Dead Man's Curve Part 2

Read Dead Man's Curve Part 1

Now for 

Part 2

The crunching of metal and shattering of glass rang out over the camp site. The blaring of a horn sounded and -

CRASH!

Then -

CRASH!

And another -

CRASH!

Joyce flew out of her tent. This time her dad was struggling to get out, Mr. Rob unzipped his tent. The muffled voices of the boys groaned in their tents as they woke up in a panic. Soon everyone was centered around the smoldering fire. 

All our voices merged into one as we asked about the noise until Mr. Rob spoke up. 

"Everyone calm down. Me and Mr. Stephen will go check it out. You kids just stay here and wait for us to get back. Ok, just wait here."

They both took off with their flashlights through the trees. From the camp, Joyce could see bright headlights lighting up the woods and flashing yellow lights like she had seen before, except now it was much brighter. The other boys, now awake and with their coats on, walked towards the lights. 

"We're suppose to stay here." Joyce said. 

"I just want to see." Freddy said. 

The other boys followed in agreement. Joyce was hesitant, but followed along with them.

"Just to the tree line." she said. 

"Ok." 

Will stopped at the first tree and the rest lined up next to him. Joyce stood over Richie's shoulder. 

"Do you see your dad?" Richie asked. 

"No. Do you?"

"I think that's him, there."

He pointed to a shadow down by the road. 

"Dad!" 

The shadow crept up the hill crunching on dead leaves, twigs and sticks up towards them. 

"Dad, what's happening?"

The children focused on the figure until it stood in front of them. It leaned down into the light and they saw the  out of a hole between two ripped open pieces of skin across his forehead dark red blood oozing down his face. 

  The children screamed in unison that echoed off the trees and rattled their eardrums as the bloodied man reached out towards them. They ran back towards the middle of the campsite by the dying the fire. 

Will jumped through the front of his tent, then returned with a powerful D battery flashlight. He clicked it On and raised the light beam onto the man's face. Blood continued to flow out of his injury all the way down his neck and soaking into his shirt. 

The leaves rustled and Will shined his light towards it. A second man and a woman came out from the trees behind the first man. Each with similar deep cuts across their face, each spilling dark blood down their shirts and onto the ground. The woman walked forward at a crooked angle to point her eyes in the direction of the children. Will shined the light into her face and she turned away, but they all saw the bone sticking straight out of her neck. 

The couple pushed past the first man into the camp. Through the trees more men, women and children came walking out. All bloodied with some missing limbs, some dragging broken legs across the ground, but all of them charging towards the campsite where the scouts stood petrified in front of the oncoming horror. 

More leaves rustled in the trees and through the horde of ghouls the two scout leaders came running. 

"Dad." Joyce shouted. 

She jumped into his arms. 

"Everyone alright?" Mr. Rob asked. 

He counted the scouts and wrapped his arms around Will, Freddy and Richie as they ran to his side. David stood motionless, still staring at the growing number of bleeding and broken bodies continuing their descent onto the camp. 

Joyce's dad sat her down to one side and reached out for David.

"Let's go. Go! Go! Go!"

Mr. Rob pushed Joyce and the children forward to put them in motion. Mr. Stephen wrapped up David and followed them down the hill. Freddy took the lead as his long legs carried him down the hill faster than everyone else. The horde stomped through the camp knocking tents and supplies all over the ground. Joyce didn't dare turn around for fear they would be right behind her. 

Freddy stopped at the bottom of the hill under the tall lamp post. 

"Which way? Where do we go?"

Mr. Rob pointed to a wood cabin a short distance away. 

"There. The trading post. Go there."

Freddy took off as the rest of the scouts reached the bottom continuing to run as fast as they could. Joyce's dad still carried David in his arms with his head resting on his shoulder who then screamed a high-pitched squeal. Joyce told herself not to look, but her head turned before she could stop herself. The horde began falling and tripping over each other, hitting the ground and started rolling down the hill after them.

Freddy pulled on the door. 

"It's locked." 

Mr. Rob and the other scouts arrived at the trading post. They all pounded and pulled at the door trying to get it open. Joyce's dad sat David on the ground and began searching for a way inside.

To be continued...

Dead Man's Curve Part 1

Dead Man's Curve

by 

Joshua J. Wood

1

Joyce laid in her tent following the stitching up and down the grey walls. She had picked it out because of its green color, but that was all on the outside. On the inside was all grey, no green, just grey. And each of those grey lines of stitching formed triangles, so instead of counting sheep, she counted triangles to fall asleep.

The wind blew and rustled the leaves right outside where she laid her head. Camping is the only reason she wanted to be in the Cub Scouts. Her and her dad, who was already snoring in his tent next door, had gone camping together a lot. Then, when the scouts allowed girls to join, his friend Mr. Rob convinced him to sign them up and become a troop dad with him.

They're first activity together was the Fall jamboree at Camp Harris. The other boys, who shared tents, were Will and David next to dad, Freddy and Richie next to them, and Mr. Rob, Richie's dad, on the end. They were the smallest troop there, but had all agreed to do their best to be this year's Fall Jamboree Troop of the Camp. 

Camp Harris was big, with woods and trails covering about five miles along Mud Creek, squeezed between two winding roads on both sides. One of which was Scout road that ran along the front entrance of the camp. A long stretch of road that ran straight into an almost ninety-degree curve when traveling North towards town, right next to where Joyce's troop was assigned to pitch their tents. A curve a lot of people thought they could take at high speed, a curve that gained legendary status as Dead Man's Curve after those people didn't.

The counting of triangles started to work. Joyce started to close her eyes and listened to the lullaby rhythms of the crickets when a bright yellow light filled her tent, flashing on and off and on then off again. Joyce sat up and tried to peek through the small screen on the back of the tent. She couldn't see a thing until the yellow shining light flashed back on brighting the trees down by the road. She grabbed her flashlight, put on her shoes and unzipped her tent. 

Outside, the campsite was dark. The fire pit that still had burning orange embers when she went to bed were now just black and grey ash. She turned and faced towards the road. The yellow lights blinked again bouncing off the hill leading down to the road, then off again. Joyce clicked on her flashlight and started walking. 

        On her way down, she started to make out the shape of a car stopped on the side of the road. The closer she got, she could hear the faint sound of music. The passenger door was open as she shined her light onto a white SUV. She stepped out on the edge between the gravel street and the damp grass behind the car that she could now see was smashed against one of the trees right off of the curve. 

"Is there anyone there? Do you need help?"

She listened for an answer, but only heard the music that she now recognized as one of the songs her mom sang to in the kitchen. She walked towards the open door and stopped. Her heart began to race when she shined her light on the ground and saw a man lying there.

A weak voice came out, "Help me." 

"Oh crap. I'm going to get help, ok. Just stay there, and I'll be back with help, ok."  

Joyce took a step to go back when the man pushed himself up off the ground. He moaned as he sat up on his knees and raised to his feet. 

"You just stay here and I'll go get help. Do you understand?"

The man moaned again while turning his head towards her. She tried to hold the light down, but it crept up farther and farther until it was in the man's face where it reflected the crimson red of blood smeared across it. Joyce screamed in terror just as the man lunged towards her growling incoherent words. She darted up the hill, around the trees and didn't stop until she fell on top of her dad's tent. 

"Daddy! Daddy! Wake up."

Joyce scraped on the front of his tent with one hand, looking for the zipper with the other. 

"Joyce, was is it? Was is it?"

The front of the tent zipped open and Joyce fell into her father's arms. 

"A man wrecked on the road. He's really hurt. It's awful."

Joyce couldn't hold back her tears any longer as they began to stream down her face. Her dad rushed to put his shoes on, took the flashlight out of her hand and leaped to his feet. 

"You wait here. Don't move."

He ran off towards the road. Joyce crawled into her dad's tent and tried to forget the man's blood covered face. Footsteps came back up the hill as Joyce's dad appeared in the doorway. 

"Where did you say he was?"

Joyce sat up.

"Down on the road."

"On that road?"

"Yeah, right there, by the curve."

"I didn't see anything honey."

"His lights were flashing. You didn't see them?"

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't. I didn't see anything.

Joyce couldn't believe it.

"You didn't have a bad dream did you?"

"No, it was real. I'll prove it."

Joyce crawled back out of the tent and headed back down to the road. 

"Joyce, there's nothing down there. It's late, let's just go to bed."

She continued on forcing him to follow her with the flashlight. He caught up to her just before the hill reached the road. There was nothing. 

"I swear. There was a car crashed right over there and a man, a hurt man, and he jumped at me."

"He jumped at you?"

"For help, I think. But it scared me, and, I ran. To get help."

She looked up at him to show she was telling the truth. 

"That was smart, but, there's nothing here now. And thankfully no one is hurt."

Joyce looked around at the dark street. She took the flashlight from her dad and shined it at the tree the car had smashed against. Nothing. No sign of any damage at all. She turned back towards him. 

"You're right. No one was hurt, and maybe it was just a dream. It just didn't feel like a dream, I don't know what it was."

Footsteps came from the top of the hill. Joyce pointed the light up into the face of Mr. Rob. His arm shot up and covered his eyes. 

"What are you guys doing? Is everything alright?"

Joyce's dad pushed the flashlight towards the ground. 

"Everything is fine. Just a bad dream."

"If you say so. Come on back up here and try to get some sleep."

Joyce walked back to the campsite followed by her dad. She went straight for her tent and went inside. Her dad leaned over and peered in at her. She found her towel and wiped the tears from her face.

"You sure don't want to sleep over in my tent. No one is going to think it's weird. I promise. It's how we always go camping."

"No, I want to be able to do this on my own."

"That's right, you're a Cub Scout now. I get it. But, no more late night walks alone. If you hear or see anything again, you come get me right away. Got it?

"I got it."

"I'll see you in the morning my joy."

"Ok." 

He walked off as she reached out and zipped the door shut. Outside she could hear dad and Mr. Rob whispering to each other before going back in their tents.

After several minutes of her father rustling to get comfortable, everything went silent except for the crickets and echoes of croaking frogs down by the creek. Joyce took some deep breaths and tried to forget about what had happened, she'd be able to try and make sense of it all in the morning. She looked around at the triangles, and soon felt the world of sleep wash over when -

CRASH!

To be Continued ...

A TV Show Idea That I Had

Serial Killer Hunter: Lain

3 Seasons (12/Season)

Cold Open - Episode 1

Open on a date. 

Man: This is only my third Tinder date. 

Lain: Really. This is my first. I've talked to some people, but never was brave enough to meet. Until now. 

Jack raises his glass, Lain follows suit. 

Jack: To being brave. 

Lain: To being brave.

They CLINK their glasses together. 

Later, outside in the street. 

Jack: I don't live that far. Just for a little bit. I swear. 

Lain: No, I have work tomorrow. But, I would like to see you again. 

Jack: I would like that too. 

jack brushes the hair out of her face. 

Jack: I'll call you. 

Lain: Yes. Call me. 

Jack: Well, good night. 

Lain: Bye. 

Lain starts walking off down the street. Jack stands and watches her as she goes. 

Cut to: 

Lain enters her apartment. A montage of various states of undressing ends with a towel tied around her while she turns on the shower. 

Cut to:

Jack's POV

Outside the window on the fire escape, Jack sits watching Lain in her towel walk back and forth between two rooms in the hall. When she doesn't return, Jack lifts the window, it opens. 

Jack: You should learn to lock your window. 

He enters into the living room, sneaks across the floor to the closed bathroom door. You can hear the shower running in the hall. He goes for the doorknob, opens it and a rush of STEAM come billowing out. In the bathroom, he sees the shower curtain closed around the tub, a shadow of a female occupies the other side, steam all around. He sneaks closer and closer until he reaches for the shower curtain and opens it. On the other side is a wooden female mannequin. 

Cut to: 

Jack standing in front of the mannequin, his hand holding the shower curtain where he pulled it open.

Jack: What the hell? 

Lain comes up behind him holding a long hunting knife and stabs him in the side. Jack groans and falls to the floor facing Lain. She stabs him in the chest, gets real close to his face. 

Lain: I knew about you. The two woman you killed. Bonnie and Savannah. 

Jack (gasping): How did you know? The police don't even know. 

Lain: They told me. 

Jack: What? How?

Lain: I don't know. But I'm happy to grant them their wish. 

Lain stabs him in the throat and watches as the blood oozes from his neck while Jack chokes on the blade then dies. 

Main Title 

He asked. She said.

        In the book The Fiction Writer's Guide to Dialogue by John Hough Jr., he says (pg.5), "I'm not a tickler about "asked"--I may have used it myself a few times--but the question mark at the end of the line makes the verb redundant."

        He writes  this in response to the Elmore Leonard's "Ten Rules of Writing," which Leonard states "Never use a verb other than 'said' to carry dialogue."

        But I feel, if you use a question mark, then it should be 'She asked.' 

Because in everyday speech I say:

May I ask a question

She asked you a question

He wants to ask you a question

I asked him a question

The question was asked by my friend Albert

I NEVER say: 

She said a question to you

May I say a question

He wants to say a question

The question was said by my friend Albert

        Ask and Question go together like love and marriage, till death do us part. So to have a line of dialogue, "My money was left where?" She asked, is a better sentence than, "My money was left where?" She said. 

        This is how I feel. If you feel I am wrong, please feel free to comment or email me with your thoughts on the subject. For know, I will stick with asked. Thank you. 

The Grand Finale

 The Magician

          I found this picture on a writing prompt post in one of my subscribed writing groups on Google+. I downloaded it and saved it in my photos folder with other photos just like this. Writing prompts are a great way to inspire stories and get the words to flow. I have been watching the new TBS show The Alienist about a serial killer in late 1800's New York City. This photo of the magician standing with chains all around him feels like a character who could exist in that world. I meditated on the idea and completed the short story piece The Grand Finale available below. 

          I challenge you to write your own story using this picture or finding a picture online that inspires a story inside of you. If you do, please link to it in the comments below for myself and others to read. 

The Grand Finale 

by

Joshua J. Wood

  

        The drummer landed his sticks on the snare drum playing a tight buzzing roll that hushed the crowd. The four other musicians sat staring at the stage with the rest of the audience in the small boxed shaped auditorium. Each person crammed in tiny metal chairs, rubbing elbows with the person next to them, all waiting for the grand finale. 

        From behind the long red curtain dressing the stage, a blonde woman with silk tanned skin strutted out onto the stage in a one piece spandex leotard that squeezed all the best parts of her together. A number of men whistled at her appearance. She stopped next to a large trunk sitting on the side of the stage, bent down at the waist with her back to the stage giving the men a reason to howl in excitement. She stood back up holding a long heavy looking metal chain as she struggled to lift it up in the air. She carried them towards the magician standing in the center of the stage. Shirtless with his arms to his side facing the four rows of audience members. The women blushed red at his exposed muscular physique all the way down to his belly button where his spandex pants hugged his waist and stuck tight to his legs continuing down to his bare feet. 

        A stout man with a pencil thin mustache stood at the bottom of the stage, opposite the band. He lifted up a dull black bullhorn with numerous fingernail scratches in the side to his mouth and shouted, "Ladies and gentlemen. With the help of his beautiful assistant Isabella, The Great Carmichael will defy the laws of the known world, right before your eyes. Don't avert your gaze as you'll be amazed as he's locked in chains then dumped into a tank of water. Will he break the chains in time to escape? Or will he drown and be taken to the afterlife in God's good graces."

        Isabella lifted the chains and draped them over Carmichael's shoulders. The chain laid across his chest hanging down to his knees. He took the two sides and crossed them over his chest. Isabella went back to the trunk and pulled out another chain. This one shorter and lighter than the last as she didn't struggle to carry it across the stage. She stood behind Carmichael and wrapped it around his waist. Carmichael grabbed the chain on both ends and pulled it tight around him. "Isabella, now for the locks." he said. 

        Isabella smiled, went back to the trunk. She bent down, again making the men howl, and pulled two large locks from its depths. She walked to the front of the stage and held them out in front of her. The locks were thick brass with wide arching latches. In the center of each one was a darkened keyhole cut into it. At the sight of them the crowd gasped and rumbled, the drummer accented his roll before everything died down again. Isabella walked across the edge of the stage so the whole audience could see, little murmurs from the crowd as she did. 

        Once she made it to the end of the stage where the stout announcer sat, she spun around and walked back towards The Great Carmichael. He stood waiting, pulling on the chain around his waist. Isabella made her way in front of him, turned to face him. She rested the latch of the first lock through the hole in the chains, then again for the second. She grabbed the end of the long chain crossed over his chest, pulled it straight and walked it around him. Carmichael held his arms tight against his body. Isabella came around pulling the chain against his other arm until she was back in front of him. She pulled the lock from the hole, stretched the chain tight and set the lock between the two holes, then snapped them shut. She repeated the process with the other end of the chain, scrapping the the chains together until she arrived in front of him, and again snapped in the lock. 

        "To prove he can't move", the announcer shouted through his bullhorn, "The Great Carmichael, lift up your arms!" Carmichael tried, but his arms would not move. He wiggled and shook, but he was locked into place. "Ladies and gentlemen, the water!"  

        Isabella walked off the stage through the dark red curtain. Everything stood still as the buzzing of the snare drum filled the silence. Isabella returned pulling a tall tank filled to the top with water. The four wheels on the bottom squeaked with each rotation. She continued to pull it until it was directly behind Carmichael. She laid the rope on the ground and pushed it underneath the tank. She stepped to each corner and locked the wheels in place. After the last one, she went back to the trunk and this time pulled a small step ladder out of it. She carried it behind the tank and set it up out of view of the audience. 

        Carmichael turned and walked behind the tank. He disappeared for a quick second before his head reappeared over the top of the tank. He continued to step up until his waist was level with the edge. He flung his right leg over, splashing it into the water. He rested it on the edge of the tank, then flung his other leg over and again splashed water over the top, this time raining water down on the front row of the audience. They laughed and giggled with delight. 

        Isabella removed the ladder and returned it to the trunk. She reached off stage grabbing a tall metal folding screen. She wheeled it towards the tank, pulling it with one hand. She stopped and set it next to the tank where Carmichael was sitting at the top. She unfolded it a section at a time, each one covered in a thin black curtain, straight towards the crowd. Carmichael took a deep breath, pushed himself up and slid into the tank submerging himself underwater. Isabella bent the sections around the tank. The three curtains stretched from the floor of the stage to over the tank by three feet. Each section covered the left, front and right sides, keeping the audience from seeing what was happening behind it. Carmichael floated in the water as Isabella rolled the front curtain in front of him. Then continued around to the right and disappeared behind it all.  

        Again, the audience didn't make a sound. They all had held their breath as if they were in the tank with The Great Carmichael.  Only the buzz roll, that now seemed louder than ever, buzzed throughout the hall putting everyone's stomach in knots and making the hair on the back of their necks stand straight up. The stage was motionless, still as a picture. Not even a drop of water splashed to the ground. Then the curtain started to move. 

        The left section of curtain rolled toward the front of the stage. A hand gripped the outside of the metal bar. It folded forward onto the front curtain. The muscular arm of Carmichael came into view as it came around the middle of the black curtain. He folded the center section of the curtain over putting himself in full view of the crowd. His body soaked from head to toe, water dripped to the stage floor pooling in tiny puddles underneath him. He stepped aside pushing the final section of curtain with him. The tank uncovered revealing Isabella, inside with the chains locked against her body. The audience jumped to their feet in vigorous applause, the band began to play an adrenaline rushing series of major chords. 

        Isabella thrashed and kicked in the water. She struggled to free herself, pulling her arms up and down trying to squirm her way out of the chains, but they were too tight and the locks would not break. She jumped towards the surface pedaling her legs to swim to the top, but the chains were too heavy and held her down at the bottom. 

        Her screams for help only came out as bubbles, a sign she was losing her breath. Her eyes reflecting disbelief as everyone cheered her demise. She pushed herself against the back of the tank and pulled her knees to her chest. In a swift movement she kicked the front of the tank. It didn't budge, it didn't crack. She kicked again, then again. The tank was too strong, it wouldn't even move. She had locked the wheels in place herself.  

        Isabella started to slow. No more bubbles came from her mouth. She made one last push, but it wasn't enough. One last pleading look out into the crowd, but they just stood and stared waiting for her death. And with one last gasp, her lungs filled with water and her life faded in front of their eyes. Her body pulled down to the bottom, her scared expression pressed against the side of the tank. The band held their last note then cut off. The audience let out a disappointing, "Ahh" as the show came to an end. 

        "Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for coming. That is the end of our show. Let's hear one last applause for The Great Carmichael!" The audience cheered and clapped once again as Carmichael stepped to the center of the stage and took a bow.  The bullhorn voice filled the room, "Please exit in a single file and have a great night." 

        After that, the stout man put down his bullhorn and picked a towel sitting behind his chair. He carried it up to the stage reaching it out to Carmichael. He took from the man's hand and threw it over his head, drying his hair. "I don't know how you do it, but it's just incredible. incredible." The tuba player approached the stage catching the eye of the man. "Excuse me, I have to get the band their money, but you have someone waiting in the back." Carmichael nodded and continued to dry off. 

        The stout man rolled off the side of the stage, found his footing on the floor and with his arms open spoke compliments to the band as he walked towards them. Carmichael draped the towel around his neck, where the chains had once laid, and walked behind the stage. Passed the curtain, he walked down a narrow corridor and turned to the side as a pale man dressed all in black pushed a wooden coffin towards the stage. The pale man nodded and flashed a smile of brown teeth. Carmichael nodded back remaining stoic in his expression. After he had passed, Carmichael continued down the corridor towards a door against the wall in the corner. He stopped in front of it, wiped the towel over his face then pushed on the door and opened it. 

        A small room with a desk a size too big was on the other side, turned at an angle to create a space wide enough for a stout man to get behind it. Sitting in front of it was a wooden chair occupied by a person with straight raven black hair down to their shoulders. Carmichael stepped next to the desk. The chair squeaked as the occupant looked up at him revealing a woman with beautiful dark features, radiant brown eyes and an hour glass curved figure. She looked up and smiled a perfect row of bright white teeth. Carmichael grinned as he leaned against the desk. "So you want to be a magician's assistant?" The woman batted her long curly eyelashes and whispered the word, "Yes." Carmichael held out his hand and she took hers in his. He bowed down and kissed her on her row of fingers, "Then from now on", he raised his head to meet her adoring gaze, and said, "I will call you Isabella."

The End    

Cut Off

        I held the edge of the blade to my arm, pressed down to cut the skin where my mole popped out into the world. PAIN! Roared out as I continued to push it down through the skin. I slid it across the side of the ugly oval only to scratch the surface. I pulled the blade out, pressed it back in where I started, harder this time, sawing back and forth on layers of skin until blood rose to the surface rolling over the top of my forearm. Waves of intense pain now flooded my brain from all directions, tears welled in my eyes as I held my breath and dug deeper still, making sure I would cut off the whole thing.

        I exhaled careful not to scream out in agony. Through my teeth I repeated, “Keep going.” while my inner monologue shouted demands to “cease and desist” at once. I held my arm steady with the blade stuck inside, took another deep breath then pulled back on the blade across my flesh, in the straightest line I could manage, until it reached the curved bottom of the oval shaped eye sore.

I pulled the blade from the wound. Watched as the red blood cells ran down to the tip of my elbow where they married into small droplets before falling to the ground. An arrhythmic drumroll played against the newspaper underneath me. I forced my breath out speaking, “She will love me now.”

        In one swift gesture I land the blade back in my arm, scrape at the line again cutting deeper through the skin. PAIN! Roared again in my brain begging me to stop, but the skin is cut. “There is no turning back now.” I try to tell it. It doesn't listen, yet retaliates with a shot of tormenting misery through my body in response.

        I stopped to retrieve the bottle of vodka sitting next to me. I took a quick pull off the end, poured another slow shot over my arm to clean my new cut. I could now see the blade has slashed deep enough to create a small opening. I sat the bottle down, slid the blade underneath and returned to work cutting out around the edge.

        I pushed down hard. Twisted up, cut straight, up again, around the oval curve. The maneuver was difficult, “What's the worst that could happen?” one thought asked. “I slip and slash across my arm cutting a major vein and bleed to death.” Although, that would take time, enough time to call an ambulance, but then they would reattach the skin making this effort pointless. “Stay focused.” I said.

I retrieved the vodka again, took a swig for myself then showered my arm with the burning alcohol washing away the oozing blood. The cut was a success. I could now lift up the flap to see underneath. “Half way done.” Adrenaline raced through me when I gripped the blade. It was time to cut around the other curve. This would give me a clear shot at the straight line on the other side.

        Again I dug in, twisted up, cut straight, curved around, pushed down as hard as I could to get it all. The mole began lifting up as the seam between it and the arm tore open. I got a better look at the attached skin just before a waterfall of blood flew down my arm speeding up the drum roll towards the anticipated conclusion. I rested the blade on my arm then grabbed the bottle, poured more vodka over the wound. My brain again commanding, “Enough!” between my temples. Memories projected in and out as if I was seeing my life flash before my eyes. Rejection, humiliation and jealousy are the major themes stabbing around up there.

        I opened my eyes to see the mole. I took hold of the blade and laid it under the skin. The mole flipped over. I readjusted my position. The mole flopped back. It was now too floppy to stay tight enough to cut through it. I could of used a third arm to lift it up. But my pain was too embarrassing to share, my actions too disturbing to put on display. I tried to hold it up between my middle and ring finger, but this gave me no room to move my blade. I l bent my head down and bit it with my teeth.

I pulled tight on the mole till the edges ripped a little. PAIN! Fired through my arm. I pulled a little harder trying to tear it off. It wouldn't tear. Blood pooled out of the open wound forming a lake of hell where the mole refused to let go. “Do it!” rang out like a bell. Summoning the power of a samurai I sliced once digging in the blade, twice cutting at the skin, three times crossing down the middle, then a fourth time where the blade met the last piece of attached skin. It peeled off.

        It was now free from my arm, me from it rested between my teeth. I breathed a sigh of relief. The mole dangling in my mouth flew to the back of my throat making me choke. Cough! I reached for the vodka, pulled it to my lips and swallowed a shot. I felt the mole wash down with it.

        I collapsed to the floor, hugging the vodka. I stared through the window at the dark purple sky illuminated by the moonlight. A lone cloud drifting in the sky moving so slow it didn't feel like it was moving at all. I took a deep breath in and on the way out felt a shockwave of suffering skin tissue scream from my arm.

        I poured another shot over my arm cleaning off the blood. Picked up the towel laid out on my bed and pressed it to my arm. I held it there, putting pressure to stop the bleeding like they do in the movies. I lifted it up to see a smeared mess of deep red blood hardening around the outside. Off the desk I grabbed the bandage I pulled from my roommates first-aid kit, fiddled with the white tabs until I was able to pull one back. Laid it over the center of the hole and stuck it down.

         Coming off the adrenaline high, pain was now free play havoc on my nervous system, but wasn't painful at all anymore. With each sting a renewed pleasure. The mole was gone. I lifted the vodka to my lips and took a celebratory drink from the bottle, then another. Sat back up on the newspaper, lifted the bottle again, this time pouring a shot of alcohol over my left tricep. I picked up the blade, squeezed the sharp steel in my fist and spoke “One more to go.”   

Living Dolls - Part 3

        Lin and Calvin fled to the living room away from the growing fire burning in their kitchen. 

"Mommy! Mommy!" Meredith screeched at the top of her lungs. 

The sound of footsteps came running towards them and the door flew open. 

"What did you do?" 

"It wasn't me, it was the people."

"People!"

The fire started to spread through the house, going up the wall and igniting the ceiling.  

"Are they going to do anything?" Calvin said. 

"We should get out of here." 

Lin grabbed Calvin's hand and pulled him with her to the bedroom. The fire started burning through the wall. 

"Where are we going?"

"Out the window." 

Meredith's mother ran out of the room pulling her daughter behind her. Lin opened the window and flung her leg over the window's stool. 

"What's the plan Lin?"

"I'm going to climb up onto that desk."

"You are?"

"We have no choice. All I need is for you to push me up, then I'll lean down and pull you up."

"Alright."

Lin set her foot in the window pushing herself up. Calvin stood behind her with his hands around her ankles. The smoke got thicker as the flames began burning through the wall separating the kitchen and bathroom. Calvin held onto Lin while she reached for the desk's ledge.   

"Push me up a little higher!"

Calvin put his hand on Lin's rear end and pushed her up. She grabbed the ledge and tried to pull herself up. 

"Keep pushing!"

He put his hands under her feet and pushed again. The flames started to burn across the ceiling. 

"Hurry up Lin!"

Lin pulled her upper body over the edge then pulled her feet over. 

"Ok! Climb up!"

Calvin stood in the window as a piece of burning ceiling dropped onto the bed. He reached his hand up, but Lin couldn't reach. 

"Hold on! I have an idea!"

The fire consumed the bed in seconds filling the room full of black smoke and dangerous temperatures. 

"There's not much time Lin!"

Lin scrambled around the desk looking for an object to hold out to him. She came across a pencil, but it was too heavy for her to lift. Next to it was a stack of papers held together by a paper clip. She ran over and with two hands pulled it off of the papers. 

"I'm coming!"

Calvin waited desperate to get away from the burning inferno that had consumed the whole room. 

"If I jump, I might make it. The floor isn't too far."

The shiny metal of the paper clip dropped in front of him.

"Grab it!"

He flung both hands in the air and took hold of it. Lin pulled the paper clip gripping her feet on to the desk to push herself back using the full strength of her body. As Calvin inched his way closer to the desk's edge, he let his right hand go and reached his forearm onto the surface. Below him the house raged in an orange glow and intense heat. He pushed himself up as hard as he could until his chest made it over the edge. Lin let go of the paper clip and ran to him, pulling him up by his shirt until he was all the way over. 

"I love you." 

"I love you too."

The door flew open with a heavy bang. The white foam from the fire extinguisher filled the air. Calvin and Lin coughed as it blanketed over them like an avalanche. They stood and ran for cover behind a box of crayons laying on the desk. The harsh whoosh of the of the fire extinguisher's nozzle went off for close to a minute, then stopped. 

"What happened here Meredith? No lies!"

"The two people in the house-"

"You want me to believe there are little people in the house?"

"It's the truth mommy."

"Then where are they?"

"I don't know. Did they get hurt?

Lin and Calvin emerge from behind the crayon box. The chard remains of the house stinks of smoke and fire. Meredith stands pleading to her mother that she is telling the truth. In their loudest voices they scream out, "Over here! We're over here!" Meredith's mother walks toward the noise, sees the two of them and like in some Hollywood movie faints just before she collapses on the floor. 

"Didn't she look familiar to you?" Calvin asked. 

"For a second there."

"You're alright!" Meredith screeched. 

The door slammed open and a man stood in the door way. 

"What the hell is happening in here?"

"Daddy!" Meredith screeched again. 

The man entered the room and picked his wife from the floor. 

"Meredith, tell me what happened?"

"Look on the desk. It's the little people."

Meredith pointed in their direction, as the man turned his head the mother began to wake. 

"Honey are your alright?"

"Are they real? The little people? I saw them and what happened?"

"You fainted mommy."

"I did?"

Calvin and Lin wipe the white extinguisher fluid from their faces and clothes. The mother sat up on her knees and crawled closer to them. 

"Who are you?" She asked. 

The father followed close behind her. Calvin and Lin couldn't believe their eyes, as they inched closer to the desk they could see it was themselves, Calvin and Lin staring down at them. Then in perfect unison together they said, "It's us." 

Living Dolls - Part Two

       Calvin and Lin sit behind the bed taking swigs off the bottle of vodka. 

"It looks like our home, but it's not." Lin slurred.

"We bought those curtains at Costco. I remember. We were there. We left the house and there was a yard and the road." 

"That's right!. The road. Where's the road?"

"It's gone. Now we're just toys."

"Toys in a dollhouse that just looks like our house."

Calving pulls the bottle to his mouth and winces at the taste. Lin grabs the bottle and stares at it, sets it to the side. She turns to Calvin with a more sober expression. 

"What are we going to do when Meredith comes back?" 

Calvin rubbed his hand over his head pulling at his hair. 

"I guess she'll pick us up and crush us to death."

Lin gasped at the idea. 

"Are you being serious?"

"Yes. Very."

Tears welled up in Lin's eyes and her nose started to run. 

"Oh baby." Calvin let out. "I'm sorry."

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him. 

"We never had children, so I don't know how to deal with them." Calvin said. 

"Is that my fault?"

"No. Never. We were both busy, working on our careers. I was just saying, I don't know how to reason with a child."

"I think we would of, but you're right. We were busy. Plus I could never see myself being like her mother. Getting her out the door when we were in here."

Calvin lifted himself off of Lin, looked her in the eyes. 

"Her mother."

"Her mother. That's it."

"That is it. We have to get her mother to help us."

"How do we do that. She would never believe it."

"We have to get her attention somehow. What could we do to get her to look inside?"

Lin stood up and paced around the room thinking. She walked back around the bed deep in thought and kicked the vodka bottle over sitting in front of Calvin. He reached over and picked it up before it spilled. 

"Sorry." Lin said. "Did it spill?"

"No. It's not full enough I suppose."

Lin watched as Calvin rubbed his hand over the spot to make sure. 

"Vodka is flammable right?"

"Yeah, I suppose. Most alcohol is, why?"

Calvin picked up the cap and screwed it back on the bottle.

"What if we started a small fire, to get her attention. She wouldn't be able to ignore that, would she?"

"I know I wouldn't. Just a simple spill had me worried. Do we even have a lighter or matches?"

Lin thought a moment. She snapped her fingers and made her way into the living room. Calvin jumped up and followed her. She was kneeling down under the bookshelf searching through the cabinets. 

"What is it?"

"I thought I had put those candles we bought down here with that box of long matches."

"For your bosses dinner party last year?"

Lin stopped and looked up at him.

"Yeah."

"I put those above the laundry machine."

Lin stood up and this time followed Calvin into the laundry room. He reached up and opened the cabinet door. With both hands he pulled down a box of light bulbs, then two large dark red candles. 

"I don't see any matches." 

"Let me look."

Calvin moved out of the way while Lin stood on her toes to look into the cabinet. She brushed her hand around and came out with some rags, but no matches. 

"What would we of done with them?"

"I don't remember."

"Well then what?"

Calvin picked up one the candles tossing it up and down. 

"When I was college and no one had a lighter we would light our cigarettes off the stove. Maybe it would work for a candle. I don't know, but it's worth a try."

"It is."

Calvin carried the candle into the kitchen. Lin stayed in the laundry room and searched around for the box of matches. Calvin turned the stove all the way up waiting for it to get hot. The stove was electric with an induction cooktop that heated up very fast. The red of the heat began to appear when Lin appeared in the doorway. 

"How's it working?"

"Still waiting. The matches?"

Lin shook her head no. The door opened with a bang. 

"I'll be right there." Meredith shouted.

"She's back!" Lin yelled.

Meredith ran across the room. Each thump of her foot felt like a small earthquake. 

"Hello. Are you still in there?"

Meredith peeked her eyes through the window. 

"There you are."

She lifted the roof up and loomed over them. 

"What are you doing?"

Lin looked to Calvin holding the wick to the heat, but nothing happened. She looked over his shoulder and saw the pan of bacon still sitting on the counter. She reached for it and pushed Calvin out of the way dropping it on the stove. 

"You guys cooking? Are you hungry?"

"Where's the vodka?" Lin asked.

"I don't know."

"Is it still in the bedroom?" 

"I'll check."

Calvin ran for the bedroom. 

"Meredith do you want a snack."

"No mommy."

Meredith turned her head toward the door then back again. Calvin was in the bedroom holding the bottle of vodka. 

"I told my teacher about you, but she just laughed and told me I was full of imagination."

The bacon on the stove started to burn. Smoke started to fill the kitchen. 

"Calvin!"

He ran around the corner keeping his eye on Meredith peering down on them. As he made his way into the kitchen he twisted the cap back off.

"What do I do?"

"Pour it on the bacon."

Calvin turned the bottle over over the stove. A stream of vodka flowed down into the pan and ignited a burst of flames. 

"What are you doing? Mommy says never to play with fire!"

The smoke filled the kitchen even more causing Lin and Calvin to cough. Calvin poured another shot onto the stove causing another burst of flames. Lin threw a dish towel into it causing it to catch on fire. The flame grew higher and now started to catch the cabinets on fire. 

"What do we do now?" Calvin asked to Lin staring at the fire. 

"Run."

To be continued...