I was drawn in by the phenomenal architect of the centuries old cathedral. The town swarmed with rumors that the church had eyes, aware of all man’s secrets. I paid the fee to join the very first group to tour the house of worship once it was opened to the public.

The last person to enter, the metal doors slammed behind me. I turned to look, realizing there was no longer an exit, a wall now stood in its place. Entertainment of some sort, I assumed. Dust particles swarmed in the multicolored light as the sun beamed through the stained glass.

A bitter cold took over the room, I rubbed my arms to minimize the feeling. A gust of stale air passed by me, I could feel the presence of those once here, the harsh stare from above, a judgement cast down within these walls.

The people in front of me chattered loud unintelligible words, mimicking the buzz of a stinging bee. I smacked the back of my neck, tickled from what felt like heavy breathing against my bare skin, I pivoted slightly to find an empty space.

I returned to a forward facing position. The other guests trapped me in a perfectly formed circle, their faces melted into long, pale, ghostly images. Their jabber no longer foreign as each called out my every sin, taunting me with the acts.

A deep, sinister laugh carried my attention to the ceiling. A wrinkled and ancient priest hovered above, reciting a right of passage, the floor crumbled and burst open, swallowing me up into a pit of fire.

“An eternity awaits you, my brother.” A two-horned creature grasped my shoulder.

I’m eighty-five, memory’s failing me, but the events of that day will never escape my mind’s eye. 

The sun was just waking up, sending a pinkish hue across the city. It was a Sunday morning; folks were preparing to start their day. Most would head to the church building for service.

I could smell the bacon frying as I looked in the mirror, struggling to tie my tie. I went to her, my wife of fourteen years… at the time. Let’s see, our twin boys were nine, yep, fourteen years. I believe we’ve been married for sixty-three years, now. I’ve never taken my wedding band off. 

She graciously fixed my clothing and then sent me to the store for the eggs she had forgotten. 

I had a problem that I couldn’t tell anyone about. I knew for a fact Millie didn’t have a clue, that’s my wife’s name, Millie. I kissed her cheek, headed out and caught a glimpse of one of those family-less urchins. I offered him a ride and a tiny box of lemonheads; I kept a stash in my glove compartment. I only needed him for a few minutes and then the town would have one less throw-away child. 

My plans were foiled when Deputy Forsythe pulled up beside me, knowing my intentions, he stared me straight in the eyes. 

I sped off, rounded the corner and crashed into the light pole at the town’s entrance. I felt my spirit escape when my body shattered the windshield. The force sent me flying directly into the pole. I can still be seen if the lighting’s right. 

My wife and boys have never visited, making this place much worse than hell. 

I hear all the mean things people say about me. 

I suppose I’m a trapped tourist attraction.

Everyone was laughing, dancing, twirling their partners around in the sunset. Most of us glad for a break from a hopelessness that had recently engulfed our minds – A natural disaster brought on by the extreme heat they told us didn’t exist. The ground shook, structures tumbled, limited aide sent the town squirming into limbo.

I lost everything, wife, kids and the goldfish that swam in the clear bowl. The tiny plastic green plant submerged in the tap water couldn’t hide Rufus from his fate. He flopped on the dry floor once his habitat shattered in pieces – until he didn’t flop anymore.

I blamed myself for not being there, foolish enough to believe the lies I was fed about the job offer that subtracted me from the ones I loved most.

My family would benefit greatly from the income, class us up a notch. The agreement, half would be paid up front and the other half when completed. Me and my team built the rock wall as promised, but final payment still hadn’t been issued.

My buddy, Roosevelt, swallowed his pride, got revenge, knocked a hole in the stone barrier and celebrated his wedding reception amidst the partial ruins.

Now, I’m standing here, tipsy, staring through the demolition, out across the mountains and the only thing that comes to mind is a children’s Christmas poem. Slurring my speech, I recited it. “What before my wandering eyes should appear, a sleigh with eight tiny reindeer.” Or something like that.

I leaned my head over on the stones, nearing unconsciousness, I figured it all sounded about right, some sort of cruel, fake Santa Claus was probably behind all the evil in this world.

“We waited to enter the ride. There were a few people in front of us, but some were getting turned away because they weren’t tall enough.” Barney was a fifteen-year-old student from Mossdale High. His class was on their year-end field trip to The Royal Amusement Park. He was now being questioned by local police because his best friend Percy didn’t make it back from the two-seater ferry ride that began inside a hollow, water-filled mock castle. 

“Did you and Percy have a fight?” Detective Reynolds tapped his ballpoint pen against the table. They hadn’t charged Barney with anything, but had him secluded in a park office.

“Never!” Barney’s legs bounced nervously.

“Mmmmm.” Reynolds replied.

“Oh, Barney! What’s going on?” Barney’s mother burst through the door, ran to her child and wrapped her arms around him. “You shouldn’t question a boy without his mother present.” She harshly pointed her finger towards the detective.

“Ma’am, we’re trying to find out what went on out there. Your son was the only one with Percy.”

“What happened to Percy? Tell your mother.” Her stern look held a protective meaning.

“There’s a monster on the island, when we rounded the corner, he jumped out and grabbed Percy from the boat!” The boy began to cry. “I covered my eyes!” Barney screamed in horror.

 

Weeks later, a homeless man, resembling a monster was found camping on the park’s island. He admitted guilt in Percy’s murder. Barney was released into his mother’s custody after weeks incarcerated with the criminally insane.

 

“How’d you get someone to live there and confess, mom?” 

“We never share our secrets, so when asked, we don’t have to lie.” His mother smiled and patted his back. The old green station wagon pulled off. 

 

“Why’d you name me Barney?”

“It’s sophisticated.” She smiled.

“Somewhere out there, over that bridge and through the trees sits a whole new world. Our parents are there, too.” Flippo’s translucent pea-colored wings fluttered, Alf buzzed past him, nearing his face, and then flying around in circles. “Do you really think so, Flip? Do you? Huh, do ya’?” Alf was the most nervous of fairies but he and Flippo were brothers, Alf’s annoying behaviors could never break their bond. 

The two were separated from their parents during a storm, lightning, thunder and then a magnificent gust of wind carried them away. Flippo and Alf did exactly what they had always been taught, they stayed home and waited for someone to come for them, home, being Mrs. Rosea’s Garden. The family took up residency, years ago in an abandoned bird house that had fallen from the trees, more like a mansion, with multiple rooms and a skylight that allowed the warm sun in. They were always safe there, just alone.

“Come on.” The two flew back. “We need to come up with a plan to safely make it past Terrence. Terrence was a large German Shepard that belonged to Mrs. Rosea and every time she let him out to potty, he would prance back and forth across the bridge. They were sure Terrence was the only thing around that could see or smell them, their aroma, described as deliciously flattering. Whenever they were near, Terrence would run wild, jumping and barking, snipping at the air.

Home again, they practiced their escape by doing pushups and bench-pressing flower stems. “Look at this.” Alf formed a muscle. Flippo shook his head. “We’re about ready to fight that dog.” Flippo said. 

“What imaginary field trip are you guys on today?” The fair-folks glided in, laughing at their offsprings. 

“Mom, dad, you’re home!”

Oliver Sandy was eighty years old. He held an annual dinner to celebrate, by his definition, his resurrection. He stood at the head of the table, holding a giant mug of beer, his company, gripping crystal wine glasses, cheered him on. 

“You made the journey here for one reason, to remain youthful.” He looked outside, windows raging the length of the room. The moonlight allowed the artifactual church, eaten by elements, to be seen. “We’ll journey there after we indulge in this nutrition. No need to tarry.”

The staff dumped piles of bloody meat onto each guest’s plate.

“A blessing.” Mr. Sandy slurped his up using chopsticks. The table psychotically laughed. “Yum, yum, yum.” He chanted, they joined in.

A lady reached for her napkin to erase the mess from her face. Oliver slammed his mug. “No! You will be cleansed by the natural hellbroth.” Quiet took over the room.

“When I stand, you stand, we all stand.” Giggling, he stood and walked towards the door, chairs slid from under the table, the people fell in line. They marched towards the church, halting at the water’s edge. Oliver kneeled, his reflection reminiscent of his youth. He sighed heavily. “What are you waiting for? Get down here and clean yourselves up.”

The earth shook, the moon and stars quenched, the skies cleared, the suns heat beat upon the changed ones. Additional stones from the church collapsed. “He wouldn’t give me heaven, but He gave you free will to choose me. There’s nothing wrong with remaining beautiful for an eternity here on earth. Souls, a minimal price to pay.” He knew there was no such as eternal earth. He belched loudly responding to his thoughts. 

The born-again demons splashed and frolicked embracing their newfound youth. Oliver happily sang their assignments into their ears.

Trudy and Ms. Sinclair wore knee length black dresses with white frilly collars and aprons, rubber shoes with inch thick soles, management thought they’d help with back pain. 

Jobs were scarce in Gulfport. The ladies did what they could to provide for their children. 

“I was up past midnight stirring the pot.” Ms. Sinclair groaned, hand on her hip.

“This cart just keeps getting heavier; linens, bleach, soap, toilet paper, and do they expect we leave these on the pillow.” Ms. Sinclair held a melted chocolate wrapped in tinfoil. 

They laughed.

From sunup, the heat had no mercy. 

Trudy brushed by, taking the cart, pushing it to the next room. 

“Heavier, maybe, but we’re older……. Look coming here.” Trudy pointed towards the courtyard.

“Y’all get out there, sell them praline candies, two dollars apiece.” Mrs. Sinclair hollered down to her kids. “Junior, keep an eye on Fancy. Her daddy’s still at the bar, too drunk to keep her.”

“Yes ma’am.” Junior said. 

“Charles is good for nothing, got my kids working in the heat to make a dime.” Ms. Sinclair scoffed. 

“Not many of them are……worth anything.” Trudy raised her eyebrows.

They pulled the dirty sheets off the bed. Ms. Sinclair stopped to fan with a breakfast menu left on the nightstand. “I don’t know why these folks want to sleep in an antebellum home. Haven’t they heard the ghost stories.” Ms. Sinclair sat down; her bones popped. 

Trudy finished the bed.

“I made a special piece of candy for Charles, poured some antifreeze in his batch. I plan to kill him.”

Trudy kept working and laughed. “Oh, Ms. Sinclair, you’re not killing Charles.”

“Who ain’t? Took a policy out three years ago. While I’m at it, probably going to tell Mr. Devereaux to take this job and shove it.”

The tremendous, ridged glass peak stood mightily before the fortress of Saint Unique, a home for tortured souls, an immaculate castle situated against the water’s edge.  

Nothing in, nothing out…. This had always been law. Steel warning signs were secured tightly by railroad spikes at every possible entrance. Yet, thrill seekers attempted the climb at least twice a season. 

There is no help for the sick, those dying inside, their bodies still thriving no matter how disfigured their features, having attempted to climb the mount of glass against the warnings of those that knew them. The reward for arriving at the peak would’ve been the most pleasurable of all pleasures. But defeat was met feet from the top, the slippery slope denied any further grip sending its pursuers tumbling down the sharpest shards, ripping through their flesh, stopping only to allow their survival. A team of men formed together decades ago to retrieve their bodies and hide them within the walls of Saint Unique, providing medicine and sustenance to live. Yet, in such a condition, each remaining suitor stared hopelessly from their rock lined palace windows, wailing, scratching at the glass, begging for one last try. The erect alp was the only thing visible from St. Unique, adding to their torture. 

Their desire after destruction brought on by one woman flaunting her success, the only person alive to have reached the top. Driven mad with delight, she too was brought to the castle. She danced through the halls, whistling and singing of her triumph. A crown of foil was placed around her head by the guardians, she perceived it to be the purest of gold. She knew nothing but joy, day in and day out. 

“Long live King Colossal.” Stuttering, her eyes closed, then once again she began to dance. 

Every year during summer break, Cline and Coby tagged along with their Civil War enthusiast uncle to hike Lookout Mountain. This year was no different except he would allow the pre-teens to trek out a small distance on their own.

Exceeding their boundary, they made it to the top of the mountain. The view was magnificent. 

   “What’s that thing? A tiny Stonehenge?” Coby asked.

   “You’re dumber than I thought.” Cline laughed. 

Coby gave Cline a swift kick to the groin. When Cline could once again stand comfortably, the two engaged in a wrestling match until tired. Their red sweaty faces revealed their adolescent mentality. They shared some water and then Cline decided to explain the monument. 

   “In winter of 1863, during a battle known as Above the Clouds, the soldiers aligned, loaded and readied their cannon. The signal was given to fire. The cannonball didn’t clear the stack of stones but, instead went right through the first one. Wanna see?” Cline said.

Coby shrugged. They walked towards the mound. 

   “Look, it’s still in there.” Cline pointed.

   Coby leaned forward, being small enough, he stuck his upper body through the hole. “I don’t see anything.” His voice echoed. 

Cline grabbed Coby’s feet, raised his legs and forced him in. Cline placed his backside over the hole, trapping Coby. 

Coby screamed! He frantically pushed his cousin trying to move him. He was too heavy! In a panic, Coby beat every inch of his rock cell. He could feel the stone walls closing in on him, blinded, he lost his breath. Coby collapsed.

   Cline wiped dirt on his face, picked up a stick and whistled as he headed back towards camp. He ran the last few yards, appearing weak and frightened. “I can’t find Coby! He disappeared somewhere on the trail!” Cline cried. 

The End.

Markie and his younger brother Riley ignored their grandmother’s call. Two more innings and they’d glory as Wiffle-Ball champions.

An unsubtle darkness settled as they began their journey home.

Everything around them began to shake. Markie raised his arms to steady himself.

“EARTHQUAKE!” Riley gripped his brother’s hand. 

“Let go!” Markie pushed his sibling. The rumbling intensified, then came to a silent halt.

“Those twin warlocks, with matching cottages are cooking up potions to kill kids. The mixture causes a reaction, things tremble.” Markie laughed and helped his brother up. “Jokes aside, don’t hold my hand again. What if the fella’s had seen that?”

Riley glanced at the well-lit cabins. His brother’s story was possibly true… but…. There’s another tale that came to his mind. 

Suddenly, layers of green earth rose up like waves, steam soared from the small waterhole and the window shades on the little houses began quickly opening and closing. The atmosphere went from pitch black to faint lighting, repeatedly. The boys held one another tightly, tiptoeing past, praying the evil twins wouldn’t catch them.

Markie’s voice quivered, “Those aren’t win….dows! Those are eye….lids! Runnnnn!” He and his brother took off, screeching to an abrupt stop, seconds from tumbling into space. The night sky held the stars, moon and now Markie and Riley teetered on nothing’s edge. Swaying from side to side, they sat down, grabbed a tree trunk, and held on for dear life.

Snorting noises echoed through the air as steam once again rolled from the waterhole.

“Markie.” Riley whispered. “I hope your stupid game was worth it. Bad kids wake the beast, look, we’re holding on to a Dragon’s wart so we don’t die…… and……that’s not a waterhole……it’s a nostril.” 

The dragon lowered his head, let out a sneeze and sent the boys flying home.