D.B. DUCKcopyright 2011 m.s.

On the eve of Thanksgiving in 1971, a Duck carrying a black attache case, purchased a one way ticket from Northwest Orient Airlines. He boarded flight 305, a thirty minute trip from Portland to Seattle, Washington. He went directly to the rear cabin and lit a cigarette. The stewardess approached the Duck with big smiles and even bigger busts saying hello.

“I'd like a bourbon,” He said. “With soda.”

The stewardess, giggled and shook her gray fuzzy tail. “Sure thing, Doc,” She said. D.B. Watched her wiggle down the aisle. She sure looks familiar, he thought to himself.

A woman looked at the Duck from across the aisle, noticing he was wearing dark sunglasses, loafers, a dark suit, a lightweight raincoat. On his tie was a Mother of Pearl pen. The stewardess returned with his bourbon. “Here you go, Doc,” She smiled big.

In exchange for the bourbon, D.B. Handed her a note. She placed the small piece of paper down her bra and said, “Fresh.”

D.B. Looked bewildered. “Say,” He said, “Miss, you better look at that note. I have a bomb.”

“Oh,” The smile disappeared, her posture became rigid when she realized what D.B. Said.

The stewardess read the note aloud. “I have a bomb in my briefcase....i will use it if I have to. You are being hijacked.....Say, Doc, I think you misspelled hijacked...it's h-i-j-a-c-k-e-d...not h-i-g-h----”

“Just sit down,toots! Your despicable.” D.B. Tore the note from her hands. She sat beside him.

“Can I see the bomb, Doc,” She whispered.

D.B. Opened the briefcase just long enough to show eight red cylinders attached to wires. Then he closed it, laughing diabolically.

“I want 200,000 dollars unmarked in 20's. Two back parachutes and two front parachutes. When we land, I want a fuel truck ready to refuel. No funny stuff, toots, or I'll finish the job.”

The stewardess let the cockpit know of the orders. Everything was in place. Plane refueled. Money given to D.B. Many of the passengers were aloud to leave. The plane was in air again. Now it was pitch black. He told the cockpit he wanted to go to Mexico City. At 8:00 P.M., the aft light flashed in cockpit, showing that the AFT door was open. The stewardess heard D.B. Say, “So long, suckers!” And he began to laugh.

D.B. Was out the plane, hovering in the air, mere seconds later he pulled one rip cord. No parachute engaged, only pots and pans flew into the clouds above him. D.B. Was bewildered. He pulled another rip cord, and more pots and pans and now a kitchen sink flew into the clouds. His drop was steady. He pulled the other two rip cords and more of the same blew past him, including a cow that mooed.

D.B. Held up a sign that showed a picture of a jack-ass and an arrow pointing at him.

He screamed as his peril became more dire, hitting the earth at speed his mind could not compute. He was flattened like a pancake.

The stewardess watched the whole thing. She removed her blonde wig and revealed long bunny ears. “Ain't I a stinker,” She said.

TWO OF A KIND copyright 2011 m.s.

They were sitting in Smokey's having coffee, not saying word, staring at each other like staring at their own reflection. Jeff and Kyle had grown up twenty miles from each other, different parents, different friends, owning the same face. They were dressed similar, blue suits, white ties. Jeff had gold cufflinks, a present from the Insurance company for most sales in a year,  that was the only difference.

“I guess I should break the ice,” Kyle said after a lengthy silence.

Jeff smiled. “ I guess you should,” He took a sip of his coffee and waited. When Kyle didn't continues, Jeff held his hand up, asking kyle to continue.

Kyle laughed, shrugged. “It was a little strange when you called.”

“It was stranger when I passed you on the sidewalk two weeks ago. It's not everyday you see someone with your FACE attached to their body.”

Their waitress showed up again, arms folded. “Can I get you two anything else?” She looked unhappy, even though there was a forced smile on her face. Actually it was a strain. She looked as if she'd lived a hard life, but Kyle didn't want to jump to conclusions. He still thought maybe she'd been a junkie at one time.

“I do believe I would like a piece of cherry pie,” Jeff spoke up.

The top of the waitresses head opened up like the trunk of a car. Out of the pitch black inside, two hands rose up holding a pen and a notepad, immediately wrote down Jeff's order. “How about you, doll?” She said to kyle.

“Oh...sure. Cherry pie is fine.” He nodded.

The hands wrote down the order and disappeared in the in the dark corners of her mind. The top of her head closed slowly. “Okay. Two cherry pie slices coming up,” She said as her salt shaker shape body walked away.

Kyle spied a group of Mimes sitting at a table across from them. They all sported fur coats and rings on every finger. One Mime had a steak knife cleaning his fingernails, while the another was cleaning his .45. The conversation from the group turned very loud and intense regarding their “stable” of women that earn their living on the streets.

Kyle looked away. Jeff tapped the table with a finger. “Have you been listening to me?” He said.

“Oh! Yes,” Kyle cleared his voice. “You, uh, said your Father was a pharmacist?”

“Yeah,” Jeff sipped his coffee. “My mother drove a bus. What did your Father do?”

“He owns Newspaper companies. Print is dead is sacrilegious to him.”

“And your Mother?”

“Mothers.”

The salt and pepper shakers levitated and floated around their heads.

“Oh,” Jeff raised an eyebrow.

“My Father was married four times. This last one has lasted ten years, she's only six years older than me.”

Jeff snickered. Soon the waitress brought the slices of pie. She set the plates down gingerly, waddled away.

“What do you do?” Kyle took a bite of his pie, chewed, then made a sour face. He put his fork down and pushed his plate away.

“I'm a salesman.” Jeff broke off huge chunks of pie with his fork.

He was pleased with his pie and it showed in the enthusiastic way he was eating.

“What is it you sell?” Kyle so wanted a cigarette, but would not risk being shot on sight by a policeman if he lit up in a restaurant.

In the corner of the restaurant, in a booth, a woman and a wolf were making love very loudly.

“Body parts,” Jeff said nonchalantly. “You know, mostly kidneys, arms, livers. The occasional brain, but I don't think those transplants really work.”

“Yes,” Kyle sighed. “I suppose they don't.”

“What about you?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh come on. A person has to do something.”

Kyle shook his head. “Not me.”

“How do you live? You need---”

“Money. I live off my Father. He has plenty. And I found out recently, that if you have influence, you can do whatever you want.”

Outside on the street, a gang of headless thugs chased a man down and tore him to pieces. They took the pieces of flesh and stapled it to the restaurant’s door, wrote graffiti with his blood.

“What do you mean by that?” Jeff had a sheepish smile on his face.

The wall's began to breathe in and out, leaving a low moan as mood music.

“Well. I was driving through a sleepy desert town at two in the morning last year and I swerved into someones yard, a ratty place, full of old tires stacked to heaven and broken down cars everywhere. I swerved and killed a young boy. I wrote a check out to the parents for ten thousand dollars. Then I called the family lawyer and he called the town mayor and the family was moved out of their home that they'd lived in for twenty years. The place was condemned. Bulldozed over, and land sold for a shopping center.”

“That wasn't very nice. They got to keep the money though.”

“No,” Kyle said, “I had the father arrested for forgery.”

“You are a rotten bastard.” Jeff proclaimed.

“So I am told very often.” Kyle admitted.

“Well, I must be off. Meeting my girl outside.” Jeff stood, looked out the restaurant’s window. A woman and her Siamese twin attached at the shoulder was waving at him. Jeff waved back.

“Is that her?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah,” Jeff nodded. “Maybe I'll see you around.”

“More often than you know,” Kyle replied. Jeff turned and was out the door. He took his girl's arm and headed down the street. Kyle began to laugh, everyone in the restaurant joined in.

Kyle closed his eyes. When he reopened them he was alone, leaning against the wall of his white room, trying to get comfortable in his straight jacket.

CANARY copyright 2011 m.s.

Known as the Jezebel of Jazz, Anita O' Day was a jazz vocalist from the mid 1930's till the 1960's that took Bee bop to a new height. She wasn't without her problems, though. Nearly abandoned by parents who saw her as excess baggage, she fled her home to become a marathon dancer at the age of twelve and began singing for tips. She changed her name from Colton to O' Day which came from the Pig Latin for dough, of course the slang meaning for money.

As a child she had a botched surgery on her tonsils which resulted in the removal of her Uvula, that  left her incapable of vibrato, unable to hold long phrases. Anita had to develop a more percussive style based on shorter notes and rhythmic drive. She was admired for sense of rhythm and Improvisation. She often worked into  the act, “Four” by Miles Davis, taking one of the parts of the saxophone, vocalizing what sound the instrument would make.

Her first real gig was at the Off-beat club, backed by Max Miller quartet. She became Vocalist for Gene Krupa, cutting thirty-four sides. Anita had a novelty hit duet with Roy Elderidge in 1941, “Let me off uptown”.

She had another hit with Krupa, “Thanks for the boogie ride”. After Krupa was busted for a possession of pot in 1943, the band broke up. Anita found herself with Woody Herman band. She did a month long gig at the Palladium, but was unwilling to tour with another big band. She finished the year out as solo. Soon, Anita joined Stan Kenton in 1944. With Kenton she recorded twenty-one sides and appeared in Universal short film Artistry in Rhythms. Anita had a huge hit with “And her tears flowed like wine”, which put Kenton on the map. She rejoined Krupa in 1945, but left again in 1946.

What secured Anita in Jazz history are her seventeen albums she recorded for Verve and Norgran labels between 1952 and 1962. Anita O' Day sings Jazz was a critical success and boosted her popularity.

This was also the year that her life changed in a strange way. Her troubles were always there, two bad marriages, a backstage rape and a couple of pot busts. But it's this event that led to a harder drug.

After a two night stint at the Call of the Wild club in San Francisco she went back to her hotel, Sunrise. She had sent word she wanted her bags and trunk ready for her leave, back on the road for another show in New York. She received a call from her Drummer John Poole to meet her for dinner as a group of Jazz writers were tagging along. Anita decided to retrieve a dress from her trunk. It was then she recognized the trunk as not hers. The trunk was a faded green, not her usual green and tan. Anita was curious as always, opened the trunk.

Inside, she found a woman holding child. They had been mummified, preserved almost exact, only their eyes were hollow, and the child most certainly still nursing. The look on the Mother's face was one of horror and sadness.

Anita dropped the trunk from her hands and screamed. The trunk fell on it's back, the top still open. Anita tried to look away, but could not take her eyes from them. She was drawn to the Mother and child. The child pulled it's lips from the Mother's dried up nipple, and cried out for Anita. She screamed once again., picked herself up from the floor and ran out of her room.

She caught a cab and directed the driver to the Blue belle cafe. In the back of the place she found the writers all sitting around smoking cigars and drinking hooch.

“You missed dinner, Anita,” One of them said.

Anita spoke from across the room with urgency. “Where's John?”

Another writer laughed, pointed to the bathroom. “Bastard's been in there for awhile.”

Anita ran, her heels clicking on the tile floors. She burst in the Men's room with such a force, John thought it was the cops making a bust.

He was in the corner stall, trying to get a vein up for a taste of Heroin.

“Jesus Anita, what are you doing? I almost broke a needle off in my arm,” John said, giving up on finding a good vein.

“I want some,” Anita tried to control her breathing.

He began to argue with her, but decided it was time for Anita to experience what he had been feeling. He untied the rope from his right arm and tied it around her left. A pretty vein popped up in no time. He readied the needle and slowly approached Anita who was now sitting on the toilet.

“Are you ready, Canary?” He whispered, his shadow overpowering her best features. She nodded, sighed.

“I was born ready,” She said. “I've got a lot to forget.”

A couple of months later, Anita O' Day was arrested for possession of Heroin. Fourteen years later, she almost overdosed in a bathroom in an office building in Los Angles, in 1966. She quit for good after that, and lived to the old age eighty-seven.

THE CARDS NEVER LIE copyright2011 m.s.

Emily took the crystal ball in her hand and giggled. Tom placed his hand on top of it. Emily pushed his hand away, shaking her head. Tom frowned, put his hands in his pocket. He didn't like those sort of shops. Shops that sold paranormal paraphernalia. If you looked under the objects those places sold you, you'd most certainly see a sticker stating it was made by Parker Brothers.

Emily turned to the shopkeeper and giggled. “I like this one,” She said, twirled her dark curls between her fingers. “Tom? I like this one.”

“How much?” Tom asked the Shopkeeper.

The tall, bald man smiled a horrific smile, very few teeth and all red gums. “Thirty-five dollars, sir.”

Tom made a face. “For a crystal ball made of plastic?”

“Oh, no sir,” The Shopkeeper was offended. “That's real glass.”

Tom looked at Emily. She giggled, looked away. “Okay,” He pulled his money clip from his pocket, counted out the amount.

“Plus tax---thirty-six twenty.” The Shopkeeper smiled again. Tom threw down two more dollars.

Tom forced a smile. “That's what I get for being with someone fifteen years my junior.”

They were walking down an alley past the mall when Emily saw the sign for Palms Read. The sign was hanging on a tree in the front yard of an old run down house way too small for it's yard. Surrounding the house was an abandoned warehouse where vendors used to pickup their supply of potato chips and bread.

“Oh look!” Emily beamed. She pointed to the sign. Tom stopped in his tracks, his face fell. “Lets go!” She danced around him, tugging at his coat.

“No,” he said. “I don't want to go to a charlatan----why?”

“Oh, don't be such an old man!” Emily exclaimed. “This is going to be fun---”

“I'm not an old man,” Tom said in a huff.

Emily kissed him. “I know your not. Please....let's go inside....”

“They always seem...creepy.”

“I'll make it up to you later.....I promise.” She kissed him again.

“Fine. Just for a few minutes.”

Emily squealed, grabbed Tom by the hand and ran to the house that boldly advertised palms read.

The house had not been painted in years. It was weather beaten and the what little white paint that hadn't chipped away, had turned a sickly yellow. They stood on the steps, Emily rapidly banging on the screen door. A short elderly woman with a red haired wig answered the door. She was stooped over, barely moving at snail speed.

“Um, we would like our palms read---” Emily said.

“You would like your palm read.” Tom corrected her.

“Yes—I would,” She turned and stuck her tongue out at him.

“Come inside,” The old woman barely managed, motioned for them to follow.

They entered the house, which was nicely taken care of. Lots of small trinkets everywhere representing all kinds of pop culture throughout the years. Emily particularly liked the snoopy display. The old woman took them to a room in the back of the house that separated the kitchen from it by hanging beads in the doorway. A woman, middle aged, perhaps, was already sitting at a table, fiddling with a deck of cards.

“You have customers,” the old woman croaked.

The woman at the table looked up. Her eyes were pale blue and had no pupils. Tom and Emily were taken aback. They exchanged glances.

“Come,” The old woman urged them to sit at the table. “Valeria will take care of you.”

They sat at the table, unsure of what was to happen next. Tom grabbed Emily's hand, held it tightly. She was surprised by this action. She smiled. He's afraid, she thought. Tom loosened his tie, he felt beads of sweat drip from his forehead and dribble down his cheeks. He wiped them away with a hand.

Valeria placed two tarots face down on the table. The cards were a strange color of red against the white tablecloth. The woman was obviously blind. She felt for her glass that looked like it was filled with water, but the smell was an alcoholic drink.

“Choose one, “ She said.

“Which one?” Emily asked after a moment of silence.

At this point the old woman came and sat next to Valeria. Valeria made a distressing face. “Whichever one you think best.”

“If your blind, how can you see the cards?” Tom let go of Emily's hand, much more confident now.

“My sister will read them to me,” Valeria said. “The cards never lie.”

Tom smiled at Valeria. Then at the old woman. His face turned red. Tom slumped slightly in the chair. Emily turned over a card. The old woman leaned in and whispered in her sister's ear.

“Let me see the palm of your right hand.” Valeria demanded.

Tom rolled his eyes, and didn't say what he wanted. He knew there was an answer waiting for him. He watched Valeria run her wrinkled finger up and down the palm of Emily's hand. Valeria's lips trembled, opened and closed as if she were speaking to herself.

“ The card was Star in reverse....

“It's meaning: Deception--- A line in your palm runs long like a river across the palm---”

“Now see here---” Tom raised his voice.

Emily patted Tom on the shoulder with her other hand. “It's alright. I'm not offended.”

Tom looked away, grumbling to himself.

“Pick a card from the deck,” Valeria instructed, looking as if she were in a trance.

Emily did so with her left hand, the right one still held by Valeria. Her sister whispered to her. Valeria ran her index finger across Emily's palm.

“Mm... The card is the Moon upright:

“ I see...satisfaction. Success. Love. Happy marriage.”

This pleased Tom and Emily. They both smiled big at each other. Somewhat truthful. She was Tom's third marriage, and most successful. He married her when she was sixteen, and now she was twenty-three to his fifty-five. The other two marriages only lasted two years each.

“Pick another card from the deck.” Valeria said.

Emily was now all but too pleased to do so. She took the card with a giggle, scrunched up her nose. Valeria's sister whispered again. At first, Valeria was at a loss for words. Her hesitation was too long, but then rushed the latter part of the reading. She barely ran her finger across the palm, but sideways.

“The card is......Judgment. In reverse.

“Failure....Loss.”

Valeria released Emily's hand. She whispered to her sister. The old woman looked at Valeria, confused. The old woman shrugged, whispered back. Valeria nodded.

“Now you turn over the card,” She said to Tom.

Tom laughed. “No, madam, I am not here for a reading. It's only to amuse my my wife--”

“Just do it, Tom!” Emily scolded. He looked at her face and could see that she mean it. He smiled at his wife and turned the card over.

The old woman whispered in Valeria's ear. “Give me your right hand.”

Valeria took Tom's hand gingerly. She ran her hand across his palm. It ran a long ways to the finger next his thumb. She seemed impressed by the look on her face. Tom and Emily exchanged solemn looks.

“The card is Hierophant upright:

“Mercy...kindness...forgiveness.”

Emily touched Tom's arm. He smiled at her, embarrassed. “I already knew that about him.”

The sisters were keen on moving on and showed it by tapping the table with their fingers in unison. Tom raised an eyebrow, cleared his voice.

“Pick a card from the deck,” Valeria said coldly.

Tom slowly drew the card, laid it with the others. The old woman whispered in Valeria's ear. Valeria ran her index up the palm of Tom's hand, only not as high as the first time.

“The card is the Fool in reverse:

“A bad decision.”

Tom laughed. “I've made several in my life.” He shook his head and laughed. Emily chimed in with her high pitched giggle.

The old girls gave a look of dissatisfaction and the merriment stopped on a dime. Tom drew his last card. Valeria received the information from her sister. She moved her finger left, lateral, then up, left, lateral again.

“The card is Hanged man upright:

“Loss...unexpected change...illness or death....I'm sorry....no, it is that. No, it's only loss. I am sorry I said those others.” Valeria rose from the table and left suddenly.

“What was that about?” Emily whispered to Tom.

“It's all rubbish anyway.” He answered.

The old woman forced a smile, kept looking for her sister. “That will be seventy-five dollars please.”

Tom's face fell. “Your kidding me? For that?!” A vein was now poking through his forehead.

“Just pay them. We can afford it.”

Reluctantly, Tom placed the bills in the old woman's hands.

“Thank you. I will show you to the door.” Her slow pace finally took Tom and Emily to the front door. By now darkness had settled on the streets, and bitter cold blew in. The old woman shut the and turned to find Valeria waiting for her in the hallway.

“I'm sorry I ran out in the last minute,” Valeria said, rubbing her eyes. “Those contacts were killing me.”

“Is that why you said you didn't feel like yourself?” Her sister croaked.

Valeria thought a moment. “No,” She said. “I felt like someone else was giving a reading.”

Tom and Emily strolled mindlessly back to the mall. They were out in a remote area of the parking lot, looking for their car. She'd taken her hands away from his and was writing in the sides of a book bound in leather. Tom stopped, Emily bumped into him.

“Your still fooling with that crap,” He chastised her.

“Yes,” She said and pushed him forward. “The Coven does not see their craft as CRAP, Tom. It's very real.”

“I should have never introduced you to my cousin Beryl. She's absolutely whacky.”

“Beryl is very knowledgeable about spells. And this was apart of my initiation to do something mischievous along with kindness.”

They had found their car by now. But Tom had stopped at the front, grabbed Emily by her arm. A shadowy figure appeared from around the back end of the car and swiftly came into the light. A man in a brown jacket holding a .32 snub nose. He aimed it at Tom.

“Give me all of your money....Now!”

Emily screamed. Tom reached for his wallet inside his coat and the gun went off. Tom fell sideways, landing on the hard pavement. Blood drained from his throat and formed a puddle around him. The man nearly dropped his gun, recovered himself, and ran into the darkness. Emily struggled with her cellphone, as the last bar had faded into a flashing blip, while the light in Tom's eyes passed on.

THE SWARM copyright2011 m.s.

We were standing on the street corner where the docks were. Lots of Sailors came and went, looking for a good time. Kay spotted one sailor carrying his duffel bag on his shoulders walking past us. She pointed at him, told me to get his attention. I ran to him, using all of my sales pitch I've learned from the other pimps through the years.

Kay and I had been together for a long time, inseparable.

She is a very pretty girl, when she wasn't on. That brings a lot bad facial expressions and dark circles creeping up. Her blonde hair down and in waves, angular face accommodating blue eyes, a favorite among johns. Especially in that short black dress.

I caught the sailor. Told him about Kay. He smiled big, said he wasn't sure about the price. I assured him for that price he would get everything he wanted. He didn't need a room, we already had one.

That may have helped with the hook. He followed us back to our place at the end of the street, behind the coffee shop and dealership. He didn't seem nervous inside the room. On the street he kept watching to see if anyone was following. In the room, he was all over Kay.

She took her clothes off, stood by the bed. He asked if I was going to stay and watch. He made a crack about how small I was, called me a dwarf. Kay told him I had to stay close, for protection. He took his clothes off, tried to ignore the situation.

The sailor went to Kay, touched her breasts, kissed each one. He reached up to kiss her when her eyes had went hollow. Her mouth left open as gaping hole. A swarm of yellow jackets exited her eyes and mouth, congregated upon the sailor's body, drilling thousands of tiny holes inside of him.

I covered my ears to mute his screams.

It wasn't long that the swarm had taken bits and pieces of the sailor and stored the nourishment inside their stingers. They headed back to the nest deep inside of Kay's body, via her eyes and mouth.

I removed my hands from my ears, watched the sailor's skeletal remains slump to the floor, every bit of his flesh missing.

Kay sat on the bed, sighed. With her fingernails, she spread apart the skin that covered her breasts and chest cavity. Showing me a dark chasm. I crawled to toward the bed, climbed. She had her eyes closed, so I stole a kiss. I crawled inside of her and watched the darkness envelope me as she closed her skin around me. I waited for the yellow jackets to bring me my food.

Every Mother would do this for her son.

EPITAPH copyright2011 m.s.

 

William found the box out by the dumpsters on Verona beach. He was tossing bags of trash from the day's work cooking and selling hot dogs out of his and June and Craig's Van. It was just a small black shoe box hidden behind the dumpsters covered partially by sand. Minutes before, as he was carrying the bags, he'd heard a woman's stifled scream. He thought nothing of it,since the beach was crowded, someone was having fun. But he saw a black man in a suit walking a young woman to his Impala and making sure she got in the car. She turned, gave William a look, then sat inside the car. The black man power-walked to the driver's side, opened the door. He stood for a moment, also gave William a look. He jumped in the Impala and sped off.

William picked up the box with both hands. He felt how warm it was. Almost like a living thing. That's when he almost dropped the box, he felt a heart beat. He opened the lid slightly, peaked in. Quickly, he placed the lid back on. He looked around, carried it under his arms as he walked back to the van.

June had already closed the blinds and locked the back where they sell the hot dogs. Craig was outside the van cleaning the windshield. Craig yelled at William and slid down the hood to the ground.

“What do you have under your arms, William?”

“Shh! Get in the van! You'll see!” William said in a short burst.

Craig moved a few long blonde strands from his eyes and scrunched up his nose. “Huh?”

William rushed inside the van, leaving Craig confused. June was cleaning the grill and every few minutes taking a rest to place a hand over her growing belly where her unborn child was restless. It wasn't known at the time if the child was William's or Craig's. It was thought for the best as of then not to know.

“This child is possessed, I know it,” She said to William. She threw the sponge down on the grill and waddled to the bed, sat on the thin mattress.

He just stood over her, not saying a word, almost fuming. She sighed, tied her short brown locks in a ponytail. “Okay, William. What's under your arms?”

The door the van slid open and Craig entered in his stoned manner, standing next to William. “Yeah....William. What's under your arms?”

William ran a hand over his face. “A box,” He said. He sat next to June. She scooted over to find a comfortable spot. “You two will not believe what's in here,” He finally said in a whisper.

“After the last five months, William, nothing could shock me.” June said.

“This will,” He opened the lid. A shimmer of light captured June's small Barbie nose and large hazel eyes in vertical blinds She lift up, looked in. She cupped her mouth in her hands.

Craig's eyes widened when he peaked in the box. “What the hell was that?”

“You saw what it was,” William stood and carried the box with him.

“I know what I saw,” Craig said. “But what the hell was it?”

William became exasperated. As long as William had known Craig he always played the part of the stoned blonde surfer, even before Craig had started smoking weed. He felt a slight migraine in between his eyes. “If you know what you saw, Craig, then you what the hell it is----”

There was a knock at the door. The three of them looked at the door, then at each other. William ran and hid the small black box under the bed. He opened his mouth to speak to the other two, thought about it. There was another knock at the door, he went to it, put his hand on the handle.

William turned to them. “Just act natural,” He told them.

“That's ridiculous,” June said.

“Yeah, God, William. You could be such a dick,” Craig said. He was even surprised by what he said. Dirty looks were directed at him. Craig looked away from June and William. The knocking grew louder and rapidly.

“I just mean let me do the talking,” He pointed at them with a finger. They nodded in unison.

William slid the van door open and that black man he'd seen earlier appeared. William was lost for words. The man smiled, lift himself up in the van without being invited. He was intimidating. Standing at Six-seven, and had small piercing eyes that jumped around. He removed William's hand from the handle and closed the van's door. Smiling the whole time.

“My name is Thomas. It's not important if you know if that is my first or last name,” He said, unbuttoning his blue suit jacket. “What is important is that you have something that belongs to my employer.” The black man stepped toward Craig. Craig took a few steps backwards into the grill.

“We don't know what your talking about,” William muttered.

Thomas turned to William, almost laughing. “Oh, no, you stupid fucking hippie. You know better than to lie to me. Give me the box---and before you say what BOX---think about how nice I can be...and how mean I can be.....” He flashed a smith and Wesson in his holster.

“There's a problem with what you just said,” William muttered.

“How's that?” Thomas voice became thicker.

“We're in with her,” William said bluntly.

“You're in with who, boy?”

“I saw you put her in the car earlier.”

“In with who? William---”

Thomas laugh was loud and it echoed in the van. William stared at the man. “If you harm us, you'll never find the----”

“The BOX,” Thomas cut William off. “Your so fucking cliched. Okay. All right. I'll tell you something.....I'm sure all three of you looked in the BOX. Right?”

No one answered Thomas. Their eyes met. Thomas laughed again.

“You saw what was in the BOX. You read the epitaph---”

“What? I didn't see anything written on that---” June said.

“I didn't either,” William's eyebrows lowered.

“You actually didn't take the time to read your epitaph?”

“I did,” Craig spoke up. He swallowed dryly. He spoke to Thomas. “I read it. I read it and---” He looked at William. “ ---I asked you what the hell was it---you didn't seem to see it. Everybody always assumes I'm the dumb one, or always stoned. It's not always true. I just take my time. I always....have.”

“What did you see, Craig,” June said gently.

“I'll show you,” Craig ran to the bed, dropped to his knees and reached under the frame. William screamed at Craig to stop, but Craig already had the little black box in his hands.

Craig was ready to show June when Thomas stepped in front of him. Their eyes met, Craig cradled the warm breathing box in his arms.

“I'll tell you what,” Thomas stroked his chin. “I'll call my employer, tell him I think he should pay you kids something.”

June didn't hesitate. She jumped right in. “Tell your employer we want two more things other than money.”

Thomas smiled. “Sure. I can see your the one who runs things round here, even in your shape.”

“Your employer will pay for all hospital and doctor bills from now on.”

June licked her lips, then continued. “We want twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“Lastly?” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“We want to know the story behind this.....thing in the BOX. Who was the girl?”

William wanted to speak. But he knew when June was in charge, not to interfere.

Thomas nodded. “Fine. Let me call my employer.” He took out his cell phone.

It was a silly looking contraption. Obviously purchased in the early 2000's, the man never upgraded. The other three watched Thomas leave the van.

“Don't say anything, William,” June barked.

William threw his hands up. “I'm not. It looks like you've handled the situation.”

Thomas reentered the van. “You get the story. Here it is. You ready?”

“Just tell it,” June said.

“Bossy...the way I like my women....means there’s always a chance for a fight and make up.” Thomas clapped his hands together. “That girl you saw with me.” He cleared his throat. It's my employer's daughter. Who had ran away. And took the Box with her.”

“What's in that BOX.....is that thing real?” William asked.

“You saw it. You feel it breathing in the BOX...BOX is moving with it.”

“What about that epitaph?” June felt her baby kick, took a moment to take it in.

“Ah, yes. Well, it's like it tells the future of those that look into the BOX, if they actually look in. That's why my employer wants it back. I think my employer likes to know the future from a day to day basis. You can imagine this ordeal has been driving him nuts.”

Thomas reached into his jacket. “I guess now, I will do as my employer instructed.”

Thomas whisked out his Smith and Wesson and shot June three times in the chest. He leveled the gun to Craig and fired. Craig was already mobile and bumped Thomas in the midsection. His aim was too high and fired into roof of the van. Craig opened the door of the van and jumped out, falling to knees. He hopped to his feet and ran hard. William tried to perform the same act as Craig, but caught a bullet in the forehead.

Thomas stepped out of the van. The sun had set and the beach had already become empty. He didn't see Craig anywhere. He cursed under his breath, made tracks to his Impala.

Craig had already hit the streets. He'd walked in mobs of people, made sure he stayed with crowds. Several street corners turned into business districts. And finally, when the crowds had disappeared, Craig found an empty warehouse to take refuge.

He sat in the darkness. Made sure no one was around before he looked inside the little black shoe box. A glowing light lit his facial expression rather harshly. He saw the fetus of a child swimming in the light, an umbilical cord attached to the box. Upon the child's red, wrinkled skin, was Craig's epitaph written scarred tissue. But Craig could read it plainly.

Keep running. Keep running. Keep running.....

VERA copyright2011 m.s.

 

In the ruins outside the city of Hammersmith, were columns made of marble, where many people placed their prayers, dreams, desires, and wishes. Through those crumbling columns led to darkness that housed a crypt. In that crypt, those dreams, desires, wishes, and prayers, were heard, and sometimes fulfilled, at a price.

Ferguson moved to Hammersmith to attend the University there. He enrolled in all the necessary art classes, but had little interest in learning anything they taught. He was only there to appease his Father and use the family's money to become a successful painter.

Ferguson always painted at night, between two and six in the morning. The rest of his time was spent throwing elaborate parties for people who would never become his friends. Something of a class division, as it was explained by his friend Alex, who was always at the cottage Ferguson rented, though he didn't live there. Alex was anywhere he could get a free meal and enough liquor to satisfy his disease.

Alex always had Vera by his side.. Vera became Ferguson's obsession. She was striking. The first time he saw her from across the room, walking side by side with Alex, her long dark hair fell and moved in rhythm with her hips, her long legs seemed to carry her across the room as if she were floating, Ferguson found the person he not only wanted to love----but own.

Vera was Art incarnate.

It was also at this very same party that Ferguson learned of people from the town had went to the old Constantine mausoleum to ask for what was not intended, or out of their reach.

Alex would laugh. “Pathetic, if you ask me. In my opinion, if you want something,” His eyes drifted to Vera. “You should just take it.”

Exactly what Ferguson wanted to hear.

“So,” He poured himself another drink, slightly slurring his words. “If one appears at the mausoleum after midnight and asks for whatever---in the morning----they shall have it. All that is required of one is to wait for the Constantine matriarch to manifest and you give her a kiss. The odd thing is, many of these people, I've been told, keep a scarf or something wrapped around their face. Some kiss!”

“Have you ever tried it, Alex?” Ferguson steadied his eyes on Alex.

“Of course not! I'm not a commoner like these village idiots living in Hammersmith. I don't believe in spirits either!”

“You don't have a scarf either,” Some one said.

Vera whispered in his ear, he pushed her away.

“I think we should take the party to the mausoleum.”

“Ahh...I don't think so, Ferguson.” Alex was the first to protest. Vera had nothing to say, as usual. As a matter of fact, Ferguson was in belief that Alex didn't allow her to speak.

Ferguson turned to Vera. “What do you think?”

She didn't answer him, but kept her eyes on his, the gray-blue drew Ferguson in and would not let him go for several minutes until Alex spoke, breaking the spell.

“She goes where ever I go,” He said with a bit of forcefulness in his voice.”She goes and does as I please.”

Ferguson was smirking. Alex stood and was now inches from his face. Ferguson put his hands up. “As you say, Alex, my friend.”

“Just don't forget it,” He snarled. Then took Vera by the arm and dragged her to the front door and threw her outside as soon as he opened it. He looked back at Ferguson, who was still smirking. He wagged a finger, but somehow forgot to vocal the warning. He exited, slammed the door so hard the windows in the cottage rattled. After that incident, people began to filter out of the party one by one. Soon it was just Ferguson and a bottle of jack. He stared at the rough drawing on canvas of Vera he began a few days ago. He hurled the bottle at the picture, knocking the canvas to the floor, following the bottle, that burst into a thousand little shards on the wood floor.

“I will get what I want!”

He threw himself upon his bed and covered his head with pillows and screamed.

Ferguson awoke in the morning his painting of Vera was back on the easel and completed. He was astonished. When had this happened? In my sleep?

He touched the painting with his fingers, noticed he'd added some background. The mausoleum.

“I don't understand.....” He said. There was a rapping at his door, sounded like bongos. Without thinking of dressing, Ferguson ran to the front door, fully exposed. He opened the door to find Alex and Vera standing there. Vera turned her head, then hid her face in Alex's jacket. Alex laughed.

“I think you should dress, old boy. You'll give the old women next door a scare,” Alex pushed Ferguson aside and Vera followed, still averting her eyes. Alex sat in a chair, Vera on the sofa. Ferguson left for the bathroom and reentered wearing pajama and an old tee shirt.

“I see you finished it,” Alex pointed at the painting. “You did well capturing those eyes.” He smiled at Vera, she blushed.

Ferguson ran his hand through his hair. “I, uh, don't remember painting it.”

Alex shrugged. “Sure. You were drunk.”

Ferguson nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“We all were, old boy.”

“So what are you here for. I seem to remember you left here mad.”

“Yes. I was. I'm sorry about that. Jealousy and alcohol doesn't mix well.”

“You, Alex, shouldn't have either. Drink too much, think too much.”

“I agree.”

“ Your not going to loose Vera, unless you wise up.”

“Point taken.”

Ferguson looked at Vera. There was silence. “Don't you have anything to say?”

She just batted her eyes. “Don't say much do you?” Still, she said nothing, just batted her eyes at him. “What do you two want?”

Alex smiled slightly. “I'm going out of town.”

“So.” Ferguson went to the bar, fixed him a glass of vodka, then poured Alex some rum. He motioned for Alex to take it. “Let me guess, Vera doesn't drink or eat.”

“Oh, your wrong. She does both.” Alex drank down the rum in one gulp. He sat the glass down on the bar gently. “Look, I'll be gone for a few days. I'd like for you to take care of her.”

“I don't know. I'm kind of busy.”

“For the sake of our friendship.....”

“No,” Ferguson sighed.

“I know, old boy, you're ass-hurt about last night. I'm really sorry.” Alex patted Ferguson's arm. “Please do this for me.”

“She can't take care of herself?”

“Vera...get's lonely.”

Ferguson burst into laughter. “All right. I'll do it.”

“Great! Take her to Bridges. She love's that restaurant.”

“A steak place? Not an expensive cafe or....”

“Just take good care of her.” Alex went to the front door, opened it.

“Your leaving now?” There was panic in Ferguson's voice.

“You'll be all right.” He was gone.

The two of them stared at each other for a few moments. Ferguson sat on the sofa beside her. She stood and moved over to the chair. Ferguson nodded.

“That was fun. Now what do we do?”

Ferguson came to. He'd been lying on the floor of the restaurant, blood all over his shirt, his hands stinging with horrible. He sat up, touched his pounding head. Vera was kneeling beside him as was the manager of the place. He saw tables turned over, chairs tossed aside, several people staring at him with fear. A man was laying in a pool of blood, his face battered. He wasn't dead, but barely conscious.

“What happened?” Ferguson tried to stand, feeling dizzy he held onto Vera.

“You don't remember? You had words with that guy.....passed out.......then jumped up and wailed on him......passed out again.....you got anger problems----I don't want you in here again....”

Ferguson moved quickly. He took Vera by the hand and they trotted out of the restaurant. The manager called out to him, told him to stay, the cops were on their way. Ferguson was already in his Fiat powering through side streets. He drove out on the Interstate, then back on a dirt road. He didn't know why, but something told him to do it. He ended up at the Mausoleum.

The air was thin out there. The moonlight became as bright as if it were day.

He and Vera walked through several graves hidden behind a mist. She led the way. With each step she seemed to blend with the mist. As they stopped at the mausoleum, Vera disappeared. Shocked, Ferguson reached out for her, felt the air. He clasped his hand over his mouth. He felt a presence. In an instance a woman in a white shroud appeared. It covered most of her face and extended into a frock of some sort draped over her body.

“Speak it,” He heard a voice inside his head. “What you wish, what you desire.....”

Ferguson opened his mouth, but no words were spoken. She heard them inside her head. The woman bowled her head. Without even walking, his body was pulled forward. He was face to face with apparition.

She reached out, touched his trembling face. The woman leaned in, her lips parted. Then expanded. Her tongue slithered outward like a snake and a separate set of large teeth protruded and caught Ferguson by the lips and bit. He tried scream, it only came out as loud whine.

He awoke. He was in his bed. Naked. Beside him was Vera, she too naked. The morning sunlight murdered his vision, but was kind enough to give it back. His face hurt immensely. He stood, heard someone in the living room. He stumbled there, knocking the painting of Vera off the easel. He saw Alex sitting on the sofa, having a drink.

Alex turned, chuckled. “You look a wreck, old boy.” He drank down the last of whatever liquid and sat the glass in the coffee table. “Oh, well. I'm here to gather my sister.”

Confusion contorted Ferguson's face.

“Oh, you didn't know? Silly of me not have said. Thought you knew we were Constantine's.”

Vera appeared, fully dressed. She took Alex's hand and out the door they went. Ferguson tried to speak, nothing came. His jaw was in considerable pain. He placed a hand over his mouth. He ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror.

His face was misshaped, his mouth and right side of his jaw had been eaten away.