“Don’t be a fool, Arlin!” He stood there with his arms crossed, his extra lengthy tie hanging out from underneath them, dangling far enough to surpass the waistline of his baggy navy slacks. I could read his mind. The way he crinkled his mouth and nose up towards his eyes.

He exhaled and reached over the stanchion barrier to touch the piece. An alarm immediately sounded. Three men clad in security uniforms rushed over to reprimand him for his actions.

He held only one hand up and mocked them. “Don’t shoot! I am the Ar-teast!” He always caused at least one scene during every show offered to the public.

He tightened his grip on the brass handled cane he now required, his fingers turned blood red. “Please, not this time, dear.” I begged him to cease his attempt for inspiration, something he lost after the plane crash ten years ago.

This painting was concocted after he struck a homeless man who mistakenly entered his last exhibit. The man fell to the ground, taking a lady with him. A nurse in the crowd quickly went to their aid. A fourth person, in order to subdue Arlin, bear hugged him with so much strength, he couldn’t break free until the authorities had him in cuffs.

He lifted the walking stick high into the air. I’d had enough! I snatched it from him, he began to wobble and this time he was the first on the floor. I imagined there would be no more art, and a strong probability that our marriage would be shortened.

A month later, he racked in 2.1 million dollars for the piece he titled – Angry wife, free mind, and a little time. He proved his love for me once again by staying and painting our own self-inflicted show misfortune.

Her gold-plated spoon clanked against the hand-painted cup as visible steam rolled into the air. Hot tea was her favorite though most of the household preferred caffeinated coffee. She always put her family first, not sitting down for a meal until everyone was served and then eating just the back of the chicken she fried so that others got better pieces. I guess that’s why we couldn’t cast blame upon her for…….. anything.

I sat beside her at the kitchen table, unable to hear the gentle sip she made after blowing the heat away. She brought out the good china only because the preacher was coming to brunch, luckily for her, he also preferred tea.

I was tempted to grab one of the home-made biscuits covered in peach preserves that she’d stood for hours stirring around in the big metal pot. A few pieces of country ham that grandaddy cured himself sat waiting on a dinner plate. He had only been gone a couple of months – the sight of the pork nearly made me cry.

The squealing of brakes alerted us to the minister’s arrival. My grandmother stood up from the table and straightened her apron, the one embroidered with pink roses, a Christmas gift from her cousin Martha. “Sit down. I can answer the door.” My offer declined as she said that wasn’t a proper way to great a “Man of God.” She was the lady of the house and would do it herself, the respectful way.

I excused myself to the living room once they were seated.

He prayed and began to read scripture from his trusty leather-bound BIBLE. He started with Colossians 3:13, the one about forgiving others. I chuckled silently wondering how my grave-ridden grandfather could pardon her for mariticide. How necessary was someone else’s forgiveness, anyways?

As the daylight began to fade, the bells of the cathedral chatted with the town’s people, making them aware that the Princess would soon give birth to her first-born. A child truly conceived out of love, but a love shunned by the royal family. She was without a husband and no suitor worthy of her reachable for hundreds of miles. The fact hidden that the baby had a peasant for a father, a lowly farmer, from across the meadow.

The louder the chime, the more folks gathered on the hillside ready to welcome the one who would be as they and one day carry them through their hardships with an understanding of their truth.

The whispers amongst the people filled the air, no one would dare name the poppa though their suspicions were most likely correct. A young heart cannot hide its endearment but to reveal his identity would surely have him beheaded. 

The candlelight from atop the tower bled through the open window, the curtains blew outward from the night’s wind. A storm was brewing over the horizon, but the pending catastrophe could not be foretold. The excruciating pains of childbirth formed into torturous lengthy screams echoing from the castle.The crowd gasped at the sudden silence – A quiet so still and unnerving, there was no baby’s cry to interrupt it. The clouds formed a silhouette of a mother holding her newborn son.

Towards the back of the multitude, a young lad in his soil covered boots fell to his knees and weeped loudly realizing his one love had become two in the heavens. The town men rushed to his aide bringing him back to his feet, begging him to hide his woes, knowing he too would find his place in the sky should he continue on with his emotions.

The hotel sat hidden, vegetation grew sporadically around it. An elite get-a-way usually filled to maximum capacity with indoor and outdoor swimming pools, an eighteen-hole course, the greens scattered with prestigious statues. Forty years had passed since the owners closed for renovations. A few weed infested scissor lifts still stood raised.

I pulled my camera from its case. Handpicked for this job by the chief editor of the Windy Mills Tribune, having always been curious why no one returned to The Continental Crown to finish the work or claim the property left barren. 

I forced my way through a broken door at the pool’s entrance. My strength filled grunt echoed through the hollow. Graffiti covered walls and empty syringes revealed a class downgrade in the people that now frequented the retreat. I was sure a giant hole in the ceiling gave off enough lighting to capture the images I desired. My work was cut out for me.

The meow from a stray cat sent chills down my spine. “Here kitty, kitty.” I called him with nothing to offer but a quick scratch under the chin. He purred at my touch and was then joined by thirty more felines. One by one they transformed to a height of at least seven feet, their luminescent eyes tugged at my soul, pulling me in nearer to the gang of now furless monsters ringing wet from melting skin. A foreign round metal object moved inside the building as it dragged them closer. My body went limp; paralyzed, they took me with them. The gnawing at my brain led to the realization of where everyone else had gone.

I snapped a photo as I entered the aircraft. My camera crashed to the floor. I hoped the film would be found so it could tell our story.

^^^^^^^^^_____________________________________

The strangely metallic colored hearse rolled down the block followed by another one……and another one……. Ten maybe more. The leader of the pack; maroon, the rest purple. The bass from the speaker filled Cadillac’s dropped in sync with each other, shaking the whole neighborhood.

This was an annual thing, we all stepped out of our houses to witness the monstrosity flood by until they reached their destination – The castle at the end of the cul-de-sac had always been there with no history surrounding it.
Ladies in terry-cloth robes, their hair clad with rollers, hands on their hips, not saying a word but instead sighing heavily as if that could detour the group, their husbands, the same, minus the beauty aids. “Get back inside.” Kids cried, only because they couldn’t witness the event, drawn to the oddity.

Some made themselves feel better, claiming it was a car show or similar, I believed otherwise having researched every aspect of the October 30th fling. It started at midnight and continued until twelve o’clock – late night, the first of November. Candles flickered, lighting the giant rock fortress, no sign of electricity.

It wasn’t until a decade later that the once child resident from our street, little Tommy Tillins, now sporting dreads, threw me the peace sign from the passenger’s seat of the head hearse as they made their way to the palace.

That year, I received an envelope in my mailbox, realizing I had been right all along. “I knew you believed, too. Tommy” written on a yellow post-it note along with two tickets to the “Hearse train show.” Instructions on how to secretly enter the gated and sound proof venue were taped to the back. The act played every Halloween – “Kill ‘em with the beat.” Tommy now went by Double T-Wrex.

After his performance, I swore him to be a lyrical genius. I’m now a huge fan.

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.