Parent Palooza

Employee: “Welcome to Parent Palooza. What can I do for you today?”

The Buyer

“Please, come on in.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m surprised you’re even interested in a dump like this. Not many buyers for this old thing.”

“I’m always interested in buying. I just wish I could find more people willing to sell. But in today’s world, that feels unlikely. Care to show me the rooms?”

Reflections of Beauty

Reflections. Smooth, seemingly safe, but underneath

Dangerous, deadly

A Blunderblussed Expedition

“Settle down, McClaggan! You must control yourself!”

McClaggan slowed down, and started trying to take deep breaths. He loosened his tie around his neck.

“And while you’re at it, straighten your hat.”

McClaggan looked annoyed, but he set his blunderbluss against one of the trees and straightened his Flat Topped Hat.

“Tisn’t proper to be otherwise. I’d recommend shining your buckles, but the whole shoe is so muddy I think it would hardly matter. Now, breathe and start over.”

“Okay,” said McClaggan taking another deep breath. “So, I was out hunting for turkey, myself and my good man Standing Horse,” he said, gesturing towards his companion.

“How,” said Standing Horse said, holding up his hand.

“What? Like this,” McClaggan said, grabbing his blunderbluss and shaking it. “We’ve been over this! We shoot them! That’s how we hunt for turkey!”

Standing Horse only rubbed his brow with his hand. Huh, that whole area was a bright red.

“Any who,” continued McClaggan. “So there we were, walking through the forest, when we came across…well, like nothing we had ever seen. Look for yourself,” He said, gesturing towards the partial clearing up ahead.

The whole group, McClaggan and Standing Horse included, walked into the clearing. It was definitely an odd place. I looked all around, then back to McClaggan.

“What are they?”

“I’m not sure,” McClaggan said. “I was hoping you would know.”

“No,” I replied. “I have never seen anything like them. Well, except of course St. Valentine’s symbol on that one.”

“Well,” said McClaggan. “This is a symbol from myths back home,” he said, pointing to the green one. “But what I found inside were no myths!”

I pointed to another one. “What about that one?”

McClaggan swallowed. “I’ve also had experience with that one. That, that’s where the monsters are,” he stuttered.

Cautiously, I walked up to it and rested my ear on the mural. I could hear a faint noise from deep below.

“This is Halloween, This is Halloween.”

 

The Bottom

“The subconscious is ceaselessly murmuring, and it is by listening to these murmurs that one hears the truth.” ~Gaston Bachelard

This time she started in her kitchen, but it wasn’t her kitchen. All the colors were a little too loud, a little too bright. There were no dishes in the sink. There was no way this was her home. Where was everybody? She called out, “Lonnie? Jason?” Nobody answered. She stepped towards the narrow hallway just across from the kitchen. As her foot touched the hardwood floor the house groaned and squeaked. That’s new, she thought. Just then she saw a blond head of hair flick past her. “Lonnie!” “Mommy!” she squealed! Before she could utter another word, there it was. Like always. An eerily deliberate thump sounded from below.

“Get off my back Brittany! The boss needed me to stay late today! It’s been crazy at work! I could use your support, not your nagging!”

“Jason, you’ve been two hours late coming home at least three times a week for the past month! Why are you the only one that can fix all these problems? I happen to know you’re not the only employee at Adobe! And you know what, fine! Be late! But, I mean, the least you can do is help out when you come home instead of lounging on the couch like a bum.”

“Brit I work all day. The last thing I want to do is do dishes when I come home! What have you done all day that makes it impossible for you to get the dang things clean?”

“What have I done?? Did you seriously just ask me that??”

“You know what?! Forget it. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” With that, he brusquely shoved past her into the bedroom and pulled out his phone, presumably checking for sports updates. As he slammed the door behind him, something tugged at the back of her mind like there was something she had forgotten. Something she had meant to bring up. But she shoved it aside.

“What was that?!” Brittany whispered fiercely. Lonnie looked up at her and smiled widely, her eyes hollow. “Oh that? That’s where the monsters are,” she said before disintegrating into a pile of dust “Lonnie?!” Brittany asked terrified. Before she could speak again, the thump returned. Louder. Firmer. Coming from the basement.

Brittany glanced at the clock. It screamed 7 in bright neon green. It seemed to taunt her. She called to her daughter who was busy drawing on the living room table. “Lonnie, time to get ready for bed.”

“But Daddy’s not home yet!” Lonnie whined.

“Lonnie!” she snapped. “Get ready for bed!”

Lonnie flew upstairs, startled by her mom’s sudden mood shift.

Several minutes later Brittany was scrubbing the grease stains from her frying pan when the garage door opened and Jason entered the kitchen. He stoically brushed by her, turned on the sports channel and pulled out his phone. She had long ceased to nag him about it. It only ended in fighting and she didn’t want to wake Lonnie. One of them had to care. So she casually returned to her frying pan. But there it was again, that tugging in the back of her mind. With great effort she stuffed the ugly tugging back into its cage and returned to the dishes with renewed vigor.

She had to get out. She had escape. She had to leave before whatever was in her basement broke free and devoured her. She feverishly ran towards the front door but the hallway seemed to elongate before her. Slowly the basement door loomed closer and no matter how hard she ran she could feel her body being pulled towards it, all the while, the thumps growing stronger, shaking the whole house.

One night Brittany went into the bedroom to change into her pajamas. Just then she remembered that she had promised to call her mom before 9:30. Spying Jason’s phone on the nightstand she quickly pressed the home button to check the time. Suddenly Jason emerged from the adjoining bathroom.

“What are you doing Brittany?!!” he barked.

“Nothing I—”

“Do you not trust me?!” he snarled.

“Jason! I was just checking the time!”

His anger deflated. “Sorry, I just, I don’t like people touching my things.”

“I’ve noticed” she said still shaken, the now familiar tug came again, but this time it wouldn’t recede into the corners of her mind, the tug tightened around her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. She was consumed.

The door creaked open. She wanted to scream but she couldn’t. She wanted to look away but she couldn’t. Horror kept her frozen, fixated on the beast. The monster within had bloodied sockets where eyes should have been, mottled skin, sparse greasy hair, nails caked with dirt and dead skin, and was holding a black stone. The stone reflected no light, instead it seemed to absorb any wavelengths passing nearby. The monster lurched towards Brittany, hissing and baring its yellowed fangs when it reached her. Instead of eating her, the monster placed the stone into her hands and abruptly turned away. The rock was so heavy Brittany couldn’t hold it and quickly fell hands-first through the floorboards, through the basement, through the foundation, through the earth, no end in sight. No bottom.

She just kept falling and… falling….. and………….falling…………………. 

Brittany woke with a start. The dreams had become more frequent, more violent. This time, she actually saw the monster in the basement. She glanced over at her husband, sound asleep beside her. Without warning his phone lit up the room, temporarily blinding her. Trembling, she read the message on the screen.

You have three new matches! ❤

She reached the bottom.

The Oven

Yellow mounds of rotten looking flesh was piled in front of him; the gelatinous crusted, pitted slabs would have been staring right back at him, if these slabs had eyes.  Fortunately, for him, they did not – but he could imagine what the Monster’s eyes might have looked like.  Given the color scheme, probably a large, bulbous scoop of amber or yellowish pigment surrounded by a thin film of white.    Viscous, brownish yet transparent primordial ooze was slathered on top of and all around the slabs.

Sal looked up at the others, who (to his surprised) seemed unfazed.  Or, if fazed, their hunger and gastrointestinal greed overwhelmed their normal, human inhibitions.  They ate like they couldn’t get enough of the dead heaps fast enough.

With his knife, he tentatively poked at the yellow mound.  It was inert.  Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to fight back.  With reptilian delight, well almost delight, since he was a higher formed human being, after all, he cut off a piece of the carcass, then stab it with his Runcible spoon.  It gave way, rather too easily.  Lifting it, he cautiously smelled, then quickly sampled the fragment with his tongue.

Blessed be to heaven.  It was sweet!

More confidently, he put the whole chunk into his mouth, and started the digestive process.

One.

Two.

Three.

He counted his chews as was his anal-retentive modus operandi.  On and on he counted, until overwhelmed, by the sheer wonder and joy of …..

BLARE!

An alarm went off, disrupting his equilibrium and unexpected savory delight.

“What’s that?” he barked, spewing out an undigested tidbit or two of the slab.

“That? That’s where the monsters are!”

And with that, Salvador’s (for that was the boy’s full name), Salvador’s aunt got up from the table, walked over to the oven, and pulled out another heaping pile of Monsters, much to everyone’s delight.  Even Sals!

“Monsters! Monsters! Monsters!  We want more Monsters!” they all sang in unison, before piling in with even more butter and lots of syrup.

Humans, Inc.

George was a proud father. Turning 16, his son, Ralph, had arrived at his most important rite of passage and it was up to George to steer him through it. Their kind had been performing this ritual for generations, passed down from father to son and mother to daughter. A sacred and time-honored tradition.

Held up

Worry is a luxury, because the only other option is fear. Cramped on a bus, I founded myself wishing I was fretting over rent as if my only concern was how many dollars I was accumulating. The transient weight of my worries was forgotten as the leaden mass of my fears sunk into my wife’s swollen stomach, and pulled the light from my eyes.  Quietly I reread the text, “I’m hurting so bad. In ambulance. Please come.”

The T is not a quiet train, and it is doubly not quiet on the Red line at 5:30 in the afternoon. My shoulders were pressed against strangers as a cacophony of coughs, conversation and grating crunches filled the air. The T lurched forward drunkenly as it tore its way haphazardly through the Boston streets.  My text yelled, “WHAT?? Are you ok? What is happening.” Over the roar of the noise, all I could hear was silence in response.

Suddenly a text, from my brother. “Hey are you ok? Which hospital should we go to?” My phone glowed against the shadow of bodies all around it. It vibrated violently, my mother was calling. As I spoke to her my fears pushed their leaden mass up my throat, but I would not let them out. Four more texts and three calls later, I stepped of the train. My fears hung in the air above me, held by the threads sent through texts and calls. I stared down the road at the hospital and quietly whispered. “Oh God… please.”

A thick rope joined the threads holding back my fears and, unburdened, I ran towards the hospital, with eyes full of light.

Excerpt from Chapter Two

“For me? You shouldn’t have, Sparry.” Samantha smiled at the bouquet of flowers now resting softly on her desk.

“Just following the Chief’s orders.”

“It’s still kind. Thank you to both of you. Give him my thanks too, will you?”

“Probably,” I said, glancing over Samantha’s shoulder at Parker’s office. “But I may just keep all glory to myself.”

Samantha’s lips twitched slightly. “Really breaking the norm there, Sparry.”

I clutched my chest in mock pain. “That didn’t take long. Your kindness was so fleeting.”

“Perhaps you should bring me more flowers then.”

“Only if Chief tells me to.”

Samantha chuckled lightly, then glanced back at the office. She turned back and picked up a piece of paper on her desk. She handed it to me, her expression serious again.

“Here. I overheard them talking. Figured you would need a head start. I’d recommend giving it a quick read before going in there.”

I glanced at the scribbles quickly.

“Is this in pencil? Great Gus, Samantha. And I suppose you have a USA flag around here somewhere too? Get with the times!”

“I think pencils are better, though maybe that’s the History major in me talking. It doesn’t do much else for me.” She said, taking no insult.

I read the first couple of lines. “‘Over the roar of the noise, all I could hear was silence. The noise of a beating heart when I am compliant.’ Ouch, that’s a stretch, Samantha. Even for a slant rhyme.” I looked up at Samantha. “And I fail to see how this helps me—”

Her face was bright red. She swiped the paper in my hand, and replaced it with another.

“‘Claims 5 words, various classes. Noticed this morning.’ Great work, Samantha.” I said shaking the paper in my hand. “This work, I mean. The other stuff is a bit shaky. It could use a little—”

“Shut up,” said Samantha, still red. She knocked three times on the wall outside Parker’s office.

“Wait!” I hissed at her. “I haven’t read it all!”

“Shouldn’t have dawdled reading poetry, then.” Samantha said curtly. The door of the office swung open to reveal Parker. His tie was loosened and his top button undone, but he was still wearing his jacket. Not a good sign.

“Get in here, Sparry.” He stepped aside and motioned me in. I looked back at Samantha, grinning.

“Chief looks a tad scary,” I said, emphasizing ‘scary’ to make the rhyme. Samantha smiled slightly, and I walked into the room. The Quadrant Leader was sitting down in a chair facing the entrance. Mikklesen in the flesh. As Parker walked towards his desk and raised chair, I glanced quickly through the notes Samantha gave me. It was no use, not with Mikklesen’s beady eyes staring at me. I crumpled them up and dropped it into the bin next to the door frame.

“What was that?” Mikklesen asked. So nosy.

“A love letter, from your moth—”

“Okay!” Said Parker, clapping his hands. “Let’s catch Sparry up, what do you say Mr. Mikklesen? Would you like to start?”

“No,” came the reply, “but I will anyways.”

How gracious. A true saint, this man.

Thank You, Superman

Superman flies across the TV screen. I am wearing my Superman shirt, the one that Mom bought me for my birthday. It has an S on it. S is for Superman.