Month: November 2018

Writing prompts: Action/Adventure / A river / A child safety seat

I never know when the fire station I volunteer at will be called into action. Every time I hear the call out come over the radio, my heart races.

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BEEP BEEP BEEP – – – STATION 28 – – – BEEP BEEP BEEP

“STATION 28 – RESPOND TO A SINGLE MOTOR VEHICLE ACCIDENT. SOUTH RIVER ROAD. MILE POST 146. THERE’S A CAR IN THE RIVER. DRIVER IS STILL IN THE VEHICLE.”

“STATION 28 COPIES.”

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When I hear the call come in, I sprint to my car and race to the station. By the time I arrive, Engine 2832 is ready to roll.

“Grab your gear and let’s go. We’re going to meet Keith at the sight. His bag is already in the truck.”

Captain Martin starts pulling out of the station as I climb the steps into the truck.

“What’s the story?”

“You know as much as I do.”

The ride out to the scene of an accident is always surreal. It is both slow and fast. Time creeps to a crawl and it seems to take forever to arrive, but it also speeds up.

As the truck rushes down the street, sirens blaring, sitting high above all the other vehicles, my heart continues to race. I never know what I am going to see when I arrive at the scene.

We arrive at the location and quickly jump out to assess the situation.

Keith points down a steep embankment and indicates where the vehicle is.

“I just got here but I haven’t seen any movement.” He quickly dons his gear and we formulate a plan of action.

The Captain tosses me a life jacket as Keith ties a rope to the bumper of the truck. I tie the other end of the rope around my waist and put on the vest..

The Captain hands me a Halligan bar, “you may need to break a window. I’m not sure if you can get the door open.”

I slip the bar through a loop on my pants and make my way to the weed choked bank. As I lower myself over the edge I think to myself it never pays to be the probie.

The embankment drops abruptly into the river. I gasp for breath as I drop into the river. Luckily, it’s late summer so the water isn’t freezing cold. It’s also running lower than normal.

As I approach the car I yell, “CAN ANYONE HEAR ME? HELLO!!”

Peeking through the windshield, I see the driver’s long blond hair and a form slumped over the steering wheel. The water is pushing against the door as I try in vain to yank it open. I pound on the windshield in an attempt to get a reaction.

The force of the water presses me into the car as I make my way around it, trying to see if anyone else is in the vehicle. I spot a child’s safety seat in the back. I radio up, “the driver is unconscious and I have a child seat in the back. I don’t see anyone else. I’m going to try to enter the car.”

“Do not enter the car,” my Captain instructs. “Try to reach the driver, but do not enter. We have more help on the way.”

Acknowledging his command, I make my way back to the driver’s door. I pull the Halligan bar out of the loop and try to pry open the door to no avail. Finally, in desperation, I climb on the hood and smash the end of the bar into the windshield. The windshield starts to crack where I hit it.

I raise my arms to take another swing when my legs slip out from underneath me. I slide off the hood and into the water. Before I can get my feet on the ground I feel the rope tighten around my waist as the Captain and Keith pull on it to keep me from floating away.

Smashed against the car and unable to get my feet grounded due to the pressure on the rope, I yell into my radio.

“Give me some slack.” I gasp, breathless, as the tension lessens.

I climb back on the hood and resume pounding on the windshield. I finally get it smashed enough that an opening appears.

I yell again. “HELLO. CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

A small groan escapes from the driver.

“I’m Troy. I’m here to help. Are you ok?”

Another small groan and then the the driver tries to move.

“Hold still. Help is on the way. Is there anyone else in the car?”

A mumbled and welcome no reaches my ears and I radio up. “There’s just the driver in the car.”

I hear sirens approaching as I work the prybar into the windshield and start pulling the glass apart. It splinters into small shards as I force a larger opening.

I reach into the hole and pull out on the glass, removing as much of the windshield as I can. I hear voices approaching as more help arrives.

An EMT from another station climbs in the car with the driver and quickly checks her vitals. She is stunned but uninjured. With the help of another station we get the passenger door open and extricate her.

A backboard is lowered down and she is strapped on so we can pull her up the embankment.

A tow truck shows up to remove the car from the river and we head back to the station for debriefing.

After stowing all the gear and cleaning up, Captain Martin and Keith congratulate me on a job well done.

“Good job, firefighter.” Keith slaps me on the back, nearly knocking the breath out of me.

The Captain tosses me a towel. “After you get showered and warmed up, it’s your turn to clean the truck.”

I grin as they walk out the door. The promotion from probie to official firefighter comes in the strangest ways.

Writing prompts: Political Satire / An emergency room / A fake moustache

A high-ranking politician uses his rank and status to recover from surgery anonymously in a small hospital while the staff try to guess who he is.

The emergency room was quiet at three in the morning. Most of the drunks from the bar next door had been taken care of or were passed out. The rest of the patients were sleeping and the nurses were finalizing their chart notes for the next shift.

Emily sat quietly at her desk in the corner of the room and observed the coming and going of the armed guards. They had a high-profile patient recovering in the west wing and the hospital had been on strict lock down against news reporters and unnecessary visitors.

It was a little intimidating having armed and uniformed men and women in the hospital. Seeing guns being carried openly was out of the ordinary in her line of work but for the most part, the guards were pleasant. It was usually a quiet place. Generally, most of their business came from barroom brawls. The hospital was in a poorer section of town and didn’t see many wealthy patients.  Truth be told, Emily couldn’t think of anyone ever admitted there who wasn’t a local.

Emily decided to do a little digging to find out what the patient’s story was. She was the admittance clerk and didn’t have anything else to do. Nothing that she wanted to do anyway. Apparently “John Doe” was a well-known bigshot who had just had some plastic surgery done and was recovering in their little-known hospital so he could recuperate peacefully.

“Must be nice,” she mumbled to herself as she closed the computer file.

Overhearing her comment, Ben, the night orderly, asked “What’s got you all worked up.”

“Oh, I was just looking at a patient’s file. He’s here to recover in privacy.”

“You must be talking about the guy in the west wing. They have him all the way at the end of the hallway and no one is allowed in the room adjacent to or across from him. Isn’t that the craziest thing! You’d think someone like that would be able to recover in a spa somewhere. The guards have a room set up that’s nicer than the diner down the street. You should see the food they have in there! And the guns! Sheesh!”

“Shhhh,” Emily whispered, “you know we’re not supposed to be talking about patients.” Looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was around, she continued, “but you know what I heard?”

Ben leaned in closer, “what?”

“I heard they even have undercover guards outside. Imagine that!”

“Who would need such a thing!” Ben sauntered off, shaking his head as he went.

Emily turned the TV on as soon as she got home. Working the graveyard shift was tough on her. She liked to watch a little news while she ate her breakfast, then go to bed.

The Early News on Channel 2 was her favorite. The main news anchor was a cutie and she liked his face to be the last thing she saw before she went to bed.

“And today, on Channel 2, we’ll discuss the absence of Senator Todd from the gun control hearings. He has been one of the most outspoken proponents of gun control. Staffers say a medical emergency has kept him away but that he is staying abreast of the situation and will be at the final hearing to cast his vote for the bill. Protesters have picketed his house since the beginning of the hearings and several arrests have been made due to threats against him.”

Emily finished her breakfast, shut off the TV, and climbed into bed.

It was another slow night at the hospital. The guards were becoming friendlier with the staff and seemed to be at the front desk a lot more, flirting with the nurses to pass time.

Emily watched from her corner desk, shaking her head at the outlandish display of fire power. Every guard had at least one revolver strapped to their belt.

“All this fuss over one man.”

Word was he was going to be released soon and security would be heightened even more. Emily was tempted to do a little more digging but decided she needed her job more than she needed to know who “John Doe” was. She wondered how much money it cost him to keep his name secret on his records. She hadn’t even known that was possible.

She looked up as a group came in. Heavily armed men swept through the lobby. The guards at the desk snapped to attention, pretending to be all business.

“You’re early, sir.”

“We’ve decided to move John to another location. His doctor says he can be released so we’re going to move him to a safe house for the rest of his recovery. He’s being prepped now.”

A few minutes later his entourage came down the hall, John Doe in the middle. She caught a glimpse of him as he passed through the lobby. He wore a large cowboy hat and a big mustache. He looked like a movie star. She wondered again who he was and pondered what movies he’d been in. Last she’d heard, plastic surgery was the norm so she didn’t quite understand all the secrecy, but who was she to judge.

Emily flipped the TV on just in time to catch the tail end of a scene showing a flurry of activity.

“And at 6 a.m. sources believe they saw Senator Todd being moved from Community Hospital on 79^thStreet to an undisclosed location.”

Emily looked up just in time to see an image of a man quickly being ushered into a large limo.

“Hum, he looks familiar.”

A picture of Senator Todd was put up on the screen as the cute newscaster listed the Senator’s proposed actions to control gun ownership. Emily pondered the picture. Her eyes opened wide as she realized how good a disguise a fake mustache and a large cowboy hat made.

Writing prompts: Action/Adventure / A rite of passage / An apprentice

I could have turned left instead of right. I could have jumped on the bus and rode off into the sunset, forgetting everything I’d learned, but no, I decided to stay the course. Call it crazy, but I like what I do. The excitement, the unpredictability, the danger; yes, it all gives me a reason to continue this crazy journey I started five years ago.

I met Mack, ironically, at the bank. I was a teller and he was a regular we saw every Friday. He came in, cashed a small check, and went his way. Never in my wildest dreams would I ever imagine how that first little visit was going to change my life.

Mack’s “nephew,” Junior, came in with him on one of those Fridays and asked me to lunch. Tall, dark, and handsome. I, of course, accepted.

We had lunch at a little deli across the street from the bank. I remember that day like it was yesterday. The tables lined up along the sidewalk had umbrellas to keep the sun off. We shared a plate of club sandwiches cut into triangles. We giggled like teenagers, and he asked if he could pick me up when I got off work. I said yes.

Junior came into the branch a few minutes before closing. He sat quietly in the corner until I clocked out. The head teller unlocked the door with a wink and told us to have a good night.

It took three months to figure out what was really going on.  Junior wasn’t interested in me at all. He was interested in the bank’s security features and cameras. Eventually he asked me point blank if I had ever considered robbing a bank.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Seriously, you know your way around the branch, you know where all the cameras are,” Junior prodded.

“It’s not worth it. I don’t want to go to jail!”

“Only if you get caught.”

He changed the subject, but the conversation kept running around in my head.

***

I met the rest of the “team” six months after that first lunch date. They were planning a heist at one of the smaller credit unions and they wanted me to go in and scope the place out.

“Go in and pretend you’re opening an account. Look around and note where the cameras are, what kind of security measures they have, stuff like that,” Mack instructed.

“Don’t forget to see if they have a security guard,” Andrew, the leader, added.

“I don’t know,” I replied. My heart pounded. “I’m just not sure.”

Junior took my face in his hands and stared into my eyes. “It’s too late to back out now. Besides, I know you love this.”

I realized he was right. My heart was racing with excitement, not fear.

And that was how it all started.

I scoped out that little credit union and the guys robbed it without a hitch. From that moment on, I started my apprenticeship.

The training never stopped. Our getaway driver, Sam, was starting to have problems with his eyesight so I was in line for his job.

“That’s right, tenderfoot, listen.”

If I heard those words one time I’ve heard them a hundred times.

“Pull the emergency brake and turn the steering wheel and you’ll drift right around the corner.”

“Drift, huh? Tell that to the car.”

We practiced in an abandoned parking lot at an old shopping center. It was set up to simulate the city blocks around our next job.

“Faster……now, BRAKE!!!”

I must have hit the cement pillar in the corner of the parking lot a dozen times. This was no exception.

BANG!! The car screeched to an abrupt halt. It took Sam and I a second or two to regain our senses.

“Umph,” I let out a grunt. “That hurts.”

Sam yelled at me again, “FASTER, you need to be faster!”

We practiced until I could perform the maneuvers with my eyes shut. I loved every minute of it. The excitement was like a drug. I kept wanting more. The feeling of control as I conquered the track was exhilarating. Cars, trucks, motorcycles, anything with wheels. I mastered them all.

Our next job was going to be big, life changing, and we were covering all the bases. The cop shop was next door to our target, so we needed to create a diversion. The training was as complete as it could be. The homework had been done. Now it was time for action.

This was five years in the making and it was time for a big payday.

The car was fueled and ready to go. The bank opened at 10 a.m.

“Are you ready, grasshopper?” Sam asked.

“As ready as I’m going to be.”

Our target was one block in from the end of the financial district. My first job was to draw the coppers away and keep them busy while the guys entered the bank. The financial district was flanked by the shipyards and shopping district. The ritzy neighborhood and the ocean were to the east. Our escape route led west through the residential area.

Parking was hard to find in the financial district, so Sam would position the getaway car early in the morning. He then had to set up a moving van in a predetermined location where I was to meet him. Timing was critical.

I jumped on a motorcycle we had stolen the night before and took off. I was about to create as much havoc as I could. The shipyards, shopping, and business districts would be teeming with commuter traffic coming into the city for the day. I meandered through traffic at a normal pace, watching the time for the precise moment.

On a good day it took twenty minutes to get from the far end of the shopping and business districts to the financial district. Sam and I needed to be back to the bank by 10:05. The guys were going to be out in ten minutes or less.

***

8:30     I enter the neighborhoods where all the fanciest houses are. The snobs are the quickest to call the cops when their peace is disturbed. I zoom up and down suburbia hell, revving the engine and zipping across yards. Spinning out on a nice, freshly watered yard is so rewarding. The finishing touch is a shortcut out of the ‘hood through their precious golf course. Nothing raises the ire of the rich like the destruction of their country club. I spin cookies in the greens, the rear tire flinging dirt in spectacular patterns. I leave muddy tracks through the fairway. Sirens grow closer as I make my exit.

8:45     From suburbia hell I make my way to the shopping district. Soccer-moms on phones never pay attention while they are driving. Prime targets for an accident. I zigzag crazily through the mall parking lot, pulling out in front of cars and riding the wrong way down the surrounding streets. They are zoned in now! Lots of pissed off moms on cell phones have more cops racing to the mall.

9:00     Time for the finale. Business men and women on their way to work, in a hurry, making high power deals on their way in, eyes flicking from their cellphones to the clock on the dashboard to the road. I run a red light, hear squealing brakes, and then hear the glorious sound of crunching metal. Two blocks up I stop in the middle of the intersection and start spinning doughnuts, front brake locked while the rear tire spins around in a circle, leaving a nice orb of burnt rubber, smoke filling the air. Releasing the brake, I shoot off down the street. Irate commuters coming every which way punch their gas pedals at the same time, crashing into each other from all directions.

Cop cars rush in. I take off down the sidewalk, rising up onto the rear tire and scattering pedestrians along the way. Dashing into the street to avoid me they cause more havoc. The sirens are getting closer so I wheelie off the sidewalk, back onto the street and make my way toward the shipyards where Sam is waiting.

9:20     Running more red lights and taking shortcuts across sidewalks help create the gridlock I am aiming for. By the time I reach the docks only two cop cars are pursuing me. I slalom around shipping containers waiting to be loaded, looking for pier 27.

9:25     I speed past several moving vans lined up along the pier, making sure the cop cars are still behind me. Reaching the end of the dock I spin around, facing the oncoming cars. I speed back toward them, rising up onto the rear tire and zipping between them before they can block me in.

9:30     Speeding back to where the vans are, I spot Sam with our truck, doors open and ramp in place. Not slowing down, I zoom up the ramp. I hit the wall at the end of the box at the same time Sam slams the doors shut. He quickly slides the ramp back into place, jumps into the van, and lays across the seat. After the blaring sirens race by, Sam sits up and opens the window looking into the cargo area. The crash into the wall knocked the breath out of me. It comes back in time to yell at Sam, “go, go, go.”

9:35      Assured I am okay, Sam speeds off. We have a route mapped along the piers that will take us to the financial district, avoiding the chaos further south. I rip off my helmet just in time for my breakfast to come back up. “Adrenalin rush be damned,” I mutter under my breath. After composing myself, I crawl through the window and plop into the passenger seat.

“Wow, what a rush!”

Sam shook his head, “I didn’t THINK you’d get stopped before you hit that wall.”

“You should have got a longer van,” I snap.

We look at each other and crack up into hysterical laughter, relieved to have gotten out in one piece.

Sam’s hands are shaking.

“Take a breath, old man,” I tell him. “We can’t afford to screw up now!”

Sam sucks in a lung full of air, holds it for a few seconds, and exhales.

9:45      We pull into an empty alley to dump the bike. Sam grabs a gas can and douses the bike with fuel. I flip a lit match into the puddle and as we reach the end of the alley we hear the tank explode.

We maintain a steady speed, timing it perfectly to arrive at the bank at exactly 10:05. As we near the bank, cop cars speed the opposite direction.

10:05     Sam parks the van in the street far enough from the getaway car that we can pull out, forcing traffic to go around.

10:07     Sam jumps out and throws the hood open on the van, pretending to have engine issues. I start the car and open the doors nearest the sidewalk. Sam is going to stay with the van and hold up traffic as long as he can.

10:10     Mack, Junior, and Anthony run out of the bank carrying backpacks. They jump into the car, yelling, “DRIVE, DRIVE, DRIVE.”

I stomp on the gas and roar into traffic. We have ten long blocks to a parking garage where we have another car waiting for us. Sam will meet us later.

10:11     I spin around the corner and enter a side street. Seeing nothing in the rearview mirror I ease off the gas.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Mack yells at me.

“There’s no one following. I’m trying not to draw attention,” I snap back.

Just as I finish my last word a gunshot rings out, the bullet hitting the rear fender. I see a lone officer running down the street after us.

Another flurry of “DRIVE, DRIVE, DRIVE”’ hits my ears.

Tires squeal as I take off. Shooting down an alley, I gun it. Reaching the end of the alley, I hope for the best and shoot into the street. Clipping the tail end of a car, I’m able to keep going. I zoom into the next alley. At the end of the alley I spin the wheel hard and slide into the street. Facing oncoming traffic, I quickly change lanes and gun it.

Racing across the intersection we pick up a cop car. He follows closely, trying to hit us with his bumper. I slam on the brakes and let him rear end us, then zoom off. His bumper guard takes the brunt of the crash, but steam is already spewing from under his hood.

“He won’t last long,” I mutter.

“DRIVE,” Andrew yells.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK I’M DOING?” I yell back.

10:15     The next intersection brings us two more cop cars. I dash over a block and go down a one-way street the wrong direction. Cars honk and drivers cuss, but best of all, some swerve to avoid us while others slam on their brakes. I squeeze through a narrow opening, clipping the passenger side on the way through.

Spinning the wheel again, I slide sideways and launch up a side street. Halfway up the street is another alley. I shoot down that and pull into a small driveway between two buildings. We all hold our breath as we hear the sirens scream past.

10:20     I slowly creep down the driveway, easing back into traffic and heading out of town. Two more blocks and I pull into the parking garage. Dropping the guys off on the first level I roar up the ramp to the top floor. Five long ramps later I am at the top.

10:25     I leave the car running and tie the steering wheel so that the tires are at a full lock position. Grabbing a fuel can from the trunk I splash gas inside the car and throw in a match. By the time I reach the stairs the flame is spreading.

10:30     Running and sliding down the stairs I reach the first floor. Taking a few seconds to catch my breath, I ease the stairwell door open and peek out. I dash to the waiting car and jump in.

Noon – the next day – we all meet up at the bus station. Andrew divvies up the money and we all go our separate ways. Mack and Junior are headed to the Bahamas, where they hear the rum flows free. Andrew won’t tell us where he is going. He just says, “life is good” and saunters off, backpack slung across one shoulder. Sam is going to visit his children in Canada.

I’m just going to jump on my bike and travel. My journey from innocent bank teller to accomplished thief seems like a dream.

13 February 2018

Writing prompts: Ghost Story / A beauty salon / A box of cigars

The day started out great. I drove myself to work just like I had every single day for the last twenty years. Upon opening the door of my beauty salon, the smell of smoke greeted me.  I wasn’t alone. It was odd, this smell. I didn’t know anyone who smoked cigars. And a cigar box. What was a cigar box doing sitting on the counter?

I walked through the salon and everything seemed okay until I got to the small breakroom in the back. The smell was strong. Smoke filled the air in a thick haze. The next thing I knew, his hands were around my neck. I didn’t even have a chance to struggle as life drained from my body.

I felt my soul drift away. I looked down upon myself laying there, lifeless and broken. I don’t know how long I floated in limbo, lost and afraid. Nowhere to go, no one to talk to. Just existing – but not really.

A plan slowly took shape, forming in my mind like mist. First it was thin and wispy, then grew thicker and more solid. Revenge, sweet revenge. A reason to exist.

At first it was the simple things. Shadows and flashes of movement. It took a while for me to learn how to move solid objects and make noises. I was like a baby learning first how to roll over, then crawl. But soon I was walking.

Everyone was different. Some people were more open minded than others. A simple shadow crossing their path would spook them. A dark movement in the corner of their eye. They would look to see what was moving and see nothing. After repeating this a few times they would be good and thoroughly spooked. They would first start to wonder if it was their imagination or if it was real. The more they questioned, the more I did it. By the time they left the salon, they knew.

The more skeptical they were, the harder it was. If the moving shadows didn’t work, I had to move objects. Sometimes I would slowly rotate the chair they were sitting in. If I was feeling especially spiteful I would raise or lower it. This really freaked them out.

Then I started turning lights on and off. Or setting the alarms off. Or opening windows. Then I was able to break windows. This took a little longer to accomplish. Destruction required anger. A lot of anger. And a lot of strength. But I was getting stronger every day.

Eventually the man noticed. He was the hardest to convince. He was skeptical and he was mean. It wasn’t as easy to get through his barriers. He was too arrogant, too superior, to know what was going on. Word got around though. Gossip spread. He started to lose business. Sure, the adrenalin junkies came to see me, but they weren’t there for haircuts. They weren’t there to spend money. I simply hung out on those days and watched. And waited. I wasn’t there for them.

Word kept spreading and now he was a laughing stock. He was accused of trying to sensationalize the mysterious death of the former owner in order to make money.

Eventually he became a joke. They accused him of making it all up. Of trying to get business by getting people to claim to have seen me. He lost clients. He was ridiculed. He was made a fool of. But I wasn’t finished.

He paid ghost hunters to find me. They brought in infrared cameras, EMF meters, thermographic cameras, motion sensors, and sound monitoring equipment. He sought out the best psychics, mediums, and exorcists. He even brought in the clergy. Nothing worked. I wasn’t playing with them.

It was time to move on to the next phase. Time to progress from walking to running. Time to pay this man a more personal visit.

It wasn’t easy for me to move from the beauty salon to his home. I had to attach to him. I had to be intimate with him, to invade his very being. It made me shiver in disgust, but it had to be done.

His house smelt like cigar smoke. The same smoke I smelled the day I died. The memory of it came rushing back and I was more determined than ever to make him pay.

He was getting ready for bed, puffing away on his cigar, smug in his perfect world. Things were bad but he knew he was going to overcome. He knew he was going to succeed.

He leaned into the bathroom mirror to smile his ugly smile, to wink at himself, congratulating his reflection on a job well done.

I stared back.

At first I held the image of myself as I had been on that day. On the day he put his hands around my throat. On the day he violated me. On the day he broke me.

Then I changed. My perfectly square white teeth slowly darkened and became pointed. My innocent blue eyes became black empty sockets. I growled at him. I snarled at him. My beautiful blond hair became a white wiry halo around my thin boney face. My clear pale skin melted off and parts of my skull peaked through.

He was frozen. He couldn’t move. Terror paralyzed him. The cigar in his hand slowly burned away, smoke wafting up, as he stared in horror at the image glaringback.

Slowly, my snarl turned into a laugh. A hysterical laugh. A laugh full of mockery and scorn.

Cigar smoke filled the room as he clutched at his chest. His throat constricted. He gasped for air. His hands came up and reached for me. Reached toward the mirror as if to grab me. To grab at smoke.

The cleaning lady found his body. There was an unexplained box of cigars sitting on the counter and the smell of smoke hung in the air as if he had just exhaled.

12 September 2018

Writing prompts: Ghost Story / A quarry / A propeller

If anyone would have bothered to look up on the evening of August 31, 1969, they would have seen the ball of fire shooting into the dark sky. There were no witnesses of the horrific plane crash that night, so it remained a mystery until Powers Rock and Gravel decided to build a quarry in the mountains of northern Arkansas.

Imagine their surprise when they found the burnt shell of an airplane tottering on the edge of the mountainside, the propeller dangling precariously over an outcropping of boulders.

After a bit of investigative work, an employee named Alex found enough information to solve the mystery.

The plane had departed Kansas City, MO, at 11:45 p.m. with two passengers – the pilot, Mr. Henry Blake, infamous for his ability to make money no matter what he touched, and a woman simply notated on the flight manifest as “unknown female.”

Alex found headlines: MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF HENRY BLAKE; BLAKE DISAPPEARANCE STILL A MYSTERY ONE YEAR LATER; BLAKE OFFICIALLY DECLARED DEAD. There was never any mention of the unknown female.

The headline on September 1, 1981 read: BLAKE MYSTERY FINALLY SOLVED.

The quarry was in full operation by then and was a success during the building boom. Eventually, it was abandoned and left to fill with water. It soon became the favorite hangout for the local kids.

***

Sally and Bill ran hand in hand across the bluff and dropped into open air, screaming as loud as they could as they plummeted to the water below. With a splash, the liquid swallowed them, and they plunged deep down into black coolness. They emerged, laughing and yelling as their heads broke free of the cold grip. Exhilarated by the freefall into the cold depths, they quickly climbed out of the reservoir and made their way up the hill to do it again. Later, exhausted after an afternoon of swimming and climbing, the two sat by a small campfire and watched the crackling flames.

Bill’s older brother, Bart, and some of his buddies strolled by.

Bart leered at his buddies, “Bill’s here with his little girlfriend.”

“Come on, Bart. Go somewhere else,” Bill pleaded.

“No way,” Steve replied. Steve was Bart’s best buddy. “Haven’t you heard about the Lady of the Lake?”

“Yeah,” Jeff added, “there ain’t no way I’m going out there in the dark. She might get me.”

“That’s just a bunch of silliness,” Bill frowned. “A stupid ghost story our parents tell us to keep us away.”

“Oh no,” Bart shook his head. “I’ve seen her.”

“Yeah, right. You’re just being a jerk.”

“Nope. On a clear night like tonight, if you go for a swim, you can see her floating in the water.”

“Dad says she’s the ghost from the plane wreck.”

“What plane wreck?” Sally asked.

“A long time ago a plane crashed here, and no one knew about it. The bodies were eaten by the bears, but their ghosts still float around, waiting for someone to bury them, but they can’t bury them because they were eaten, so they’ll be ghosts forever!” Jeff rambled on, getting excited. “The man was cheating on his wife and then they crashed and died, and the woman is still trying to find him.”

“What? That doesn’t make sense,” Bill scoffed. “Now, go away.”

“What woman?” Sally asked, “and if no one knew about it, how do you know the man was cheating on his wife?”

“My Grandpa Alex told me all about it.”

“Yeah, to scare you,” Bill teased. “He did a good job!”

“Shut up, you little piss ant!” Jeff slugged Bill on the arm, hard enough to make Bill wince and rub his shoulder.

“Aw, let’s get out of here,” Bart drawled. “Leave the love birds alone.”

Bill scowled at the older boys as they shuffled off, laughing amongst themselves.

“Don’t worry about them,” Sally comforted him, “They’re just trying to show off.”

After falling asleep, Sally dreamt of a floating woman, her long blond hair drifting around her, spread out like a fan. She slowly sank in the water, her arms fanning back and forth as the water tugged at her lifeless body. Before she disappeared into the inky blackness she looked up at Sally who saw sunken holes instead of eyes and shredded bits of skin hanging off her ruined skull.

Sally woke with a start, disoriented, her heart beating fast. She lay still for a long time, listening to the quietness around her. Reaching out and discovering Bill gone, she dressed and went looking for him.

She spotted him standing at the edge of the cliff they had jumped off earlier. As she approached she heard him pleading with a shadow, “No, no, I’m not him. It wasn’t me, please, leave me alone.”

Hearing the desperation in his voice, Sally rushed to him. “Bill, Bill, what’s wrong?”

He spun toward her, his face as white as a sheet. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a mist disappear into the trees.

“I saw her! I saw her!”

“WHO?”

“The woman from the plane Jeff was talking about. I came out to take a leak and she was standing right there!” Bill pointed at an outcropping a few feet away.

“There’s no one there. Look. Do you see anyone now?”

They both looked in the direction Bill had indicated and saw nothing.

“It’s ok. Jeff just freaked you out. Come back to bed.” Sally took Bill by the hand and led him back to their campsite. They crawled back into the tent and gradually drifted back to an uneasy slumber. At daybreak they packed the tent in an awkward silence.

“About last night…” Bill started.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sally laughed, “it was just because we had a couple beers and Jeff told us that stupid ghost story.”

“Yeah, right,” Bill rolled his eyes and continued packing.

Sally never told him about the long blond hair she found on his pillow that morning.

14 July 2018

Writing prompts: death mask/rocket

I’d worked at The Museum of Unnatural Curiosities for a little more than three years when the mask came in. It arrived in a wooden box stamped HANDLE WITH CARE and was cushioned with wadded-up newspaper.

“Place it near the moon rocks. I’ll work on a plaque for it later this week.” The owner of the shop continued, “it’s an alien death mask.”

I inspected the plaster mask after gently removing it from the box that had been delivered a few days earlier. The features were stereotypically alien; a small and pointed chin, high cheekbones, and large eyes. After placing it in the display indicated by the curator, I continued dusting the assembly of odd treasures the shop owner had collected in her various travels.

The shop was located in Nevada on the Extraterrestrial Highway, so it was full of extraterrestrial findings. It was basically a tourist trap full of kitschy junk. A bus stopped by almost every day with tourists coming from Las Vegas trying to catch a peek of Area 51 and aliens. All they would see was a gate, but what the heck, as long as the tourists came, I had a job.

*****

A week after the mask went on display I started having odd dreams. I had visions of flying shapes and flashing stars. After a few nights of these strange occurrences I heard the voice.

“Return it!”

I sat straight up in bed and looked around. I couldn’t find the source of the voice, nor was there any indication that anyone was in my small studio apartment. I went back to sleep, but it was a restless sleep.

The next day I questioned the curator about the origins of the box.

“I received a call from a man with a gruff voice who said he had the death mask of an alien and asked if I wanted it. He didn’t want anything in return. He just said it ‘gave him the heebie-jeebies’ and he wanted to be rid of it. Apparently, he received it anonymously after spending the night with a group of UFO chasers. That’s all I know.”

I didn’t mention the dreams, or the voice. I was questioning my own sanity. I didn’t want her to as well.

The dreams continued, as did the voices. They became more insistent.

“Send it back. It’s ours!”

It was to the point that I didn’t want to sleep at night. Dreams of rocket ships and shooting stars seemed to fill every minute of my slumber.

During a quiet moment in the store I took the mask out of the case and held it. The solution finally came to me. To this day, I’m not sure if it was my idea or the mask speaking to me.

I needed to send the mask back to where it came from.

After that, the dreams seemed to guide me. I needed to go to an empty field outside of Area 51. After doing some research I discovered that this was the location of numerous unexplained sightings of dancing lights. The entire area was a source of mysterious phenomena, so I wasn’t surprised my dreams guided me there.

All I needed to do was place the mask in an empty area and “they” would take care of the rest.

Getting the mask out of the museum wouldn’t be an issue. My boss was going to be gone on vacation and left me in charge. The only problem was, she was leaving on the Fourth of July weekend and there would be more tourists than usual.

I decided that this might actually work to my advantage. I could blame the disappearance on the extra tourist activity. My boss was easily distracted and somewhat of an airhead, so she would understand if I told her I simply didn’t know where it went. She would assume a tourist wanted it more than she did.

****

The Fourth of July was on a Sunday, which worked well with my plan. The shop was always closed on Monday, so I had a little wiggle room in case things didn’t go smoothly.

I packed my car with essentials. The mask was well wrapped in towels. I also took with me an assortment of fireworks and a lighter, a tarp, and some food and water.

The drive out of the small town where the shop was located was uneventful. Traffic was light. Most of the tourists were headed back to Vegas for the amazing fireworks displays they would see there. I shared the road with an occasional car, but when I turned off on a small unmarked side road they all disappeared.

After driving down a wash boarded and dusty gravel road for what seemed like an eternity I found a place that felt “right.” It was in a slight dip between two hills, so it gave the impression of seclusion. I drove off the road a slight way and set up camp. If anyone came along my story was going to be that I came out to get away from the holiday festivities and to look for the UFOs people claimed were out there.

I cleared a space and spread the tarp out. As darkness approached, I unwrapped the mask and placed it in the center. I pulled the fireworks out of their wrappers. I was waiting for the right time. I needed to send up a signal so “they” would know where I was. As darkness fully engulfed me I launched the first of the fireworks. The shower of sparks lit up the sky as well as any beacon.

After I took my eyes off the amazing show of falling glitter I was relieved to find the mask had returned to its rightful home. An amazing sense of peace engulfed me as I lit the remaining fireworks as a show of thankfulness.

15 April 2018