Category: My stories

The Things

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You’re new around here, aren’t you?
I guess I’m the one to break the news to you.
Strange things wash up on the beach at night.
Locals know better but there’s warning signs for out of towners.
There’s also chain link fences.
We don’t bother with lights. That just attracts more of the things.
Folks would snap photos of them, but the photos… moved. Shifted.
Or they looked like it.
Oh, if you see a hole in the fence, call the police and get home as quickly as possible.
Lock your door. And don’t open it for anyone until morning.

Diapers

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Kids. They’re so confusing.
All the things you have to do to babyproof your house are they sick are they not sick and so on.
It’s enough to drive a guy crazy.
I mean, for instance – take diapers.
Cloth vs. disposable, I’m not getting into that mess.
The manufacturers have all these commercials with pouring pitchers of water into diapers, sealing the wetness away.
They’re all a bunch of crooks.
I picked up some diapers that said “up to sixteen pounds” on them.
I swear, you can’t even come close to leaving just a pound of baby shit in them.

The Magic Touch

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Dumped. Again.
“I’m a lesbian,” she said.
Dan looked back at his past few girlfriends and realized that each and every one of them was now a lesbian.
A few phone calls confirmed the truth: every one of them was a lesbian, all the way back to his first kiss.
“You’ve got the magic touch,” said his newest ex-girlfriend. She finished packing her stuff and walked out the door.
They’d met on a blind date set up by… the ex-girlfriend before her.
He checked his messages. His friend set up another blind date.
“And make it quick,” his ex said.

Axe Murderer

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The judge banged his gavel and called the court to order.
“Fred Axemurderer, you are charged with two counts of first degree murder. How do you plead?”
A blood-soaked figure in torn overalls and a hockey mask stood up.
“Well, let’s see,” he said. “You have my axe over there. Next to it, videotapes of the murders. Beside that, my signed confession. What more do you want?”
All the while, Fred’s attorney was shouting “HE PLEADS NOT GUILTY BY REASON OF INSANITY!”
You see, only a crazy man would give up the massive revenue potential of a sequel. Or two.

Call To Dinner

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Jeremiah beats the triangle with a metal rod and calls us to dinner.
The table is piled high with all sorts of dishes he’s prepared for us.
How he manages such feasts, we have no idea. He doesn’t let us in his kitchen, and the only time we see the food is when it’s already out on the table and he’s ringing the dinner bell.
Every so often, someone gets curious, and they say they’re going to find out.
Too curious, because the next time Jeremiah rings the bell and we all come to dinner, they aren’t there.
Say Grace.

The Tracks

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They say that countries used different gage tracks for their railroads so that enemy trains couldn’t invade without changing wheels.
That took time, delaying them long enough for enough defensive forces to arrive.
I walk through the railroad museum, going from exhibit to exhibit wondering which trains are allies and which are enemies.
It’s not easy to tell, but if you look closely, you can separate the two.
In fact, this World War II display has a friendly engine pulling three enemy boxcars.
Prisoners of war, perhaps?
They aren’t talking. They’re just trains in a museum, sitting on the tracks.

The Island

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The island isn’t on any maps.
Well, okay. It appears on one map: mine.
It’s off the trade routes. I only found it because of a freak storm that blew me ashore here.
It doesn’t even have a name.
Want to name it?
No rush. We won’t be here long, anyway.
Just long enough to bury the treasure and the prisoners.
That’s right – bury them.
Remember when I gave orders to take no prisoners?
This is why.
Just be sure to give ’em each a sip of whiskey before… you know.
I may be a pirate, but I’m no Savage.

The Rails

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It’s been fifty years since a train last came through here.
Still, the villagers keep the tracks clear, the rails rust-free, and they replace the wood ties every few years.
They think if they keep the tracks ready, a train will come some day.
“If you put food out on your porch, you get cats,” says the mayor. “So we figure the same for trains, right?”
At night, I like to lie on the tracks and look up at the stars.
As a kid, I heard the whistle, the soft ringing of the rails, the engines…
Lay back and listen.

Hit The Road, Jack

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It was time for Jack to go.
When it’s time, it’s time.
He packed his things. They fit in a single cardboard box.
Jack never owned more than he could pack into a cardboard box.
If he ever bought anything, he’d give away something about the same size.
A new book for an old book. New shoes for old shoes.
What he bought to eat, he ate. The pantry was empty.
Balance.
He picked up the box and walked out the door.
Another man named Jack walked in, carrying a cardboard box.
A new Jack for an old Jack.
Balance.

Six Iron

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“What the hell’s that racket?” growls the boss.
It’s not a racket, I say. Joe’s been beating the copier with a five iron.
The boss tells me to make Joe stop, so I head for the copier room.
Joe”s got a five iron in his hands, and he”s beating the copier.
Pieces are flying all over the room, but the jam has yet to clear.
I sigh. This is not what it says in the owner’s manual.
The owner’s manual calls for a six iron.
I try to tell Joe this, but his caddy keeps me out of the drive-line.