I was careful not to spill my coffee as I slid the glass door open. I walked across the faded wooden deck, the creaking noise didn’t bother me, not even at this height. My husband, a carpenter, built it himself.

I leaned against the railing, steam rolled from my drink mixing with the mist in the air. I breathed heavily as I took in all God’s wonders. We came here at the start of every fall, never regretting spending our savings on a vacation home. 

I felt his arms slide around my waist. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He loved it as much as I. I could feel the heat on my neck as his words formed.

“Yes.” I whispered, still facing forward.

The chill taking a toll on the parts of me left bare, sent me quickly back inside. I turned to see if he was following – He wasn’t.

I curled up on the brown leather sofa, snuggled up with the multi-colored afghan my grandmother crocheted for us as a wedding gift nearly ten, not long enough years ago.

“Are you going to watch one of your beloved Rom-coms?” His muffled voice, coming from under the sink, probably fixing a pipe or something. He could do almost anything.

I chuckled as I hit play on the DVR. 

The weeks went by so fast, reminding me that life is but a vapor, unfortunately not the first time this year I was reminded of such.

I stacked the cardboard boxes neatly in the foyer, took one last look around, and tried to hold back the tears. I left the key under the door mat for the movers, the only difference was the ship to address. “Please donate to the nearest church. Your tip is in the envelope.”

I couldn’t do life without him.

“I have no idea what to say about this little bottle and what’s on the inside.” I hung my head and stared at my own glass jar. I felt my doctors’ eyes upon me.

“Jeffrey, why’d you bring it then?” He asked.

I felt violated by these court ordered psychiatrist visits. Yeah, I killed the neighbor’s creepy cat. He would slyly walk across the railing of my balcony and place his grubby little paws on my windowsill, peer in at me like I owed him something.

“That cat wasn’t a threat to you!” Here we go again, she couldn’t leave me alone, even in death.

“I wish you’d just shut up!” I snapped.

“Are you talking to me?” The doctor asked, his tone rather rough.

I shook my miniature urn at him. “My deceased wife!” I pointed. “I’m talking to her! She never shuts up! It’s nag, nag, nag, all the dern time!”

“You carry her around with you?” He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, his brown leather shoe moved slowly back and forth in my direction as he nervously rocked, yet I’m the one they call crazy!

“Pieces, she wouldn’t have it any other way.” I gave him a wink; he sat back up, leaned in, and got a closer look.

“What are the gold flakes?” He was quite the observer.

I speedily bounced to my feet, slammed my wife in his face, stopping right before she was embedded in his eye. “See…..do you see that? That, Mr. Doctor is my wedding band ground up in tiny bits sitting right in there with what I kept of her. She always said I made her more colorful, though it was usually black and blue.” I smirked.

He asked if I would excuse him for a moment. I found that very rude.

My time had come, withering away in this secluded fortress of doom. I sat in thought on the red silk covered stool that went with the cherry wood vanity, one of the many gifts he thought I could be bought with. He was close. I could hear his breath in the wind, the waters ceased, and the fog thickened bringing visibility on the outside to none. The most telling part was the heart that formed out of nowhere in the mist my window collected. I didn’t believe he could love.

She knew her time had come. I tried to make her love me. I gave her precious gifts, the finest of jewels even from the hands of royalty, the queen of Shanpar donated her very collection of rubies and without too much persuasion. I needed her in my lonely kingdom. I loved her, a desire beyond my control. A decade spent yet she grew colder.

I could hear his heavy boots descend upon my room. The door swung open, ready to take from me, his frigid hands found their mark. He asked if I loved him.

She answered my question with a harsh denial. My absence of a heart didn’t alleviate the pain she inflicted. 

He carried me swiftly in his arms through the cold night, back to where I once belonged, placing me on the doorstep I was taken captive from. He exposed his fangs, gently moved my hair, and kissed me on the forehead. His black cape shielded him as he commenced his flight. I called out, realizing I had nothing left in this world. I begged for his mercy, for his return, to carry me back to safety. I would submit.

She summoned me, unable to exist where I was not. She would be my bride; exalted.

❤

“Lucy Loooooo, I’m not feelin’ this!” We parked at the bottom of the hill. “West Viriginia, Mountain momma, take me home….. back to Detroit!” He sang a lil’ ditty, started the car, backed up a few feet and laughed.

I gently smacked his leg. “How’d you think I felt when I met your momma, Alonzo? Oh, make me wanna holler and throw up both my hands.” I returned the musical favor, raised my arms, wrapped them around his neck and gave him a big ole’ tight hug. “Yep, I had the blues.”

I was just kidding, so was he. That’s what I loved about us.

“Where’s the house?” He joked. I didn’t admit that was actually a good question.

My daddy walked out of the time-weathered shed. I rolled down the squeaky window. “Daddy boy, where’s the house?”

Alonzo’s face dropped. “You serious? I know we’re leaving now!”

“Nooooo.” I pleaded with him.

“Your momma burned it down last winter making her famous possum stew.” He stopped, lit a match, stuck it to the tobacco in his pipe, puffed on it a few times and oddly advanced in our direction. His steps were out of place, his legs bent sideways at the knee with each move he made.

I turned to Alonzo and threw the car in reverse.

“That’s not my father, and my mother doesn’t make stew! Go!” I screamed!

We fled backwards, down the incline doing about sixty, the car was bouncing all over the place. I began to laugh so hard that tears rolled down my cheeks.

“Stop!” I yelled. “The house is back yonder.” I pointed across the green valley. “This was just a little nice to meet you gag – I get it from my daddy.” I danced in my seat.

“I hate that I love you!” Reggie scoffed.

Teena and Dahn sat quietly on the earth’s bench formed by a large green Brontosaurus. That was their story; he stomped it into existence. His weight bouncing stones and trees around with each step until their favorite place was formed next to the playground. Still in the teachers view, they were allowed to wander but no further than what the pupils referred to as “Dino’s Den.”

Their tiny legs dangled, not yet tall enough to reach the ground. Dahn climbed up first, using the moss covered rock to boost his height and then he turned for Teena, pulling her to his level by her delicate arms, always complimenting her pink and purple bracelets that matched the ribbons in her hair.

Care free – the other kids devoted their recess time to swinging high above the park or sliding down the hot metal into the wood chips placed to protect their rumps should a hard landing occur.

The wind blew slightly causing the American flag to clash against the tall silver pole, every school had one. The rattle caught both of the children’s attention. They stared at it’s magnificence. They were best friends and I suppose now, they would always carry that title for one another. Dahn held Teena’s hand for the first time that day. A memory they would never have.

My hand shook as I grabbed the brass knob to the door. I stood in front of the microphone, dazed. I took my guitar from its leather case, positioned myself half on, half off the stool and gave Bessie a strum.

L.T. spoke to me from behind the glass partition. “Michelle, let’s go over the hook one last time before recording.” I nodded, put my earphones on and started to play, he stopped me.

“It’s your one shot at stardom. We need the chill bump factor!”

I put my finger up to my mouth, insinuating that he hush and let me do my thing.

“Go!” He leaned back, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.

I took a deep breath and began to saaaaang.

“Your first love painted you blue-ue-ue. She stepped on your feelings of true-ue-ue. You hid behind the darkness that took over your mind. You feared your shattered heart, no one would find. Your first love painted you blue-ue-ue. She stepped on your feelings of true-ue-ue. Little did she know she colored you appealing, you stood out from the rest, now my love I’m revealing. Your first love painted you blue-ue-ue. Baby, now you’re mine, there’s nothing I won’t doo-oo-oo. My Beautiful blue, my beautiful blue, my beautiful blue……….”

I hit the front of my guitar with the palm of my hand.

“That’s it!” L.T. sat up and called me out into the hall. He removed something from a brown envelope he was holding.

“What do you think about this for an album cover?”

I hugged him tightly around the neck. “Are you serious?”

“Indeed, it’s your time to shine!” L.T. was one proud producer.

“A blue seashell amongst dark rocks, love it!” I was giddy with excitement.

“I’m thinking we’ll go with the title: Blue Chelle!”

 

 

 

“How did we get here?” I woke up covered in sand, head pounding, and my clothing torn.

“There’s a seashell stuck to your forehead, Rog.”

I smacked Tilly’s hand away when he tried to brush it off. “Don’t touch me! You’re still covered in grease from working on old Mrs. Carver’s Impala.” He dipped them into the loch. “Clean or not, don’t ever touch me!” I reiterated, rolled over and caught it as it fell from above my brow. “This isn’t a shell, It’s a tooth!” I screamed and tossed it as far as I could into the water.

Tilly’s grin exposed he was missing a front one. “Sorry man, I think that was yours.” Unfazed, he stuck his tongue through the gap.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Tilly stumbled back across the beach and fell. He let out half a chuckle.

“Ohhhh… No…. How’d the Carver’s pay you?” My memory was slowly coming back.

He pulled an empty glass bottle from his green and black flannel shirt. “Money….??”

I sighed having heard about this place before – The pointed rock, the purple and pink skies, the mermaid twins that lived below the sea. “You convinced me to search for Millicent and Miranda?” My watch stopped but I knew I was late for my shift at the warehouse.

“It was your idea.” Tilly didn’t lie so I went with his story assuming he was still tipsy. “The best night of my life!” He gazed out over the ocean.

“So you say!” I stood up and headed towards the road.

“There!” Simultaneous splashing threw water in our direction, soaking me again. Tilly retrieved a small golden trident with something attached to the middle prong. “She returned my tooth!” He held it up. “We’re coming back next weekend, Rog! I’m in love.”

“Nooooo…! Momma, why did you blow them out? They’re helping the pumpkins!”

“Margot Sinclair, you are six years old! Why did you think it was okay to light candles next to my Halloween decorations?!?!?” I was furious! This child was always into something! I raised my hand and thought about brushing it across her tiny tail, but I had issues with spanking my daughter. 

The make-up I so carefully applied to intensify her Cinderella costume ran down her face along with those giant crocodile tears that always threw me into a frenzy of sadness. Truly, I blamed Kyle. Everyone in America stopped smoking cigarettes but not this guy, he just couldn’t let go of the habit and he never put his lighter in a secure place. 

“Mommy’s sorry, baby. You cannot play with fire – EVER!” I grabbed a Kleenex and dabbed away at her chunky little cheeks, removing the evidence of hurt. Her silky long blue dress cascaded down to the small heals I painted silver in an attempt to make glass slippers.     She was a cutie!

Her plastic orange pumpkin was overflowing with candy by the time we made it back from trick-or-treating. I checked the loot for evidence of tampering and let her have a couple of pieces of the sugar I despised. She yawned, then cried and yawned again. “To sleepy town you go!” I carried her to bed, tucked her in and kissed her forehead. 

Kyle decided to toss the pumpkins into the backyard for our pet pig-Wilbur, he would most definitely indulge. “Have these things grown?” He heaved and groaned as I laughed. Surprisingly, they did appear quite a bit larger. I was probably just tired.

The next morning, I went into the kitchen, started the coffee, and flipped on the television with the remote Kyle left on the counter along with his lighter. I threw it – in the garbage!

BREAKING NEWS ALERT ticked across the bottom of the screen. I paused to listen. “Residents of Buliver claim to have seen a small girl being carried away in a carriage that resembled a pumpkin.” I dropped the creamer and ran to Margot’s room. She was gone and there in her place was a tiny pamphlet full of pictures – titled THE PRINCESS ZONE – How to transform your Halloween pumpkin into transportation fit for royalty.

The display in front of the Hallowed Trepidation Tabernacle read non-demoninational, A production mistake I assumed, someone forgot to spell check. The church bells rang high above the structure, the pure steeple gave off an eerie vibe as it pressed against the dark storm clouds that engulfed the sky. I slid in past the minister as he shook the hands of many parishioners walking up the steps and in between the behemoth, sculpted columns covered in rare, freckled gargoyles.

I sat in the back row with my head down as if I remained steadfast in prayer. They sent around the cup, though I didn’t recognize the scripture nor the substance in the tiny plastic that resembled a shot glass. I refused it, thinking maybe later. I would most likely need a drink after this. The bread looked more like green eggs and ham than saltless crackers. I leaned back against my seat so it could pass over me. I had no money to give when the golden plate made its way around. It was a no go on all three for me. 

I slightly turned and watched the men in black suits carry the collection into a nearby room, close to the exit, an easy snatch and grab. I nodded and smiled as they walked back to their pews. I got up and headed to the restroom, dipping unnoticed into the office. I thought they would’ve had more sense than to leave the cash out in the open. I stuffed my pockets and turned to leave. I was startled by the fulfillment of the entry way with expressionless faces, women, and men alike – no kids. I ran taking the first left up a set of unlit steps. At the top, I had a choice, a white metal sliding door or a huge wooden one. I chose the one that appeared the strongest. They followed me but at a slow speed, chanting, I couldn’t interpret their words. I hid behind the massive framework, realizing I was in a loft. A woman in all white carrying a lit candle breathed upon the flame, it shot in my direction giving way to my refuge. She kneeled down beside me, exclaiming the group had been awaiting my arrival. She dipped her finger in wax, drew a crucifix on my forehead and called me a sacrificial serpent. I was sure they had the wrong person.

 

 

 

 

They called her Sally, but nothing could slow her down. Her winds and rain so powerful that she burst through those levees as if they never stood. The fierce sound of the rushing water sent me and Boudreaux fleeing up the already rickety stairs. He reached back behind me and jerked his tool belt from the coat rack. He took my wrist and pulled me to the attic entrance, sending me up first. He slid his foot through the opening just as the infested waters stopped below. It was no time before he penetrated the roof with his hammer, tearing through the shingles with the putty knife he used for work. His quick thinking saved us.

The little that we owned violently bounced off every wall in the place until an unearthly silence came over the ward. The sweltering heat made this feat the more difficult. Reaux exited, dragging me with him. We sat near to the sun, praying to heaven that the National guard would reach us soon, only entering back in at night when random gunfire would ring out. I kept my eyes closed after looking across the way and seeing Mr. LeBlanc screaming from the second floor of his dwelling, his face pressed against the glass, fogging up the window and writing help with his index finger right before the swamp took him. There was nothing we could do. This went on for three days and nights. Our own government managed to chum the waters for the many gators looting this very neighborhood.

Once we were rescued, we boarded the first charter bus out, ended up in Houston. The stench and horridness haunt my every thought. When I asked Reaux why we returned, his only answer was “I had to.” I knew then he couldn’t erase the memories either and was hoping for some kind of closure. He kicked around the remnants of our once home with his steel toed boot, finally knocking through every piece of dry wall left standing. He fell to the ground, taking his hair into both fists and screaming at the top of his lungs. That was the first day of the rest of our lives. Long live the city.