The Portrait of Love

After research and a date with imagination I am glad to present one of my all time favorite works of fiction.  Although there are truths here, kindly remember this is FICTION; intended only for fun for you using my quirky mind with the SOLE intent of muddying waters and making you smile.  I hope you enjoy it. 

For a quick brush-up (pun intended):

Mona Lisa's identity has been suspect for years.  In 2005, it was believed to have been uncovered as Lisa Gherardini del Giocondo wife of Francesco del Giocondo a much older silk, wool merchant in Renaissance Florence.  The work was commissioned but unfinished and unclaimed. Lisa was an extremely lovely but young bride having been married off at a babyish fifteen to Francesco who accepted a pittance of a dowry for his blushing beauty.

It is implied that Leonardo knew Lisa when she was much younger, as her home was in close proximity to da Vinci's. This also hints that it was more of favor than a commission from the silk merchant looking to mark his territory in the hierarchy of society.

Suggestions have also whispered that Leonardo's long time (rumored) lover and apprentice Gian Caprotti de Oreno served as the model for the facial features; leaving some scratching their heads in uncertainty.  Although there is another assistant/companion on record; Melzi, he did not particularly interest me ~ joining the House of da Vinci in 1506, he was the main heir to Leonardo's papers, paintings, works and majority of estate. Theirs is a relationship of less turmoil and fodder, though no less important on an historical or artistic point.

A copy of the Mona Lisa has also been unearthed in Spain with tongue waggings that it came from the Giocondo family archives. The copy was painted at the same time and has less of a veil, allowing the student to see a different background, observe subtleties such as the blanket she holds and see a brighter more defined overall portrait.  

I am no expert on the matter.  There are many other views, many other facts, arguments, accounts, and perspectives.  I cherry-picked and manipulated... remember... this is for fun... and so here we go...

It was to be an heirloom..  In the 1500s, portraits were rare and so to have one conveyed status within the nouveau riche; the merchants. Lisa Gherardini, daughter of a once wealthy family was married off to a much older silk merchant, Francesco del Giocondo.  A portrait had been commissioned to Leonardo so he could create a masterpiece. The added benefit was that Leonardo had known Lisa as she grew up not far from his own home, so it was a pleasant, special reunion, indeed.  He had been fond of her as a child into womanhood; treasured her from afar and was all too glad to spend time with the exquisite, young model.  Their conversation had been instantaneous, light, and fluent.  She loved that he sought her "unconventional womanly"  opinions and perspectives on the times in their robust, corrupt, and raucous empire.  His kind attentions were devoured, cherished and returned and although they were rarely alone due to his apprentice, Lisa was undaunted; unrestricted in her honest affections.  Gian was invisible to her; in the beginning.

It was not uncommon for an artist to have an apprentice and for more than two decades Gian Caprotti da Oreno was that to the great da Vinci.  He served as a model, companion and suggestions include a tender lover to the artist.  Salai, as Caprotti signed his own work, arrived at the House of Giocondo early; prepared the room, the supplies, the model easily; having served as one so often. He understood his mentor's moods, preferences and needs in order to create such incredible works as the world would come to know and treasure.  The two spoke not initially ~ the noble woman seeing him as less.  But as the hours and the days stretched on and they found each other in company for long periods.  Conversation was inevitable and centered around their common and favorite companion; the master.

Lisa was unsure as to when  she fell in love with Leonardo.  She may have confessed to God that it was always.  When he began to seek her out, to speak on less formal occasions and then dared to touch her hand; the married business widow melted to the core.  The union of their skin burned like the Phoenix he would send her in the few gifts he bore or the poems she wrote proclaiming her desire. Even though she sinned, she did so willingly and kept the secret from all but her God; even the trusted apprentice did not know of their torrid, passionate affair until it was too late. 

Gian matched his ward's painting stroke for stroke; creating a nearly identical copy; one he was sure would stir the kind of praise he found himself craving from his recently neglectful lover.  As Leonardo painted and worshiped the young woman, Gian became jealous; noticing all too clearly, the times that his master WOULD have gladly spent an evening with him, discussing future plans, enjoying food and drink; but now, he was put aside for this young girl who flirted shamelessly with da Vinci.  The beautiful boy lover was dejected and felt there was only one way to handle such a pathetic competitor. He began to steal again.  This was how he came to Leonardo's care in the first place.  So angelic were Salai's features, that the artist always defended, took pity and fixed whatever muck Gian created allowing the alluring young man to take spotlight on da Vinci's life's stage.  But where once he would commit petty crime and receive lavish attention, not even this seemed to put him at the forefront of Leonardo's affections.  He had no choice but to confront her.  And so as usual, he arrived early on that day, though instead of setting up, he waited.  When the young girl arrived he rushed to her and demanded that she quit the sitting, decommission the project; leaving master and apprentice to their bliss forever.  But of course she could not.  Her lover was about to discover that she was pregnant with his wonderful child, considering her husband's absence and infrequent conjugal intentions she concluded that it must be Leonardo's.  It was the reason for the blanket to be painted across her belly; to hide the beginning bump though she had declared a chill from the drafty room where they worked. Disgusted and hurt, the beautiful young man became loud and childish; throwing a tantrum of galactic proportions which in turn, brought the much older, rarely present husband exploding into the room and upon initial glance, saw only a young poor apprentice molesting an aristocratic noble woman.  The struggle wasn't much;  though it brought much volume and many crashings as the two tousled about the room.  Banished from the home, the beaten young man left, battered and shamed crawling back to the refuge of his ward's residence. 

Leonardo was embarrassed and humiliated by his charge's behavior able only to apologize profusely.  Such an incident could ruin the Master.  The husband at once declared the sitting terminated.  The artist and the model soothed and pleaded but to no avail.  The irate customer refused to be approached; perhaps shaken by more than the young apprentice's treatment of his young and lovely wife, seeing Leonardo and Lisa argue on such a passionate and united front. 

And so it was that the affair that brought so much happiness in this age of Rebirth was killed. Leonardo was not to see Lisa again nor was he to ever discover the birth of their son in 1507, Giocondo, her last child; a son she treasured until her last breath.  With the work unfinished and unclaimed, it was left to the inventive, clever maestro to create what would become the most famous painting on Earth.  He needed a model to masterfully compliment the already painted, delicate hands of his Lisa, her aristocratic lace, the delicate blanket she had insisted upon for some reason.  He used a model he knew well;  loved in his own right.  He finished Lisa with Gian's appealing, delicate face.

 The apprentice was only too elated to sit for his friend, mentor, and love.  He had defeated the enemy threatening his livelihood, life and heart; only too proud to smile about it. In the painting, it would be his eyes, nose, lips and smile destroying the impression anyone could have of it being Lisa.  He continued to work his rendition of the painting that Leonardo finally finished and secretly sent it to the family as an apology (and vindictive insult to his former nemesis)

After carrying the portrait for years, it was sold to Francois I where it would begin to captivate a people, a nation,  later a world.  It is described as innocent, lovely, and mysterious. But with such a tumultuos history, it does stir curiosities about the final portrait.  Was it the original model's gentle smile directed at her love for the child they so passionately created or was it the spiteful smirk of the jealous, childish student?



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CITATIONS:
 http://www.npr.org/2012/02/02/146288063/painting-sheds-new-light-on-the-mona-lisa
 http://arthistory.about.com/od/leonardo/ig/Art-in-The-Da-Vinci-Code/Portrait-of-Leonardo.htm
 http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/08/09/the-life-of-lisa-gherardini-del-giocondo-the-most-likely-real-mona-lisa.html
 http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1352915/Mona-Lisa-model-man-Was-Leonardo-da-Vincis-male-apprentice-model.html
 http://www.mrdowling.com/704-social.html
 https://www.google.com/search?q=leonardo+da+vinci&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&aq=t&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&channel=nts

The REAL Winter Wonderland

Ah yes, being on the east coast we heard that we were to get smacked right-hard on the fanny with some winter weather.  The original forecast called for upwards of six inches of that four letter word... S-N-O-W.  Indeed, it inspires shivers in those still frozen from the shenanigans of last winter.  I don't mind it. I don't mind shoveling it, playing in it (especially sledding ~ wooo HOOOO) I learned to drive in it so it's okay, bring it on Mama Nature.  Although it is the other insane "bread-milk-egg buyers " who fly from their driveways like an angry heard of NASCAR drivers pulling from the pits only to apply the "Rubbins Racin" attitude as they blow through lights; can't stop;  fish tail and perform a frightening ballet of icy skids and over corrections that make me a chilly skittish. The thought in their heads that: "Hurry! Hurry!  Buy all the staple foods before society collapses and the gouging street trucks rip up man-hole covers and sewer grates to create a winter gauntlet!" forces my only reply: "Yes.  It DOES look dangerous.  You SHOULD go first."  Then I usually crank up a Peter Paul and Mary Christmas song and  (as you all know) sound JUST LIKE EM.

But this did not happen.  We got rain. Awww okay. I wasn't ready for winter anyway... stupid ole Doppler Radar. Old Man Winter was getting just a few more winks before heading to work. Or so I thought.  To my surprise; however, it was not the case up at Promises.  No.  THAT is where the spanking occurred.  We were all set to head up Wednesday night and enjoy several days together away from the hubbub.  The  weather just was a little too brutal, so we waited, giving the those big gouging street machines time to bite through the snow/ice mix so we could at least SEE the gauntlet we were going to run.  Happily, I report we made it successfully and promptly treated ourselves to a Thanksgiving to beat them all.  Everyone cooked at least one dish and I must confess that I have a house full of talent.  My expand-o-pahnts were sought and happily found.

Not to side track too much, let me come back around: when we arrived we had about eight to ten inches of snow so I had to shovel.  It's my thing.  I shovel the back porch, the toddler habbi-trail and a path to the wood pile.  It was good.  My lungs burned just a little from the wind that whispered temps plunging lower than a neckline on one of Beyonce's dresses.  I shook off my shovel and came in; more than grateful for the roaring fire and the wonderful Barolo wine waiting for me.  It was perfect.  I drank deeply, not just from my wine glass and enjoyed my Winter Promises.  Today, Cheech is making sausage and I am doing some light cooking which will serve as the last for the weekend and writing.  I have two to grind up, marinate and get posted in the coming days.

 Yet Mother Nature wasn't quite finished with us.  Nope.

She sent a little snowy treat; more than a flurry less than a squall.  It was still enough for me to have to go outside and shovel some more... just the porch.  No biggie.  But we had trampled a little icy path and so I had to work a bit to get it to come up after I shoved the new stuff around.  Again, no biggie.  I welcomed the warmth under my six layers (and for those who have been up north with us... you KNOW six is not unusual) from the exercise and enjoyed a little huffing and puffing.

But when I was done? I wanted to be done.  I stopped after the last shovelful and surveyed my tiny although immensely satisfying winter wonderland.  I loved the trees with winter-white gloves and the lake with its coat of snow...

And Mother Nature blew me a kiss.  A gust of wind marched across the lake, dropping snow from the sagging branches and kicking up the fresh, loose powder from the lake into freezing cold biting white out.  It rushed across the water, up the dock and onto the porch.  Oh wait, I forgot to mention it also blasted my face, crammed flakes in between my eye lashes before I could blink, stuffed a rude number of those "not one is the same" crystals down the collar of my coat, inside my sleeves and packed a few extras around my nekkid little ankles; almost drowning my appendages in aching gnawing flakes. Brain freeze that sprung a leak and got out...  Imagine getting caught in front of a snow blower that is cutting out the deepest drift in your driveway. Yeah. AWESOME is right.

And yet I saved my daughter who was almost an iThing zombie until she saw the great white cloud swoop up the porch, beat up her mom and escape over the roof leaving me stiff, bright red and pulling a "Randy" from a Christmas Story "Help me RALPHIE.. I can't ... GEDDUUUUUP!" .  She almost fell off the couch laughing at me which was the instant call to her brother to jump up into the doorway and watch as the woman who carried him for nine months was turned into an instant snowman.  I am grateful to God that he was able to stay upright by leaning on the door jam once the laughter started.

Thank you children.  I am fine.  My  blood has crystals, my eyes won't close and let's not discuss what is the actual content of the icicles dangling from my nose but thank you for asking.  And no, I'm not going to write you out of the will but to receive your inheritance, you will have to perform the equivalent of a keg-stand with a Slurpy machine stationed inside a butcher's walk-in while cloaked in cheesecloth as a ski-resort snow machine blows in from the doorway.  Oh and did I mention everyone in attendance will be in the warm room BEYOND said walk-in, sipping my favorite grog?

Stupid snow.
Dumb Winter.

Oh... wait... SLEDDING?

I'm totally in, let me get my gear... 


I hope that your travels were and will be safe on this holiday weekend.  May you enjoy those that mean the most, laugh uncontrollably and relish a good food coma while crammed into those pants that truly love you and "forgive" if you overeat.  Welcome to the holi-daze.  Get ready. 

I'll see you soon.  Thanks for spending some of your precious time with me.  I appreciate your thinking to stop here.

The Strength to Choose

Sitting quietly allowing silence to gluttonously fill the spaces between them, she wiggles her toes under a thin but warm blanket.  She turns to look at his still thick, dark and curly hair smiling at how handsome he still is after all this life together.  He's sitting on her right, the side where she hears him the best; so thoughtful.  Now he hangs his head looking forlorn and... frightened? No, Devin has never been afraid in their life.  He's held her hand and marched through the fires of Hell to get them to such a wonderful place together; one she'd thought she would never have again.  She is grateful that he saved her. With a sigh, she turns back, to the window against which a tall white haired man leans.  He does not speak.  He does not look frightened.  He's simply there and she's happy to see him.  He has brought an extra beat to her heart and a warmth she had forgotten.

"I love you" Mia whispers to the room.  Most of her comments have been reduced to that; whispers; aggravating little wisps of air failing to convey her colorful passionate... vavoom.  That was what she was; what she had ~ VaVOOM.  She laughed a little too loudly, drank a little too much, enjoyed a good dirty joke, cared for many and cared not if they told her she was inappropriate.  She was dynamic and fun with an ability to listen to problems and somehow, with just a few words,  provide the strength and encouragement to move above it, around it... to survive it. She was supportive and loving.  Now, her voice, her vavoom and her life have been reduced to a whisper.  The two men smile privately, ignoring each other. 

Machines beep and hum as cords replace her once vibrant outfits.  A plain pale blue blanket  the only thing remotely close to a shock of color on the now frail woman.  The mechanical spaghetti seems to capture her like a web; demanding to be moved in order to touch her, which both men longed to do.  No one speaks.  There is no polite conversation  between the gentlemen but they were painfully aware of each other.  Mia drifts off to a busy sleep filled with twitches and scratching though she barely feels this thanks to the medication from one of the chirping menaces.

Devin stands, leaning over his Mia to smooth her hair.  He whispers softly to her of their years together, remembering for her the passionate nights of her hands on his skin and how she called his name in the night.  He recalls the trips they took and the laughter that swallowed countless days.  As if childishly telling a secret, he leans in even closer and reminds her of her promise to him; to be there.

Without a word, Mia opens her eyes to focus, smiling and bringing his hand to her mouth.  She gently kisses it.  He traces her cheek and now dry, thin lips.  Her affection still raises the hair on his arms.  He blinks back tears and says "Please choose me"  Without a glance toward the window, he wipes his eyes, hangs his head and tucks his hands into his pockets.  He aches to feel her arm through his as he turns and walks out into the hall.  There is a pang of guilt salted with anger at their choice to ignore the headaches- their increasing frequency and intensity until now.  He regrets listening to her reassurances and dismissals of getting them checked out ~ until too late.  But maybe he could have just a little more time.

The man at the window watches the traffic glide by; undaunted, uncaring, ignorant to the burning in his chest as he waits; for his turn. Marcus told himself he wouldn't grovel or beg.  It was unbecoming of a gentleman. But to see her and want only to hold her close, care for her and make the pain that has robbed him of his only love's vavoom; making it stop; for good.  He understood Devin's selfishness.  He was young (-er) and afraid.  There was a time when Marcus was the same way.  But no more.  No, with age came wisdom and he ultimately knows what is best for Mia.  He steps to her left and takes his turn to persuade.  He whispers her name for the first time in more than two decades.

She hears him and welcomes the warm tingling fire surging under her skin.  It is startling and wonderful.  Her smile is as deep as the flush rushing to her cheeks.

"Oh Marcus.  You came."

"Of course I did."

"You silly old fart.  Why did you do that?" she scolds but huffs a giggle or so he thinks; painfully unsure.

"Because Mia.  It's time to choose."

"Choose? I don't want to choose." she pouts and the respirator puffs in accordance.

"Mia." his voice drawls out softly as the most gentle reproach.  She looks away hoping Devin is there to save her and take her side.  "It isn't fair Mia; to anyone."

"Me. What's fair to me?"  this causes the little lights on her mechanical friends to skip and jump; summoning a nurse to peek in.

"Miss Mia?" the voice is concerned.

The small woman waves and puts her thumb up.  "All good Carrie.  Sorry. I must have gotten tangled in my myself."

The nurse smiles and checks her patient's vitals, moving wires and straightening things.  She brushes passed the white haired man saying nothing.  He has backed up so she can take care of his love.  He returns to her side when the machines settle down and the nurse has drifted out.

"Fair?" he starts again.  "Mia.  Fair is painless."

This sparks the first tear.  It is hot and stings her cheek.  She angrily wipes it away and glares at him.  Another follows and another.  Her smile collapses as she becomes obsessed with ridding her face of the wet salty assailants.  "No. No. Stop." she commands but she is losing the battle.  Marcus takes her hands and kisses away her villains.  Then, he bends, allowing his warriors to meet hers.  He wraps her in his arms and holds her as tightly as the wires, the blankets and the cancer will allow.  She relaxes in his embrace.  His heart is breaking; again.  But not as badly as the first time he left her.  He pulls away and looks into her gentle green eyes, clouded with medication and pain. His breath is ragged and trips over all the things he wants to say to her.  It is not time yet.  She has to choose.  And so with all the strength he has left, he stands and blows her a kiss.  

"My heart is yours Mia.  I will love you  this much regardless of the choice you make. " And he raises her fragile, cool fingers to his heart covering it with his own. 

Her mouth falls open and there are new tears; unstoppable and steady. "Marcus." she pleads and clutches his hand; feeling the beat of his heart.  Her eyes close and she greedily absorbs the rhythm in his chest.  "Please.  I'm so afraid."  Her breath sounds like a brittle Autumn wind; crackly and dry. Her bones are heavy and hold her prisoner.  She wants to strike him; hold him.  She knows now.  The choice is clear.  Marcus puts her hand down and walks away.  Through the door.  He uses the wall to support himself.  His knees are threatening to give out.  His chest is heaving with sobs and he fights the urge to scream.

Across from him stands Devin.  He is cradling his head in his hands; shoulders shaking as he cries.

Marcus begins to walk slowly down the hall. 

There is commotion and a screaming ~ a steady whine.  Marcus does not look up.  He does not stop.  

Devin is up and bolts for the door crying Mia's name.  Nurses and doctors hustle in behind him.  The machines are warning them; no telling them, it's over.  She has made her choice.  Mia's second husband is led to a chair where the pain crushes him. He is lost.  He has lost.  Holding her hand, he kisses and begs but she cannot hear him; anymore.

"Marcus?"

The ghost stops in the hall.  He turns to see the most beautiful woman he ever loved standing for the first time in months.  She holds the wall, unable to understand that she can walk now.  Her hand reaches for him. 

"It doesn't hurt." she whispers glancing cautiously around as if it is said too loudly all will rush back as a horrendous punishment.

"No. It will never hurt again."  he smiles and wiggles his fingers, beckoning for her to join him.

Mia hesitates and then, like a child, discovers the strength to move.  Her soul warms.  She smiles as he hugs her for the first time since his death.  Turning to look back, she sees Devin standing in the doorway looking at her; hurt and confused.

"Mia?" his voice is wounded.  "I love you. Will you be all right now? Better?"

"I will." she cries still walking with Marcus toward a warmer, brighter haven.

"You were strong Darling.  I miss you." and his voice breaks as does his heart.

But she is gone; having made the only choice she could.


Well, we all need a good cry now and then.  I cried when I wrote this, edited, proofed and finally let it go.  Whew.  I guess my heart needed a sweeping out.  I have extra tissues if you need them.  Thanks for keeping me company.  I like seeing you here.

 

It Never Occured

I just ran.  I gulped at the air and felt it singe my lungs; grateful for the pain.  I pumped my arms until I thought I would punch my own mouth and I'd have welcomed the bruised or bloody lip.  I heard one word spewing in a ragged pant from my mouth in a panicked verbal chain:

movemoveMOVEMOVE!!!!!!!

I did not look back ~ I would never look back again.  My mind scrambled to wad up what I had seen; tearing through the images as if they were pornographic pictures tucked inside a Doctor Seuss book. I wanted; no NEEDED, to forget what happened.

The streets tried to choke me with random trash cans, narrow bending streets and barking dogs forcing me to jump and juke on top of my already raw, fragile state.  I hopped curbs and took side streets to make it back home.  I just wanted to be home; in my bed, under my blankets with all the lights on and the doors locked; then maybe I could cry.  My porch light softly winked between breezy branches and drifting leaves like a buoy bobbing in a sea of fear and evil; dark.... drowning.  I half laughed as I hit the door, fumbled the keys and let myself in.  I locked it; four more times.  I slapped the switch and extinguished any flicker of welcoming glow outside because I wanted NO visitors...at this point... EVER AGAIN and pulled the drapes.  I grunted and gasped as I stumbled around to close them all, lock the back and check the front once more for good measure.  Finally, I knelt next to the couch, resting my head, not wanting to risk signs of life or movement from the street with my shadow. I felt my heart settle into my throat with a slightly more regular rhythm.  I was able to command my hands to rest on my knees in that balled up position wedged between an end table and the side of my couch.  I began the task of collecting myself.

She was dead; my friend Shannon.  My brain chose to flash memories of us laughing, telling secrets and crying together from the more than fifteen years that made up our friendship.  I cupped my mouth and felt the hot stone of loss expand under my ribs.  Part of me wanted it to explode out of my chest, then the pain and fear would be there for all to see. "Have at it folks! I'll gladly share" I thought cynically.  The sobs stabbed at me like thick wrenching hiccups.  The tears could barely squeak out passed my squinched eyes.  I bit my cheek to stop the scream that bubbled at the base of my throat.

There was nothing left to do but wait.

Slowly, calm edged in, returning to me like a slow creeping tide as did the understanding of what had to be done.  I was amazed by the crisp matter-of-factness and clarity with which the solution presented itself.  "Of course.  I see." I mumbled to my own company and found strength to rise, move and prepare.  I felt an urgency knowing the opportunity would all too soon arrive.  I was right.

The knob jiggled.  The shadow rocked back and forth, trying to peek around the drapes, followed by a harsh whisper.

"Harper!" came the hiss.

I swiped my hand along my moist upper lip and took hold of the door handle.  That sense of calm glazed over me and made me numb.  I opened the door to the most horrible evil I had ever known.  My boyfriend Eric stood on my porch hugging himself.  He shook as I had.  I smelled it immediately; Shannon's blood.  I sucked in my lips to hold back the sick stirring in my belly. 

"Eric"

"Let me in." he said, brushing by me; carelessly; not tenderly as he had always done before.  There was no kiss hello, no hug.  Just a shove and he was there; pacing and bloody inside my home.  I closed the door.

"Eric.  You can't stay here."

"The Hell I can't. Get me some clothes.  These are ruined."  He pulled at his grey tee shirt that was now smeared brown and growing stiff as my friend's blood dried.  The stench of warm pennies cloyed at my nostrils.  I sniffed and looked away. 

"You will look funny in my Hello Kitty nightshirt." I said coolly and sat down in the chair, smiling slightly as he mirrored my actions and sat at the edge of the couch folding his maroon crusted hands between his knees.

"Sit with me."  he patted the cushion next to him.  I slowly shook my head.  He looked wounded. "Why not?"

"You know why Eric.  Don't you?  Look at yourself.  Don't you understand what you've done?"

He was silent looking down at the floor letting his long fingers tap each other like bloody dancing spiders.

"What I've done." his voice was flat.  The hair raised on the back of my neck at its tone.  I smoothed the front of my jeans and tucked my hands in the sides of the chair as if sitting on them.  I felt comfort at the blade's playful bite on my fingertips.  

"What I've done." he said again; and again.  It became almost a chant.  His voice sounded distant and tight.  I wondered if he had spoken to Shannon that way before he killed her; smashing her head with a rock after crushing her windpipe with his bare hands and bashing her repeatedly against the ground .  I shivered as the sound of Shannon's blood soaked hair clapped against the dirt echoed in my ears.  Such senseless violence.

"Why Eric?"  The moment the words left my mouth I knew it was a mistake.  My body stiffened in anticipation.

"WHY?" he hysterically squeaked jumping from his seat.  He was in front of me before my eyes could focus.  His breath was salty and sour; hot on my cheeks.  He grunted through gritted teeth.  "You don't remember?  You lie to yourself as much as you lie to me Harper?"  he tilted his head side to side like a puppy failing to understand a command.  

"Eric" I said softly, soothingly in an attempt to hold this madman on my side of sanity.   "She was my friend.  I loved her like a sister.  I wouldn't ever want anything bad to happen to her." My eyes found his and I willed him to understand and feel my hurt; the hurt he caused

He rocked forward, our foreheads almost clunking.  My fingers clutched the knife so tightly they ached but still, I hesitated.  Maybe I wanted to believe he didn't do this; that we could still love each other.

Eric leaned in, his full lips that used to drive me crazy, almost kissing me; playfully.  He smiled sweetly and traced my mouth.  I tasted metal and felt my mouth quiver in sadness, revulsion. His fingers cupped my chin and tilted my face to see him and with a childish giggle he said it.

"You did this."

My eyebrows raised and I felt my jaw drop.  My hand did what it was supposed to and jutted forward with the knife.  The blade struck his sternum and I just yanked down and pushed in farther when the resistance stopped. The cut was deep and long.   His blood covered Shannon's and cascaded thickly into a pool on my floor.  I never moved.  I just kept cutting.  He grabbed my hands and tried to pull them out but I was strong.  I held my ground.  Mine and Shannon's.  He frowned and mewled like a kitten.  He crumpled to the floor and I simply let the knife cut whatever flesh it came into contact with as he did.  I sat there holding it for several minutes and listened for him to stop gurgling; living.  Still clutching the weapon I dialed the police.

They came and flapped notebooks at me, asked questions. I barely heard them.  I just stared at the floor.  Why would Eric do this?  I shook my head in dazed confusion.  I couldn't imagine.  I cried then.  They took me to the hospital, checked me out all the while asking more questions.  I was finally allowed to go home around lunch the following day.  They would contact me soon.  Their voices were soft and gentle.  They wanted to understand what had happened but since Eric was dead, they had to tell me we might never know. They apologized and looked at the ground almost embarrassed.

That was fucking fabulous news to me.  I had to put on the weak, scared little girl act for a while longer but I would triumph and emerge as the strongest young woman they had ever met.  I was certainly stronger than that cheating bastard Eric or my slutty fake bitch friend Shannon ever dreamed.  Did they really think I wouldn't figure them out?  The pathetic fact that they thought I wouldn't DO anything about it dumbfounded me.  Even after I asked, warned them... they really left me no choice.  I knew he loved her more than me when he cradled her dead body there in the woods rocking back and forth whining her name.  She had thrown me for a loop by calling him and telling him we were meeting out there at the old quarry to make amends.  But I was faster, smarter... than either of them.  I won.  So I will wear black and cry off my make up; be an Oscar winning actress and then go on; find a new BFF and a perfect boyfriend almost as if

It Never Occurred.


Well, I'm not thrilled but I did at least break the block.  All things considered, it DID feel good to finish and have enough twists and turns to create that pouty "Hmmph" nod as I edited and prepped it.  I am happy to see you came back and stayed with me for a bit.  Your company is always comforting.  Dare I say we could be BFFs? LOL

I hope you are having a nice week.  I will try to rework a couple of the fragments I have hidden away.  

See you soon.
Much love,
Tessa

Oh dear oh dear (she said in her best Piglet voice)
Has it been more than a month?
My dear friends,  I wish I had an explanation that I could write here.  I do not.  Please understand I will be back soon.  Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, your life threatens to come undone; crumble from the bottom as you are stretching as tall as you can to stop the pinnacle pieces from breaking away and crushing you.

Before too long, I will want to write again and will be happy to sit here with you; story-telling, emailing, sharing and giggling in the dark; just not right now.  I'm sorry.  I have pieces fragmented and raw tucked in every single journal I have stashed in my various perches but nothing I am able to complete or rework at this point.  My hope is that the dawn of better days will break very soon and I will get to see you in the next couple of weeks.

Until then,
be good to yourself and I thank you for your patience, understanding and grand support.  You guys are nothing less than spectacular.

Miss you much.
Tess

Push

He sat watching her for the longest time; remembering, loving and hating every move she made.  She had left earlier than he'd anticipated thus forcing him into the few panicked moments he'd needed to catch up and keep an appropriate pace behind her.  He smiled tightly as she rolled her shoulders and craned her neck.  He wanted to touch her there; around her pale throat and squeeze.  He wanted to feel her hands clinging to his; peeling, clawing as she fought for her last breath.  He oh-so-wanted her eyes to bulge and tear, enveloping only HIS face; the last thing she would see on this planet as she was sent down into darkness to meet Maker or Devil.  He hoped for the latter and that she would be forever tormented by the sound of Alan's voice, his face, his touch; as he had suffered so long knowing she was living without him.  

Alan sighed heavily.  It had been more than three years since he and Jayne had stopped seeing each other.  He had been the one to initiate the break up.  He had grown weary of her touchiness, desire to be close, want  for emotional connection; love.  He had met someone else; someone he knew was richer, more fun, a little dirtier in the bedroom and free spirited.  Alan was just certain that it was the road he wanted to travel and it was this other who he needed to be his companion.  Jayne had asked for one thing; a last night.  Well, Alan thought that was less than proud; more along the lines of pitiful and so he'd laughed at her, told her that "with her" wasn't where he wanted to be and that he'd call her.  She had welled up with tears and kissed his forehead saying quietly he'd made a mistake.  He never called.  He made fun of her in certain circles; enjoying her heartbreak and pain as the rumor mill ground on around them with common friends. He was happy that someone had felt such loss over him, making him feel big; powerful.  But it wasn't long before he realized she was right.  And in even less time, he was confused by missing her.  Now?  He was furious at the mild obsession he'd developed for her life; without him.  He saw her go out and knew who she was sleeping with. He had begun to drive by her house more frequently as thoughts and memories flashed around inside his mind.  He called and hung up at her workplace; all the while twisting the sense of loss and desire to rekindle into a simmering cauldron of thick disdain.  It was bubbling over now.

Instead of wanting to reconcile and piece together a less than perfect love; he wanted to destroy her so he never had to worry about wanting her again.  He would kill her, bury her and then he could be free to gallivant with anyone he wanted without comparison or disappointment.  He was bitter that she had a hold over him and he was no longer willing to permit it.  It was a simple problem solved.  He put on his gloves, knelt in the soft pine needles not too far from the cliff where she sat humming a BeeGees' song.  He cursed himself when he at last realized he too was humming it; rubbing his temples in an attempt to erase the image of her standing in the kitchen with his dress shirt half unbuttoned bleating into a warped wooden spoon.  His head throbbed.  Alan squinched his eyes shut and willed her lovely face to fade from his memory.  He crouched and waited for his torture to end.

Jayne had gotten an early start.  Having not slept well in the tent; sore from her hike and climb, she wanted to make a quick go of it and end early; have Neil meet her at the trail head and take her home.  She could hardly wait to take a shower and sleep snuggled up to him in their soft, warm, rock and stick-free bed.  She chucked a pebble over the cliff and took a deep breath enjoying the fog as it fled from the warm, bright embrace of the morning sun.  She was so glad she had taken this time off and had been able to spend it as she had always dreamed.  She frowned a little, remembering how Alan had always made fun of what she'd wanted to do; no matter what it was:  from hiking and climbing, to writing, to picking a new shade of paint for her bathroom.  He'd loved criticizing and downplaying everything she did.  But she'd loved him ~ wholly.  She'd wanted to spend the rest of her life getting to know him, care for and about him, grow old with him.. But he'd just moved on to someone he thought was better.  Along with the new "love" and amorous epiphany, came many superficial demands, a lot of high maintenance and the degradation of being some one's arm candy.  The girl constantly put Alan in his place when in public and continually whined, cried and pouted.  But it was what or who he'd wanted.  It crushed Jayne that he couldn't or didn't want to love her.  It could have been so simple.  

She had been a little unnerved to see Alan drive passed her house and to see his number come up in the caller ID at work.  She hadn't really thought he was the type to stalk.  If he'd wanted to see her, all he'd ever had to do was ask; just make the first move.  Initially, she was certain that her heart would forgive him and they could have started fresh.  She would have loved the chance to hold him again, feel his hands on her body, hear his voice.  Everything about him had driven her wild, but he'd done the cowardly weak thing again and she knew now that the man he said he was, pretended to be, wasn't just a show for her; but an attempt to make himself believe in it as well.  He was a fake.  She wanted a genuine man; a human being who wasn't afraid of vulnerability (his or hers), who wanted to share in private jokes, quiet moments and grand victories.  She needed; Neil.  A ragged breath parted her lips and she faced the sun.  She smiled and brought Neil into her mind and heart.  It felt good.  She turned slightly to hear the rustle from the trees behind her but never moved. She inhaled deeply, catching the soft scent of her ex-lover's soap on the gentle breeze that gently and playfully mussed her hair.  As she looked over the cliff, she wondered how long it had taken Alan to find her. In the back of her mind, she hoped she was strong enough.

His initial thought was to rush out and shove the bitch over.  He bit his lip to hide the laugh that curdled inside his chest.  He instead decided to be a man and give her what she had wanted so badly; a last encounter.  He smiled at his generosity and stepped out of the wood.  He walked casually up behind her and sat down as if they met in this particular spot every week.  He adjusted his gloves and hat pulling in against the cold.  He was slightly disappointed at her lukewarm reception. A few empty moments passed before he spoke. 

"Good romp?"

She licked her lips and struggled to pry her gaze from a bald eagle watching from atop a scraggly bull-pine."I suppose.  It always makes me happy to be out here. At peace."

He brought his hands together, grateful that he was going to take this opportunity to shatter all of that. "I've been..."

"Watching?" 

Alan clenched his jaw and fists. "... THINKING about you. About us." he said tightly. "It was special Jayne."

"It could have been."

"It was. We were."

"You didn't think so at the time.  All I wanted to do was love you Alan. You weren't willing. And now, it's too late."

"It's not too late for things that are real."

"That is so true." she smiled softly thinking of Neil and his gentle words, his loving touch. "Alan, I want you out of my life; for good."

"Forever." he said softly.

"Yes." her nod was slow.

He turned to her and opened his arms.  "A hug goodbye?"

She looked sad and surprised.  "It's not where my heart is Alan. We'll always have memories of ..." and her voice trailed off; disinterest sourly but quickly bringing silence to the pair.  He reached for her shoulders and pulled her to him, feeling her body stiffen with discomfort.  He pulled away as if a passionate kiss had been taking place and brushed her hair softly from her forehead.  His finger trailed her cheek, her jaw and then his hands fulfilled their desire.  They clasped her throat.  Jayne gasped and began to tear at his fingers as they clutched and pinched her soft neck.  His face contorted into a sickened, angry grin as he rose to his knees pulling his victim along.  He heard her choking, felt the last drops of spittle as they dribbled down her lips.  He thought about how much he loved the shade of blue she was turning as her life drained away.  Jayne's body went limp.  The monster's expression turned gleeful and satisfied as he held her face in his hands.  He began to drag her to the edge, preparing to roll her off the cliff into the brush below where it would be days before anyone would find her.  He felt the sand and dirt begin to crumble under his feet, soon he would be free.

Jayne couldn't understand what was happening at first.  He was too close to her, he was acting so odd and then, it was sadly clear.  With his hands around her throat, she struggled to remain calm over the searing pain as her lungs burned for air and the headache as her brain began to shut down.  She was glad for what she'd done and she went limp.  She waited until he laid her in the dirt; careful not to flutter an eyelash.  She let him step over her and begin to roll her body to the edge.  The cliff began crumble.  She felt him pushing her closer so she would actually fall on her own.  As her body began to shift, she grabbed his shirt at the chest and finished rolling into nothing.  Together they tumbled over the side; falling.  Her belly tightened like she was on a rollercoaster.  Her mouth was dry as sawdust.  They were both screaming.  He clung to her in disbelief and horror.  Her climbing harness caught and pulled tight.  It ripped her away from him, hugging the woman angrily to its own rocky bosom.  Alan's body began to dance and shatter against the rocks below as he had planned for Jayne.  She hung quietly for a few minutes then began to slowly ease herself up to the top where she unhooked her gear and sat once again on the raw cliff.  She stared sadly at the crimson stain growing at the base of the rock.

"You can go on without me now Alan." she said dangling and kicking her feet playfully like a small child.  "You just needed a little push."

 The bald eagle flew from its perch; the only witness to this tragic ending.  Jayne stood, brushed her memories and guilt away with the dirt and dust and hiked to the trail head where Neil would meet her. She hummed her BeeGees tune quietly.


I liked this one; especially the little snag at the end (pun intended). I know I don't normally post mid-week but this one came along easily and I just thought it would be fun to spend a little time together before the weekend.

I hope you smiled, enjoyed my story and spending a little time with me.  I'm glad you came. 

Until next time, be good to yourself.

Moving Day

He stood small and uncertain at the edge of the drive still smelling the stale cigarrettes of the woman's car who drove him here. He coughed and dug the toe of his sneaker into an ant hill.  He had no home so why should they? The insects scurried and swarmed; rapidly, desperately trying to save their home and community; their family.  He wondered what that would be like; to have a family, a home.

"Well, let's do this Jason." came the raspy voice of the smokey woman.  Her hair was frizzy and gold; not blond but gold.  Her face was a wrinkled canvas for too much make up.  It' looked like war paint. He glanced over at her as she applied an unecessary third (fourth? fifth?) coat of red lipstick and smacked her lips making a creamy noise. The smile that came to his lips was misread.

"I have a good feeling about it too my boy." and with a hand firmly clapped on the back of his ten year old neck she steered him toward the door of the new happy homestead.  Jason didn't bother to tell her he didn't share her sentiments; real or fake.

The house was so bright and cheerful, Jason thought he'd be sick.  It was a buttery yellow with green shutters that looked like they wanted to wink him right on in and gobble him up for a "healthy and happy hello".  The door, which matched, was yawning open spewing forth small children and toys as if a gumball machine had lost its stopping abilities. There was noise and laughter as the sun smiled down on these little people.  He didn't buy one glimpse. Nobody could be this happy.

"Wow" exhaled Smokey in a waft of coffee and nicotine.  He winced and turned away from the stink as she rubbed her teeth with her finger and smoothed her front.  A Barbie Doll grin appeared and she propelled them both forward. It unfortunately did not go unnoticed by the tiny tribe who descended voraciously on the strangers.

"Hi. Hello? Hello there? Miz Doyle? Hello? OOOO hello there to you too! Ha ~ yes well aren't you sticky? Ooo what's that all over you? Jelly? Oh how lovely! Breakfast al fresco! Well Honey don't touch. Eww Don't don't Don't.. Ohh please Honey I don't want to hold you ~ no no no I can't carry you. I DO see your dollie.  No I don't want to ... WHAT IS THAT SMELL? Holy sh..."

Jason sucked in his lips to control the gufaw bubbling up from his chest.  Smokey stubbed her fire stick on the ground and stood on tip toes as if the children were stagnant water on the rise.

"Yes?" came a quiet voice from near the mouth of the house.

"Oh OH hiiiiiii..." Smokey oozed thrusting her hand out and grinned wide enough to show ALL of her teeth from behind the bright red slash of her lips.  Jason thought he could see her disdain for the woman with all the children in her charge. "I'm Lisa.  We spoke on the phone about this fine young boy here; Jason. Jason? Jason. Say hello to Ms Doyle.  She has been kind enough to let you bunk in for a bit." She stood a little straighter as if she had just solved the world's problems; all of them; and was waiting for the rousing applause.

"Hullo" he said to the dirt.  The tiny tribe had circled around behind them and pretended to play but they were surveying him closely; as a potential new playmate or supper he was not sure.

"Hi Jason. Nice to meet you." Ms Doyle smile gently and stuck out her hand.  It was soft and warm.  "I understand you like Magik?"

The boy grinned "Yeah. I don't have many cards...left..after..."

"Well don't you worry. I happened to pick up some when i heard you were coming.  Would you like to see your room?"

"Sure." He looked up and the woman seemed to understand his thoughts.

"You won't have to share with the indians.  Half of them aren't even staying here.  They just ... show up."

"Great! Well isn't THIS fantastic?" Smokey butted in with more fake smiling and side stepping of the little gnomes pawing at her.  jason thought he saw a smear of strawberry jam down the back of her leg. He grinned a little brighter.

Ms Doyle eyed her with disappointment and turned away with a dismissive nod.  "I will help him get moved in Lita."

"Lisa." she pouted.

"Mmhmm I'm sure." and she turned her away, took Jason gently by the arm and rolled her eyes once she was certain he was the only one who could see her. "Can't stand that woman." she mouthed, opening her mouth as wide as it would go like a perverse clown smile and made a huge circle around her lips. They barely held their laughter.

"It isn't perfect and there are rules to obey Jason.  But it will be all right.  Better than where you came from."

"I hope so." he confided at last.

Smokey was left alone in the drive with the tiny tribe which encircled her and repeated their assault.  It drove her back to her car and with a puff from a fresh cigarrette and an overzealous wave, she was gone.

Jason stood at the doorway and looked around.  The house was pretty neat considering all the kids running around and the toys laying about.   He noticed some angry gouges in the walls that needed a friendly coat of paint. The furniture was "loved" to say the least.  There were bare spots and the cushions seemed to frown from their seats but it was okay.  It could be safe here.  Safer than the drug fueled, shit-hole that had been his home before.  He rubbed his arm absently feeling the memories which had been burned there by his mother or one of her boyfriends while they had been high.

Ms Doyle broke his concentration:

"All right partner. Up against the wall" she said in a poorly twanged voice. Jason turned to a pointing camera  "Moving Day always gets a photo." And she clicked quickly.  He was certain his eyes were shut or his mouth was contorted into some sort of dorky grin.  She stepped back and smiled again.  "Niiiice but let's try again okay?" This one was decidedly better.  She showed him and they both approved.  I'll print it out and put it with the others.  Welcome to the family." She patted his back gently and led him to a back bedroom. He looked down the hall at all the faces; children they'd helped.  He began to feel good. Hope sparked warm under his ribs.

"Your palace Sire" she grinned and opened the door.  It was small and simple with a bed that had a couple of packs of Magik cards resting in the middle.  A warped dresser with dark red handles sulked in the corner. Paint had dripped and dried like trails of blood down the front.  A tiny closet peered at him with snaggled hangers and a crooked door that scraped and screamed as he opened it and turned on the light.

"It's not perfect, but the kids wanted to help welcome you. I'll let you get settled and then we'd like to see you at the table for lunch.  Hollar if you need anything."

And she was gone.  He didn't have much to unpack, just his medicine for the last of his wounds and what few clothes he was able to grab when he ran that night.  He put his stuff in the dresser and hung up what couple shirts he needed to.  He took off his shoes and put them in the closet.  Then took them out and shut the door.  He laid on his bed and looked at the Magik cards Ms. Doyle had bought.  They were actually pretty decent.  She had to have researched which ones to pick up.  He smiled, grateful that someone had been nice to him.  He sat quietly and listened to the other kids playing.  He hadn't heard noise like that in ... he couldn't remember.  The noises he was most used to involved "favors"; all sorts of them. And yelling. Lots of that.  Swearing. TONS of that. And crying.  But that... was mostly his. He looked around his new home, room, and tried imagine a life.  A chill slipped into the room, cool and slimy. It coated his skin leaving him almost shivering.  It appeared that the closet had begun to bulge and the door slowly popped open; like the button on the pants of a fat man after Thanksgiving dinner.  Jason stood, suddenly needing the comfort of the tiny tribe. He quickly left his room and joined the family at the table for sandwiches which he gobbled, enjoying the site of clean food; worlds apart from what he had so often had peeled out of dirty trash bins behind restaurants or homes after dark. His stomach was full and happy.

The day continued with new things; rules of picking up and keeping things neat.  Rules about laundry and eating, sharing and homework. Rules about night time inspections (a review of their understanding and accomplishment of above rules), prayers, not swearing, lights out and bedtime.  Jason was tired after all of that.  So he didn't mind hitting it at his designated time of 9:00.

He sighed and closed his eyes. It was then that he felt it; or rather, he heard it inside his soul.  There was a sense of dread that seemed to make him smaller; withered with fear.  The shadows that crawled in were not of windswept branches or stark street posts from the neighborhood outside but sinouy disjointed monsters promising flesh wrecking devastation rather than sweet dreams.  Jason was petrified.  They called to him from his closet and from under the bed introducing themselves and assuring him of many more visits until at last he would beg them to take not merely his life but his very soul.

Morning sun tried to rescue him, but the thoughts and visions were cemented in his chest where they weighed heavily.  He had almost no conversation for the tribe at breakfast and had less energy to move along in his day.  Ms Doyle gave him wide berth but watched carefully.

"Everything all right?"

The boy wiped his face of fatigue and worry and hoped his small smile would suffice. "Fine. S'all good."

"Slept all right?" she asked quietly.

"Always tough the first night in a new place. Ya know?"

She nodded slowly and moved along.  He was grateful.

The rest of the day he spent prowling the neighborhood. It was Saturday so he was getting a sneak peek at where other kids were so he could hopefully make friends; real friends that wouldn't tell him he'd need to take a package somewhere or be on watch some time. He was excited to see so many kids his age.  He saw them playing baseball or riding skateboards. He wanted to be like them and be around them; no guns no threats or colors to wear...

Night came all too quickly and as he passed inspection two nights in a row, he was given a little extra time before lights out with an added snack.  He gladly sat with Ms Doyle and her husband (they had asked him to call them Ms and Mr D for now) marveling over just how much talent there WAS in America thanks to Howie Mandel and the gang.

"All right then, off you go Sir" came the dreaded call.  He grimaced and stood to take his bowl out and wash it before heading in.

Again Ms D watched him.  "You all right?"

"Yep."

"Gnight. Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite." said Mr D pleasantly.  He was already scanning the guide for their next programme.

"Not worried about bed bugs..." the young boy trailed.

"What?"

"Nothing."
,
"Jason, what did you say?"

"I'm not worried about bed bugs."

The adults looked at him and glanced at each other.

"Not here. Not anymore." he added trying to shift the discomfort that was seeping in to the room.

"Ah" they both smiled with a nod and went back to their television.

He wandered down the hall, got ready for bed and gladly said his prayers, asking for quiet and peace and no monsters.  God must have been busy elsewhere.

It was late and the house was dark; quiet. the closet had popped open and the voices began.  They wanted him to get out of bed and come to them.  They promised an easier time if he did that.  Otherwise they would have to spend each night coming a little closer, taking apart his sanity "oh so slowly".  If he just came to them now, it would be quick.

"What do you want?"

"You"

"Why?"

" What's in here belongs to us.  The others can tell you that when you get here." that was followed by a low growl or maybe a laugh that froze the blood in his veins.

"A lot of others?"

More laughing. "Come now. Don't make it worse than it has to be."

"Will you get all of us?"

"All of you?" they seemed puzzled by this.

"In the house.  The little kids too." for a moment he thought of the tiny tribe and how terrified they must be at night.

"THIS is ours not yours.  This is where we... collect . What is in here belongs to us." It repeated.  A shadow poured slowly from the closet. It slunk along the carpet making no noise except for a hungry wet sound that snuck under Jason's skin and sent horror charging through his body.  He balled up under the blankets and poked his fingers in his ears.  He began to pray loudly and command the entity leave in the name of all that was Holy.

"Holy?" it laughed at him. "There is nothing left here that is Holy.  Your God will not come in here.  Pray if you like, but you will eventually kneel before OUR shadows, our teeth and hunger. You will pray for what is beyond death and what you believe to be a heaven.  You will pray... for nothing." And whatever had crept up beside the bed suddenly sprang up at the edge of the blankets; smiling with its mouth; narrow but loaded with sharp rows of teeth from which stinking flesh hung loosely.  It's breath was the foulest air Jason had ever smelled; filled with death and desperation; a sweet mixture of rotted skin and the youth it had been ripped from countless times.  "Hands" slipped up and over his sheets to lay cold gnarled fingers upon his leg almost as if to check it for plumpness as if the boy were a berry in need of picking.  There was no nose only a gash that dripped a crimson mud.  Its eyes were filled with what he thought were writhing maggots but as he stared at them he realized and understood they were the eyes of the dead; the children before him looking back from within their hellish stinking prison.

The scream erupted from his toes and sailed through this body like lightening.  His throat was almost instantly dry and cracking; so painful and filled with terror was it, that it brought tears to his eyes.  He was trying to scream for help, he was begging for light, for the police, for anything but it all just came out as a jumbled shriek that brought the Doyles to his door.  They scrambled with the lock and threw it open slicing the dark room with light and concern.

"My LORD Jason! What's all the NOISE? It's so late... What is going ON..." Mr D was rubbing his face and shaking his head of sleepy cobwebs.

Jason heard the laughter from the closet as Ms D hurried to his side and wiped the tears and sweat from his forehead.

"Are you sick? A nightmare?" she asked checking him for fever, rash, pulling his cheeks down as if he were hiding some strange illness in the bottoms of his eyelids.

"A monster. There in my closet. What is wrong with this place. And... why did you lock my door?" he hadn't realized it at first. They had needed to unlock his door from the outside.

She lowered her hand and looked blankly at him.  "What?"

"You lockthe door? From the outside? You lock me IN HERE... why?"

"We do it for your own safety bud. We don't want you wandering off in the night."

"In the past, Jason, not all of our new family members, liked it here."

"I can guess why ..."

"We had to install the lock so that we KNEW they were safe."

"That YOU were safe you mean."

No one said anything.

"No Jason. To keep our family intact.  To keep us all together." they soothed.  Ms D smiled sweetly and pulled the covers over his chest encouraging him to lie down.  She wiped at his forehead again.  Mr D stepped over and tousled his hair.

"Quite a scare my dear boy.  Let's dream about other things for the rest of the night. Ponies? Lollipops? Naked girls?"

"BRIAN MATTHEW!" roared Ms D and she slapped him twice. Hard.

He shrugged smiled at Jason and wiggled his eyebrows.  "Just seems better. Doncha think?"

"Ha. Yeah. I guess.  I'll try." he sighed and tried to relax.  Mr D turned out the light.  Ms D stood.

"Ms D?"

"Yes sweetie?"

"Can you leave my door open?"

Her shoulders sank. "No Honey. We can't.  Rules. Want the light on?"

"I guess."

And she did just that, pulling and locking it as she went out.  "G'night Jason.  We'll see you in the morning."

"I hope." he said softly.

What sleep he did snatch from the night was spotted with visions of his own death at the hands of the creeping monsters.  He woke frequently and startled but had no further visits. Fatigue filled his shoes making them almost too heavy to wear as he loped down the hall.

"MORNING." Ms D chirped.

He slid into a chair and rested his elbow on the table and his head in his hand.  A gruff clearing of his throat and an "Are you serious?" glare from Mr D caused him to pull back and shrink in to his seat.  Breakfast was barely touched. It was Sunday so that meant church.  He sat and prayed quietly hoping that God would hear him in His own House.

The week brought school and new people;  all were pretty cool.  They wanted to hear about the city boy; the tough kid (who really wasn't). He actually liked the school where there were no security bars on the windows or police in the halls.  He enjoyed eating lunch with other kids instead of having to give it to a bully and get beat up anyway.  He didn't mind the homework or the lessons that the teachers seemed to care about; or the kids; the friends he made. As time went on, Ms D allowed some of the guys to come over and he was even invited to their homes to hang out, play video games or just bullshit... hang out ... was the preferred term.  His two best friends were DJ and Mark.  They lived just up the block and were quickly thick as thieves. Jason was almost smitten with the beautiful life and happiness that was handed to him.  Free of charge almost... except for the nights. When the door was locked and the Doyles ignored him.  They almost seemed surprised to see him each morning.  Not that Jasone wasn't as well.  The monsters spent most nights perched around his bed pulling at his blankets, scratching at his skin and telling him soon he would REALLY come home. He loathed their cold hard hands that pulled his hair and poked his nose.  He gagged,at the smell they brought with them.  He feared their eyes that never blinked and watched him, enjoyed watching him cry and beg for them to just leave him alone. At last one night, maybe a month into his night terrors as they were politely addressed by the family, he asked why they hadn't already snatched him from his bed and done all the wretched things they'd promised.  He kept asking, unsatisfied with their ghoulish ominous but vague reply of "It's not time yet."

"So why not? You don't want my soul?  You say you do.  so just come get it already.  I won't fight you."  He leaned back and gripped the sheets hoping they wouldn't take him up on his offer.

"You're not dead yet.  You're not even sick like the others."

"Soooo you what, mercy scare?" he was tired of the games and wondered if perhaps the tribe was fooling him over the past month or so.  He became brazen. "You say all those things but you've neve done anything to me." He could feel anger and hate pulsating throughout the room like a frightening boombox. The monster from the closet slithered up and into the bed, sitting directly in front of him.  Keeping itself about the same size as Jason, it took his hands, held them together with one hand and placed its other over his face.  Jason felt it almost latch on to his skull.  His head seemed to fill with salty, burning mucous that stomped behind his eyes and gave him a much closer view of what was to be or had been.  He saw boys and girls whimpering and crying; frail and weak under these same blankets in this same room.  They cried and begged for it to stop for the nightmares and the visits to end. They asked to be taken from this place...something Jason hadn't done.  He had been in such a horrible place before that the monsters couldn't make him hate THIS more.  It wasn't worse than he'd survived. He was too strong.  But then the monster showed him down the hall; the little ones.  And jason grew angry.  They issued the threat that they WOULD seek others if he didn't cooperate. It was part of the bargain that had been struck in the house.  All of these thoughts came as shadowy visions and greasy words of explanation.

"What bargain?"

"To keep the family together."

And Jason understood everything; the tiny tribe sacrificed loners and unfortunates; those, like him who would not be missed so theirs was a family which remained whole and untouched. The family WAS surprised to see him each morning; and disappointed. It made him sad because he loved it here. He devised a plan and spoke freely to the goblins.  He struck another deal.  It would take trust but he thought it could happen.

The next several days were spent with his buddies.  At first they were skeptical of the wild tale their new friend told but then came the overnight after much begging of Ms D.  He figured that with the monsters so late of payment, perhaps she could get a three for one special and be satisfied.

The boys waited but at last heard the closet door; felt the frigid air and whiffed the stench that would soon come to them.  Jason reached out to his friends and told them to stay strong, love their families; that ist WAS after all, after him.  The goblin came and popped up, excited and hungry eyes traveled over the boys. It pinched and scratched.  The boys gasped and shifted away.  At last they understood Jason's plan, their roles in it and they agreed.

It was a Wednesday when everything was at last in place.  He went to school as usual. He did his homework at the table per norm.  Dinner was without incident as was bathtime. Then he kicked it into high gear. As the tiny tribe got their turn in the tub, he went and fetched their greatest loved toys.  He put them on his bed and waited for storytime which had become his duty.  They all piled in; glad to be in the oldest bedroom ~ a top secret castle unto itself according to them. And he read; several books actually and let them cuddle up and fall asleep. "Little angels" he chuffed and put the desk chair under the handle, turned out the lights and waited.

It didn't take long to hear the closet pop open and see the shadow slough along the carpet to the bed.  Sensing something different about the room, it crept around the bed, bumping it several times before peering up over Jason's blankets.  The little ones began to stir.  The monster began to count and by the growling, grow hungry.  It didn't take long for the screaming to start.  Then Jason quickly moved over to the door and braced the chair.  His tormentor was so enamored by the helpless little ones on the bed that it ignored what Jason was doing.  The pounding began; Mr and Ms D throwing themselves agains the door, hammering at it with their fists and screaming to be let in.  Jason yanked open the door and the two adults fell into the room.  The goblin pulled back and watched as the room filled with bodies.  The invisible boy ducked out quickly and pulled the keys which had been left in the lock. Then he heard the shouting; the angry turning fearful and at last, hopeless. There was only a little screaming but he thought he heard a lot of chewing and tearing.  He stopped at the bathroom and grabbed his pack, heading down to DJ's where the boys waited.  They gave him all the money they had.  He had a little more stashed in his pocket. He waved to his friends and began to wander through the night to a new place, a new home. 

It was moving day.


I confess I have fought with this for weeks.  I am tired of it and I just had to wrap it up and post it. Bah! This went WAY beyond a labor of love. It became a burden and I am none too impressed with it. But it has its moments and strong points so I don't despise it. At least it's off my plate and I can move forward with some other things I have found and want to try.  Thanks for coming over. I hope you had a nice time sitting here with me.  You're company is always so nice.