Dandy, they called him Dandy because he dressed up for every occasion, and his new wife Rochelle decided to honeymoon in Transylvania.

He allowed Rochelle to book the flights, make the hotel reservations and schedule tours of every fortress and castle in the region that was somehow affiliated with Dracula. Dandy was a bit of a horror freak.

It was odd that he didn’t handle those things himself, his obsessive compulsive disorder normally went untreated, nonetheless he was tickled to finally make the journey to Romania.

Dandy had quite a few drinks before boarding the plane, a cure for his nerves. He didn’t realize he wasn’t asked for his passport.

The plane landed a little over seven hours later giving Dandy a clue something was wrong.

“Rochelle, where are we?” Dandy asked

Rochelle all dolled up, wearing her bright pink lipstick and blue eye shadow along with her flashy fake lashes, smacked on some Hubba Bubba. She blew a bubble, let it pop and planted a kiss on Dandy’s cheek.

“Transylvania, Louisiana.” She said with pride. And…. we’re hiking to a castle.

Dandy gritted his teeth, summoned the stewardess and inhaled as much alcohol as allowed before disembarking.

He tried to let it go though his tolerance for stupidity was low. After the night they spent in sleeping bags somewhere in a secluded giant family mausoleum, during a thunderstorm, near Bienville Parish, he brought their marriage to an abrupt end.

He chopped Rochelle’s head off with the machete they used to clear a path up the hill. She didn’t feel or expect a thing.

It wasn’t hard to dispose of a corpse in those parts, he made it even easier by purchasing the land and telling his folks his bride ran off with a smooth talking Cajun.

It was clear to those who lived in the underworld what it meant when the white dove appeared. It was all they spoke about. The dove answered dreams.

She fell victim to a mysterious illness, paralyzing her as a teen. Undiagnosed, she was tossed into the sea with the others who baffled doctors in every field.

Her legs were replaced with a magnificent gold and emerald fish tail. She swam through the ocean, experiencing its beauty. Good days followed bad ones; she believed her years with a troubled heart would lead to a life of happiness.

Her hair blew in the squalls carrying the bird to her side. The sky darkened, waves crashed, the sea creatures retreated to their hidden habitats. The dove’s coo soothed her worry, unsure, though she wanted to receive her promise, a gratifying love from a husband and a child. A family is what all below dreamt of.

And…. so it was written in the stars.

The dove hovered over the beautiful woman, opening its wings, gently placing its feathers over her eyes, tickling her nose.

She fell fast asleep.

“Momma!” Awakened by a smaller version of herself. “Can I put eyeshadow on you?” The child asked. A man appeared in the doorway, walked over and kissed the woman on the forehead. He took the child’s hand.

“Let your mother sleep. You can play later.” He whispered, leaving the room.

     In the corner sat a wheelchair. 

She lifted the covers to again see her legs, wondering if she’d been asleep during this journey. Suddenly the dove reappeared with a gold band in its beak, sliding it on her finger, she understood the promise was fulfilled.

The wheelchair was hers as was the family.

Her life, meant to live. It wasn’t just a fish tale.

“He went back into our home to retrieve a porcelain doll.” She quietly wept. The detectives insisted Mrs. Harris answer a few questions about why her husband burned to death in a house fire.

     “He risked his life for a doll?” They asked.

     “He’s a respected collector.” The classy older woman spoke, her nose pressed into a silky handkerchief.

     “Why was this one special and where is it now?” They continued. 

     She paused before answering. “The doll belonged to his late mother, and I don’t know where it is.”

     Rumor was that Mrs. Harris was schizophrenic. She swore on occasion her husband conversed with his favorite doll whom he referred to as mother.

     “Thanks for your time.” Detective Midley instructed his partner, Theo, to give her a lift home. Upon arrival, Theo opened the door, Mrs. Harris stepped out, stood amidst the rubble, and watched him leave from the corner of her eye.

     Suspicious, Theo parked the police cruiser down the road and snuck back, hiding behind the shell of a scorched tree. Mrs. Harris kneeled, digging through the scarred land. Searching for the doll that held the spirit of her mother-in-law, fearful it had escaped the grave she buried it in. 

A porcelain doll wearing a purple dress holding the hand of another in a black tuxedo skipped up behind her. “Looking for us?” Giggling, they opened their mouths releasing a fury of black vapors, spiraling until they found their way into Theo’s nostrils.

     Theo’s laugh came alive, possessed by mother and son. “You thought you’d kill us!” Their voices echoed. 

     Mr. Harris’ smile appeared on Theo’s face. He wrapped his hands around Mrs. Harris’ neck. Theo would be charged with murder. 

Mrs. Harris wasn’t crazy, her husband held a profound passion for the dead, especially his mother.

“Hey, why are you here? Aren’t you grounded for a week after our last adventure?” I walked up to Brady sitting on the side steps of the church. His arms wrapped around his knees. His feet rested on the third step. He kept his head down, reaching his hand out far enough to run a small twig through the concrete’s grooves.

“Mom’s in there talking to the Priest.” He said, cutting his eyes up towards me.

     “Crap!  Again?” I asked. 

     “Yeah.” He looked back at the ground. 

The last time his mom was here, we followed her for fun. We wanted to hear what she was guilty of, seeing how she always acted so perfect and stuff. Instead, we watched her sin, right there in the little wooden booth with the Priest. I still can’t figure out how they both fit in that thing. Brady screamed and got us caught. He’s still on punishment.

     “Scoot over.” I gave him a nudge and sat down. 

     “What’d she tell your dad this time?” I shouldn’t have asked but I did.

“Same as always, she needed to confess her sins.” He let out a fake laugh and slowly reached over, placing his hand on top of mine. “Mary Kate, do you have any sins you need to confess?” He asked.

     I jumped up, wiggled and shook my hands. “You perv!” I screamed. 

     “Calm down! I’m joking!” He continued to pout. 

     “Why are you here?” Brady asked. 

I pointed towards our car. Mom was applying her ruby red lipstick in the rearview. “She’s here for confession.” I said.

     Brady raised his eyebrows – My eyes widened. “No!” I shouted. 

“I don’t feel so bad, now.” Brady said as he kicked a rock towards the parking lot. “Don’t worry, I believe they’re all going to hell.”

Rarely was the old man well enough to open up shop but today he turned the sign and let the red letters speak to the passerby’s. A small frail boy opened the door peeking his head in only to ask Mr. Howard if he sold candy. “Oh, come on in. You must not be from around here, child.” He hadn’t any treats to sell but he did keep lollipops behind the counter.

He held out the white stick topped with hard yellow sugar. The kid snatched it from his hand and headed back towards the door. “So…. Are you from around here?” The shopkeeper asked once more. 

“No, I’m visiting my Aunt Sue Claiborne, and my mother told me not to talk to strangers.” 

“You don’t talk to strangers, but you take candy from them, is that right?” The boy ripped the wrapper off, tossed it to the floor and popped the candy in his mouth.

Suddenly the gramophone began to play, stopping the child in his tracks. He turned slowly around. “What is that?” He asked.

“Come here, let me show you. My name is Harold by the way, Harold Howard.” The boy snickered as H.H. took him by the wrist and guided him to the two chairs placed beside the music player. “Have a seat.” He gave the boy a nudge. “What’s your name, son?” He asked. 

“Phillip, my friends call me Pete.” 

“P.P., then?” H.H. said, finding his turn to laugh.

“Kids like you are the reason I never had any children of my own.” The boy, drugged by sweetness, fell to the side. H.H. Cranked the Gramophone, lifted him up and placed him in the horn. The device crushed and stirred until the boy was mush.

H.H. hooked his IV to the needle on the handle and injected himself with the youthfulness he needed to keep the store open as a front. The antique of a man needed his own candy to survive.

“You – in the plaid pajama bottoms, get back over the ropes!” The guard startled me as he reprimanded a visitor for not following museum rules. Everyone knew not to cross the blockade. It was one thing to blatantly disrespect the posthumous King of Rock n’ Roll, but to invade his mother’s personal space was savage. The tour guide told how she would curl up in one of the pink chairs her son purchased for her and play his records. She would only listen at midnight and swore to her husband that the born-deceased twin of their musician child would sit next to her, listening to the tunes.

“Who is he talking to?” I whispered to my friend, Shell. We made the trip to HOPELAND, yearly. The name of the place was perfect because we hoped we could catch a glimpse of the only talked about ghost in town. The spirit of REVIS!

     “I don’t see a soul!” She laughed.

“Move away from the Gramophone!” We still had no clue who security was yapping at. The arm raised and gently placed itself onto the vinyl left to personalize the public’s viewing of Revis’ home. Crackling ensued and then the sweet sound of Revis flowed from the speaker.

     “Who did that?…. Shell!!!!” I screamed. “Look, it’s the ghost of Revis!!!” Coming in and out of a hazy view, wearing his pj’s, he sat down in one of the chairs and raised a peanut butter and banana sandwich towards his perfectly shaped, ruby lips. I felt faint but fought it. I grabbed my camera, turned on the flash and took as many photos as my little Nikon could.

     “No camera’s allowed in Hopeland!” The guard jumped on my back, pushing me to the floor.

I slid the camera to Shell. “Run! We can’t lose that footage!” I shouted.

Bedtime Story

Every night mom told me a story.

“The Penguin pranced through the purple forest in search of the snails that paint fingernails.

She slid on her back and then on her tummy. 

She almost rolled into the street, that wasn’t funny.

A deer to the rescue, bounced her into the fog. 

After saving her life, she introduced her to a frog.

He didn’t ribbit, he could only roar.

He said his name was Prince and that the snails were no more. 

Her search ended there when she heard about the salt. 

Last year’s winter brought ice, it was all the humans’ fault. 

They came in big trucks, sprinkling it all around. 

The snails melted, never again to be found. 

Rumor has it that their shells crumbled into a beautiful lavender.

Now the land remains colorful every day of the calendar.”

“Good night my sweet girl.” She whispered as she kissed my forehead.

“No! Don’t go, I’m scared.” I begged her to stay. “Tell me the story again, please!”

     “What are you scared of?” She yelled, pointing at the clock. “It’s way past midnight!”

     “That shadow on the ceiling looks like a forest. What if it comes to life and the animals talk to me? Can daddy come sit with me, then?” I cried. 

“Child, haven’t you ever heard there is nothing to fear but fear itself? The only animal in this house is your father, blasted snake! Maybe he would sit with you if he could come home at a decent hour.”

     “He’s not a snake and I think you’re a snail because your mouth felt icky when you kissed me good night.”

     She pulled my night light from the socket and threw it on the ground. 

“Let’s see how scared of the dark you really are!”

Memory Spot

I could still hear the change jingle in his pockets as his size thirteen brown leather shoes stomped across the floor. Crisp mornings like these brought me to the half-rotten bench he placed under the lonely tree – in the same field where he taught me to drive his old yellow Cub tractor. 

     This was my memory spot. 

     I held a fallen branch, letting my freshly sharpened pocketknife remove layer after layer from the limb, forming a smooth surface. I could make whatever I desired out of it, another lesson from Pa. 

     “Brian.” I recognized his voice faintly calling.

     “Pa.” I whispered back. My subconscious tricked me often when it came to the old man.

     “Listen to me, son and don’t make any sudden moves.” 

     I slowly turned my head and there, standing amid the dried-out garden, hovering in the thick fog, was what appeared to be Pa. 

     “I’ve been sent back to tell you, everything you know about Heaven is true, except there’s one thing….” 

     I got up, took a step towards him; he took two steps back – warning me against seeing him. 

     “Don’t cross over, it’s not your time. Stay where the grass is green, and the trees produce leaves.” His tone quieted. 

     “What do I need to know?” I asked. 

     “The secret to Paradise – you must pay a monthly fee. Every good work done on Earth adds to your account, mine is now empty. Help me, Brian. Throw all the cash in your wallet over the threshold so I can pay my dues.” 

I took a deep breath, ran full speed ahead, and tackled my cousin. “I hate you, Heath! Get off the dope, already! You expected me to believe that grandpa returned from the grave and that I must subscribe to Heaven! Filthy Trickster!”

The metal stool swayed from my heftiness as I took a seat, quite larger than the previous year, our first child due come winter. I stared at my reflection in the centuries old mirror, the one grandmother left in her attic to tarnish. Roger brought it down for me when we took residence here after her passing. I didn’t much like the place, but he insisted with a little work, we were sitting on a gem. “So, you said, Roger. So, you said.” I whispered, unheard but by the empty space in which I secluded myself.

     I ran my sterling comb through the locks of inherited golden curls and batted my eyes while I quirkily smiled, hoping to find Audrey internally lost in the chaos I called self. I tapped the mirror with my finger. “Audrey, Audrey, is anyone home?” It was useless, my emotions had been sucked out of me. A hazy skull corrupted my vision, I supposed it was the only thing that could freely answer my call, confirming my desolation. 

     Roger walked through the door. “Why the monstrous face, my dear?” Could he see what glared back at me. I shook my head quickly and smiled. “You cannot fool your old husband.” He laughed. “Are you not feeling pretty? Sad and lonely, are we? ….. Hungry?”

     I rested my hand on my belly and sighed. 

“Pregnant women are the most beautiful women, especially my wife.” He knew exactly how to arouse a smile. He leaned down and kissed me, brushing his nose slightly against my cheek. His hand joined mine just in time to feel our offspring kick. “The little fella has strength, doesn’t he.”

“Yes, she does.” I laughed. Hormonal self-pity left with Roger’s arrival. I decided to look to the future instead of in the mirror…… for now.

“Our location?” Farley asked. Soaking wet, having shipwrecked, Farley and his co-worker, Rodricus, awakened upon large smooth formations. Farley wasn’t new to this, he trained unsuspecting new hires at least once a week. The job wasn’t easy but it had to be done. A floating mist hovered above their beings.

     “We’re dead, I’m sure of it.” Rodricus surveyed his injuries, realizing he could no longer walk from a sprained ankle. Farley battered and bruised lay staring into space. 

Both moaned as they pulled themselves to a sitting position. Looking out across the scene, a stone skipped over the water….. then another one. Gibberish ensued from behind.

     “What sayest thou?” Farley asked.

“Not the time for jokes, I didn’t speak.” Rodricus turned slowly around. Shocked by his discovery, he fell backwards, his head fatally striking a rock.

Farley’s skin cleared, his abrasions healed, his skin turned a luminescent green. His head expanded, his fingers subtracted – now making only three, his toes did the same. He waddled up the bank, retrieved the other crew members, already transformed, and led them back to Rodricus. They spoke to one another in their native tongue as they wrapped Rodricus’s body into a giant piece of foil.

Farley pointed to the golden horizon. The group grabbed hold to their subject, dragging him close enough to the sun to incite a reflection. The light bounced from Rodricus into the atmosphere and back again, causing the metallic cover to sizzle and pop.

The short creatures jumped up and down a mere two inches while clapping their nubs together. When the gleam disappeared, Farley opened the tin and deeply inhaled the aroma. He pulled Rodricus’s charbroiled arm from his body and took a bite. He nodded with approval and a nutritious meal was had by all.

The following morning, Farley picked up a newspaper from the stand.

CLASSIFIEDS

Now Hiring: Deckhand

He smiled.