I flopped down in the passenger’s seat of mom’s car and sighed. 

Once a month she took me to the farmhouse tucked in the middle of nowhere. We drove down the dirt road and then through the feet tall grass to get to my grandfather’s barn. 

She would beep the horn eight times and wait for him to come out. 

The barn door would open and close three times and then he would emerge. He drug his feet a distance before breaking out into a full-blown run. Once he made it to me, he would stand very still and wave me forward “Come on, Jason.” I was wrong for the way I felt but the visit took up my Saturday.

Why did I have to go through this when mom didn’t even speak to the man?

He went back in the same way he came out, I followed. The place was magnificent but seemed pointless.

“Jason, look.” He turned the first dial and called out the numbers. “Seven, two, two.” That was my birthday, I didn’t believe he knew that. He went down the line, dinged every bell, turned every knob, and entered every combination – all seven, two, two. I just watched. Oddly, he never turned the big red wheel.

I didn’t stop my visits. I also, didn’t think I would take it so hard when the old guy passed away. I was twenty-nine years old when I got the call. It was around midnight, the day before my birthday. I cried like a baby, hopped on my motorcycle, and sped to the country. I threw my helmet to the ground and ran straight towards the barn. The lights were on as if the structure awaited me. I turned the knobs, dinged the bells and put in the combinations – still crying.

I looked at the big red wheel and with force, spun it. I heard a clunk and then a rattle. Tons of cash fell from the brass metal pipe near the wall. A note tied to a string dropped last. It read “You are smart. I love you, Jason. From grandad.” I donated the money to help the mentally challenged except for the two-dollar bill that was in the pile. I framed it. It reminded me that different was exceptional.

The wrinkles around her eyes, the gray hair and the limp she possessed gave away her age. She led my brother and I into the parlor and offered us something to drink.

“Won’t you sit with an old lady for a moment?” She asked. My brother lifted his eyebrows signifying he wasn’t feeling the place. I was interested, curious about the white roses held captive in the center of her marble top table.

“Do you like my flowers dear?” She directed her question towards Bert.

“No.” he answered. There wasn’t an empathetic bone in his body. I gave him a slight push and told her they were beautiful.

The doorbell rang as we stood there.

“Wait right here.” She said. We chose to follow her anyways. We had important things to do and needed to leave. Two more children entered blocking us from exiting. She quickly closed the door behind them. The lock turned on its own. We were all trapped.

“You can’t leave until you smell my roses.” Her expression, blank. We all stood there unsure of what was going on.

“Let’s just smell them.” The smallest kid of the group suggested. Her face lit up with a smile. She took one of the keys from her elastic wrist band and moved to open the case.

It was at that exact moment that I noticed a ghostly imagine reflecting from the glass of her secretary. I turned to face the monster. A white mask prohibited us from seeing his face, his body draped in all black. He had one hand placed behind his back. I imagined he carried a butcher knife to chop us all up.

We screamed in horror. I grabbed Bert’s arm and pulled him towards the door, remembering that was no way out.

“Stop!” the lady yelled. We all began to cry. The man removed his mask, the woman peeled the aged skin from her face.

“Kids these days have no sense of excitement.” She spoke to the man.

“It’s a different world now babe.” He replied.

They gave us each a giant Hershey bar and told us it was just a skit, all in the name of fun. 

The four of us panted, trying to regain our breath as we travelled the concrete sidewalk. Other kids on the street pointed and laughed at us. I suppose they had been here before.

We all agreed we were too old to ever trick-or-treat again.

My cane hitting the concrete floor reminded me I was seventy years old now; my body and mind scarred from years of imprisonment. I took many a beating, night terrors caused me to cry in my sleep. Weeping in the big house was looked down upon, made ‘em think I was weak.

The light still buzzed above me like it did when I was a young man. I worked here for nearly a decade when it was an Elementary school, it now houses public records. I loved the kids, spoke to each one that passed me by, some laughed because I always had a broom or mop in my hand. Never had a chance to have a family of my own. I am nobody’s grandpa, never will be.

I came back to this place to put an end to all the heartaches and lies.

I hobbled into the janitor’s closet and shut the door. I sat down in the child sized, metal legged chair. I guess some things never change. I reached into my pocket, pulled out and unfolded the piece of notebook paper that would help bring Jimmy Ray’s truth. 

What I said on the stand that day was true. I had blood on my shirt from dragging that injured pup off the road but, I ain’t never killed that six-year-old boy. I loved them babies. They made me smile. I did forty five years of somebody else’s time. Tomas Hill

I guessed this was suicide in a sense.

Just as I expected Cary Truney opened that closet door and went to shoot me with his handgun. But what a man anticipates, he can stop. I put one right between his eyes. He’d been following me since I got out, scared I would tell his secret. I was a coward back in nineteen fifty-eight, they would have just called me a liar and a murderer had I told ‘em what I seen. I would’ve been killed in the streets. 

Maybe my note would help my case and maybe it wouldn’t. I made honest men out of them twelve and Cary Truney started his life sentence today.

THE END

“Hand me the other can.” Ralph looked at Mindy and grinned. He was a little giddy from the smell. “Go on now, get me the rest of it. I know you got it hidden somewhere.”

Mindy folded her arms across her chest and struggled back to the old aluminum trailer, rust on every side. Her small size five shoe hit the first wooden step hard, the second step, well it broke. Mindy’s no name, black velcro shoe went right through it. Her ankle turned and her leg was stuck there being tormented by the fragments of worn down plank. “Ralph, won’t you come and help me?” She cried out and then rested face down on the top deck.

Ralph wobbled through the grass on a mission to help his sweetheart. After all, there was no one else around for miles. He had to do it whether he was in the right frame of mind or not.

“Mindy, why are you so clumsy?” His words were slurred and drawn out. It took him about four minutes to say them. Mindy didn’t respond.

When he finally made it to her rescue, he jerked the board up with his bare, calloused hands. “See there Mindy, you got yourself a good man.” He smiled, his two front teeth missing and the rest were coated in decay. The walk to the trailer did him some good as far as fresh air was concerned.

“Did you hear what I said?” His speech still jumbled. “Answer me woman or I’m not giving you that anniversary key I just spray painted for you.” She kept her face turned and quivered a bit in fear. Ralph reached down and pulled her head up by her scraggly, dirty blonde hair. Her eyes were big as saucers, her face showing traces of gold. She tried to give him a loving smile.

“Dang it Mindy, that was our last two dollars we spent on that spray paint.”

“I told you we didn’t need two cans, Ralphie.” She limped into their home bending down to grab her paint covered rag on the way.

“We’re going to do better.” They said in sync as they fell over on the couch.

“He struggled over the wooded, dirt covered terrain, dragging one leg, and gripping his side trying to keep his wound closed. His sword: heavy, he left it lying on the ground. It now hangs here by the spiral staircase.” We all turned in that direction.

“The fog rolled in blocking his view. The feel of the walkway beneath his feet was a familiar one. He knew he had made it home unlike several of his fellow soldiers. He collapsed at the doorstep. His loving wife Mary fell to her knees, weeping so loudly it echoed across the land.” He paused, bent down, and took a sip of water from the glass sitting on the floor next to the hall tree. He cleared his throat and continued on.

“Alright, if you would all follow me this way to the Dining room. Look closely at the oriental rug gifted to the General by a foreign leader, you can still see the blood stains where Mary tried to drag her husband inside the home.” He gave us all an opportunity to witness the gore.

“They say he still roams the land searching for his precious Mary, his spirit stuck in the worldly realm desiring but one last look at her.”

I felt my son tug at my sleeve. “Mom, she looks just like you.” Pointing towards the portrait of the husband-and-wife duo. He told me this every time we visited the mansion. At that moment, I felt a cold breeze pass by me. I turned to look but found nothing.

Once again the guide spoke. “If you put both hands behind your back, palms up and close your eyes, you can feel the General place his cold, lifeless hands upon yours.” Of course, everyone tried it. I did feel hands, but they weren’t cold. They felt oddly real and warm.

I snatched my boy up and started to run. I was gently grabbed from behind, spun around and kissed. I blinked repeatedly to regain my vision. I fell to my knees. My dear husband was home from his tour in Iraq. “I knew I would find you here, you history buff, you.” The three of us cried and held each other full of emotion from his surprise homecoming.

I got a small crew of assassins together about a month or so ago. We set out to slay the dragon that was burning all the small villages in Rovascotia. He even managed to take the lives of the Queen and her staff, transforming her castle into his den.

He towered at least seventy feet tall. His footsteps shook the ground. The heat from his breath could be felt a mile away. 

We tracked his every move, learning his daily routine. We studied his species, his odd anatomy. His heart was located on the tip of his fierce tongue and must be punctured to bring his existence to an end. 

We carved many small swords out of steal and perfected our aim. The attack would have to occur as he slept peacefully in his nest. 

Taking our gear, we trekked through the rolling green meadows of the beautiful countryside, holding tight to our makeshift weapons. 

We entered through an opening where the castle door once stood and climbed the rock steps, stunned by the barbaric snoring coming from the loft. We moved cautiously into his den. His mouth opened wide with each deep breath. Quickly, we released our weapons, striking his heart. His eyes bulged in fear as he bellowed out one last horrific scream.

These events led to our own capture. The walls caved in, the ground crumbled, all escape routes were now blocked by castle debris. Positioned in the middle of the rumble was but one giant, glass picture window. No matter what we tried, it just wouldn’t break.

The dragon, deceased had fallen over on his side revealing a monstrous egg. The egg began to crack bringing to light a thin membrane. The monster’s offspring burst through, covered in slime, he cried in search of his mother.

We offered him the only thing we had to give which was love.  He loved us back. We trained him to forcefully move around. By the time our supplies ran low, he had managed to clumsily break the window that held us captive with his tail.

We lured him from his habitat and back to our hometown of Zooxenburg. We built for him a lovely cage. 

The curiosity of our homeland people made us plenty of money. They paid generously to see our find. We considered him lucky to have us. 

Everyday on my lunch hour, I drove around the corner to the graveyard that my grandparents were buried in. It beat the breakroom at work. After I ate my usual turkey on rye, I thumbed through my Bible.

The sun peered down brightly upon the pages. I could feel the heat on my fingertips as I ran them underneath the tiny words. I glanced up. The colossal, suspended ball of fire invited me to partake in a little vitamin D.

I slid across the seat to get out of my stale smelling jalopy. I caught my pant leg on a piece of metal that had broken through the decade’s old vinyl. I was living the good life. Ha!

I looked down at the concrete drive, deciding a walk would do me some good. The meticulously sculpted mausoleums in New Orleans were admirable, more like art than tombs.

I hadn’t made it very far when a swift wind blew through my hair carrying with it a strange sound of desperation, a man moaning in pain or sadness. But, I didn’t see a soul. I listened again, trying to pinpoint the location from which it came.

I noticed the door on one of the Mausoleum’s was broken. The steel snakes cascading around the frame were bent out of place having been used as a handle to gain entrance to the final resting place.

A tall man dressed in all black, stumbled from inside. I froze in fear. His face pale and body thin, yet he was more than handsome. He held to the door for balance and waved me in. “Let me make your life abundantly more satisfying.” His words were drawn out as they entered my ears. Another gust swept up a plastic cup that rested on the ground next to me. I couldn’t even turn to look.

This man, he had me in a trance. I moved towards him unable to stop. I did want him to change my life! He swept me up in his arms. I turned my head and exposed my neck, ready to be bitten and turned forever.

“Freeze, Teddy LaRue! I told you I would find you!”

As they drug Teddy through the grass in handcuffs, he turned to me and smiled. “If I ever get out, I’m gonna find ya.” He winked as he hit his head getting into the Patrol car.

I pouted walking back to my vehicle, dragging my keys that hung on a Snoopy lanyard across the ground.

Dang you Stephenie Meyer. You instilled in me hopeless dreams.

I struggled to get through the gate holding the last box filled with our belongings. The new apartment had a country feel to it, lots of shrubbery and outdoor space. I felt like I could possibly breathe here.

I heard a car come to a screeching halt behind me. I turned to see Brett with his arm resting on the roof of Sally’s red mustang. They were talking and laughing. I had done all of the packing, I shouldn’t have expected the moving part to be any different.

“Brett, can you come open the gate for me?” He held up his pointer finger, telling me to wait a minute. I found a way to do it myself when I realized he was getting in the car to leave with her, nothing new to me.

Once inside, I inhaled the fresh paint, and ran my bare feet across the new carpet. When the ice dumped from the maker in the freezer, it signified something to me. I was welcomed here.

I was tired but couldn’t wait to unpack. I did as much as I could physically do for the night. I showered and watched a little television.

A knock at the door woke me from a near sleep. Sluggishly, I made my way to the peephole. “Let me in Rebecca.” It was Brett. Of course, he came back as always.

I let him in, the first thing he asked for was his key. “Brett, you don’t live here. I only let you in to explain this to you.”

He referred to our lease agreement and how much he loved me. He begged for my forgiveness once more.

I pulled the lease from the junk drawer in the Dining room. “This lease agreement?” I asked.

“Exactly!” He leaned back in the wooden chair nearly flipping it over.

“Yeah, the agreement I had you sign was just a copy of our old paperwork from our old apartment. You never did pay attention to important details.” I handed it to him and insisted he leave. “Maybe Sally will have room for you in that Ford of hers.”

I was at peace with my decision. He didn’t want to leave but, my revolver encouraged him to do so. “And Brett, I’m trying to decide what to plant out back in the flower bed. Please don’t come back here because it just might be you.”

Even the untruths of our minds manifest into reality. . .

Amos called an unofficial employee meeting over by the bar. This was our first day back open. It had been nearly a year since his daughter, Amelie went missing from his home in the Bronx. They labeled her a juvenile delinquent, claimed she left the state with a man twice her age.

We squished in tightly together to hear what he had to say.

The Pinball machine startled us all as the lever pulled back and sent the ball flying up the incline. It rolled quickly down, hitting the contraptions in the center of the machine, causing multiple loud sounds in unison. The side buttons maneuvered in and out on their own so that the flippers would reverse the ball back into the maze. I tried to ignore it. But, no one was actually playing the game!

Even Amos lost his focus when the old Wurlitzer jukebox lit up a pink and blue and then the arm retreated down to grab a forty five. The record, sent spinning, belting out Del Shannon’s – Runaway. A song I was too young to enjoy but, had heard many times.

Amos’ began to stutter his words, his brow covered in perspiration. I supposed he was reminiscing on all the time his daughter spent playing pinball and music here at the cafe’. I, myself wanted to cry.

The front windows were open, allowing for a gentle breeze to flow in. A line of customers began to build at the door. The electricity flickered on and off but, both machines continued to work.

Amos, frightened and anxiety ridden, put both of his hands tightly around his forehead. “Please just stop!” He yelled. Then came the words that stunned us all. He apologized to Amelie for his jealousy and for how he killed her in a fit of rage.

The front door flew open and what we believed to be customers was actually SWAT. They took him into custody. I will never forget the sergeant leaning in towards me and whispering “There’s nothing these technically savvy people can’t do these days.” I guess he was right. Amos is headed to prison and we are no longer open for business.

With a grunt and a heave, I slowly opened the tall, wooden door to see what I would find. After all, I was only seven and had been told not to go in the room numerous times. My Father’s passing left me to be cared for by my mother whom chose to stay sedated a majority of the time. She didn’t handle his death very well.

I squinted my eyes shut, scared to see what I was banned from. I ran my tiny hands across the walls but, they didn’t feel normal. I glanced quickly to see a million books. The musty smell made me gasp for air. Still, I was excited! I knew the bindings held knowledge, information I so longed for.

Two banged up metal doors were centered in the middle of the books. Curiosity led me through them.

A gust of wind shot past me, the area I entered was pitch black and my deaf ears were now able to hear “ahrbrijfjebdhdfuorknsbxjvirdj fjtnjesjhtkeshcjrecnr” I couldn’t understand what was happening. I turned quickly to run away.

My Mother stood behind me in a flowing white gown holding a book much larger than I had ever seen. She slammed it into my chest and sent me plummeting back into the dark abyss. I fell right into my Father’s arms.

“Shelby, wake up my dear. Old Saint Nick has left you something under the tree.”

I wiped my sleepy eyes and went downstairs. I opened my packages, one by one… Books! I don’t even like to read! I realized then what my dream meant – I wanted to remain trapped in the unknown – it’s my happy place.

MeRrY ChRiStMaS and Happy reading! ❤️