- Lizzie
- Lisa
- Norval Joe
- Serendipidy
- Tom
- Planet Z
The next topic is PICK TWO
Pulling
Frost
Mod
Bitter
An empty glass
LIZZIE
Midnight. Everyone was sleeping. Except for the village ghost. He liked to pretend he was still alive so he wore a top hat. As he walked past one of the houses, he saw two candles burning. Weren’t they all asleep? He wiped the window with his ghostly sleeve and peeked in. Empty. He swayed inside through the wall. Empty. He swayed back outside. Nobody. Suddenly, someone tapped on his shoulder. He shrieked, his top hat hanging on for dear life. Millie, the four-year old, was looking at him, snickering. Yes, this one would keep him busy for years to come.
LISA
Late Start.
Midnight crept silently into the bedroom. Curtains still open. The watchful smile of a nail clipping moon. She didn’t stay long, two followed one, four followed three. Dawn brought a subtle seam of red on morning’s skirt.
Still they both slumbered.
Cow heavy and aching she woke with a start. Relief leaking immediately at his first cries. A shock to hear them here at this hour. Familiar but disorientating; cars on their way to work. Not the still of night; unsettling until realisation hits:
A first night sleeping through.
Needed.
A milestone.
Presaging a better day beginning for them both.
NORVAL JOE
“It’s nearly midnight,” Mandi said, walking out of the kitchen with a hotdog on a plate. She had spilled ketchup down the front of her t-shirt and trying to clean it off, she only smeared it, making a bigger mess.
Billbert jumped when Sabrina looked at Mandi and screamed, “Stop her. She’s going to kill Billbert!”
Mandi jumped as well, the hot dog slipping from her plate.
Billbert grabbed Sabrina’s shoulder. “It’s ketchup, Sabrina. It’s not blood.”
“Oh,” Sabrina panted. She put a hand to her forehead. “I’m going to be sick,” she gasped, and she ran for the bathroom.
SERENDIPIDY
I’ve never figured out why it’s called the Witching Hour.
What self-respecting witch will be out and about at midnight? You can’t go shopping that time of night, and there’s no-one about to frighten and torment.
Late afternoon is when you really want to hit the streets. Ample opportunity to frighten kids on their way home from school, lots of people crossing to the other side of the road to avoid you, and plenty of unsuspecting victims to creep up upon.
And the best thing of all?
Coffee shops are still open after a long afternoon of witchery!
TOM
I went to a Catholic grade school, dam near ended up in the minor seminary; but that would be another story including Pope Leo. In those days one had a severely limited choice of clothing. Green shirt, green tie, black pants. The only optional clothing was a gray sweat-shirt, worn in the cold months. When the boys reached fifth grade we showed are distain for the dress-code by turning the sweat-shirts inside out. We rebels, the Sisters of Mercy were not. They thought they could wear us down. I saw a picture of 2010 eighth grade class inside out forever.
Deal with the devil
So, I’m standing at the cross roads, hunter’s moon above, round about midnight. I figure appear at a distance slowing moving towards me. “Son, you inquired about my services?” said the shadowy figure. I nodded my head. “Well, a contract seems to be in order before we proceed. What you’ll will to be putting up for the gift I would richly can reward.?” I thought for a second then figured what the hell. “My brother Rudy’s soul.” The figure laughed, “You are a dick, but I like your hutzpah, son.” “I want to the greatest Kazoo player who ever lived.”
PLANET Z
Of the black cats I’ve owned, I’ve never named one midnight. I mean, it’s as bad as naming one ironically Whitey. Now, I’ll call my old black cat Missy midnight murder mittens now and then, but it’s not her real name. And she doesn’t respond to it. She barely responds to her own name. She usually responds to good kid or breakfast or lunch. Or shaking the treats. You know that kind of stuff or if I’m petting her and she decides to bite me, she’ll respond to me yelling in pain. By biting more of course. Because cats suck.