On the Way Home One Afternoon

It was raining when I came out of the grocery store. The sky was obviously darker than normal, but not pitched as night; simply gray and somber.

I walked to my car, and decided I was man enough to not run in the rain, though my hair stuck to my face like wet pasta. The food I had just purchased were in small plastic grocery store bags, and I figured they'd stay dry enough to make it to the car.

Definitely not from one of their best albums, but this song is so stinking fun!

Fear of the Dark
Iron Maiden
I am a man who walks alone
And when I'm walking a dark road
At night or strolling through the park
When the light begins to fade
I sometimes feel a little strange
A little anxious when it's dark.
Fear of the dark, fear of the dark
I have a constant fear that something's always near
Fear of the dark, fear of the dark
I have a phobia that someone's always there
Have you run your fingers down the wall
And have you felt your neck skin crawl
When you're searching for the light
Sometimes when you're scared to take a look
At the corner of the room
You've sensed that something's watching you.
Fear of the dark, fear of the dark
I have a constant fear that something's always near
Fear of the dark, fear of the dark
I have a phobia that someone's always there

Welcome...To the Other Side... BWOOOhahahahaha!!!

It's funny what we can find as scary... for some, it's snakes; others, it's clowns; others, still, spiders. Heck, I've got a few friends (even married ones) who are terrified of having children.

Fear is an interesting element of humanity, I think. We are often told not to be afraid of the dark. In films, especially the ones I remember from the eighties (no, I didn't see most of them when I was that young, but later), there was always this emphasis on overcoming fear, if only to defeat whatever supernatural creature was causing havoc. Freddy Kreuger, and his five-bladed hand, was defeated in his own dream world when the kids he haunted stood up to him. And how many stories have we read/watched/listened to where the ghost was diminished when everyone stopped believing in them?

On the 'Other Side,' though, fear is a good thing to have, I'd venture. A healthy fear of our parents has greatly benefited many of us through life (wish there was a little more of that, nowadays). Walking home in the dark, or during a thunder storm, or in the middle of the jungles of Africa... those all seem wise when fear is concerned. Being wary of your surroundings is a type of fear I think anyone could benefit from.

The world is a scary place. It's also a dark place, and the sooner we realize and accept this little fact, the sooner we can attend to making it a better place for those we are raising to take hold of this world next. I certainly don't endorse living in fear, but sometimes it's good to have on hand.

In this particular blog, I'm hoping a little bit of scariness can be fun. Not everything Posted here will be scary, but unfortunately I tend to write things I find funny, but others not so much...

Welcome...

Quadlibet

Perhaps he should have noticed when he pressed the elevator button and it didn't light up. He felt the button go all the way until it wouldn't go any further, but a moment later realized that something did not register. He tried it again, assuming the tiny bulb inside the clear plastic switch was burnt-out, but not wanting to wait too long just the same. This time, however, the button glowed.

Soon the familiar chime rang, and two large chrome doors separated behind him.

Hmm, he thought, of all the times I've come to this office (which was quite often, since this was his place of employment) I don't believe that I've ever taken this elevator.

Stepping back, he looked at all of the elevator doorways and decided that, in fact, he had not ever taken this particular one before. Shrugging his shoulders, he stepped in and pressed his floor.

The button that he pressed lit, but he was a little surprised to see the symbol wasn't like anything he had seen before. It certainly wasn't representative of his office floor. He stared at the console and, after a moment of self-discussion, decided that this was the right place for his floors mark. But then something else caught his eye.

Slowly, he set his fine leather briefcase at his feet and took a long look at the elevator console. Two rows of about twelve buttons each, and black as night, except for the one that he had pressed only moments ago. They were so dark, in fact, that even his face's distorted reflection was cast in a cool shimmer as if he were peering out at himself from some other world.

There was also a certain warmth to them. Not a comforting warmth, he thought, like bundling up next to a roaring fire on the coldest of winter days while snow came down in bundles just outside your window. No, it wasn't even the physical sensation of warmth. They seemed to glow with a prescience that he found immensely unnerving; almost as if they were watching him, each with its own individual consideration. He was beginning to believe these were, in fact, eyes, and the small room around him began to shift.

Now, he really considered himself a sensible man (and he truly believed his wife would agree, most of the time), and he wasn't about to let an incredibly un-sensible idea bother him much (even if it was his own un-sensible thought). Slowly, he backed up to the far wall, where he had left his briefcase, and picked it up. The elevator doors had stayed open an unusually long time, and he felt some brief comfort in the realization that he still had an opportunity to get off.

Oh, but we all know (at least those of us who are familiar with these types of tales) how short such a moment of resolution can be; especially when the thought of escape is suddenly realized. And, sure enough, as he shifted forward to step out, two large red doors slid from both sides of the space and shut abruptly. They didn't close with the usual whoosh of air and sound of moving mechanics often associated with most elevators, either. Instead, the gentleman with the fine leather brief case – and, now a bit more concerned about his well-being than he was a moment before - heard something a bit more organic sounding. Something like taking a large messy bite of a freshly picked peach, only this particular piece of fruit would have to be quite large and... well, he preferred not to think about what might bite into something this big.

As in any situation like this, his stomach began to twist and he started to feel a tad queasy. He quickly realized, however, the motion inside was actually reacting to the motions of the elevator as it was starting to ascend. Above the doors he noticed a row of numbers for each floor, alternating a bright off-white one at a time. What he saw against the light of each passing floor was, again, not numbers, however; they appeared to be living things in motion, and they were the deepest red he thought he had ever seen. For an instant they appeared merely colored, shapeless forms, floating listlessly; like when a drop of food coloring is plopped into a glass of clear water. But almost immediately after each notice lit, the thing inside would jerk as if violently shocked, and take the shape of the number of that corresponding floor. When the light was extinguished for that particular display, the sign would dim and the symbol was a simple black number once more.

His legs tensed as he felt the motion almost suddenly cease. Fortunately, he thought, I had my knees bent or I probably would have fallen stiff!

For a moment he was confused about why the elevator had stopped. The sign lit above the doors and among row of floor numbers looked nothing like the floor he had requested. It was the same slow-drifting strand of red the others had been shortly before taking on their respective numbers, but it did not seem to be paying any attention. He looked at the button he had originally pressed and it was no longer lit, but did look like the right floor number, and did not bear the strange symbol that he had pressed originally.

Just as he looked back above the doors, however, the entire chamber dimmed. It was very brief, and he noticed the lit floor symbol above actually got brighter as everything else around him darkened. And within the moment of losing lighting the small red blob jerked suddenly and bent itself (itself?) into the floor number he was hoping for. The great doors slowly parted and he stepped out. Quickly.

However, as one foot crossed the threshold of the elevator-to-hallway, his second planted itself firmly behind the heel of his first, and he tipped forward. The fine leather briefcase cushioned most of the impact, but his embarrassment was almost fatal.

Pulling himself up and looking to make sure no one was around to see him humble himself, he brushed off his jacket and slacks and picked up his briefcase.

"Good morning, Mr. Coles," a gentle voice followed after him from behind, "that was quite a spill! Are you alright?"

Mr. Coles turned to see his round little secretary staring with wide-eyed concern, "Oh, good morning, Ms. Chamberpot," he felt his face start to burn, "no, no, I'm quite fine thank you."

"Well, when I saw you coming of the elevator I had no idea that might happen! I mean, of all things! Tripping right off of the elevat-"

"I do believe I said I was fine, thank you," Mr. Coles snapped.

Ms. Chamberpot let out a startled gasp, "I am terribly sorry," and turned back down the hallway from where she had come.

That was a bit rough, wasn't it? He thought to himself, well, I'll apologize to her later, I suppose. Or perhaps I ought to tell her now.

"Ms. Chambers-" the second half of her name got caught in his throat. He had turned to see the broad back of his plump secretary walking away, when he noticed the lower part of her back end seemed to be, well, squirming. He almost yelled out that he thought that she might have a snake going up the backside of her dress when he saw the end of it peaking out under her skirt at her feet. For a moment longer, he held to the idea it was some type of serpent, for the thing appeared to have a head. But as it curled up behind her back, he soon realized it was not a head he was seeing as more of a triangular, fleshy tip. It was only a moment, however, as his secretary turned to his attention.

"Yes, sir?" the look in her ample face suggested some hurt feelings, but she smiled just the same.

"I -" he started.

She's got a tail! Screamed through the immense noise between his ears.

"Uhmm..." he tried again, "I... uh... I'm sorry that I snapped. That was inappropriate of me, and well... I am truly sorry." He looked at the floor, hoping that it made him appear a tad ashamed. He was really finding it difficult to look at the woman. She… has… got… a… blasted… tail!

He could almost feel her expressions change.

"That is quite all right, sir, it did look a bit embarrassing, after all." She said in an almost motherly tone. He looked up, finally, as she walked away and watched the back of her dress sway and bounce as she moved, and occasionally noticed something else curling around her ankles.

His office door shut behind him with a soft thud and, after making sure it was shut tight, he quickly moved to his chair and sat down. As was usual, the only space made available in the middle of his desk the night previous was covered in pink slips with names and telephone numbers, or reminders about meetings. Scooping them all together he patiently read each one and tried to forget the craziness going on just outside his office door.

"Meeting on Tuesday with Johnson, Uhm-hmm... Mrs. Merryweather, yes... yes..." he mumbled to himself reading each and every number and name, and laying each one back on his desk as he finished. The very last one had him stumped, however, and he stared at it as if it were written in a foreign tongue. "Urgent?" he said.

Unlike the other three or four notices, which were written in Ms. Chamberpot's - at least the Ms. Chamberpot he knew before he noticed the tail - traditional style and in black ink, this one was written in thick red ink, and the "Urgent" was underlined in what almost looked to him like scratches. "Red ink on pink paper?" he asked himself, and then took note of the phone number, "Well, it does say urgent..." and he took his phone and dialed.

Mr. Coles listened as the line made a connection, clicked, and then started ringing. It wasn't a strange sound, but he found himself getting lost in thought as the line rang and he began to wonder what had happened to him. An elevator that seemed to be watching him? And then the thought of what he thought he saw on Ms. Chamberpot? The thought of watching his secretary that way suddenly made him blush. Even when I was a boy, he thought to himself, I always respected women and never stared at their derriere! But she had a tail! He argued.

The phone stopped ringing then, and he could hear a commotion at the other end. Nothing too loud, but like a soft breeze, or someone breathing quietly. "Uh, hello," he called into it, "Hello? This is William Coles returning an urgent call from this number. Is anyone there?"

No answer. Just the soft murmur of movement and nothing else.

"Hel-lo-o" He called again, this time with a melodic, if impatient, lilt in his voice. Still no answer. "Alright, then," he said and hung up the phone.

He picked up the small squares of pink paper again and looked at one of the others. "Mrs. Merryweather, next, then," he said and reached for the phone once more. Lifting it to his ear, he began to press the numbers when he realized there was no dial tone. No hum, whatever.

There was a dial tone a minute ago... he thought... wasn't there?

And then he heard it, again; the soft nothing, suggesting someone was still on the other line of his phone. His ear started to feel strange as he listened, and he pulled the phone from it and looked at it. Perspiration dotted the black plastic and he wiped his ear in confusion.

“Hello,” a gentle voice resonated to his ears, “is someone calling?”

Staring blankly at the phone for a moment, he wiped the receiver on his pant leg and he put it back up to his ear.

“Uh, well, yes,” he stammered, pulling the small note from his desk. “Mrs. Merryweather?”

“Yes,” to woman on the other line said, “this is she.”

“Yes, well, this is William Coles, returning your call from earlier today-”

She began to respond, but he then heard what he took to be another voice. It was deep and did not sound at all pleased. He listened as she muffled her end and said something he couldn’t decipher. Silence followed.

Then, she spoke once more.

“Mr. Coles, yes,” her voice wasn’t quite as delightful this time, “I’m sorry there must have been a mistake on my end. You see, I did call you earlier today, but-”

The other voice spoke, again, but this time around he could hear it clearly. The words spoken made no sense to him. They sounded foreign, but not like anything he had heard before. And the tone of the voice sounded as if someone were swallowing mud while they attempted to speak. Mrs. Merryweather began speaking, again, also, interrupting the other voice, but he could not tell if she was speaking to him or the other person. Then, both voices were bantering back and forth. Neither seemed to realize he was still on the phone.

“No, no, I was jus-” Merryweather said with her gentle, but urgent tone, before being interrupted by the other voice.

“No!” he heard her yell. The phone clicked.

“Hello? Mrs. Merryweather?” there was no response. After a moment or two, he heard a few metallic clicks, and then the dial tone.

William Coles stood up with the sudden urge to find a bathroom. He ran to the door, fumbled with the lock and scrambled out and down the long hall of his office floor. Slamming into the bathroom door may have caused him to cringe in embarrassment, but at this point he turned the large handle and tumbled toward the bathroom counter. The bathroom door slammed in the background, but he paid it no mind. Water trickled into the large basin and, cupping his hands, he splashed some on his face. The cool wet shook him, causing him to calm down.

Without turning the faucet off, he walked to one of the urinals on the wall and began unzipping. Ahh... Relief washed over him like an inner glow, and for the first time today he smiled. Ahh...

Suddenly, the bathroom doorknob clicked and he heard it open. Not looking up, he listened intently and continued releasing the pressure built up in him during his ride up the elevator. The sharp click of heals on the floor tiles seemed to echo throughout the small room and stopped near him.

He did not look up.

Then one of the stall doors squealed open, and banged shut shortly thereafter. He heard the commotion of buttons or zippers or both and listened as the toilet seat took on its newest occupant. And then it was silent again. But only for a moment.

The toilet began to flush and gurgle, but he noticed it was not stopping. In the wash of noise, he then noticed another sound, ever so present. It sounded like a wet rag being struck against a wall or something, followed by a faint gasp, like that of a person. This occurred twice, and was followed by a chugging, clogged sound. Then he heard water splashing on the floor of the stall, immediately followed by a gurgle as the flushing stopped.

William Coles stood at the urinal for a few moments before realizing he was done. Slowly, cautiously, he zipped back up and turned back to the counter. He calmly washed his hands and slowly took some paper towels and dried them. Tossing the towels in the trash bin, he headed for the bathroom door, but stopped shortly. The stall door was still locked shut; he could see the thin bolt between the door and wall panel. Fidgeting, he finally got down on his hands and knees and peaked under the stall door. The shiny tips of fine black shoes poked under what he assumed were the hems of pant legs drooped over them. Then he realized he saw a dress shirt as well. In fact, he soon realized he was looking at what he thought was the complete wardrobe of someone’s, piled around the base of the toilet.

Has someone just been eaten, He thought frantically, or, perhaps, left the building?

He certainly wasn't waiting around for an answer.

He darted out of the bathroom with a speed not achieved since his prime. Down the long hall he walked until he got to the access hall of the elevators. "Taking an early lunch, Mr. Coles?" The soft and delightfully terrifying voice of his secretary slithered behind him.

He looked up to see her standing by one of the elevators, a large folder cradled in her arms.

"Uh," he started, "actually, I'm not feeling quite right today. I think that I'll be taking the rest of the day off."

"Oh, dear," Ms. Chamberpot looked at him compassionately, "well, I do hope you feel better tomorrow."

"As do I, Ms. Chamberpot, as do I."

"Your elevator is ready." She said softly.

"Oh?" he asked, suddenly noticing the elevator in front of him opening up. He began to step forward and stopped. "I think... I think I will take the stairs today." He said at last, and ran toward the nearest emergency exit.

THE END

Gift (as told to D.S. Christopher Hubert)

The air was crisp and cool, and it breezed through him with little whispers as he ran. He delighted in the feel of it flowing through his hair. He loved the scent of winter just out beyond him, like an awaiting touch of beauty. The sky was cloudless and dark, allowing for the stars to shine through. Yes, this was a wonderful evening. This was the perfect time for him to enjoy the exercise, and when the nights got colder and the days were shorter he enjoyed it even more. Fewer cars on the road meant fewer headlights to distract him. There was a grace in this privacy he cherished.

His legs burned with a ferocity that had become an addiction for him. The running was a release of tension that nothing else would relieve. The days would only linger for a while, and the cool of the evening air would sooth his mind. The thump of his shoes the only sound in the night, and pools of hazy streetlight were the only artificial guides to his path. But he knew the way just as well without them.

As he ran the joy of recognizing the small familiar monuments in the shadows seemed a welcome addition to his pleasure. The old crooked tree in Mrs. Hatchery's yard and the stone wall leading down to the new housing development that never really got developed after the initial clearing started about ten years ago. Red clay and torn musty sacks of concrete was the only evidence of reason for all the missing woodland. Even the dumpster that was riddled with graffiti at the edge of a dark alley he kept a fair distance from every night was a fair reminder of his accomplished distance.

Something caught his eye, however, this evening. It was strange feeling at first that caused him to look in the direction he looked in.

Movement? He didn't think so. It was probably just the brain's way of reacting to an unrecognized part of his overall picture; this sort of micro-world that he allowed himself to get lost in each evening. It was surely not something he was used to seeing in this part of town. His run slowed to a trot as he passed by the object.

It wasn't very big. In fact, it easily could have been a trash bag fallen out of the dumpster he had passed earlier. At first, this was his thought and he chuckled at the nervous feeling he had initially felt crawling in his gut. As he neared the item on the shady part of the street he realized it wasn't plastic at all. It was fur. Little spikes of matted dark hair lumped in the nook of a street-lamp's glow, and right near the bottom of this mass he saw what seemed to be a small marble of golden-green.

Curiosity struck in those hidden places of his mind we all share, and he moved ever closer to the shapeless form. Suddenly, his heart began to sink. The shape began to make more sense as he neared. He could clearly make out the soft pads on the bottom of its paws, the body lain sideways and crooked. And the on again off again shimmer golden-green eye. Its head was twisted completely upside down, the pointed ears folded against the pavement. It was a cat.

The smell struck him as he crouched next to the dead body. It was almost as intoxicating as it was repulsive. He flinched briefly and noticed the animal was not entirely intact. Sleek strands of innards lay tangled with fur and gravel. He thought briefly about finding a stick and knocking the critter farther over to the side of the road, but his stomach started to protest this idea and he stood up abruptly.

"Sorry, kitty", he said with a bit of humor and a dash of melancholy, "but doesn't appear to be much I can do for you."

As he slowly stood up something moved among the debris, causing him to jump. His throat constricted, and he spit out a shriek. Startled by the unexpected movement, he turned to run and fell face down, hands forward to the pavement.

What's wrong with you? He thought angrily. Then he heard something, an ever so subtle rustling of leaves or the toss of gravel. Something was moving behind him. It was probably just another curious critter. Conceivably just a scavenger from the woods was looking for an easy dinner. Whatever it was, it startled him, and he felt rather embarrassed. He stood up and dusted dirt and small stones off his scraped knees.

He saw what he perceived to be a snake or small lizard. It moved with slow cunning delicacy, from side to side. But something seemed odd; for one, it was too cold for a snake to be out in the evening. The shimmer of the streets lamp didn't reflect the hue he would have expected from that of serpents scales. Instead, parts of this thing looked like it was completely covered in the cat’s dark fur, while other parts of it looked pasty and scabrous. Plus, it didn't seem to be moving forward, but rather swinging back and forth.

"What the - ", he began. Then he froze once more.

A small eye peered out at him from the mess of fur and bone with a perceptive sparkle. Then it folded into darkness. Again, it appeared with an awareness, forcing a cry from his lips. As impossible as his mind was screaming, he couldn't pull away from what he saw. The cat's only surviving eye was blinking.

It slowly dawned on him the eye wasn't the only part of the cadaver moving. What he thought moments ago to be a snake, was obviously a tail. Its whole body seemed to be twisting and shuddering, as if it were in pain. Jagged little teeth appeared out of the black dirty fur, and he could almost make out the fleshy pink of a tongue in the top part of its upside down head. Its limbs bent, and its paws began to dig at the earth around it.

All of a sudden he realized thoroughly what he was witnessing, and sprinted without yet looking away from the hideous sight. It was slowly lifting itself up off the ground when he finally turned to watch where he was going. With the deft movement of someone who was used to running, he was able to keep from landing in the ditch across the street and stay on the pavement.

His legs burned, and muscles slowly began to feel like warm jelly. The air he breathed was getting warmer and less relaxing, but he just kept going. He ran without a thought in his mind other than what he thought he had seen. Somewhere, deep inside, he could feel a desire to scream expanding. In the hidden recesses of his psyche, the walls of his surrounding were peeling.

This is ridiculous! He thought. He wanted to laugh. But he couldn't bring himself to let out any sound. He slowed to a stop, placed his hands on his knees, and let out a gasp. The thought of such a thing seemed so dumb and unreal; running from his imagination seemed silly.

"Pha!" he spit out. He stood up as he caught his breath and reluctantly looked back. Trees arched over the street behind him like secret guards of an ancient highway. Just outside the dim light of the street lamps he couldn't make out much, but he was becoming less concerned. The thought of what had startled him made him feel sick with embarrassment. He stood there, just waiting for some sign of movement. Seconds, possibly moments passed. The road was silent. He let out a laugh, and began to turn back to the direction he was going in, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

A chill seized his heart for a moment. He couldn't - as much as reason and instinct shrieked - look away. His body wouldn't budge. His eyes would not close, and he stared even more horrified than the first time he saw it move.

Barely the shadow of a cat, the scrawny form moved in a jagged grace a marionette might have been proud of. It was momentarily a part of the shadows behind it and then melted away, independent of the darkness surrounding. As much as he really wanted to he could see no strings and nothing to push the creature along but its own will.

The head bounced and dangled from its broken neck like a ball in a sack. The one eye shimmered in the moonlight, with a secret it clearly wanted to share. Entrails dragged below its torn belly, holding on to whatever was left inside to hold on to. The mouth opened and closed as it came closer, and he thought he could hear something. It wasn't quite the sound a cat might make, but it was disturbingly close.

A scream forced its way out of his tortured thoughts, tore through his stomach and burst out of his throat in a harsh grunt. This time he looked where he was before running. This time he ran without looking back.

The thing was behind him, he was sure of it. He knew just beyond his point of hearing, the animal that wasn't really an animal anymore was padding its way down the same path he was on. Something just out of earshot called out to him. It might have been a sound like nails on a chalkboard; just piercing enough to give his arms a chill, but not quite loud enough to know what the sound was supposed to be.

The thing was calling out to him, he knew. It wanted to be held. It wanted to be fed. He knew it wanted to be fed.

As far as the street seemed to go in front of him, the sudden realization that he was almost home struck him in the gut. He wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh. All he could do was force himself to look forward and keep running. He had vaguely noticed the graffiti covered dumpster as he passed it, but hadn't even really seen the open field that was supposed to be the new neighborhood.

Only a few more street corners, he thought. Heat burned through his veins, and he pushed harder and harder. He was almost sure he could make it, but the lingering thought the thing pursuing him was closer than it should be. He strained to hear anything behind him, but heard nothing strange. Wind blew through the leaves above. Somewhere a dog gave off a startled bark. Otherwise, it all seemed normal.

He would not look back. There was no internal argument. He would not look back.

The door slammed behind him in a rattle and he felt like he could have broken the dead bolt as he locked it. His breathing hurt and his lungs were ready to explode, but this time he laughed out loud, and hard. His legs finally did dissolve out from under him, and he fell to the floor... his floor... his home

"Ha," he let out finally, "Ha!" and he raised a fist to the door. "Go back home, you freaky, nasty, thing!”

He felt a sense of pride swell up from deep within.

Suddenly, confidence hid itself once more in the recesses of his psyche. Faintly, ever so slightly, he heard something on the other side of the door. The scritch*scritch*scritch of what sounded like tiny claws on wood wafted to his ears, and jabbed down into his heart with icy pins.

With a shrill scream, he burst down the hall, up the stairs, and into his bedroom where the door abruptly crashed shut behind him.

=========================================================================

The peal was faint but persistent. It was a distant sound, not much more than a whisper, but sound grew to a throbbing crescendo and then faded again. Just as the sound faded, again, another chime pierce the silence. Unrelenting, the sound dug deeper into the warm darkness of his slumber.

"Go away," he yelled, but slowly began to wake. His head throbbed as he focused his vision on the gleaming red images of his alarm clock. The realization of how late the day had gotten came when it also suddenly dawned on him what the toll was that had roused him from his sleep.

The doorbell once again beckoned from the hallway. Sneakered feet hit the floor and he realized that he had slept all night in his running clothes. Fatigued, confused, and slightly embarrassed, he pressed down his jogging shorts and made his way down the stairs. The doorbell continued its insistent song.

How long was I out? He wondered.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he yelled over the din. "Just hold on!"

The warped image of a young boy stood before his peep covered eye. "Hey, Mr. Marsh! It’s Tommy."

When he heard his neighbor’s teenaged squeak through the door, he reached for the doorknob. “Hi, Tommy,” he said, rubbing his eyes against the daylight.

“Hey, I was wondering if you still wanted me to mow your lawn today?” the kid said.

Marsh stood there for a moment, the sun burning his face and distorting his thoughts. He felt anxious, couldn’t retain why, but something bothered him.

“My lawn,” he asked, “oh, yeah. That would be great. Let me get some cash.”

Turning back into the dark house, he flipped a lamp on and looked for his wallet. The room shifted, just for a second, and he put his hand against a wall to maintain his balance. What was going on? A nagging at the back of his mind fluttered, tiny spiders spinning webs.

Why had he slept in today? That was certainly not like him. He almost felt like he had a hangover. He didn't drink often, but with no memory of the night before, what else could it be?

The kid smiled up at him as he slowly pulled three bills from his billfold.

“Will this be enough?” he asked without looking up.

“Sure,” Tommy said, with a hint of disappointment. He took the three bills, stuffed them in his pocket, and turned back toward the lawn.

He closed the door behind him and headed to the kitchen for breakfast. Literally as his foot passed the threshold of the kitchen entrance, the doorbell rang once more.  A nauseous sense of unease was making him feel hesitant about going back to the door.

"Yes," he said, “what’s up, Tommy?"

“Uh, you’ve got something next to your step here,” the boy said, gesturing toward the lower end of a bush, while with the other hand pinched his nose. “I think it’s a gift from a cat. Mom says cats are known for leaving dead animals for someone they like. Nasty!"

"What on Earth are you talking about?" he asked. Then, an awful smell began to permeate the area where he stood. And quietly, secretly, something landed hard in his gut, and he could feel its need to make its way up and out.

Lying in clumps of feathers and gravel was the messy form of what he guessed to be the small body of a bird. A trail of muddy and fractured paw-prints led from the carnage out around the front of his house. With horror he noticed that along and in between the prints were what looked like tattered pieces of sausage. Or, perhaps in some insane world, these were the innards of some ruined animal that had refused to die.

THE END