Pain or Purr

Due to the lack of sharks washed into my basement by Hurricane Sandy, I didn't get a chance to give this piece one more look before posting it. However, I wanted to present it as a Halloween present, so I am posting it a whole day early. I hope it meets up to your high standards. What do you think? 

“It’s not good to go poking around in other people’s pain.” My father glared at me with glassy eyes.

My spoon dropped into my cereal bowl with a final clank. I regarded him in silence with wide eyes. He shook his head disapprovingly and leaned forward. As he wrapped his battered hands protectively around a white ceramic mug that announced his feelings about mornings, I gently pushed my chair back from the table. I winced as wooden legs squeaked against worn linoleum, but my father didn’t respond. I tiptoed up the stairs to claim my backpack.

With equally cautious steps, I crept back down the stairs. My father still hadn’t moved. Without a word, I opened the front door and stepped out into the fall morning. I eased the door closed and hurried across the porch as fast as I could without making much noise.

Every hurried footstep released the damp smell of leaves as I crossed the lawn to meet my friend Spike. We nodded our greetings and turned toward the school. Neither of us dared speak until we turned the corner.

“Your dad made it home last night?” Spike asked softly.

“Or this morning.” I mumbled.

“So you didn’t get a chance to ask him about tonight?” He shoved his hands in his pockets as he kicked at the leaves underfoot.

I offered a half-hearted grin. “I decided that I don’t need to ask.”

Examining my face for signs of insincerity, he grinned. “So you’re in?”

“You better believe it.”

“Good. I found some sparklers from the fourth of July.”

I grinned. We stepped closer to avoid being overheard as we neared the schoolyard. Finalizing our plans for the evening lifted a heavy weight from my chest. Halloween helped me escape from my dad’s terrible mood swings in a way no other holiday could. I never expected him to participate, so I never got disappointed when he stumbled home drunk and demanded my silence or my absence.

Every year, Spike pondered and schemed until he developed a trick more fantastic than the last. We graduated from toilet papering trees to pelting doors and windows with eggs many years back. This year, his grand plan revolved around the crazy cat lady and the hundreds of feral cats in abundance around her house. We just needed to make it through a day of school and an afternoon of waiting for the sun to go down. Then, when darkness descended, we would have both tricks and treats.

Thus the last rays of the fading sun found me anxiously tapping my foot as Spike and I crouched behind a long row of unkempt hedges that shielded the abandoned house behind us from the two-story house across the street. Streamers of fake cobwebs hung from the lowest branches of the spindly trees on either side of a rough stone path. The silhouette of a black cat filled every window, some made by real cats.

“Come on, Spike. It’s got to be time.” I whispered excitedly.

“Just trust me. She always calls those cats into her house when it gets dark.” He gestured toward the lawn.

A few cats sprawled happily under the trees. One jumped up over and over in a vain attempt to catch something caught in the spider webs. A couple even waited at the door with tails twitching to mark the time.

“Are you…?”

Before I could finish my question, the door squealed open. A short woman in a loose black sweater stood framed in the doorway. She leaned down to pat the two waiting cats as they slipped past her. She cleared her throat loudly.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” Her words rolled and echoed like a yodel across the lawn.

The remaining cats stopped what they were doing to rush to her. She cooed and chattered at them as they brushed against her ankles. Some stopped to mewl at her appreciatively as she scratched behind their ears. Finally, the last flitting tail disappeared into the warm, orange glow of the interior. With a cursory glance for stragglers, the woman pulled the door shut behind her.

“You made the sign?” Spike instantly got down to business.

I nodded and unrolled the piece of poster board clutched in my hand. In big black letters, it proclaimed, “Dead cats are the best cats.”

Spike whistled. “Perfect. I found something else to go with it.”

He grinned as he unslung his backpack and gently extracted a plastic bag. Something heavy shifted as he placed it on the ground. A faint odor instantly filled my nostrils.

A sour taste filled my mouth as I stuttered. “Um. Wh…wh…a….t is that?

“Just a little something I found beside the road.”

“I…”

“Sh. Come on.” He tiptoed to the middle of the lawn, dumping the contents of the bag on the ground beneath one of the trees.

My stomach heaved as the grey mound of fur plopped onto the moist grass. Spike reached for the sign, as I dared to take another peek at the gruesome lawn decoration.

“I think that’s a raccoon.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Spike shoved a couple of sparklers into the ground around the body, dropping a few stones on the corners of the sign to hold it in place. “Light your sparklers fast and run for the hedge.”

I nodded, pulling a lighter out of my pocket. As the last sparkler burst into life, Spike threw a large rock at the front door. It missed, hitting a post and shattering. I raced toward the hedges as a cascade of smaller stones rained down on the porch. As Spike joined me behind the hedge, the front door flew open.

The crazy cat lady peered out into the darkness. Her eyes quickly rested on the tableau on the lawn. Even from a distance, her face visibly paled as she squinted at the sign. One hand rose to cover her mouth. Short, quick steps carried her toward the dead raccoon. She stared at it in silence for a moment. Then her head lifted and she scanned the neighboring yards.

“You shouldn’t try to bring pain to other people.” She called out as her eyes focused on our hiding place. “That pain will find you again.”

As if summoned by her words, a wave of cats poured out of the open door. A couple joined her to sniff at the corpse. The rest bristled as they closed the distance between us. The cat lady’s lips moved, but her words got lost in a chorus of hissing and snarling.

I looked at Spike for guidance.

“Run?” Though he questioned his decision, he pulled his backpack tighter on his shoulders and turned away from me.

We ran the length of the hedge, trying escape the hunters. Some rounded the hedge close on our heels. Others growled even as they matched pace with us on the other side of the dense branches. As we broke through an opening into the next yard, a battalion of four-legged warriors rushed forward to cut us off.

Spike exclaimed a string of words I dare not repeat though I know many of the same words, and some worse, escaped my own lips when we realized that they surrounded us. Hissing and yowling expressed sentiments of disapproval. Wetness flooded down my legs as at least a dozen of the vile creatures leaped at me.

Knocked off balance by the extra weight, I fell backwards. Lightning went off in my head and blackness took over. When I awoke, every part of body ached. The unpleasant smell of feline urine filled my nostrils. As I slowly pushed myself up from the ground, I realized that the smell emanated from my clothes. They clung to me with every movement. I looked around for Spike, but only saw crumpled leaves in the rough form of a body.

A soft hiss jolted me to my feet. I simulated running, fighting my clothes with every step. A couple of blocks from my house, my momentum faded. I glanced anxiously over my shoulder with each weary step back to my house. Finally assured that nothing pursued me, I stumbled up the stairs.

My reflection in the glass panes of the front door revealed a face covered in upraised slashes. I shuddered and closed my eyes. As I pushed it, the sound of the television greeted me. I tried to sneak past, but sobriety made my father notice me.

“Son, I told you not to go poking at other people’s pain.” His words chased me up the stairs.

Acid Eyes: Part 2

Check here for Part 1!

As promised, I bring you the conclusion of last week's teaser. What do you think?

My heart leaped at these words, but I refused to let her see my excitement. I put my head down, hiding my smile in the collar of my starched shirt.

“But Miss…” Another upraised hand cut short Professor James’s words.

“It is clear that Karl had nothing to do with whatever Wilhelm has been up to, so let’s not waste his time. Perhaps, you could escort him to his next class.” Her voice pushed him toward the door.

Professor James nodded his head and reached out to place his hand on Karl’s shoulder. “It looks like your lucky day, my boy. Time for you to get to class.”

“It is not, however, your lucky day, Wilhelm,” Headmistress Valentine held the door open for me.

I disagreed with her but only in my head. Any stolen moment with her felt like a reward. Only a boyish crush could fill my otherwise sane mind with such foolish thoughts. Too caught up in my fancies to care, I stepped lightly into her office.

As I sat down in the solidly uncomfortable wooden chair reserved for visitors, she followed me into the room. The clicking of her heels stopped just behind me. I started to twist around to face her, but she placed one hand gently on my head to keep my eyes pointed forward.

“I’ll keep this short, Wilhelm. I don’t want you to be brought to my office again. If you get in any more trouble, the professor who catches you will choose your punishment.”

“I…” I started to speak but her grip on my head tightened.

“Don’t argue. I know you’re a good boy. You just enjoy coming to my office too much.” As she spoke, she released her grip and circled around to sink into the high-backed wooden chair behind her desk.

She focused large, dark eyes on me. I winced under her harsh gaze, finally lowering my eyes to the floor. We sat in silence a few seconds longer before she cleared her throat.

“You do understand?”

I raised my eyes to look into hers as I sullenly agreed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You may go.” She gestured toward the door before turning her attention to a thin pile of papers on her desk.

I waited a moment, watching her in silence. She didn’t acknowledge my presence. Finally, I turned away from her and stepped out the door. The bell rang as I reached the courtyard. Plodding steps carried me to my next class. The rest of the day slipped past as a numbing haze fell over my heart and mind. I couldn’t recall anything that happened after I looked into Headmistress Valentine’s eyes and saw only disappointment and annoyance. Her expression continued to haunt me as I crawled under my blankets and hoped for the swift arrival of dreams.

~

I woke with a start. As my eyes furtively scanned the room, I listened for any indication of what had awakened me. At first, I only heard my own shallow breathing. Then I realized someone else exhaled out of sync with me. Assured that my roommate, Hubert, slept on the twin bed against the opposite wall, I looked toward him. Unmade blankets revealed empty sheets.

“We need to talk.” A surprisingly familiar voice echoed in the darkness.

I peered toward the foot of my bed, finally discerning a feminine form. “Headmistress?”

At my words, a soft light glowed around her, illuminating her face in a blue glow. “Of course. You still want to talk to me, don’t you?”

“But, you said…”

“I have reconsidered. I need you to keep playing your pranks, so we can see each other.” Her voice cracked and changed as she spoke, becoming more masculine.

“I don’t know.” I bit my lip as my skin began to crawl.

Resuming soft, feminine tones, she tried again. “You’re not really hurting anyone.”

“I almost got Karl in trouble today.”

“But you didn’t.” She offered a reassuring smile.

“But I could have…” She opened her mouth to speak but I interrupted. “And some of my pranks are a little dangerous.”

“Now is no time to grow up and take responsibility.” Her voice changed again as she mocked me, sounding more like a growl than a caress.

“You’d never say that.” At my declaration, something twitched behind her back.

“I wouldn’t.” The admission caused the façade to fade.

Those rich, brown eyes disintegrated first, as if acid ate them away from the inside. High, softly rounded cheeks dissolved next, losing their hint of pink in a wash of orange red. The color spread to the rest of her face and the soft curve of her neck. Her teeth morphed into long fangs. Her forehead widened and lengthened to make room for twisted horns of blackened bone. Now a man with burnt red skin stood gazing at me. A forked tail undulated slowly back and forth, the only outward sign of his frustration.

“Why wouldn’t you let me keep leading you with honey? I need more rascals like you. I can’t lose even one.” The hoarse whisper echoed through the room.

“Are you…?” I couldn’t allow the name to cross my lips.

“Just do what I want. It’ll be fun…” Surveying my face, he added, “And I won’t have to hurt you.”

“I can’t.” Despite the fear, I forced out my denial.

“You will.” He hissed and steam poured from his mouth.

He took a step toward me. I pulled the blankets tighter around me. He took another step, exposing his fangs in a horrid grin. I closed my eyes. He touched my arm, encircling my wrist with his long fingers. My flesh began to burn, searing pain coursed up my arm. Acrid smoke filled my nose, causing my closed eyes to water. I whimpered as he coiled the fingers of his other hands around my other wrist.

“Go ahead. Make me keep hurting you.” He laughed.

I screamed.

~

“Wilhelm, wake up.” Hubert’s round face peered down at me in the soft glow of the desk lamp.

“Hubert?” I stared at him, looking for some sign of deception. Reassured by the innocence of his sleep-fuddled face, I relaxed.

“You okay?” He released my shoulders unconsciously wiping at thin crusts of powdered sugar that always found a home in the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just a nightmare.”

After a few more moments of scrutiny, Hubert nodded understanding and padded back to his bed.

“It’ll be okay, Wilhelm.” He offered before pulling his own covers over his head.

“Thanks.” I offered more for the comfort of the light than his words.

As I gazed at the burning bulb, I decided to change the course of my life. I decided to no longer find reasons to be called into the headmistress’s office. I’d have step down as the leader of our pack of ragtag boys. I sighed. In fact, I may no longer hold claims to popularity, but hopefully the nightmares won’t return.

Acid Eyes: Part 1

Here is the beginning of a piece I am working on. The second part needs a few more revisions, so you'll have to wait a whole week to find out the end. Do you think it will be worth it???

The woman possessed acid eyes. They could burn right through you and leave your insides exposed and bubbling. At least, I felt that way every time she found cause to question me. One would think that after a while I would stop giving her reasons to call me into her office, but despite a penetrating gaze and enthusiasm for doling out punishment, she added excitement to my childhood fancies that I couldn’t get anywhere else.

Bored with the curriculum of our small private school, I took it upon myself to get into some mischief. I didn’t become the most popular boy for following the rules after all. And it didn’t hurt that I could somehow manage to get all the blame placed on my not insubstantial shoulders regardless of my level of participation. No one else ever accompanied me on my trips to the headmistress’s dark office. Until today.

Today, Karl somehow lucked into stepping around the corner right as I released the mechanism to splash Professor Snod’s window with a truly horrendous mixture of shaving cream and green food coloring. That also happened to be the moment that Professor Crum rounded the corner and saw us. Seeing us didn’t startle him as much as my dispenser letting out a whoosh and a pop as it exploded unexpectedly. Even that surprise did not keep him from rushing forward to grab both my collar and Karl’s.

“You boys have played your last trick on Professor Snod, I believe.” He announced proudly in his feigned British accent.

The man was no more British than I, having been born in the heart of Pennsylvania, but he believed pretending to be a foreign national washed on our shores might protect him from the cruelty of the boys he taught. He wasn’t a very good teacher, and clearly the same could be said of his thinking. His façade just made us all target him more often than we would otherwise. Unlike the other teachers, he wasn’t very remarkable. He wasn’t prone to a weak stomach like Professor Snod who had probably disgorged his lunch and rushed off to the nurse’s office by now. He wasn’t afraid of just about everything like Professor Anton who was also so tiny that we could have easily stuffed her into a locker. He wasn’t even prone to losing his train of thought and huffing and puffing into his mustache like Professor James. As I said, he wasn’t very remarkable and to a group of boys who are far from home, that made him not very fun to tease which probably accounts for why he was usually the one dragging me off to the headmistress’s office. He probably wouldn’t have bothered if he knew that I wanted to go. Though the chosen punishment might be more effective this time since an innocent scuffed along at my side. I preferred to take my lumps alone and I certainly didn’t wish to share them with someone who had nothing to do with my tricks.

“I didn’t do anything, Professor.” Karl protested his innocence.

“You think I’ve never heard the guilty claim innocence before, boy?” Professor James added a harrumph to his question as he continued to drag us along.

“Tell him, Franklin.” Karl turned his imploring gaze to me.

“It won’t do any good.” I muttered under my breath.

“He’s right. I can’t trust you boys not to take up for each other when you are playing pranks. We’ll just let Headmistress Valentine sort it out.” His hands tightened on our collars.

He doesn’t need to worry about me, but I would never tell him that. Headmistress Violet Winsome Valentine was just as beautiful as her name though most of the boys couldn’t see it. Even before we reached the hallway leading to her office, her face filled my mind. I already pictured her large dark eyes boring holes through me, as her pouty lips turn downward in a frown. I almost heard her voice admonishing me.

Reflexively, I reached up to undo my tie as we approached the heavy wooden door with “Principal” in gold letters on the opaque window. The tie hung sufficiently askew by the time we came to a halt. As Professor James rapped on the door, I glanced over at Karl who tried to sink into his uniform. His neck completely disappeared into the neat folds of his starched white collar. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his green blazer so that not even a hint of his skin remained. As the door opened, he skittered to the side, hoping to disappear into the doorframe.

Headmistress Valentine doesn’t ask any questions. She doesn’t need to. After all, my visits should be expected by now. Professor James opened his mouth to speak, but one slender arm with hand extended palm out is enough to silence him. He looked down at his toes, suddenly as nervous as Karl. She lowered her hand, reaching for my tie almost involuntarily.

“Well, Wilhelm, I almost thought you’d be late for your punishment this week.” Her voice dripped honey and jet fuel.

My head spun from the heavy aroma of her perfume, but I kept my mouth shut. I looked up at her and wait. She glanced from me to Karl and back again. Her faded blue eyes noted every detail. They finally rested on the cuff of my white shirt. My own eyes followed the trajectory of hers. Green food coloring speckled the cuff. I turned my face up toward hers and gave my best devilish grin.

“I think I see what is going on here. Professor James and Karl, you may go.”

Want to read more?

The Mourners

I feel this offering could be much longer, but we are not ready for a novel yet, are we? I may not have eaten enough chocolate today though, so let me know if I missed a typo or something seems to be in German. Also, I now have 10 followers, counting 2 who must be using RSS feeds, where are the other 15? Doesn't someone want cookies?

Pauline shifted nervously in her seat. It had been so long since she attended a funeral for one of her own people. When Johnson called, she could no longer deny her own faith.  She had to return to the soil. She needed to come back to a life she thought she had cast aside. This time, the dearly departed held too much power, especially in death, to risk offending her. So here she sat, forcing herself to maintain a certain stillness to avoid drawing attention.

No matter how still she remained, she always caught someone’s eye. Having been gone so long, she became the stranger in the room. They acknowledged her with furtive glances and heads bent together in secret consultation. No one approached, but she knew many wished they possessed such courage. As she lowered her head, pulling hopelessly at the hem of her skirt, which she now realized was too short, a pair of shoes appeared next to her own. Polished brown leather with no scuffs and a slight heel stood out in stark contrast to her battered black pumps with shredded points.

“Well, Pauline, I see you braved our anger and rejection for the queen’s funeral.” The soft roll of his voice conjured up a warm summer wind brushing her cheeks as seaweed and salt blended in her nostrils.

“Johnson?” She slowly lifted her head to look into familiar dark eyes.

“It hasn’t been so long then? You remember me.” He offered a warm smile as slender hands with long fingers reached out for hers. He continued after pulling her to her feet and placing a hasty kiss on each cheek. “You always were the most beautiful of us, cousin. If I sit with you, I’ll finally be the center of attention.”

“Not the kind of attention you want, I’m sure.” He continued to hold one of her hands gently as she reclaimed her seat.

He took the seat beside her, stretching out his long legs with a contented sigh. “When you get to be my age in this family, all attention is wanted.”

Pauline shook her head before bowing it once more over clasped hands. Even in the few seconds she had been looking up, she noted how many eyes were focused on her. Despite the occasional giggle, Johnson seemed content to sit in companionable silence while the rest of the mourners watched. Pauline allowed the soft voices spewing gossip to roll over her, feeling her loose, dark curls brushing her cheeks as she shook her head in disagreement or consternation at these stories. She could only dream of living a life as exciting as the ones her relatives clearly envied even though they poked fun at her decision to leave the bosom of the family.

“There she is,” Johnson leaned toward Pauline, brushing her leg with his hand. “The new reigning queen of the family.”

Pauline looked up, scanning the faces of the newcomers. She recognized Millie instantly. Tight, dark curls hung down to the middle of her back, pulled them back with two heavy hair combs studded with pearls. Pauline recognized the combs as well. Her dark eyes narrowed.

“She hasn’t earned those yet. No one knows for sure that she’ll be named the matriarch.” She whispered through a tight-lipped smile.

“Who else could it be?” Johnson’s eyes wandered to the other female faces in the crowd.

Pauline’s eyes also wandered from face to face. “Mable? Claudine? Erica? Anyone but Millie.”

Johnson laughed softly. “Well, she does have the name.”

“Her name means nothing unless she is named in the letter.”

“That’s true. Who do you really think…”

“Shh.” The older woman behind them cut off his words.

Every face in the room turned toward the podium. An old man stumbled toward it with the help of an ornate cane. He began to speak timidly. His voice caught fire as words flowed from his lips. He droned on for some time before he invited another to speak about the life of his late wife. One eulogy flowed into the next. No one summoned Pauline or Johnson to speak. When they were the last two choices, one of the aunts paused in her remarks to glare down at Johnson.

“I invite Johnson to speak now on the life of his great aunt Millicent. I hope he won’t abuse the privilege.” At these words, a wave of nods traveled through the crowd with a few meaningful looks in Pauline’s direction.

Johnson shrugged his shoulders with an apologetic smile for Pauline. “Nothing I can do, cousin. I’ll have to be the last speaker.”

Though her chest tightened and a lump formed in her throat, Pauline offered him a light smile and waved him toward the podium. When attention turned away from her, she allowed silent tears to fall, dabbing them away with the sleeve of her dress.

When everyone rose to accompany the body to the cemetery, she held back. Johnson had already joined the other pallbearers to attend the body in a reverent march from the front of the chapel to the hearse. No one spoke to Pauline or invited her to walk with them. The last to leave the chapel, she pulled the door closed with a final thump and no look back before crossing the dirt lot to her car.

~~

Despite being the last out of the chapel, Pauline arrived before the slow procession of cars kicked up clouds of dust on the narrow dirt road that circled the cemetery. She staked out a seat next to the newly turned earth. The aunts frowned at her and left an empty seat next to her. As Johnson helped lower the casket, he offered her a hint of a wink as he took the seat at her side.

The bereaved husband rose to speak again, offering his wife up to the soil from which she came. At the conclusion of his words, he produced a yellow envelope from his breast pocket. “I offer these parting words from my wife, Millicent, to the generation that followed her own.”

The aunts stood as one, taking slow measured steps to the approach the casket. The eldest reached fir the envelope examining the seal closely before showing it to the sisters and cousins who crowded around her.

She nodded her head slightly, waiting for a similar sign from the other before turning to address the assembled relatives. “Millicent’s seal remains unbroken.”

“Let her wishes be heard.” The gathered mourners echoed back.

The seal loosened with a slight flick of long, red nail. As a dozen eyes scanned the tight, cursive handwriting on the yellowed parchment, the women gasped. Some mouths hung open longer than others. All eyes turned to Pauline. Most of them narrowed; all looked speculative.

“Read it out.” Millie called out impatiently.

“Dearest family.” The eldest aunt paused to clear her throat before continuing. “I know you will all question my decision in your hearts and minds before you accept the wisdom in it. Our family needs new life and vitality breathed into it. We need a matriarch, a queen, who finds no shame in pursuing what she feels is best. Should she arrive for my funeral, to show her love and respect for our family, I feel that Pauline will grow into that woman.

“As I have faith that she will hear these words read, I name no other successor. To name someone else when I am so certain would only invite a division that our family could never survive. Please welcome Pauline back into the family and respect her and her decision as you have always respected me and mine.

“Love,

“Millicent Harding-Queen”

Silence followed as all eyes rolled back to Pauline. She stood slowly and approached her cousin. Millie leaned away, but her brother pushed her back toward Pauline. As Mille tried to turn her head away, Pauline gently pulled the hair combs loose, kissing her cousin gently on each cheek before pushing her own curls back from her face and placing the combs into place.

“Millicent’s wish is my wish. I ask your forgiveness, so I can be welcomed back into the family.” Her voice lowered as she spoke, but everyone nodded in acquiescence.

“To lead, I must follow.”  She spoke these words with more conviction.

As the funeral director gently lowered the casket into the ground, soft sobbing moved through the mourners. When the casket finally reached the bottom of the grave, two men in coveralls stepped forward to break down the lowering device. As the stepped back with the pieces, mourners stepped forward one by one. Each grabbed a handful of soil from the mound beside the grave and gently sprinkled it over the casket. When she finally stepped forward, Pauline allowed a few tears to mix with the handful of earth in her hand before sprinkling it over the coffin.

As she stepped back, the groundskeepers stepped forward again with long-handled shovels. The other mourners stepped back and began to disperse. The two men began shoveling mounds of dirt over the coffin without comment. The taller of the two men paused. He leaned a shovel against his legs and pulled up his shirt. His eyes scanned the receding crowd as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the tail of his shirt. Noticing that Pauline and Johnson still stood with bowed heads beside the grave, he resumed his work. Soon the mound of dirt covered the casket instead of the slightly wilted grass beside it. The two men patted the mound down and hurried away.

Johnson knelt next to grave, placing a hand in the loose soil. As he stood up, Pauline knelt beside him, whispering a few last words to her great aunt. Then she followed the lead of her cousin, placing one hand palm flat on the loose dirt. Johnson turned to go and she joined him, glancing over her shoulder. Her handprint waved back at her as she walked away and the weight of her family settled around her slender shoulders.