Restless Night

Dark. Stormy. Night. With a heavy sigh, the Duke turned away from the tall tower window. Every time the weather turned such, the peasants went berserk and somebody’s windmill burned to the ground. Last time it was Doctor Frankenstein’s, this time it could very well be his.

They were such superstitious fools, he thought, but not entirely without reason. After all, the unique ability of this area to generate frequent and powerful thunderstorms was legendary, and perfect for experiments requiring massive amounts of electrical energy. It was only natural that scientists of every stripe would be drawn to the region. The peasants called the scientists “mad” amongst themselves, but the Duke preferred the term “misunderstood”. As it applied to most of them, anyway. A few, were indeed, probably closer to madness than sanity. But that didn’t invalidate their scientific results, did it?

Crossing the room to his desk, the Duke sat down and lifted a snifter of fine brandy. Raising it to his nose, he looked over the rim of the crystal at his ygor, Bradley.

“So. Bradley, what’s the latest gossip?”

Bradley straightened as much as his hunched form would allow, and began, “Well, m’Lord, a new band of gypsy’s has moved into the area.”

The Duke’s eyebrow raised. “Another?” At Bradley’s nod, the Duke continued, “It seems that we have an abundance of Romani at the moment.”

Bradley nodded emphatically. “Yes m’Lord. A new travelling show visits each local village about every three days now. The villagers are sick of the gypsies, and the gypsies are irate at not being able to make a living. You can only use so much snake oil and vampire wards.”

“Quite so,” said the Duke. “I expect that supply and demand will eventually thin out the number of caravans criss-crossing the region.”

“Yes, m’Lord, but the villagers are already starting to take action. I’ve heard that some are directing the nomads to ‘more fertile opportunity,’ over closer to the Count’s castle.”

“Oh, well… I suppose Vlad will be happy for that, at least. What else for news?”

“Dr. Frankenstein has put out the word that he’s looking for a new ygor. Fritz is missing after the big fire and presumed dead.”

The Duke sipped, then smiled wryly, “I suppose you’ve applied for the opening?”

Bradley had the grace to look uncomfortable at the Duke’s insight. Looking down at the ground, he said, “no disrespect to you, m’Lord…”

“And none assumed, Bradley,” he smiled again, “I am fully aware that everyone wants to work for a winner, and barring that unfortunate ‘incident’, the Doctor is closer to success than the rest of us.”

And that, thought the Duke, was the downside of the situation. As much as he enjoyed the camaraderie and getting together to talk ‘shop’ with his neighbors, the concentration of scientific talent in the area made it difficult to obtain experimental materials. The Duke himself was stalled because of the shortage of viable cadavers from the local graveyards, and had recently turned down several candidates offered up by less-than-scrupulous villagers. ‘Abby Normal’ indeed!

But they all had their troubles. Last week the Baron was complaining that it was nigh impossible to obtain copper wire that was robust enough to withstand multiple lightning strikes, and without sufficient power your experiments were doomed from the start.

Even ygors were in short supply. Sure, you could always hire some half-witted village boy and spend years training him, but as soon as you had him to the point where he didn’t need constant supervision, he’d accept another job offer and you were right back where you started.

Standing again, the Duke shook off his darkening mood. One didn’t become a man of science by letting adversity dampen enthusiasm. In fact, challenges and setbacks added spice to the process, and made success all the sweeter.

Staring out into the storm again, the Duke could see a straggling mob of peasants bearing torches and pitchforks stumbling along a muddy road in the middle distance. From their direction, he could tell that he would be short one windmill by dawn.

Dammit.

Story: 'Go To' Girl

'Go To' Girl

Jeanine is my best friend. She also works as my husband's office manager, or as he calls her, his 'go to' girl. When something needs to be done, Jeanine is the one who will come up with a plan and drive and push and cajole until she makes it happen. Church bazaar? Let Jeanine handle it. Emergency neighborhood watch meeting? No problem for Jeanine. When I was diagnosed with cervical cancer a few years ago, Jeanine was there for me every step of the way. When the doctor told me that it was in remission, Jeanine was the only one not surprised, because she wouldn't have had it any other way.

That Jeanine had some plan in mind wasn't in the least bit surprising. What that plan was, was.

"You," I told her, "have got to be out of your mind."

She giggled over her coffee cup and lowered her voice to a husky whisper. "Remember that Hitchcock movie, 'Strangers On A Train'? I'll kill your husband and you kill mine. It's perfect!"

"More like 'Dial M For Murder', where we both get caught and spend the rest of our lives in prison!"

"Just think about it, and so will I." She continued, "If you can agree to the idea, I'll come up with the perfect way to get away with it. Gotta run, grocery store!" And with that, she was off.

Truth be told, it wouldn't be hard to move on if David died. Twelve years of so-so marriage, most of his end of it spent at the office, wasn't much to miss. Jeanine was in pretty much the same situation. Her Conrad was a skirt chasing scumbag with political ambitions and he was more interested in being everybody's best friend than in being her husband.

So, really, there was no practical reason to not consider the idea. I didn't find the concept morally repugnant, because I've never thought of myself as a paragon of virtue anyway. 'Do what you gotta do' pretty much sums it up for me. Which brings me around to, "why not?"

We'd been on cruise control for a long time. David did his thing and I did mine. Did I really want to upset the comfortable equilibrium we had? Was I comfortable enough to not want something more?

The next time I saw Jeanine, I'd just gotten back from a doctor's appointment and she stopped by with sticky buns from the bakery. I fixed coffee and we indulged in the goodies and gossip. Neither of us went anywhere near 'the question', as I'd taken to calling it in my head.

Finally I said quietly, "OK, let's do it."

Jeanine smiled softly, nodded once, then launched back into her story about how a local busybody got arrested for being a peeping tom.

One week later, our plans were set.

---

It was almost 10pm when Conrad pulled into the parking lot of the Roadhouse 263. As he exited his Buick, I casually started walking towards him from the shadow at the side of the building. I was wearing a short blond wig and even shorter skirt, and in the dark, people might mistake me for his current girlfriend, a young thing who served beer inside.

Conrad's eyes moved up my body as I walked towards him, and when our eyes met I could see the faintest spark of recognition. I shot him in the face, and when he fell back I stood over him and carefully shot him three more times just to make sure. And to make sure that I was seen. I then climbed into my rental and drove away.

Ten miles away, I pulled into the rental garage. It was paid up for two months, so hopefully things would calm down some before being found. I stripped out of the clothes I was wearing, tossed them and the gun into a plastic bag and then drove my car back home. On the way, I stopped by Jeanine's house and dropped the plastic bag inside her back door. I carefully made sure the door locked behind me. According to the plan, Jeanine was going to take care of the evidence.

Jeanine's car was in my driveway. She was sitting in my kitchen, looking worried and drinking coffee.

"Done, and done," I said, dropping into the chair across from her.

Jeanine looked up at me uneasily and said, "David wasn't at his office tonight. I couldn't find him."

I smiled and said, "I know." I got up and said, "Let's go see him, he's down in the rec room." When Jeanine hesitated, I withdrew a small pistol from my purse and pointed it at her.

Jeanine looked sick as she led the way downstairs. Not sure how her planning had gone wrong, she wasn't prepared for the sight of her lover David sprawled across the couch with three bullet holes in his chest. She spun towards me, eyes horrified.

I casually aimed the gun and shot her in the knee. Jeanine screamed in agony and toppled over onto the floor next to David's body.

After a long moment, Jeanine struggled to sit up and she managed to ask "Why?" She sobbed, "I'm your best friend!"

"Yes you were," I began. "And I was content with that. I knew you were sleeping with David, had known it for years." I sighed, "but when you and David decided that you wanted me out of the way, his 'go to' girl came up with that stupid plan to rid ourselves of our husbands, well..."

I continued, "You mistook apathetic for stupid, and you didn't plan for that."

I'd been watching her carefully, and when she'd propped herself up on her hands, she'd felt the hard shape of something on the floor just under the edge of the couch. I had to give her credit, she was still planning, thinking of how she might still salvage the situation.

Through her hiccupping sobs, I saw her steel herself and whip the pistol up and around in my direction. She fired three times before the gun clicked empty, and I silently congratulated her because it looked to be a solid grouping, considering the circumstances. Yes, I'd probably be dead if those had been live rounds in the pistol.

She stared, uncomprehending, as I rose and gave a polite golf clap towards her. "Now forensics will show that you fired the pistol that killed David." Holding up the pistol in my hand, she could see that it was the same type as the one she was holding. "There's no doubt that I shot you with this pistol, but there will be confusion as to which of us shot David. And Conrad? That pistol was the same kind too, remember?" I smiled, "and now it's sitting in a bag full of clothes inside your locked kitchen door."

"My oh my, confusion all around."

Jeanine's face dropped as my words sank in. "But why?", she asked again, "we'll both go to prison."

I regarded her steadily. "True. But you see, my cancer has come back, with a vengeance. I've got maybe a year to live, and might not even survive the upcoming trial." I gestured towards her with the gun, "You, on the other hand, have a long life ahead of you."

I jumped to my feet, "I'm going to call the police. Would you like a cup of coffee while we wait?"

Story: Fortunate One

Feedback, yada yada...

Fortunate One

Mitsuko closed her front door with a sigh. She had been hoping for fresh air and blue skies, but fortune was not with her. The sky was gray again, and underneath the usual industrial murk was the smell of smoke. Nearby Yahata was still burning from the last bombing raid.

The war was not going well and although nobody dared speak of it, Mitsuko could see in people's eyes the realization that the end was near. Sometimes she secretly wished to hurry the inevitable. She was tired and no longer blindly believed everything she heard on the radio. Her family, like so many others, had given much for the Emperor. Her father was a broken man, one son lost aboard the once-mighty Hiryu and the other still fighting somewhere in Manchuria. If Eiji were still alive.

Mitsuko's husband was a manager for one of the Kokura arms factories across the river. She worried about him because he had been working so hard for so long, and now all for nothing it seemed. These days, it was hard to remember that her entire life hadn't been one of deprivation because of the war. It was hard to recall the happy memories when what was most easily remembered were her lost brothers, her silent father, and her exhausted husband.

There was a sour lump in her throat, bitterness over her life and how it should have been. There were supposed to be children. Living in grimy Kokura was never part of her dreams.

Mitsuko thought of her sister Aiko, who seemed to have all the good fortune in the family. Her husband had been promoted and was now director of a shipyard. Their house overlooked the sea and the breezes swept the air clean. Aiko had recently given birth to a second son. Fortune definitely smiled upon Aiko.

Determined to cheer up, Mitsuko decided that she should visit her sister. Travel was difficult but not impossible. She would ask her husband tonight for a travel permit. If he couldn't arrange it, then Mitsuko would send word to Aiko. Surely *her* husband could manage a travel pass.

Mitsuko's spirits were already lifted at the thought of visiting lucky Aiko in her beautiful home with her new beautiful son.

Yes, she thought, a few days in Nagasaki will do me good.

Story: Old Fashioned

Old Fashioned

"Excuse me, Ma'am. Are you trying to cross the street?"

Mildred started, so intently was she peering down the road. She looked around and found the source of the question, a young man in uniform, standing quietly by her side.

"Why, yes I am," she said, a bit of wonder in her voice. "Are you really..." Her voice trailed off, leaving the question unasked.

He smiled. "Yes Ma'am. I am a Boy Scout. And we still help ladies across the street." With that, he offered his arm and she took it. Then each bent forward a bit to carefully examine the length of the street in front of them. First one way, then the other.

They stepped off the curb together. Mildred remarked, "I don't see many Boy Scouts anymore."

"Oh, we're still around Ma'am, but there isn't as much interest." His voice lowered confidentially, "Mr. Larkin - he's our Scoutmaster - says that boys think we're too old fashioned. They'd rather do modern things."

"There's something to be said for the old ways," Mildred replied.

The boy grinned widely, "That's exactly what Mr. Larkin says!"

There was a hollow pop from their right, and suddenly a ragged black hole appeared in the air next to them. Rancid fumes drifted out of the hole, and two greasy tentacles slithered towards them.

Without missing a beat, the Boy Scout did something complicated with his right hand, gesturing towards the hole. With a final flourish, he whispered something that Mildred didn't quite catch. She wasn't even sure if it was English.

The tentacles snapped back inside, just before the hole closed again with a gentle whoof. The only indication that it had happened was a faint lingering odor, and that was rapidly dissapating.

They reached the opposite sidewalk without further incident.

Mildred began, "How did you..."

Proudly pointing to one of the merit badges on his sash, the Boy Scout said, "This is my "Wiccan" badge, Ma'am. Mr. Larkin is very old fashioned."

As he turned away, the Boy Scout said, "And you know the Scout's Motto." He smiled again, "Be Prepared!"

Patience

As if anyone is anxiously waiting for my next tale. Hah! I do have a couple in draft form, nearing completion. Sometime soon.

As an aside, my boss is reading Faulkner over his lunch hour's at work, and keeps coming in and pointing out the frequent use of made-up compound words. Our favorite so far is "hollerwhisper". We both agree it's the voice one uses when you hiss at someone else to be quiet.

Story: Manifest Destiny

This one's brand new. Feedback appreciated. Seriously.

Manifest Destiny

He never doubted himself. As he lay in the dark, with the walls and bars of his universe closing in, he thought back.

He thought about the times as a kid when he had gotten into trouble. Each time, he could trace events back to someone. A so-called friend. His "loving" parents. Meddling teachers. It was hard experience, but that's how you learn, he thought. And now, he knew the system.

He also knew that he was smart enough to play the system. He saw himself as someone to be reckoned with. No doubt about it.

His mind drifted inward and back again as he considered his adult life. It was full of unfulfilled dreams and plans gone wrong. He clearly saw the myriad ways, large and small, that the system had conspired to trip him up. To prevent him from achieving his destiny. He was intimate with every detail, because he had spent many a long night in contemplation. He had time, and there was nothing better to do. He saw again and again where things should have gone differently, if not for the system. The system was afraid of him, because of his knowledge and experience and clever mind. Oh yes, he knew the system was afraid.

So he counted down the days of yet another long stretch, thinking and planning and biding his time. His confidence never wavered, for he knew that he could use the system against itself to realize his dreams.

Next time it would be different. He was sure of it.

Story: Paying Dearly (updated)

This is another oldie. I wrote this for a contest at a gonzo film site, and took first prize. The fact that I never received the promised prize makes it ok in my mind to post this now, here at my place.

Update: I supposed I should point out that the object of the contest was to write a scene from a Nazisploitation movie. Told you it was gonzo.

As always, for good or ill, all feedback is greatly appreciated.

Paying Dearly

Weakened and exhausted, Simone hangs from the ceiling, no longer caring that the heavy iron of the manacles cuts into the flesh around her wrists. She's given up hope that her own blood would be lubricant enough to allow her to slip her bonds, even though her only option at this point would be to take her own life.

She will break, she knows she will break, but she prays that she will be strong enough to last just a few more hours.

Behind her, the door opens. She cannot turn enough to see who entered, and she steels herself for more beatings. Her back and thighs are a mass of cuts, bruises and welts, and the stinging of her sweat dripping down her savaged back seems trivial compared to the pain they've already inflicted.

The Nazi officer who enters her field of vision is short and thin, he looks like nothing so much as a meek accountant. Simone has already had direct experience of how deceiving his appearance and demeanor are. She fleetingly wonders at how something as ordinary as wearing gray wool and leather boots can unleash the monster hidden inside. She is also proud of how many of these monsters she has helped to kill over the last eight months.

Not wasting effort on defiance, Simone watches silently as he carefully places a covered tray on a small table against the wall. On the table are arranged various instruments, some medical, some perverted horrors designed to inflict agony. She looks him straight in the eye as he turns to her. His gaze travels slowly up and down her body which is barely covered by the tattered rags that are all that's left of her clothing. Simone feels nothing as the Nazi reaches out with both hands and, almost gently, pushes the halves of her blouse apart to fully expose her breasts. Stepping back again, he regards her a moment before speaking.

"You realize, of course, that you are not going to survive this."

Simone simply returns his gaze.

"You have a pleasing body, and no doubt would be popular as a whore for the collaborators, but even after reeducating you, it would be foolish to think that you weren't still a dangerous animal."

He pauses to light a cigarette, "And I am no fool." With a wistful sigh, he continues, "and there are other... intriguing... methods that I could employ to entertain myself. For instance, I believe you know Giselle?"

Giving a sharp whistle, the Nazi is joined by a naked girl crawling on all fours. Her head is shaved bald and there is a bristly tail protruding from the thick plug inserted into her anus. As the girl cowers at his feet like a cringing dog, Simone fights to hide her revulsion as the Nazi commands Giselle to "sit up" and face Simone. Simone did indeed know Giselle, or at least the woman who used to be Giselle. She had been arrested by the Gestapo a month ago. There was no recognition in her eyes, or even evidence of higher thought. Surgical scars at her throat provided evidence that her vocal cords had been removed. The Nazi pats her head and Giselle gives a happy whimper.

Suddenly the officer draws his luger and without hesitation fires directly into the head of the kneeling Giselle. As her body collapses he continues to pull the trigger, shooting again and again into her lifeless form. Staring straight into Simone's shocked eyes he lays the overheated pistol barrel against her nipple, pressing hard against her chest as she screams and writhes against the chains.

As she collapses again in her bonds, panting and moaning, the Nazi methodically reloads his Luger and carefully replaces it into his holster. He remarks, "the hounds in the kennel will miss Giselle, I will have to train a new bitch to take care of their needs."

Turning his full attention to Simone, he says, "I know that you are part of the Resistance. In fact, today is like a reunion for you! Look, another friend!" With that, the Nazi picks up the covered tray from table and, lifting the lid, presents the platter to his captive.

Simone gags as her stunned mind comprehends what she sees. A tattered sausage of flesh attached to a torn scrap of skin, barely identifiable as male. Also arranged on the tray are two jelly-like eyeballs and a finger. She almost vomits as she recognizes the ring on the finger. Paul wore that ring.

Placing the platter back onto the table, the Nazi leaves it uncovered so that she can see it. Rubbing his hands briskly together, he says, "all this excitement has given me an appetite! I'm sorry that I can't invite you to join me for lunch, but I will send in a "technician" to keep you company while I dine."

Moving out of her range of vision, he continues, "We have a very special guest coming to visit this evening, a General from Berlin. I think he will be very interested in seeing our techniques for persuasion, and you, my dear, will be the star exhibit!"

As he leaves the room, he doesn't see the faint smile on Simone's bruised lips. A General! Perhaps on the troop train scheduled to arrive tonight. The train that will, if all goes well, plunge into the river when the Resistance blows up the bridge.

Please, a few hours. Let me last a few hours more.

Behind her, she hears the technician enter the room.

Story: Clowns

Just a little warm up here, a story I posted on an old blog in July of 2008. Like it? Hate it? Either way, I'd appreciate feedback.

Clowns

Fucking clowns.

Merry looks out the window, and that’s what she sees – fucking clowns. Looks like about 5 of ‘em, although the way they’re bouncing and scampering around, it’s hard to count for certain. There’s some kind of spooky-goofy music blaring from the speakers on top of their stupid pumpkin colored van, and it’s annoying as hell. It's way too early on Halloween to start this crap.

Thank god the kiddo's already at school. Merry can imagine being driven nuts over the clowns, as if the kiddo needed something more besides trick or treating tonight to go hyper.

Apparently they just arrived, and started doing what clowns always do, just piling out of the van and looking stupid doing it. Merry audibly groans when she sees her mom standing on the sidewalk out front. Mom must have been on her way over for coffee when the clowns showed up, and she looks delighted as one presents her with a huge balloon with a jack o’lantern face on it.

Shit. Merry had just found one of Roger's notes too. She'd come downstairs and there it was, an envelope on the chair. She'd begun to read it when the commotion outside started. After work tonight, after trick or treating, Roger wants to play. Roger wants to play kinky. Knees weak, Merry could hardly wait.

Merry's mom walks in the door, being careful not to pop her balloon, and three of those fucking clowns bound in behind her. She’s laughing at them, but Merry is just pissed about them coming in like that. Before she can order them out of the house, one steps forward and, with a comical floor sweeping bow and tip of the hat, presents Merry with an orange envelope.

Another note? Things click into place. More Roger games.

As Merry begins to open the envelope, two clowns rush up and begin to dress her. One produces a huge old brown jacket, and helps Merry into it despite her protests. Mom is laughing to see her daughter getting costumed whether she likes it or not, and these guys are not taking ‘no’ for an answer. Another clown takes the orange envelope and puts it between Merry's teeth, and then she's helped into a big baggy pair of black pants. Someone else lifts her arms and slides a thick wooden pole through the jacket, holding Merry's arms out like a crucifix.

Nope. Like a scarecrow, Merry sees as another begins stuffing straw into the sleeves around her wrists. Dammit, now she's definitely going to have to dust and vacuum again. There are at least four clowns dancing around and dressing Merry, constantly getting in each others way. The pole across her shoulders is uncomfortable, and as she flexes her arms she realizes that somewhere in the confusion her wrists were fastened to the pole.

Merry parts her lips to protest, and someone pops a set of fake teeth into her mouth. In an instant, a bladder behind the plastic grin inflates, filling her mouth and effectively gagging her. When she turns to look at mom again, Merry almost loses her balance because her feet are no longer free, they’re hitched to another pole – this one running down her back. Mom’s not paying attention anyway, one of the clowns is entertaining her with balloon animal tricks.

A band of some sort is slipped over Merry's forehead and around the bar behind her, and when it’s tightened her head is held still. Someone places and adjusts a wig to hide the band, followed by a floppy brown hat. A pair of dark, oversized glasses is set over her nose, and a little quick stage-makeup to rosy up her cheeks finishes the transformation.

A clown on either flank holds Merry upright and turns her towards mom as they all holler “ta-dahhhh” and gesture towards her with flourishes. Merry tries to struggle, to show her mom that something is wrong here, but she doesn’t suspect any problems and actually applauds the scarecrow ‘costume’.

Right before mom's eyes, Merry is lifted up and carried out to the van. The doors are opened and she's laid inside among trunks and cases and bags. The last thing Merry sees is mom giving one of the clowns a kiss on the cheek, and his exaggerated ‘aw shucks’ reaction.

Ok, the envelope means that this is obviously one of Roger’s games, so Merry's not too worried about it. In fact, she thinks she knows which clown might be Roger, even through the costumes, confusion, and amazing makeup.

Only two clowns climb into the van, and as one starts the engine and begins to drive, the other comes into the back with Merry. She relaxes because yep, it’s the one she'd already figured out was Roger.

He squats next to Merry, reaches inside her jacket, and gives her breast a firm squeeze. Merry's nipple instantly hardens against his palm as he massages her.

Suddenly, with an almost-funny ‘oh shit, I forgot!’ gesture, Roger/Clown magically produces that orange envelope. With more of those stupid hand flourishes, he finishes opening it and extracts the paper inside. He expresses surprise as he ‘reads’ the note, and then holds the paper in front of Merry for her to read.

The paper is blank.

That happy grin gazing down on Merry doesn’t look so harmless anymore. Looking closer, she sees a million tiny differences in the features under the greasepaint, and she's suddenly convinced that this isn’t Roger.

He reaches down and begins mauling her breasts again. Merry struggles as much as she can (not much), and wonders what the fuck is going on. What the fuck is going to happen to her?

Getting right in her face, the clown starts talking to Merry. All she can do is stare back, wide eyed, as he speaks. “I’m going to remove your gag now. If you speak, I’ll hit you. If you yell, I’ll break your jaw. If you disobey in any way, I will choke you unconscious, then revive you, and I will keep doing that over and over and over until I get tired of hurting you, at which point you die. Blink twice if you understand.”

Carefully and deliberately, Merry blinks twice.

He settles back a little and fiddles with the gag. The bladder deflates, and he pops it out of her mouth. Merry licks dry lips with a drier tongue, and breathes deeply. He speaks again, “There is no reason for you to get hurt, IF you do everything you are told to do.”

Two blinks.

He grins that hideous clown smile at Merry and cruelly pinches a nipple. “I knew you were a fast learner.”