Entry # C15

The Box

By Kay Ziegler

While October was warm, the wind was blustery. It sent golden and fuchsia leaves shivering to the ground. Orbs of sweet, juicy persimmons hid amongst these leaves as if to fend off hungry opossums, desperately starved dogs, or industrious humans who want to mash the fruit into pulp for puddings, cakes, and cookies.

Hands stuffed into the pockets of her denim jacket, Dana wandered through the grove with a bucket, half-filled with the fruit, hung on the crook of her arm. The gusts rustled through the trees, sending more leaves and persimmons plopping down. Looking up at the sky, Dana yelled, "Stop it!" As of making a response, the winds blew again, sending more fruit falling.

Grumbling, Dana headed to the hallow where the persimmons rolled. As she wandered along, her toe caught on something. The pony-tailed woman went flying. "Oomph," Dana gasped as she landed. To her dismay, she watched at her bucket rolled, leaving a trail of persimmons in its wake.

"No," she moaned. Sitting up, Dana looked behind her. Sticking out of the ground was the a wooden box’s corner. "Where'd that come from?"

The summer had been hot and dry. These drought conditions caused much of the top soil to blow away, thus revealing all sorts of treasures. That’s probably why the box had shown up.

On all fours, the brunette cleared the dirt and brittle leaves away, Dana managed to tug the box from its grave. In the fading light, she stared at the shoe-box shaped item. It was a plain thing; the only ornamentations were a brass latch and lock and a snake eating its tale and three stars settled into the circle carved on the lid. “Wow,” breathed the young woman.

A screech owl hooted in the distance, making Dana jump. Seeing the bird sitting in a stripped elm, she sighed and stood. With the empty bucket in one hand and the box in the other, the woman headed up the hill to the house she shared with her parents, Robin and Marissa, and younger brother, Jeremy.

Feeling eyes trailing her, Dana glanced around. The neighborhood was a quiet one. Little crime happened on this block (as far as she knew). The kids were friendly, if not a little rowdy. It was a picture of suburban bliss.

But, whenever she passed one of her neighbor’s homes, a small square thing covered in peeling white paint, Dana would involuntarily shiver. It didn’t help the shack’s owner always seemed to be lurking on its steps.

He never said anything; not even, ‘Hi, my name’s Bob’ (or whatever his name was). He never smiled. He just blankly stared out at the field. Dana had tried to be friendly. She’d often said, ‘Hello’ to him. She usually waved, if he was looking in her direction. The scrawny, blonde-headed man never reacted.

Again, Dana caught him looking at her. She raised a hand and waved. Not staying to see if he waved or not, left the bucket at the door, she entered the house and found her dad eating dinner.

“Hey, where’s mom and the brat,” she asked.

“They went out. I think they were going to the movies for Jer’s history class,” Robin replied after swallowing his bite. “You find any persimmons?”

“Yeah, but I dropped the bucket. I lost ‘em all. It was too dark to pick ‘em back up,” Dana said. “But, look what I tripped over!” She brought the box over to the table and sat it down in front her dad.

“Cool. You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m gonna go do some homework.”

“Have fun,” Robin said as Dana went to her room.

Placing the box on the desk next to her laptop she grabbed the anthology for the class, a pad of paper, and a pen. Sitting down, she flipped on her reading light and opened the book to an Emily Dickinson poem. Halfway through one of pieces, the lights began to flicker.

“Great,” Dana whispered, turning to the door. “Hey dad!”

“Yeah?” Robin called from the kitchen. “I know. I think we might have a loose fuse. I’m gonna go take care of it.”

“OK,” she said. About to go back to her reading, she saw a shadow. It was a flash of movement in the shape of a girl. Swallowing, the woman placed her reading down and slid off the door. Seeing another zip of movement, Dana went to the door.

“Hello,” Dana called. No answer, but she saw the shadow again. Repeating the greeting, she jumped as the lights went completely out and then came back on a moment later. With the light, the shadow was gone.

“All fixed!” Robin called.

“Good,” Dana said, lying down on her bed. Grabbing the book, she started reading the poem again, but she soon fell asleep and only woke in the morning.

Choosing a sweater, jeans, and fresh under garments, Dana went to the bathroom. She heard her brother rattling around in the kitchen as her mom did her morning work out in front of the television and her dad worked on a model air plane. It was the typical Saturday morning.

Stripped from her clothes, she turned on the shower and soaped up. After fifteen minutes under the hot water, Dana got out. Drying, she slipped into her clothes. At the sink, she grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste. Running the bristles under the water, she looked at the foggy mirror. Gasping, the woman dropped her things. Written in the steam was, HELP ME.

“You little twerp,” Dana screamed after going into the kitchen.

Jeremy looked up from his bowl of day-glow colored cereal. “What did I do,” he asked.

“What do you mean, What did I do? You wrote help me in bold letters on the mirror,” she retorted.

“I didn’t do it. I’ve been in here the whole time, making breakfast. Besides, what do I need your help with? Maybe we’ve got a ghost?”

Dana rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she said, grabbing a banana and toasting a waffle. Eating the food in haste, she went back to the bathroom, put her touch up on, and brushed her teeth. Just then, there was a honk. “I’m going out with Sandy,” she called to her parents as she threw on her jacket and getting her purse.

After a day of shopping at the mall, study time at the library, and lunch of pizza Dana came home. Sitting in front of the TV, she listened to the local news and studied The Raven.

“Halloween will be crisp and clear, folks, but make sure you wrap up your little ones. It’ll be cold,” said the weatherperson. “There will be a 10 percent…” In the midst of the weather forecast, the program went off. Black and white snow and a loud screeching sound filled the air. Clicking the sound volume down, Dana stared at the TV.

In front of the snow was a girl dressed in a sundress. Her hair hung around her shoulders - limp and stringy. “I want to go home! Help me,” she screamed, her arms hanging at her sides. With that, the picture came back.

Heart pounding, Dana went to her room. Her loose leaf papers were covered in scrawls of Help Me! She grabbed the box and a screwdriver. Forcing the lock off, she opened the lid.

Pasted to the inside was an address with the name Charlotte Porter – she lived a block away. The contents of the box were a cross, a decorative comb, a rock, a drawing of an owl, and a faded photo of a girl. She pushed the box away, but continued to stare at the picture. It was the girl from the television.

Closing the lid, Dana headed to the front door. “I’ll be back,” the young woman called. Running down the street, she found the address easily. It was a brick home with mums in the front. Climbing the stairs, she knocked.

“Hello,” called a confused woman after she opened the door. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dana Miller. Does Charlotte Porter live her?”

“She’s dead.”

“Dead? I…I found something hers,” Dana said offering the box.

“I remember when Charlotte buried that. Soon after, she disappeared and was never found. Where did you find it?”

“In the persimmon grove behind my house,” she explained after the woman took it.

“She played there often. Thank you for returning this too me,” the woman said, closing the door.

Dana ran home, but before entering, she looked out. Men in black suits with flashlights and shovels were at the white house. Going closer, she saw graves unearthed. She watched as the blonde-headed man was brought out in handcuffs.

Feeling a hand upon her shoulder, Dana turned, but saw no one. “Thank you,” someone whispered. It was so quiet, it could’ve been the wind that rustled and leaves fell. But she knew in her heart that wasn’t the case.

“You’re welcome, Charlotte,” Dana said, entering her home.

Entry # B9

Imaginary Friends

By

Kay D. Ziegler

Tom Wooden drove down the road with the truck window's down and music blaring. "Make your own kind of music," he yowled along with radio.

Autumn air surrounded him. Dried leaves, wood smoke, musty foliage were the fragrances of the day. There was something quaint and old fashioned about the smells. It contrasted sharply with the day glow purple, green, or orange and black blow up spiders that had popped up all this week. A modern invention that should never have been created, Tom thought. We sure as hell didn't have those things growing up and we did just fine. What's wrote with plain ole' jack-o-lanterns?

The ex-hippie, with his graying ponytail, flannel shirt, and paint-splattered jeans hit the break peddle when he saw something in the middle of the road. "What the..." Tom muttered as he turned the truck off and pocketed the keys.

Sliding from the rat-trap truck, Tom lumbered around the vehichle with the grace of a seasoned cowboy. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw what was in the middle of the road.

"Hey, kiddo, whatcha doing," he asked as he crouched in front of the child.

She was no more that five-years-old with strawberry blonde hair and big, round eyes. Her freckled face was scrunched up in a giggle and her knees were drawn up,u dee her floral nightgown.

"Now, Percy, you know mummy and daddy wouldn't let me try that," she said after the giggles had subsided.

"Hey, kiddo, who you talking to," Tom asked.

This seemed to get her attention. She looked right at the concerned man instead of through him (as she had been doing previously). "Percy," the girl replied.

"What does this, uh, Percy, want you to do," asked Tom.

"To climb up that tree and jump," she said, pointing to the dead oak tree in the cemetery.

Ton shivered - jumping from that tree could kill her. "You're right, you're mom and dad wouldn't want you to try that," he said.

"Percy said he'd protect me."

"Uh-huh...so kiddo, what's your name and where do you live?"

"Ruthie Jamison. I live in the red house."

"OK, Ruthie, let's get you home. It's kinda cold and I bet your parents are worried sick," Tom said, offering the girl his hand.

When she took it, he led her to the red house. Looking down at her, he noticed that she was covered in scratches and bruises. One spelled liveD.

"Hey, where did you get those?" he asked, pointing to her hand and neck.

When asked, Ruthie shrugged. "Don't know. They just showed up," she replied, climbing the steps with Tom.

Tom knocked on the door and a minute a later a bleach-blonde woman wearing jeans two sizes to small and a midriff revealing shirt. "Yeah? What do you want?" she snapped, her eyes rimmed red.

"Are you Ruthie's mother? I, uh, found her in the street?" Tom asked, feeling awkward and apprehensive. He wasn't so sure about this woman.

"God, no! Do I look like her mother?" she said. "What do you mean found her in the street? You're an insensitive jerk."

"What did I do?" he asked. Tom honestly didn't know what he did wrong. He was just trying to bring a little girl home, for crying out loud!

"Like, you didn't know. My sister jumps from a tree, breaking her neck, and you come here saying you found her in the street?" she exclaimed.

"She's dead?"

"No, she's fine and dandy! What do you think? Get off my property before I call the police," she shouted, closing the door in his face.

What had just happened? He found himself feeling a little baffled and unnerved. As he we back to his truck, Tom tried to figure out why he had hallucinated a dead girl? "Sleep deprivation," he concluded due to the fact he only slept a couple hours a night and worked two jobs.

A week passed, and as Tom Wooden lived his life, he forgot all about Ruthie. But, as he jogged through the same area of town where he found the girl, the ex-hippie got a sense of deja vu as he saw a boy, around twelve, standing by a pond in front of a house.

"I can't swim, Randall!" shouted the brunette-haired boy. His dark brows were furrowed over his chocolate eyes as h crossed his arms over his sweat shirt.

"Who's Randall?"

"My friend. He wants me to learn to swim."

"Why don't you tell Randall you'll learn later? Maybe when it's warmer?" Tom suggested, deliberately ignoring the fact there was no one there but this brown-haired boy, who had been yelling at air. "It's kinda cold. I wouldn't want you to get sick."

"Okay, mister!" said the boy as Tom jogged the rest of the way home.

When he got there, the man picked up the paper from the stoop. His eyes widen when he sees the headline. "BOY DROWNS IN POND" Tom reads.

Opening it up, he saw the photo of the same kid he'd just been talking to moments earlier. Apparently, the boy (Zach Wilson) had been playing outside when he slipped and fell in. At least, that's what the paper said.

Tom looked at his golden retriever as he came to greet him. "Eddie, I sure as hell don't know what's going on," he said, rubbing the golden between the ears before fixing them both some food - for Eddie a bowl of kibble and for Tom a chicken burrito from the blind date dinner the night before.

The next morning, Tom dressed, ate a breakfast toast, coffee, and turkey bacon (his doc told him his cholesterol was high), and hopped into his truck. While he noticed it sputtering, Tom didn't pay any attention to it because he spied a young woman on the side of the road.

Slowing to a stop, Tom rolled his window down. "Hey," he said to the woman in combo boots, jeans, and a sweater. "I'm Tom."

"Hey yourself, the names Annie. Mind giving me a lift? I was supposed to take the bus, but I overslept. I thought another might come by, but it's been an hour..." she said, flipped her ponytail over her shoulder.

"Sure, hop in. Where you going?"

"Fifth and Jefferson. I Need to pick up my cat," Annie said, getting in.

"I see," he replied as he started the truck. "Is it OK?"

"He's fine. He got fixed," she explained. Annie slid closer to the driver while talking to him. "So, you have any pets?"

"Yeah, a golden named Eddie."

"Oh, how sweet!" she cooed, getting even closer. "Got a wife? A partner?"

"No, it's just me. Been on a few blind dates recently. I end up with food, but that's it."

"Sounds horrible," Annie said, grabbing the wheel and jerking it. "At least you won't have to deal with those anymore. Bye-bye, Tom."

Laughing, she morphed into a blue, translucent mist in a humanoid shape. Annie hovered over the truck as it veered off the road and wrapped itself around a phone poll. When the police and ambulance arrived a minute later, she floated off until she saw another child, a girl swinging. She has pigtails and a denim jumper. Landing, the spirit changed into a curly-haired and overall-wearing girl.

"Hi, I'm Margaret...Maggie. What do you want to do? I can teach you anything," she said, going over to the swinging girl and offering her her hand, which she took. As the skipped around the back of the house, the spirit smiled.

Entry # A18

Curseď Me
 by
 Kay D. Ziegler

Morning rose like any other day for priestess Medusa. No sun greeted her as she bathed in the river Ameles. No warmth to stroke her cheek as she dried and dressed herself on boulders that had settled on the pebbled shore. With no light, no birds knew to come and greet her as she stumbled, sandal-footed, up a well-known path back to her chambers, where Medusa was anointed with lavender-infused olive oil by none other than Athena herself.

“Autumn solstice is upon us, young one,” remarked the golden-gowned goddess as she ran a brush through Medusa’s long, dark locks.

“Indeed, mother goddess,” replied Medusa as she looked down at the olive silk that today’s outfit was made out of.

“You do not seem pleased with this, Medusa. Tonight is a time for celebration! Your heart should be light and filled with mirth.”

“I do not look forward to the sacrifice.”

“It is your firth! What an honor.”

“I do not even want to go.”

“What would you rather do?”

“Travel south. I wish to see the sun and hear the birds. I do not recall the last time I saw such a sight.”
Athena stopped brushing the younger priestess’s tresses. “Absolutely not,” growled the yellow-haired woman. With her anger, thunder boomed outside Medusa’s window.

“Why not?” demanded Medusa as she stood and faced Athena. She planted her fists on her hips. “You’re just jealous of my looks and want to hide me away. Is that it?”

“Shut up, you insolent little girl! You know that not to be true,” shouted Athena as the woman’s eyes flash in anger and rain began to pound against the window. “The southern wilderness is dangerous! It’s filled with lustful men and vile beasts who’ll rip their pray to shreds.

Medusa glared at her mentor, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she strode from the room into her walk-in closet. Looking at her costume, the priestess sighed and fingered the white silk of the bodice and skirt. I’ll look like a dove, thought Medusa after examining the gossamer wings attached the garment as well as the feather-covered mask. Although she had never met one in person, she had seen drawings of them in the scrolls and tomes held within Athena’s library.

~*~

Dressed in the dove costume, her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders and settled amongst her wings. Behind her disguise, she stared at the people who gawked at her. “Why are they staring, Athena,” she whispered to the Goddess, who was dressed as a warrior.

“Shouldn’t they? You look ravishing,” said the woman as one of the guests took her by the hand and led Athena onto the dance floor just as the musician began to play.

Wandering around the party, she examined the gods and goddesses, the priests and priestesses all dressed in the Autumn solstice finest. They dressed as ghouls and goblins, faeries and pixies, birds and beasts of all kinds, and as moral soldiers and healers.

Medusa stopped at the table piled high with festive treats. After choosing candied figs and finger-shaped cookies decorated with almonds and fruit jell, she poured herself a glass of spiced cider. Sipping on it, the young priestess looked out at the crowd, but saw nothing.

“My, it must be Aphrodite herself! Never before was there a glorious and more ravishing woman than the dear goddess of love,” boomed a young man from behind her.

Medusa jumped as she turned to face the speaker. He was dressed as a lion, although the only clue to his costume was that his mask had a mane. This man was gorgeous. Dressed in only a waist wrap, she noticed as firm and formed his body was. Tight, golden curls peeked out from under the sides of the disguise and his sparkling blue eyes peeked out at him from behind the mask.

“I am not Aphrodite. I’m not even a goddess,” Medusa corrected.

“Oh, really? You should be! What is your name, fair maiden,” asked the young man.

“Medusa.”

“A fine name for a fine girl,” replied the lion. “So, shall we go bob for fruit? Or would you care to carve a gourd? Or, would running your fingers through food while blind-folded be more to your liking?”

With each of those suggestions, she shook her head. None of those things interested her. She told this man so.

“You don’t want to be here.”

“No.”

“Where do you want to be?”

“Not here.”

“Then, where?”

“Nowhere.”

“There’s got to be a place, Medusa” said the young man. He smiled at her as he placed a hand upon her upper arm and rubbed it gently. “Where is that place? I can take you. Just tell me.”

“I can’t. I’m not allowed. Athena will be furious!”

“We’ll be back before she knows you were gone. Now, tell me, where is this place?”

“What’s your name? I don’t travel with strangers.”

“Zeus.”

Medusa raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t quite sure she believed him. “Well, Zeus… I’d like to see the south,” she replied slowly. When he offered her his hand, she glanced at Athena, who was enjoying herself and then took his hand in her own. Dashing outside, they climbed atop his Pegasus and flew off into the night.

~*~

Landing on a shore, Medusa walked through the wet sand up and down the reef. Her eyes were closed as she let the sun bathe her face. Listening to the gulls and the waves crash against a rocky cliff, the priestess smiled. “This is gorgeous,” she said to Zeus, who walked hand-in-hand with her.

“You are gorgeous,” retorted the god as he pulled her close to him.

She gasped and opened her eyes. She stared at him and began to quake as he picked the dark-haired priestess and kissed her lightly upon the lips. Medusa pressed her hands against his chest to push him away. “I can’t,” whispered the woman as she slipped from Zeus’s grasp and headed up the beach.

“You can. You will,” Zeus said in a firm and serious tone.

“No, I won’t. Take me home…” Medusa snapped as she headed towards the Pegasus.

“Now, now, you wanted to come here. I did something for you. You do something for me,” purred the man as he grabbed her arm and squeezed.

Medusa’s knees gave way as Zeus forced her down so she was lying in the sand. As he straddled her, the wings of Medusa’s costume snapped. “Get off of me,” sobbed the priestess as he slipped her dress up and kissed her neck, arms, and chest.

~*~

A few hours later, they returned. Medusa was pale and dirty. Her costume hung from her shoulders and the wings were limp and torn. As she walked back to the temple, she glared at Zeus, but did not say a word.

Athena was the first to see them. “Where did you go?” demanded the goddess. She crossed her hands over her chest as she stared at the young woman.

“It doesn’t matter,” Medusa spat.

“What happened?”

“He raped me!” the broken girl screamed, pointing at Zeus.

“I did something for her and she did something for me,” replied the god in a calm voice. “She was quite the alluring lady out upon a beach of the south.”

“Not only did you disobey my orders, but you let a man invade you! You are no longer welcome here, you dirty thing. You monster,” shouted Athena. Raising her hand, she transported the Medusa and herself away from the temple.

In the midst of desolate island, the two appeared. The sandy landscape was littered with dead trees and dark rocks. No sun shined on this corner of the world.

“You are banished her forever more for you do not deserve the presence of man or god. No longer are you pure, but a monster,” growled Athena. She held her hand up again and with palm out, the goddess chanted a curse upon Medusa.

The woman screamed as he hair fell out in chunks and snakes replaced her dark locks. “Oh gods,” she moaned as her skin tightened and cracked. The woman fell to her knees as Athena left. Looking up, she discovered her horrific power. A bird flew overhead and as it glanced towards her, it fell to the earth as stone.

“Curseď me,” whispered she.