  Nothing moved in the darkness, but it was hard to tell.  It was so very dark.  There wasn’t even any moonlight.

It wasn’t my imagination, Millie thought stubbornly.  Someone is out there calling my name!  Whoever it is can’t see in the dark any better than I can, but I know where the phone is, and I’m calling for help right now.

The kitchen phone hung on the wall between the kitchen and the den.  Feeling her way into the kitchen on tip toe, she stopped when her fingers gently touched the phone.  Carefully, she lifted the phone from its cradle and held it to her ear.  There was no dial tone--the phone was dead.  She jabbed at the flash button several times--still no tone.  Now, this was not logical.  Even when the power went out, the phone still worked.

For a moment, she felt an insane urge to rip the phone out of the wall and throw it.

Okay, she thought, as she slowed her breathing again, calm down.  This isn’t going to help.  I don’t know why this phone is dead, but my cell is upstairs in my bedroom.  I still need to lock up the downstairs.  Once everything is safely locked up, I’ll go upstairs and call for help.

With renewed hope, Millie felt her way quietly over to the window above the kitchen sink.  She stopped at the window to listen, then reached up to slide it closed, but even before she touched the window sill, a low, deep voice whispered through the window, “Millie.”

For a moment, her heart stopped.  Biting back a scream, she slid the window closed and locked it before backing away from the sink.  In her panic, she put her full weight on her right heel, and crumpled instantly to the floor, gasping in pain.

For a long time, she lay huddled on the floor eyeing the kitchen window, expecting to see a black figure peering through it.  When nothing happened, she sat up with a sense of urgency and dragged herself over to the tool drawer.  Getting up on her knees, she pulled open the drawer and fished around inside until she felt the flashlight.  Dropping back on the floor, she covered the end of the flashlight with one hand, so the light couldn’t be seen from the outside and pushed the thumb switch up.  To her dismay, the switch wouldn’t go up, but it would go down.

The flashlight had been turned on already.  It had been sitting in the drawer; turned on for who knows how long and now the batteries were completely dead.  If Gregory had more batteries for this flashlight, Millie didn’t know where.  Why was he always gone so much?

For a moment, Millie thought she might cry in pure frustration when she had a sudden flash of inspiration.  Sliding over to another drawer, she fished around until she found a box of birthday candles and a pack of matches.  In yet another drawer, she fished out a box of band aids.

Crawling over to the broom closet, she squeezed in and shut the door.  First pushing some cleaning rags under the door to make sure no light leaked out, she struck a match.  Glorious light burst forth.  She almost sobbed.  With trembling hands, she lit a candle and inspected her foot.  What a bloody mess it was, and still bleeding.  She must have been tracking blood through the house wherever she went, but the wound was not wide and she could see the end of the piece of glass poking out.  Carefully, she pulled the glass out of the wound and covered the cut with several large, thick band aids.

Millie was tempted to stay hidden in the closet until the sun came up, but she knew she would be safer if she got the rest of the house locked up, so she blew out her candle and slowly pushed the closet door open.  Everything was still pitch black.  After listening carefully for a few moments to silence, she pulled herself to her feet and felt her way gingerly out of the kitchen and into the dining room.  She still avoided putting her full weight on her right heel, but now she could walk more normally with only slight pain.

Once the dining room door was locked, she inched up to the edge of the dining room window.  She dreaded standing out in front of the window, but didn’t know any other way, with her small frame, to get enough leverage to push the window closed.  Taking a deep breath, she stepped out, grabbed the window frame with both hands and threw her weight into it.  Before it could shut completely, the deep moaning voice whispered, “Millie.”  It sounded so close!

Stop! she wanted to yell.  Stop saying my name!  Who are you?  How do you know my name?  She was sure now that the voice of her tormentor was the voice of a man, but not a voice she could recognize, and he was somehow watching her in the darkness make her rounds as she shut up her house.

Watch on, she thought.  I’m almost done, and I’ll get my cell phone and help will come.

She felt bruised and sore, in both body and soul, but she could move more quickly now with no glass in her heel.  Feeling her way into the front room, she could see faint starlight shining through the open window.  She was sure her tormentor would be watching for her, but she did not hesitate.  She grabbed the window and began pushing it closed.  Immediately, a voice from out of nowhere, but seemingly close by, whispered, “Millie!”

No matter how much she thought she was ready for that voice, the whisper still twisted her insides each time she heard it, and yet, in some weird way, its tones were beginning to sound almost familiar.  Feeling as if she were nearing the end of a marathon, she limped carefully over to the front door and locked it securely.  Shaking all over, she backed away from the door, across the large entry hall and leaned against the banister at the bottom of the stairs, feeling totally drained, but relieved.  The house was all locked up.  She was finally safe.

She had done it.  In spite of the darkness and wounds, she had done it.  Her tormentor was locked out.  In a minute she would call the police, and they would be here, here at her house, and it would be her tormentor who would be looking for a safe place to hide.  She smiled grimly.  She hoped the police would be as merciless with him as he had been with her.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, catching her breath, Millie began shaking uncontrollably.  She realized she wasn’t shaking because she was scared--she was cold, really cold.  A draft of freezing air, was sliding down the stairs, blowing its icy breath down her back.

But, there should be no draft.  None of the upstairs windows are open!

Millie turned to look up the stairs and could feel the cold wind blowing in her face, but her eyes could see nothing.  Everything was still pitch black.  Then, she thought she heard something.  With every fiber of her body, she listened, and suddenly, a board in the landing at the top of the stairs creaked.  That board had creaked as long as Millie could remember.  It always creaked when someone stepped on it.

Millie slowly backed away from the stairs, and as she did, from the top landing, a deep, growling voice whispered, “Millie!”

A TRONA HONEYMOON

       I thought a good way to introduce my thoughts on Trona would be to post a short story I wrote for Halloween that takes place in Trona.  It is called "A Trona Honeymoon".  Hopefully the story is more imaginative than the title.  I do want to post some good memories about Trona, I have many: hiking with my dog; the Trona swimming pool; Great Falls, and much, much more.  But, let's start with a scary story, because scary stories is what I do.  Here goes:

“Oh yea, you bet, we had us a murder, unsolved even now, right here in Trona.”  The bald old man chewed at his dentures, his eyes brightened with excitement.  Rob sighed; this old coot was determined to impress them.  The old turd continued, “Mos’ generally you don’t get that kind of thing out here in the high desert, you know, but we had us one, one of them unsolvable kinds of murder.”

Rob’s new wife Meeshkin squealed in pleasure.  “Tell us all about it, sir.  It sounds so exciting,” she gushed.  They were checking in to the Sidewinder Motel and the old desk clerk had been flirting nonstop with Meeshkin since they walked in the door; the creepy old jerk.  Rob knew that Meeshkin didn’t mind, she was a big flirt and especially, for reasons that were completely unknowable to Rob, she enjoyed flirting with creepy old men; like this old desk clerk.

“Well I’ll tell ya,” the old man waved his finger at them as if he was imparting great wisdom, “ya all have to watch out, ‘cause that there murderer, whoever he is, has never been caught.  Mos’ generally they catch them guys, you know, those murderin’ types, but this one, he’s still on the loose.  Let me tell ya about it.  It happened zactly ten years ago tomorrow.  Yep, zactly ten years ago to the very date.”  He folded his arms, waiting for them to be impressed.

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear all about it!”  Meeshkin’s eyes brimmed with excitement.  Rob thought he was going to die a thousand deaths listening to this codger’s story.  Rob and Meeshkin had driven from LA the night before to Las Vegas, on a whim, and gotten married earlier that morning.  Rob had only known Meeshkin a few months, but she was so pretty.  No, pretty was an inadequate word for Meeshkin.  Her face was pretty enough, but it always exuded enthusiasm and excitement which made her seem that much more desirable.  Her platinum hair was long and curly.  She always wore bright colored nail polish and matching lipstick.

She was slender, but still voluptuous.  She was the most glamorous, (yes, that was a better word: glamorous) girl that Rob had ever dated.  And on the spur of the moment she had agreed to marry him.  Rob knew he was lucky.  He was short, and balding, (just starting, but noticeable), and his nose was too big and eyes set too close together.  On the other hand he did have a successful dental practice, and for a young doctor, had lined up an impressive array of investments.  He didn’t think he was such a slouch.  Without a doubt, though, Meeshkin was the most attractive woman he had ever dated.  And now they were married.

Rob looked at her and smiled.  Meeshkin smiled back at him and then took a big bite out of a honey crisp apple she had brought inside with her.  Pleasure reflected from her face at its taste.  She was always eating fruit. She licked apple juice from her lips with her long, pink tongue.  “Umm, yummy!”  She winked at him. 

If she was enjoying this story, Rob could put up with it for her sake.  He had not wanted to even drive back through this half deserted desert town.  But Meeshkin had wanted to go back to LA by way of Death Valley, and that brought them through Trona: a desolate desert town stretched along a deserted desert highway.  She had suggested they stop at this moribund, sun bleached motel, and Rob had agreed, more because he was anxious for his wedding night than anything else.

“Please go on, Sir, tell us about the murder!”  Her eyes sparkled with delight and she took another large bite of the apple.

“Don’t you be a-sirin’ me, missy.  I may look old, but I still got me some flame in my furnace.”  The old fart winked at her and Meeshkin giggled in delight.  Rob’s face flushed in annoyance.  “I’ll tell ya,” the geezer continued, “they found the body right out there,” he pointed out the front door toward the dry, white lake bed just opposite the motel on the other side of the highway, “way out there on the other side of the lake bed, just layin’ out there, cookin’ in the desert sun, you know, just out there roastin’ away.

“When they found it, it was all shriveled up like some ol’ Egyptian mummy.  This ol’ boy looked like’n he was a thousand years old.  But he weren’t.  No, no, the sheriff’s deputy, he’s my buddy, Rudy Hernandez, he’s the deputy, he told me that ol’ guy all wrinkled and dried up from lyin’ in the sun was just a young’n, ‘bout your age.” He pointed at Rob.  “No more ‘n that. 

“An’ I’ll tell ya somepem else too.  Ya know what he died of?  Well, I’ll tell ya!”  Oh please do, thought Rob sarcastically.  “Dee-san-gree-nation.”  The old man nodded his head as if he just said something very educated.  “Ya know what that means?  Well, I’ll tell ya!”  We couldn’t stop you if we wanted to; Rob’s thoughts were scornful, but he kept his face impassive.  “That means that ol’ boy had all the blood sucked outa his body.  Someone, like some ol’ Dracula monster, sucked him dry of all his blood, and the desert sun sucked all the rest of his juices outa him ‘till he was all puckered up like some ol’ prune.

“An’ ya wanna know the funny part?”  Rob raised an eyebrow, There’s a funny part?  “Weren’t no puncture hole nowhere on ‘im, neither.  All his blood was just up’n gone, but no one could tell ya how it all got sucked out.  No holes, no punctures, no cuts, no nothin’.”  He nodded his head again to add gravity.  “Some guy jus’ sucked all the blood out of this ol’ boy, actually, this young fella, and dropped his body out there on the lake bed and left him there, no clues nor nothin’ left behind to tell who did it neither.  To this day, and like I was sayin’ it been nigh on ten years come t’morrow, ain’t no one can tell ya who did it, ceptin’ him who did the killin’, and he ain’t talkin’, I can assure ya of that!”

Holy, freaking crap, are you through?  Rob politely asked, “Can we have our key please?”

As they walked to their room Rob thought, what a dreadful little desert town this is.  There couldn’t be more than a couple thousand people here.  Many of the small decrepit, clapboard homes were abandoned, some of them burned; probably meth labs.  The only obvious source of industry in town was a large chemical plant, belching smoke and noxious fumes into the dry, miserable air.  There was no color anywhere, everything gray, or brown or dirty white.  Evidently only a few wretched plants could grow there; no grass, no trees, no flowers, no shrubbery to speak of.  The place was like an anti-garden, or maybe an ungarden.  Whatever it was it was the opposite of lush.  Rob thought, if I lived here and had a summer home in hell, I’d sell my home here and move to hell!  His own joke brought him a little mirth and made him feel better.

Their room was no better than the town.  Colorless, dry and lifeless.  Meeshkin pulled a banana out of her shoulder bag.  Rob glanced out the window.  “I don’t suppose there’s a decent place to get some dinner.”

Meeshkin smiled at him.  “Don’t worry, I have plenty of fruit.”  Nothing seemed to depress her.  She slowly stripped the skin off the banana.  Extending her tongue she slid the white meat into her mouth and bit off the tip.  Her face screwed up in pleasure.  “Ummm, yummy!”  Reaching into her bag again she brought out another piece of fare.  “Here, do you want a peach?”  Rob looked at the round, firm fruit, covered in soft pinkish fuzz.

“No thanks, I’ll wait.”  Meeshkin shrugged her shoulders, and Rob stretched in feigned tiredness.  “Maybe we should take a nap.”  In one fluid movement he pulled his polo shirt over his head and headed for the bed.  Before he flopped down, he drew back in horror.  “A spider!” he exclaimed in a voice that didn’t sound as masculine as he would have liked.  He hated spiders; they were hideous and repugnant.

A large, black, shiny spider was crawling across the bedspread.  Its legs moving marionette style as it hurried to get away.  He picked up the phone book to swat it.

“No!”  Meeshkin held out her hand to stop him.  “Don’t kill it.  It hasn’t done anything to you.”  Rob couldn’t believe it, but she picked the vile thing up between her forefinger and thumb, carefully examining it; its legs flailing in the air.  “Look.”  She held the spider for Rob to inspect.  He tried, not very successfully, to hide his revulsion.  “It’s a black widow spider.  You can tell from the red hour glass on its little belly.”

“Toss it outside.”  He opened the door for her.  Her teeth gleaming white, she beamed at him and then place the spider down safely outside their room.  It scurried away.  Before Rob could react to it further Meeshkin sauntered over to him and wrapped herself in his arms.  She was an odd person, he had to admit, but she was so stunning, and she was so his.  They kissed.

They had both been married before.  Rob in a joyless marriage of about five years.  His ex had divorced him as soon as he had enough income for alimony.  He didn’t know much about Meeshkin’s first marriage, other than she had been young and her first husband had been a jerk.  (Meeshkin’s words).  She treated him to a seductive smile.  “I think a nap would be a good idea.  But first, have some peach.”  She offered it to him again and to be a good sport he took a large, juicy bite.  She kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “See, isn’t it yummy?”

#

When Rob woke up he noticed two things: it was dark, and he had a killer headache.  He tried to sit up on the bed but was pulled back down.  Confusion swam through his thoughts and at first he couldn’t figure out where he was and what was going on.

“Oh, you finally woke up, you sleepy head.”  He could hear Meeshkin’s voice, but he couldn’t see her.  A flame jumped into existence, and then moved to his bedside.  Rob could see Meeshkin in a suggestive robe, holding a match.  She used it to light a candle on the bedside table.  Gently rubbing his cheek she asked, “How do you feel?”

He tried to get up again, but could not.  He tried to talk, but something prevented him from articulating words.  In the dim candlelight he finally noticed that his hands and feet were tied to the bedstead, holding him down.  Shaking his head he tried to clear his thoughts and remember what they had been doing.  The last thing he remembered was eating a peach and laying down for a “nap”.  He looked at Meeshkin, confusion and fear in his eyes.

“Ah, you don’t know what’s going on, do you?”  Meeshkin leaned over him and kissed his forehead.  “Well,” she paused, as if for effect, “I drugged you!”  She squealed it like it was a fun surprise.  “With the peach!”

Rob blinked several times.  Why had she drugged him?  Why had she tied him up?  Why couldn’t he talk?  He tried to say something, but the words came out as mumbles and groans.  She sat on the bed next to him, carefully crossing her lily white legs.  “Don’t try and talk, honey, you have a tube down your throat.”

A tube down my throat?  He pleaded with his eyes; what the hell was going on?  She patted him on the chest, and in a baby talk kind of way said, “Don’t you worry, dearie, I’ll explain everything.”  Sighing, she looked at the ceiling.  “Where to begin?  First of all, that murder, you know the one the desk clerk was telling us about, well, guess what?  I did it!”  She clapped her hands at the surprise.  “That’s right, I sucked out all that blood and then dropped the body way out, miles out there, on that hot, old dry lake bed.  That was my first husband, and he deserved to die, that miserable old jerk.  I was just a child bride,” she blinked her eyes at him with an over-the-top look of innocence on her face, “I didn’t know how else to get out of the marriage.  So I killed him.  I drained him of his stingy old blood and left him to bake in the hot desert sun.  They didn’t find him for weeks.”  She clapped her hands again and bounced up and down on the bed.

“But you’re not a miserable, old jerk, no you’re not, are you?”  She ran her fingers through his thinning hair.  “You are kind of homely, though.  And, I do want all your money.  And, I’ll sell your dental practice for a lot more money.  So, I’m going to kill you too, and leave you in the desert too, so you can shrivel up like an old Egyptian mummy, and take all your money.  And don’t you worry your little head at all about me hurting my back moving you around once you’re dead, because that old desk clerk will help.  Again, just like he did ten years ago!”

Rob jerked violently at his homemade shackles trying to break free.  He tried to scream, but only a muffled whine came out, and it caused his throat to sting.  He lurched and pulled with his arms and legs, but it was to no avail.  Finally, exhausted, he stopped.  Meeshkin was still on the bed next to him.  Still smiling that sweet, lovely smile of hers.  He wanted to reason with her, plead with her.  She could have all the money.  She could have anything she wanted, just leave him alive.

She stood up and let her robe slide off her, revealing a scarlet baby-doll underneath.  He had bought it for her in Vegas.  “I bet you’re wondering how I got all the blood out with leaving a puncture wound.  I’ll tell you.”  Holding up the tube that was running into his mouth, holding it like the conclusion to a brilliant magic trick, she continued, “This goes through your mouth, into your throat, and into an artery.  They never thought to look there for the puncture wound.

“Now, I’ll just suck out all your blood; yes I will.  I can only a stomach about a quart an hour, so it will take all night.”  Raising the open end of the tube to her mouth she slid it through pursed lips and took a long draught.  Smiling she licked the viscous, rosy liquid from her teeth.  She leaned over him, inches from his nose.  “Ummm, yummy!” 

THE END

 

 

SPOOKY STORY - KOREAN STYLE

I am pleased to welcome a guest blogger today, Rebekah Washburn, joining us all the way from Seoul, South Korea.  Rebekah has won awards for her writing and still delights her friends and family with her stories while she takes a year and a half off (before getting a Masters in Creative Writing) to work and serve in South Korea.  While she speaks Korean during her normal day, she teaches an English class for Koreans and has written to us in English of her latest class.

Rebekah Washburn is also my daughter.  Do I sound proud?

Rebekah Washburn

Happy Halloween!

For English class this week, before our class members came, I wrote on the board in big, bold letters, "SCARY STORIES!"  We spent the whole hour, the 6 or 7 of us that were there, going back and forth sharing spooky stories that we've heard.  It was so fun, everyone had at least one scary story to tell, and after the hour was up everyone was laughing.  One of them shared a story I've never heard before and I thought it was so interesting--so I'll share it with you. In honor of Halloween. :)

Here we go:

Once upon a time there was a selfish old man who lived in a little shack high in the mountains of Korea.  He had one little son, a sweet boy who worked hard and had few pleasures in his life.  They were extremely poor and the father blamed the little boy for their misfortunes nearly every day.

"Because of you my stomach growls from hunger and my back hurts from sleeping on these bare wood floors!" he'd yell. "If it wasn't for you I'd leave this mountain and make a fortune."

The little boy could only bow his head.

One day, while the little son looked for food in the forest he found an old woman sitting by herself on a large rock.

cc rinux/flickr  Well at Bunhwansa

"What are you looking for, son?" she asked.

"I'm looking for food for my father."

"You are a good son," she said. "I will tell you a secret.  Walk behind those trees and you will find a well.  Throw whatever food you have found into the well and you will recieve what you need."

Then she hopped off the rock, bowed respectfully to the boy, and walked away.

The little boy did as he was told and found an old, mossy well surrounded by trees and covered in vines.  He threw a few mushrooms and pieces of cabbage into the well and waited.  Suddenly, two gold pieces came flying out of the well and fell at the boys feet.

Then, in a whisper, he heard these words: "Thank you for the food."

He ran home to his father and showed what he had found.  The father grabbed the gold, pushed the boy aside and ran to the village to buy rice cakes to eat with his friends in town.

The boy stayed home and thought about the old woman on the rock.

Day after day the father made the boy go back to the well and bring back the gold.  After a few weeks the father got greedy and said, "Ask for more money. I need more than just two little gold pieces a day."

The boy tried to throw in more food but he still only recieved two gold pieces.  When he returned home his father pushed him down and screamed at him for disobeying his orders.

"I will do it myself!" he cried, and marched off toward the well in the middle of the forest.  The boy followed his father, his head bowed and his cheeks red with shame.

When the father came to the well, he threw in two rice cakes.

Nothing happened.

He picked a green onion from the base of the well and threw it in.

Nothing happened.

He screamed in frustration and rolled up his sleeves.

"Fine," he said. "I will get it myself!"

He put his leg over the side of the well and slowly climbed toward the bottom.

As the boy watched his father disappear over the ledge of the well he suddenly noticed the old woman looking at him from the trees across the clearing. She smiled.

That's when two gold pieces came flying out of the well and fell at his feet.

"Thanks for the food," the well whispered.

 

THE END.

Rebekah    Seoul, Korea

THANK YOU  Rebekah

And a Happy Halloween to all.