Entry # C5

“Tommy’s Decorations”

By

Gretchen Steen

Tommy Watson loved Halloween!

His mother, Janet, did her ‘magic’ and whipped up his bizarre costumes from scratch. His father, Randy, never missed trekking through the neighborhood on ‘trick-or-treat’ rounds.

Janet and Randy Watson died on Halloween … Tommy was thirteen …

*

The unmarked police car lingered at the curb of 13666 Compton Drive.

“I hate this job!” Officer Mitchell said to himself. Shoving the gearshift into park, he turned off the ignition and jammed the keys into his jacket pocket.

He straightened his uniform, slicked back his graying hair and cleared his throat. Stepping out of the car, he stuffed his clipboard under his arm and swallowed hard.

Floodlights whirled, alternating greens and yellows that bathed the cobweb-draped house. Sinister pumpkins, with their evil candle-lit smiles, lined the old wooden porch. Unearthed coffins, their lids ajar, complete with mottled skeletons were scattered over the front lawn. Some appeared stark white; others were in various degrees of age.

Mitchell surveyed the grounds and thought, Damn—decorations look so real … they’ve improved since I was a kid! Just too creepy!

Perched boldly on the lone windowsill a sleek black cat with fluorescent yellow eyes; its tail twitched in time to the haunting music.

“This place makes my skin crawl,” Mitchell whispered to himself as he approached the front door.

I’m supposed to be brave, yeah right … freaked out by decorations? People trim their houses to the hilt for Christmas. I guess others do it for Halloween. What’s my problem?

 Mitchell shrugged his shoulders; he didn’t have an answer. He looked up into the night sky trying to locate the off-pitched screeching sounds that surrounded him and echoed in his ears.

“What’s wrong with me?” Shake it off man!

The dirge-like music poured from the rooftop speakers as he opened the screen door and pressed the doorbell.

*

Tommy’s eyes darted back and forth, startled by the deafening sound of the long silent chimes. As he lit the last candle in the sitting room, they filled it with wavering shadows.

He sauntered to the door, looked through the peephole and turned the doorknob. It clicked like old arthritic bones.

“Trick or Treat … your choice, man!” Tommy greeted.

Something about this lanky young man was unsettling. Was it his Mohawk haircut? Or all the heavy chains that hung from his belt loops? Maybe it was the tattoo sleeves that covered his arms? Blake wasn’t sure.

“Thomas Watson? I’m Officer Mitchell. Sorry to bother you, but you need to tone down your music a bit. We’ve received a few noise complaints … I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Tommy’s frame grew rigid as he gave Mitchell a blank once-over look and replied, “Yes … Noise? I never thought of it that way. Would you like to come in and join my party?”

***

Dressed in white from head to toe, the attendants’ cold, unfeeling faces greeted Tommy when he arrived at ‘Driscoll Hall – Children’s Home for Boys.’

It appeared pleasant enough—from the outside.

*

“Master Thomas Watson?” asked the portly woman at the front desk.

Struggling against the orderlies, Tommy yelled back, “I’m not staying here! You can’t keep me locked up!”

The matron clenched her teeth, then burst into an evil grin and glared back. “You don’t have any choice. You’re ours until you reach eighteen—no ifs, ands, or buts!”

Tommy fought against the tightening grip of his restrainers, but he didn’t have a chance.

“Take him to his room and make sure the windows are locked as well as the door. If he doesn’t settle, just throw him in solitary … that’ll quiet him … it always works with these hooligan-types.”

The ill-tempered voice echoed down the long hallway and rang in Tommy’s ears. He kicked and screamed louder and louder. He spit on one attendant and tried to bite the other as they approached Room #1031. The number stopped Tommy in his tracks …

His tense body relaxed and the attendants’ grip loosened. Tommy silently stepped into the dreary room and looked around.

Paint peeled from the old metal bed frame. The linens were tattered and wrinkled; there was no pillow. In the corner sat a small table with rickety legs. A small lamp with a torn, gray shade sat next to a stash of books.  The worn out desk chair, with a missing a wheel, leaned up against a dull stainless steel toilet.

He moved toward the barred window and looked up at the full moon. He closed his eyes and envisioned his parents’ faces.

Tommy turned toward the door; his eyebrows furrowed as he grunted, “Go away … leave me alone …” He sat down on the edge of the bed as the door closed. He listened carefully and heard the lock click.

The rattling of the keys and the heavy footsteps in the hallway soon faded.

You’ll all regret this … he thought.

***

“Do you like my decorations, Officer Mitchell? They seem to multiply every year. People used to come … and those I recognized hated to leave; they’re mingling right now. Come … Mom and Dad would love to meet you …” Tommy stuttered with a broken-toothed smile.

The hair on Mitchell’s neck bristled as a razor-sharp chill crept up his spine. No, it can’t be … He thought as he followed Tommy’s lead and stepped through the door. Trick or Treat?

“Do you live here alone?” Mitchell asked.

Tommy turned and winked as he pushed open the sitting room door. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’m not a kid anymore!” He hesitated. “Do I know you?” A glint of memory surfaced, “Of course I do!” he sneered. “Mom … Dad … we have another visitor …”

The essence of the candlelight and the lingering rotten stench grew in Mitchell’s mind. He stepped into the shadow-filled room and his stomach lurched. His eyes fixated on two coffins atop a black-draped table. This is sick!

“Look at me, Tommy,” Mitchell said as he dropped the clipboard and grabbed the young man’s shoulders with his trembling hands. “NO! Listen to me, they’re …”

Tommy’s eyes glazed over as he vehemently interrupted, “Celebrating Halloween with me, it’s our favorite holiday. You will stay and join us, won’t you?” he urged through a demented grin as he slashed away the polished badge.

*****

Entry # B5

“Unlucky”
By
Gretchen Steen

“The dew on my skin, lying under the predawn sky, I wait for the warming sun. It’s a beautiful day amongst my friends, the brisk air and sunshine. I do remember the brief saffron flower that shriveled and swiftly fell away. The open spaces have become cluttered and my family is growing ever faster.

Oh, not the evil crows again, to peck, scratch and devour. There must be something out there, to relieve this weary soul. My shiny curves and broad middle will surely please someone; but here, they will not find me.

Here he comes, machete in hand, I guess it’s time to go. Brush my bottom; my vine-like arms lay wasted. Off we go to the big, wide world, I’m so very happy! Now I see I’m not alone, ‘Hello Fritz and George and Manuel’. Off we go, on a bumpy ride, to where I’m still not certain.

One by one we’re carried away, and put in a disheveled heap. They come to probe and prod us, but we don’t utter a peep. Then up I go, oh joy I’m saved, away from that rowdy bunch.

A little boy named Tommy has taken me for his own. His sister Lil cried and sobbed until Fritz was taken too. ‘Hurry now, time is wasting’ I heard a voice chime behind me.

With that voice, a strange satisfaction did come. Quickly, and with precision, the scalpel does its deed. In and out, its blade-cuts repeated into my lustrous skin. I feel no pain only pleasure. I’m scraped and gouged, my insides are gone! How can I possibly go on?

One, two, three … the easy stuff was done, but now for the ragged, jagged number four. Oh, stop, please STOP!!! That tickled too much, you must be finished soon.

You stepped back and grinned; the children jump up and down, ‘Light it, please, PLEASE!’

I patiently sit and watch and wait, to see what’s in the offing. I feel inner warmth and smile with an unnatural, pleasing glow.

The spooks and hobgoblins came; the witches and fairies unparalleled. They passed and never took notice.

My inside is scorched, my eyes grow weary and my smile has dropped to a frown. My skin is dark and puckering, like that of ‘ole man Brown’.

Soon I’ll be cast aside as mere garbage; a stinking, rotten shell. But then, what did I truly expect … it always turns out the same … for us, the ‘Happy Unlucky Jack-O-Lanterns!’

Entry #2

“The Unimaginable”

by

Gretchen Steen

‘If only that truck driver had paid attention, I wouldn’t be stuck in this … this God awful contraption for the rest of my life …’ Maggie thought as she stared into the computer monitor.

“I’m only fifty-three and dead from my waist down … DAMN HIM,” she growled and pushed herself backward, away from my cluttered computer desk.

She glared at the piles of papers, scribbled notes, an empty coffee cup and numerous pill vials. The house was a wreck, the roof leaked and the septic didn’t work. She couldn’t fix it, she had no money; and she couldn’t do the repairs anyway.

The computer was her life after the accident, broad-sided by a semi.

‘I shouldn’t have survived … I wish I hadn’t. But I did and here I sit, watching the world fall apart around me.’

Buzz … Buzz … Another text message. It was from Maggie’s only son, Günter.

‘Mom … I Love You!!!’ was all it said.

They hadn’t finished their conversation, but something was wrong—terribly wrong.

Maggie wheeled herself back to the laptop quickly.

“Why is this taking so long?” she shouted, as she slammed the mouse on the desk. The online TV channel opened and she read the headlines.

It had begun. Why hadn’t anyone listened? Sheep to slaughter, that’s all it was; history repeating itself.

*

THUD … THUD … CRASH …

“Find anyone here and hurry, we don’t have all night,” yelled a deep voice from the front of the house.

‘I can’t hide … why are they here … I’ve done nothing wrong!!!’ Maggie thought as her crippled body began to tremble.

 The intruders fumbled and destroyed each room. They found their target.

Maggie stared into the monitor; her cell phone buzzed away, she said nothing.

A firm, strong hand grabbed her shoulder and forcibly turned her around.

“You are coming with us, Miss Weiss. It has been determined you are an enemy of the state,” the tallest mercenary stated.

Dressed in a black uniform, complete with patent-leather brimmed hat and shiny boots, the one thing that stood out … a small pin proudly displayed on his lapel.

“Lift her up, I’ll get what’s here … MOVE IT!!” another shouted.

Maggie slapped her own face in disbelief, ‘is this all a dream?’ She opened her eyes to M16’s pointed at her head.

She was snatched up and carried through what was left of her home and out into the yard. Idling in the street was a converted school bus; painted black, a whirling yellow light broke the darkness. One of the men opened the emergency door and two more grabbed her. They hoisted her limp body into the vehicle. The seats were changed; they lined the sides of the bus now.

Cramped together were several others, scooped up by the madmen.

“Do NOT talk to anyone!!” she was instructed firmly.

‘I know these people—my neighbors … my friends … but WHY?’

The engine revved. The driver sped down the street and out of the neighborhood.

The interstate was crowded, but not with the usual traffic … only buses … THESE BUSES!!!

At every exit, some would depart the caravan. Maggie’s pressed on. For miles they travelled in silence and fear. Some turned to see where they were; but they couldn’t tell in the pitch dark.

Up ahead was another exit. The bus slowed and came to a stop at the end of the ramp.

“Chris … do you know what’s going on?” Maggie whispered to her next-door neighbor sitting beside her. He didn’t reply; only shrugged his shoulders. She looked into his eyes. The happy-go-lucky man she knew had vanished. Looking around at the others; they all had the same despondent expression.

They rode on for a few more miles and a well-lit complex appeared. It was surrounded by eight-foot high cinderblock walls, barbed-wire and razor-ribbon. The buildings were strangely familiar.

Maggie’s horrified thoughts became clear ‘FEMA trailers … it was true … ALL OF IT!!!’

The bus pulled up to the entrance and the driver stopped for inspection. He opened the side door and handed the guard a clipboard filled to the max with paperwork.

“OK, pass through, stop at the first building,” the guard instructed.

Slowly the bus moved forward and stopped. The silence had turned into a low moaning.

“Stand and prepare for unloading!!” the driver shouted.

All but one did.

“I said STAND, bitch!!” the driver shouted as he looked back at Maggie.

“Sir, I can’t, I’m disabled, paralyzed from my waist down.”

Suddenly she was shoved to stand and fell off the seat to the floor.

“I CAN’T STAND. YOU ALREADY KNEW THAT … WHY DIDN’T YOU BELIEVE ME???” she screamed, her eyes filled with tears.

“Get her up … NOW” the driver retorted, disgust evident in his face.

“She’ll be the last to go, get the others out of here and process them.”

Everyone moved forward except Maggie.

‘My heart is racing … my meds … I only have a few days worth in my pocket …’

The bus was now vacant as Maggie watched her friends through the window being led away. She looked at the buildings; they stretched out into oblivion. The area was well lit, but the buildings were dark and deserted.

The driver slammed the side door shut and hit the gas. Quickly they passed the white aluminum structures, one by one, she lost track at fifty. The bus stopped, the door swung open and two men entered.

“She’s back there, says she’s paralyzed. She wouldn’t stand when ordered. Take her, she’s ALL YOURS!” the driver stated with a vicious grin.

Two uniformed men strode down the aisle, their boots clicked as they walked.

“What’s your name?”

“Margaret Weiss, sir. What am I doing here, have I no rights?”

The men’s laughter echoed.

“NO!! None at all and because of your opposing voice, you never shall again. All those you have contact with will be confined as well. Your cell phone and laptop have been confiscated—vital information to put you on trial … as a civilian terrorist!”

“BUT I’M NOT! This country was once the greatest on earth. Don’t you remember? We had rights and liberties granted by the Constitution and Bill of Rights …”

“Those days are gone … your precious country has fallen!” one said brusquely.

Maggie was removed from the bus and paraded toward the compound.

Her eyes strained into the distance. Tall stacks spouted smoke and choking ash …

‘All my pink pills at once … YES! My heart will stop … this nightmare OVER …’

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it” ~