Timothy C. Hobbs's Blog, page 5

Werewolves & Wine & Beer & Coffee

So sorry I’ve missed about a month of wine posts. I’ve been mismanaging my time lately. Time management is something I know so well I could write a book on it, but you gotta actually follow the practice. So I can’t even come up with a good excuse.

Werewolf with Wne by Michele Irving, an artist who works mainly with fabric, combining this with embroidery, paint and beads.

Anyways, if you’re on Twitter, you know that every day seems to have a theme or two or three. Being a writer, we try to support each other with #WriterWednesday promotions, although most just spam the twitter world with their own stuff. Don’t get me started.

There’s also #WineWednesday, obviously one of my favorite hashtags to search for on Wednesdays. Brings up some really cool blogs about wine I’ll save for another week’s post.

And . . . there’s #WerewolfWednesday. So I had to ask, what do you get when you combine wine with werewolves. First thing I found was the cute pin to the left. I thought about ordering one until I saw the $95 price tag. Seriously, these should be mass produced for $10. She’d be a millionaire. Well, maybe.

The next thing to catch my eye was a wine label. YAY! I love that wine makers have gone wild with labels, so why not name a wine ‘Werewolf.’ Heck, there’s a Vampire label. Comes in the usual Cabernet Sauvignon, Chardonnay, Merlot, Pinot Noir, Pinot Grigio varietals. Perfect choices for any Halloween party is my thought.

The bad news is I found this post on Werewolves.com about the damage to the liver from excessive drinking of alcohol. Man Turned Into Werewolf From Drinking Too Much Wine.

“He developed one of many different varieties of porphyria after being exposed to sunlight for a long period of time on vacation with his wife. At first, he thought it was just tan. Then his fingernails, and the skin on his hands started er.. coming off. Not to mention the excessive hair growth.”

Turns out there are other beverages dedicated to werewolves. Blaze will be happy to hear about Newcastle Werewolf, although it was only available in 2011. Maybe they’ll bring it back.

“Legend has it that a beast roams the moors and plains of Newcastle Upon Tyne. It’s part man, part wolf, and more than a little wild— the perfect inspiration for a Limited Edition ale. Newcastle Werewolf comes at you with a dark, startling aroma, a roasty flavor, and a final taste of hops that leaves you howling for more.”

And another one of my favorite hot beverages, that I can’t do without every morning, has a Wicked Wolf label by Reven’s Brew Gourmet. It’s more fairy tale but I’m counting it here as one I’ve gotta try.

“Got big eyes, big ears, big teeth? Are you cross-dressing? No one will notice when you serve this blend of highly select and exotic origins.

Intense, vibrant flavor in a balanced cup with a superb finish. Superlative after-meal coffee with awesome applications as accompaniment to chocolate desserts! Also available in Certified Organic form. Dark Roast.”

And speaking of coffee, it’s only 8:00 A.M., so I think I’ll go get me another cup.

Chapter 11 Part 1 – Call for Obstruction

So far, Barry is a courier for Hell. He has signed his soul into servitude to Satan on Earth, and desperately wants out of his contract. However, his boss Margery is a demon who has total control over his body, and she’ll hurt Barry in any way she can to get him to do what she wants. Barry is learning about the supernatural world around him whether he likes it or not.

Before he starts his second day of work, he chats on instant messenger with his friend Nina, who seems to want something. He also stops for coffee for Margery to earn brownie points.

As I enter the office, I recognize a few of the drivers from yesterday, but no one returns eye contact.

“Honey!” Margery calls out from where she sits at her table with Vern. “You made it today, on time even . . . and you brought me coffee.”

I walk across the room to deliver it to her.

“How’s the diarrhea?” she says then laughs.

Vern joins in.

I resist the urge to throw hot coffee in her face and hand the cup to her instead.

“Everybody get your van signed out and stick around!” Margery yells across the room. “I’ve got an announcement.” She waves me away with the back of her hand. “You too.”

I’m knocked back and forth by other drivers as we all approach the bulletin board. Everyone around me appears to be going through a daily routine like androids. I wonder if it’s a matter of days before I lose my own identity too.

The clipboard with my name on it is the same one from yesterday. I sign the sheet and take the keys, then turn around and forcibly push my way back to where Margery stands.

“Hurry it up! You’re not going to like what I have to tell you,” Margery hollers, but she seems eager to deliver the bad news.

While all the other drivers crowd around me, I cross my fingers it’s a lay off.

“Our schedule’s tightened again.” Margery pauses and glares over the crowd, waiting for someone to challenge her authority.

“Shit, overtime,” someone whispers in the crowd.

“I heard that,” she replies, “and you’re right.”

“You can’t do this to us again, Marge,” Vern says from beside the office door.

“I’ll do whatever the hell I please.” Margery’s voice lowers to baritone and her upper lip lifts in a snarl.

Everyone steps backward except Vern who asks, “How many extra hours this time?” He then mumbles “Bitch.”

“Double run for two of you tonight and starting tomorrow for everyone else. So who will it be?”

No surprise, no one volunteers.

“Fine. I’ll pick two of you,” Margery says. “Since Vern can’t keep his mouth shut, he’s number one.”

Vern protests by scratching his chin with his middle finger.

Margery ignores him and scans the room with her finger ready to point at the next unfortunate schmuck. “And . . . .”

“I’ll do it.” I can’t believe I’m raising my hand, but this might be just the opportunity I need to snoop around and find a way out of my contract.

“Now that’s what I like to see,” Margery says. “You two see me before you leave. The rest of you start double runs tomorrow. Now get on the road.”

Just like they did the previous day, the drivers scurry out the door.

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Chapter 10 Part 2 – Call for Obstruction

So far, Barry has signed his soul into servitude to Satan on Earth, his boss Margery is a demon who has total control over his body, he’s been attacked by large white birds with human faces, and he’s wishing the past two days had never happened. He has an instant message chat with his friend Nina before his second day driving and she’s extra sweet, so he figures she needs a big favor.

While driving toward the coffee shop, I get an uncontrollable urge to pick up a coffee for Margery. Maybe I’ll earn a few brownie points, I think while pulling into the parking lot. Get close enough to Margery, so I can figure out how to get out of my contract.

Harvey, the coffee clerk greets me with a look of panic. “Margery hasn’t called ahead,” he says. “It’ll be a minute.”

“I’ll wait.”

I lean against the window beside the door and watch as Harvey drops everything he’s doing to dispense a large cup of coffee. He fumbles as he tries to snap on a lid, but instead the cup tips and most of the coffee spills on the floor.

“Shit,” Harvey says. “Just another second.”

Man, what has Margery done to this guy? I wonder.

The door opens with the usual cacophony and in walked Trisha, the attractive brunette I met here yesterday. She’s neatly dressed today, in another white business suit, and talking into an earpiece. Our eyes meet and she smiles. “Good morning.”

I ignore her and approach the counter.

“Here,” Harvey says. “Tell Margery it’s on the house and I’m sorry.”

As I leave, I brush against Trisha and whisper in her ear, “Having me tell Margery you said ‘Hi’, not funny.”

Trisha giggles.

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Chapter 10 Part 1 – Call for Obstruction

So far, Barry has signed his soul into servitude to Satan on Earth, his boss Margery is a demon who has total control over his body, he’s been attacked by large white birds with human faces, and he’s wishing the past two days had never happened.

The next morning, my eyes pop open and I jump up when I feel a dampness between my legs. My first thought is that Margery had visited me overnight and made him piss all over myself again. Then I groan when I realize it’s milk. I’d fallen asleep eating a bowl of fruity cereal and watching reruns of Sanford and Son. There are colored rings stuck to my legs and spilled on the couch and the floor.

What a freakin’ mess, I think. Cleaning it up can wait, because the clock read 4:40 A.M. the same time I had woken yesterday, no coincidences. Besides, I’m motivated to go to work today so I can find some way to get out of my contract to slave my life away Satan.

After a long hot shower, I exit the bathroom rubbing a towel over my head and notice a new instant message window up on my computer. It’s from Nina.

She’s a friend I worked with over a year ago. We’d tested software for a health insurance company, specifically the code that screws people out of extra premiums based on their health history. She still works there, but I got laid off with five hundred other people. Ironic, because I was doing Nina’s job and my own, and I still am. I can’t help myself.

I read the flirty words, ‘Barry Bear, you there?’ She only calls me that when she wants something. Back when we worked in the same office, she’d visit my cubical wearing a short skirt and sit on my desk and swing her shapely legs and get me to do anything she wanted. I much prefer her asking for a favor that way, but I’ll take what I can get.

My heart skips a beat when a new message from Nina pops up.

     Nina: Barry Bear, you there yet?

     Barry: Yep

     Nina: Where you been?

I avoid her question and change the subject.

     Barry: Why you on IM so early in the morning?

     Nina: Software install. Still waiting to test.

     Barry: Bummer

Although I would given anything to be in her shoes, stuck in a cubical waiting to test a software upgrade.

     Nina: Well??? Where you been???

Damn, she’s not giving up.

     Barry: Started a new job.

     Nina: What happened to your old one?

     Barry: Outsourced.

     Nina: Bastards!

     Nina: Where’s the new job?

     Barry: OTG Courier, off Arapahoe.

     Nina: Doing what?

     Barry: Delivery.

     Nina: Like it so far?

I pause and think to type, ‘my new boss is a demon from Hell,’ but I don’t.

     Barry: Hate my new boss already.

     Nina: Call in sick and take me to lunch I wish.

              Will probably be stuck here for days.

     Barry: Running late anyways. Gotta go.

     Nina Bye. Miss you! IM me tonight.

All I can assume is that she needs a huge favor, because Nina is almost always busy with girlfriends or on a date at night.

I walk away from my computer, so I can get ready for another day of Hell.

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Chapter 9 Part 2 – Call for Obstruction

So far, a recently laid off Barry shows up for a job interview and blacks out. When he wakes up he finds he’s signed a contract to drive a van for OTG Courier Service. He tries to get out of the contract but finds he has no choice but to work for his new boss, Margery, who has total control over his bodily functions. During Barry’s first delivery to Trinidad, he has a panic attack when large white birds with human faces pummel the van, but he’s soon rescued by a murder of thrushes. At the Trinidad warehouse, Barry is again intent on getting out of his contract, only Margery tells him he’s sold his human life into servitude to Satan on Earth. The shock has Barry downing gulps of whiskey in the break room while Margery further explains his predicament.

“Where were we?”

“You’re a demon more than three thousand years old and I’m a slave to Satan, who prefers we call him The CEO of Hell. Oh yeah, and it’s really not that bad a deal.”

“Careful, smart-ass. I can make your life miserable, if that’s what you prefer.”

Because your not already making me miserable, I think, forgetting she can read my mind. I swallow hard and grin.

“This job is really no different than any other job. Eventually, when you accept who you serve, you can have so much more.”

“Like living three thousand years with emphysema?”

“When you signed the contract,” Margery raises her volume, “you signed over your human life to The CEO. What you get in return is immortal life, a decent salary and just about any other nasty little thing your heart desires.”

“What if the nasty thing my heart desires is to get out of the contract?”

“Enough.” Margery points her cigarette my direction then twists it like she’s rubbing it in my face. The tip sizzles and glows brighter even though she hasn’t taken a drag. Ash falls to the table and black smoke that smells like sulfur floats my direction. I wave my hand but it won’t dissipate. It wraps around my neck, penetrating my skin and strangling at my throat. Inside my mouth a burning pain travels up my tongue and along my jaw. I rub at my neck and face, not knowing what else to do to stop my mouth from fusing together. When I feel for my lips, they’re gone.

Across the table, Margery has doubled in size and her wrinkles are smoothing, replaced by muscles as burly as the Incredible Hulk. It clicks why Margery wears disco pants and an oversized sweatshirt. I pray she keeps her shirt on.

I try to flee as her skin tone changes to a snake-like dark crimson, but realize I’m paralyzed now. As my anxiety builds and breathing quickens, snot streams from my nose. I watch in horror while she grows to, I’m guessing, seven feet tall. Her hair transforms to real fames, flickering upward, and when he shakes her head, black horns pop out and sparks spray around the room.

Margery grabs the whiskey bottle, chugs down half a pint, then slams it down on the table. It shatters, sending shards of glass and liquid across the table and into my face. She wipes her mouth with the back of her scaly hand, leans onto the splinters and grins. “I’m through being nice!” Her voice gets underneath my skin like a million fingernails across a chalk board. Objects around the room vibrate and all at once my bladder empties. Margery howls with laughter when she sees I’ve pissed my pants. Like spray air freshener, a liquid stream of rotting halitosis streams from her mouth and fills the room.

My stomach turns and I bob my head like a chicken while I fight not to vomit in my obstructed mouth.

Margery deflates like a balloon back to a wrinkled old lady, her laughter shifting from a deep baritone back to a hacking cackle. “See, honey, I told you I could make your life much worse. I won’t have to tell you to shut up again, now will I?”

I’m still unable to speak, but realize whatever spell she put on me is wearing off, because I can shake my head in agreement.

Margery wiggles her fingers and pulls another cigarette out of nowhere, then lounges in her chair, her feet up on the table. “Barry, were you listening when I told you no one’s been able to sell their soul since World War II?”

My lips return but are dry, and one side of my tongue is still stuck to my left cheek. I can only manage to confirm by saying, “Mwa.”

Whatever spell she put on me is still wearing off. When he try to speak, my lips are dry and one side of my tongue is still stuck to my left cheek. I can only manage to confirm by saying, “Mwa.”

“Humans haven’t been able to sell their souls because Hell filled up around the end of the war.”

I pause while I try to comprehend what she’s telling me, and at the same time, wriggle back into motion. “Filled up?” I can finally lisp.

“You wouldn’t believe the number of souls collected during World War I and II. We were busy as hell back then, so to speak.” Margery pauses to laugh at her own joke.

I force a laugh through a lopsided grin to humor her.

“When you humans sold your souls or the souls of your unborn children, we promised to get you out of combat, end the war, help win the war, or just about anything you wanted. We even promised a few leaders they’d win, and I think you know who I’m talking about.

“Almost no one read the fine print in the contract though, which is where we really stuck it to ‘em. It got us out of delivering what everyone wanted. Imagine selling your soul and finding out you’re not getting what you were promised.”

Imagine signing your life over to demonic slavery and not remembering it, I think.

“Unfortunately we ran into problems when the Division for the Acquisitions of Souls underestimated the number of humans willing to sign on the dotted line. When we added their souls together with those of the truly evil, collected by the Intake Office for Sinners, the numbers were daunting. Needless to said, when the people started dying and the souls flooded in, there was a rush and a panic to find places to put them all. Hell had to build a damned refugee camp.

“Both of the offices tried to hide the dilemma from The CEO, but when he saw the souls lined up outside The Gates of Hell, there was hell to pay, literally.”

“How could Hell fill so quickly?” I ask with a look of confusion. “Isn’t it Heaven that would go over capacity?”

“Don’t be naive, Honey. You humans can’t resist temptation. That’s what lands you in Hell.”

“What about forgiveness?”

Margery takes her feet off the table, leans forward and laughs out smoke. “Good one, but that only works when you humans believe you’re worthy of forgiveness, and most don’t.”

“But religion—”

“Don’t even try to argue religion. Who do you think had a part in manifesting religion on Earth? In fact, Satan kept his mouth shut while God created laws that work to his advantage. When God gave Moses those Ten Commandments, The CEO knew you humans would be even more likely to break them.”

I give up, realizing I’m having a theological debate with a demon, and there’s no way I can possibly win, especially when she turns the conversation to me.

“Honey, look at your own vices.”

I jump in my seat. “I’d rather not.”

“There’s nothing to hide, Barry. I saw your dirty little secrets when you called me, looking for work. Why do you think you were hired so quickly?”

“Hey, nothing I’ve done lately is against the law.”

“Not human-created laws, but do you really think that defense would hold up in the heavenly courts?”

“I thought we were talking about Hell.”

“Don’t you want to understand how you’re bound to your contract?”

Oscar limps into the room and distracts Margery when he says, “Why do you have to torture the new guys in the break room?”

“Get what you want and get out,” Margery says.

“All I’m saying is we have a bathroom.” Oscar pulls a soda from the refrigerator, pops it open and takes a gulp.

Margery throws her cigarette at Oscar and it burst into flames as it hit his arm. Liquid and bubbles sprayed from Oscar’s nose. He jerks the can away from his face and bends forward to avoid dribbling on his clothes. “All right. I’m going, but before I leave, aren’t you forgetting about something.”

Margery looks at her watch and frowns. “Crap. I’ve got a meeting down in Hell in five minutes. And you, honey, need to get back on the road to Denver.”

While I’m glad our conversation is coming to an end, I’m in no a hurry to drive back to Denver. I have to ask, “What about those white things?”

“You’ll be fine,” she says. “The vans are empty on the drive back. They only care about preventing the deliveries from reaching this warehouse.”

“What are those things?” I ask.

“White warriors and you have a lot more to fear from them besides attacks on the vans.”

“What could be worse than trying to kill me?”

Margery jumps from her chair and hurries to the doorway. “Oscar!”

In the distance, there’s a faint, “What now? You told me to leave.”

“Is Barry’s van ready?”

“Almost.”

Margery turns back toward me and I’m surprised she looks nervous. “Listen, honey, I don’t have time for small talk. Shower down the hall to your right. You’ll find extra coveralls like Oscar’s in the lockers. And don’t be late for work tomorrow!” Margery disappears around the corner.

I’m left alone, feeling more in the dark, but damn relieved I can finally clean myself up and go home.

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Chapter 9 Part 1 – Call for Obstruction

So far, Barry collided with a courier van, and the accident turned into a job opportunity to drive for their service. After signing an employment contract he has second thoughts about working for his new boss, Margery. Only Barry’s contract gives Margery control over him to the point she’ll do whatever it takes to get him to do what she wants. When Margery sends Barry on his first delivery to Trinidad, he’s attacked by large white birds with human faces. A murder of thrushes come to his rescue. At the Trinidad warehouse, Barry uneasily guesses that he’s sold his soul to the devil.

As Margery and I round the corner back into the break room, she turns up an eyebrow at the disarray of chairs. “What were you doing in here?”

“Nothing.” I snap back, then pick up the chair on its side and slam it back upright, assuming I should be seated when Margery catches me up on my new reality.

“Would you like a soda?” Margery opens the refrigerator and pulls out an off-brand of cola for herself.

“Energy drink?”

“One left.” Margery sits across the table, slides a can in my direction, then pops open her own drink.

I grab the can, fall back in my chair, and kick my legs out. I stare at the wall and pull open the tab, afraid of what I might do if I look at her.

“What do you want to know?” she asks.

“Just get to the point,” I tell her. “Did I sell my soul or what?”

“You can’t just sell your soul anymore. No one’s been able to do that since the end of World War II.” Margery’s eyes roll back like she’s dreaming. “Those were the days. Everything was so much simpler back then.”

“So you admit Satan has something to do with the contract I have no memory of signing?”

“Well of course, honey. Difference is you signed over your human life to serve Satan on Earth.”

I choke on the energy drink then burp out, “Like a slave?”

“Oh, honey, it’s not so bad.”

It’s not so bad? Is she nuts?

“No, I’m not nuts. Seriously, it’s not that bad a deal.”

I lean over the table. “Did you just read my mind?”

“If only you knew the half of what old Margery can do.”

There’s a glint of malevolence in her eyes that makes me shiver. Then it hits me. “You’re Satan?” I jump back in my seat, and the energy drink splashes out of the can and onto my chest and lap.

“Of course not,” she replies, “although the mistaken identity happens quite often. I suppose I’m flattered, but more so I’m surprised you new drivers would consider old Margery the ruler over all of Hell.”

I drop my head in my hand. “Nothing surprises me anymore.”

She keeps talking. “Satan, or the CEO as he prefers we address him these days, has no time for us minions? Hell, I’ve been working for him for three-thousand years and I’ve never met him in person.”

“You expect me to believe you’re three thousand years old?”

“I’m actually thirty-two-hundred but at my age you round down, even though by demon standards I’m kind of young.”

“Demon?” I half chuckle, half cry. Shit, I think, I could use a shot, no a fifth.

“Booze’s in the far right cabinet,” Margery says, “beside the refrigerator.”

I frown as I get up, keeping sight of Margery while I gravitate toward the liquor.

The cabinet is loaded with at least twenty different brands of booze, including my favorite whiskey, right at the front of the cabinet, like it’s waiting for me. I grab the bottle, unscrew the cap and take in the aroma. The first swig, straight from the bottle, goes down smooth, but only for a few seconds before the burn hits the back of my throat. I take a few more swigs, hoping for a drunken stupor to kick in quickly.

“Honey, we like to indulge in our vices every chance we get around here. Just take it easy, you’ve got to drive back north.”

“Can’t you snap your fingers and make me sober?”

“I’m a demon, not a witch. You won’t enjoy what I’ll do to sober you up.”

“What, a little fire and brimstone up my ass?” I laugh and down another swig.

“Give me the whiskey and sit down.” Margery’s eyes turn black and her voice lowers.

There’s a loss of control in my lower extremities as one of my legs lifts and awkwardly steps forward, as if a marionette string is attached to my foot. One involuntary step after another I move back to my chair, my hands held away from my body, keeping me from drinking from the bottle. Then, an unseen force shoves me down into a seated position.

“Lightweight,” Margery says and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

I slide the bottle toward Margery, and it nearly tips over before she grabs it. Then I drop my face down on crossed arms.

“Should I leave you to nap, or tell you more?”

I lift his head, but continued to slump in my chair. “Tell me more.”

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Chapter 8 Part 2 – Call for Obstruction

So far, Barry collided with a courier van, and the accident turned into a job opportunity to drive for their service. After signing an employment contract he has second thoughts about working for his new boss, Margery. Only Barry’s contract gives Margery control over him to the point she’ll do whatever it takes to get him to do what she wants. When Margery sends Barry on his first delivery to Trinidad, he’s attacked by large white birds with human faces. A murder of thrushes come to his rescue. At the Trinidad warehouse, Barry uneasily guesses that he’s sold his soul to the devil.

It’s been an hour since Margery had left me alone in the break room. The place is more like an all-you-can-eat buffet, only it had already been picked over by the other driver before I got here. Waiting for me—and I don’t think it’s a coincidence—were a half dozen mini-boxes of fruity cereal, enough to hold me over for the rest of the day.

I pour the remainder of my fifth box into my mouth, and while chewing, think how tired I am of bosses pushing me around. I sit up fast, slam my fist on the table, then stand with a force that causes my chair to topple backward. It hits the ground with a loud crash. I turn and kick it further across the room. I’m done. I’ll find Margery, convince her to let me out of my contract, and find my own way home.

On the way back to the garage, the lights are off in the hallway and everywhere else, as if everyone’s gone home and forgot about me. The garage is barely lit and quiet. Neither Margery nor Oscar are anywhere to be found. My van is still parked where I left it, but the back door is cracked open.

Margery’s warning to stay out of the back of the vans replays in my head. I creep over to it, check for onlookers, and give in to my curiosity, but the cargo area is empty.

“For someone who wants to quit, you’re awfully interested in our business,” Margery whispers into my ear.

I jump and turn completely around, only to find no one beside me. Margery is across the room, laughing where she stands with Oscar at the entryway into the garage.

“Did you think we’d leave the load alone for just anyone to get at?” Oscar says.

“That’s the problem with you new drivers,” she says, her arms crossed over her chest. “None of you follow directions very well.”

I hang my head to hide my blush face under my long bangs as I approach where Margery and Oscar stand. “You’re right, you’re right.” I grin nervously as I lift my head. “I’m really not cut out for this job. You should probably fire me, let me out of my contract.”

“Again with the ‘let me out of my contract,’” Margery mocks me.

Oscar shakes his head and laughs. “You new guys are all alike.”

“Shut up, Oscar,” Margery says. “You forget you were new once.”

“Forty-five years ago, but I was never that bad.” He points his thumb at me and shakes his head some more.

“Sure you were, especially when you figured out what you lost by signing the contract.” Margery cackles, lifts her leg and slapped her knee. “That’s my favorite part.”

“Lost?” My eyes widen. “What did I lose?” They don’t answer me though. It’s like I’m invisible.

“Can you blame a guy?” Oscar says. “It was a dark day when I found out I was working for the man down under.”

I want to believe Oscar means we work for an Australian, but considering all that has happened in the last twenty-four hours . . . . It’s time I wise up and admit to myself that Oscar is talking about our true boss being from a much darker place. So I have to say, half laughing, “I suppose you’re going to tell me I sold my soul to the devil.”

Toge,ther their heads turn my direction.

“Just tell him,” Oscar says.

Margery smirked. “He might have another heart attack.”

“You can’t hide it from him anymore,” Oscar adds.

“Honey, back to the break room.” She points at the door and guides my shoulder. “This time we’ll chat.”

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Chapter 8 Part 1 – Call for Obstruction

So far, Barry collided with a courier van, and the accident turned into a job opportunity to drive for their service. After signing an employment contract he has second thoughts about working for his new boss, Margery. Only Barry’s contract gives Margery control over him to the point she’ll do whatever it takes to get him to do what she wants. When Margery sends Barry on his first trip to Trinidad, he’s attacked by large white birds with human faces. A murder of thrushes come to his rescue.

As I approach Trinidad, I’m still irritated Margery was right about my anxiety. After about ten minutes I stopped shaking, but I’ve kept one eye on the road and the other focused on the sky for the remainder of the drive. I’ve had this uneasy feeling those flying bastards have been watching me the whole way.

I exit at Highway 12 and head south to a gravel road to God only knows where. The GPS directs me under a broken down log constructed ranch marker with missing letters and then by a sign with the words ‘no trespassing.’ I’m uneasy as the mechanical voice tells me to proceed west over terrain spotted with sagebrush and monstrous boulders until, finally, just through a patch of trees I see a building. It’s a red weathered warehouse surrounded by tall weeds, rusty old vans and mining equipment.

The garage door opens automatically and a tall man, well into his fifties and wearing red coveralls, limps outside. As he waves me into the garage, I notice that he’s got one of scraggliest mustaches I’ve ever seen and long grey hair pulled back in a braid. Add the tan pigment in his skin and I’m guessing he’s Hispanic or Native American.

The garage is much neater than the outside, almost like driving in for service at a dealership, although not as fancy as the dealership where my mom brings her car.

I park the van and get out.

“You’re an hour late,” Margery says from across the garage, where she leans against a doorway, glaring at me.

I jump when I hear her voice. “How did you get here?”

The guy who greeted me answers for her, “Margery’s everywhere. Get used to it.”

“Meet Oscar. He’s in charge of the vans down here. His only fault is he doesn’t know when to mind his own business,” Margery says. “Now follow me to my office. We need to talk.”

My stomach flutters as I follow her into a room almost identical to the office in Denver. I’m taken aback and the song to Twilight Zone plays in my head. The only difference is it doesn’t have a door leading outside to the Denver parking lot.

“Well, you made it through your first run in one piece.” Margery sits at her table, also indistinguishable from the one up north, and picks up one of her already-lit cigarettes.

I take a seat and sigh. “If that’s a usual drive, I’m not cut out for this.”

Margery’s bushy, rust-colored eyebrows raise and her eyes turn a pulsating black. “I’ve got high hopes for you, honey. When you resist, you disappoint me.”

At first I jump back in my chair, but I can’t break eye contact or even blink. “I’ll do better tomorrow. I promise.” As soon as I say it, I regret it. I make a mental note never to look into her eyes again.

“Now follow me to the break room and we’ll get you something to eat before you head back up to Denver.” Margery stands then leans over to put out her cigarette, exposing her wrinkled cleavage.

I cringe and make a mental note to never look at that again either.

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Chapter 7 – Call for Obstruction

So far, Barry collided with a courier van, and the accident turned into a job opportunity to drive for their service. After signing an employment contract he has second thoughts about working for his new boss, Margery. Only she has a bizarre control over his body and a mean disposition to hurt him to get him to do what she wants. He will have to work for her or suffer the consequences.

I’ve only been on the road for a couple of hours when I pass the last exit into Pueblo. Still, it feels like I’ve been driving half the day. My stomach growls but it’s too late to stop for fast food. I should have grabbed a mini-box of fruity cereal when I left my apartment, but thanks to Margery’s intestinal interference I’ll go hungry until Trinidad.

A hacking cough echoes throughout the van.

Great, Margery, I think.

“Yeah, honey, Margery.”

My heart skips to think she can now read my mind.

“Wanted to let you know a few of the drivers have encountered a flock of white birds just south of Pueblo.”

“Those things really exist?” I squirm in my seat and wonder how close they could be to my current location.

“You listened to the CD, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but giant white birds that attack vans? I’m not a zoologist, but I’ve never heard of anything like that. I mean, who could take it seriously.”

“If you’re finished, Mister Smarty-pants, you’re in one of the new vans. The damage should be minimal.”

“Shouldn’t I get off the highway. Wait for them to clear.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Besides, there’s no way to avoid them.”

“But it’s my first day.” My voice rises in pitch. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Honey, the first day’s always the hardest,” she says almost sympathetic, then turns like a scorpion. “Don’t make me remind you about your contract again.”

I want to tell her what she can do with her contract, until I spy a white mass in the sky, closing in too quickly to be a cloud.

“They see you, honey. Hold your position.”

“How do you know these things?”

Margery ignores my question. “They won’t hurt you unless you stop. So don’t stop!”

A flock of the largest birds I’ve ever seen dive straight at me. There must be at least fifty of them. The first bird strikes the passenger side door like a cannon ball. One by one they assault the van, rocking it side to side. All the while, white wings hovered and slap against the windshield, partially obstructing my view of the road.

I hold tightly onto the steering wheel and floor the gas pedal. “This isn’t happening!”

“It sure is, honey.”

“Stop calling me honey!”

Margery hacks so hard she sounds like she might pass out.

“It’s not funny! I’m in the middle of The Birds on steroids!”

“Honey, did you forget your training?”

With screeching birds crashing against the van, I only hear half of what she says. I frown and have to ask, ”What?”

“Hit the damn emergency button!”

“But you’re already on the speaker!”

“Continue to tell me how to do my job and you’ll end up bird seed?”

I lean in to tap the button and come eye to eye with a human face as ghostly pale as the flapping wings. The creature punches a crack across the windshield and my head whips backward. When the glass melds back together, it snarls as it tries to break through again. But with each hit, the glass keeps fixing itself.

“They’re not birds,” I whisper at first. Then, for Margery’s benefit, scream, “They’re not birds!”

“Really?” She jeers.

Outside the driver’s side window, another creature has a tight grip on the side view mirror. It hisses and bares a set of sharp teeth while it yanks at the door handle. When it tries to scratch through glass with sharp claws, my body jerks to the right and I turn the steering wheel with it. I slam on the brake, hoping to force it off the van, and the vehicle goes into a tail spin before it skids to a stop. The hits to the van louden as I remember Margery’s warning to keep moving. I floor the gas pedal even though my view is blocked and I have no idea where I might end up.

“Hold it steady,” Margery says. “Help’s arrived.”

“Thank God.”

“Honey, God’s got nothing to do with this rescue mission.”

The sound of birds cawing surrounds the van and rises to an ear-splitting volume. A few of the white creatures take to the air and are replaced by thrushes pecking their way passed the white things to protect the van. While a war between black and white commences around me, my only intent is to keep the van as straight as I can and not end up in a ditch.

All at once, the white creatures retreat back into the sky, chased by the black birds. I still can’t see where I’m going though. They left behind a smear of red on the windshield and blood continues to rain down on the van until I’m pretty sure they’re all gone. I fiddle with the controls on the dashboard until the wipers come on and a jet of blue liquid squirts onto the bloody mix. The sight of it makes me queasy. I gag and swallow hard.

When the windshield’s clean enough to see through and I know I’m safe, for some reason, I feel in more of a panic. My chest tightens and I’m shaking like I’ve just jumped into a pool of ice water. Am I having a heart attack?

I hit the emergency button, but Margery doesn’t answer. I hit it a second time and still nothing. Bam! Bam! Bam! I slam my fist down on it repeatedly.

“Honey, what?”

“I . . . can’t . . . breathe.” I pant like a dog in between each word. “I’m having . . . a heart attack.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re in shock.” Margery let out one of her scratchy laughs.

“Shock?”

“When’s the last time you were attacked by a flock of giant white birds?”

“I don’t know what kind of operation you’re running, but those were not birds.” I clutch at his chest with one hand while white knuckling the steering wheel with the other. “I need CPR.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Margery says. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

“I can’t—”

Margery cuts me off with a click as she disconnects from the emergency system.

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The Wife with No Hands (Part 3)

I had hoped to release more of this story this week, but I’m all edited out for today. More next week.

Part 1 <> Part 2

Or, in summary, Larry and Theresa are about to lose their long time family-owned butcher shop to the bank. Enter Jimmie Chick, a dangerous mobster who has been in love with Theresa since they were all teenagers. He bullies Larry into making a bet backed by all the equipment in the back room of the butcher shop, or so that’s what Larry thinks Chick wants. Larry knows he’ll lose the bet but is afraid of what Chick might do to Theresa and him if he doesn’t do what Chick wants. Figuring they still have insurance on the shop, he figures he’ll report it stolen and break even. That is until Chick comes to collect on the bet, and Larry finds out what he really lost in the bet. Chick wants Theresa or a piece of her . . . her hands. He tells Larry that if he doesn’t deliver one or the other, he will kill them both. When Theresa finds out about the bet, she tells Larry she’d rather live without hands than be with Chick, or worse, die with Larry. She turns on the band saw and aims her wrist a the blade . . . .

Theresa woke up in the hospital but was afraid to open her eyes. She shivered as she remembered pushing her wrist into the band saw blade. She thought if she could stay in the dark, maybe she could somehow avoid reality.

“Theresa? Honey? Are you awake?”

Tears streamed from Theresa’s eyes when she heard her mother’s voice, like when she was a little girl and needed sympathy for a scraped knee. Only the extent of this injury . . . . “Where am I?” she asked, keeping herself in the dark as she lifted her arms. There was a dull pain at her wrists, but in her mind she could feel her fingers move. Hoping beyond hope, she opened her eyes. It was true. Her hands were gone and all that was left were two bandaged stubs. She tried to sit up but lost her balance and bounced against the pillows at her back.

“Theresa, calm down,” her mother said as she stood and wrapped her arms around her daughter’s shoulders to help her sit up.

“Where’s Larry?” Theresa asked in a panic.

Her mother breathed in deeply and waited before letting out a sigh.

“Mom. Where’s Larry?”

“Jail. Where he belongs.”

“Oh, no they didn’t. We’ve got to get him out, now!” Theresa swung her legs off the bed while holding her bandaged arms up to balance herself. The needle from the IV in her foot stung as it shifted. She reached to take it out, forgetting she no longer had hands.

“Theresa, stop it.” Her mother grabbed ahold of Theresa’s legs and put them back on the bed then leaned her back against the pillows.

“Mom, this isn’t his fault.”

“You sound like a battered woman.” Her mother then added, “Larry isn’t getting out of jail anytime soon. They denied him bail based on the horrific thing he did to you. Good thing, because your father wants to kill him.”

“Oh my God.” Theresa’s body went limp. She searched her mind to remember everything that happened but all was blank except for visions of the band saw blade.

“They still haven’t found your hands. And there’s blood everywhere. Who’s going to clean it up?”

“Mom, not now. Take a break. Go get a coffee or something.”

“Honey, I can’t leave you alone. You don’t have hands.”

“Mom! Get out!”

“Fine, but you’re going to have to accept the reality of this, Theresa, and the sooner the better.” Her mother stood up and yanked her purse off the back of the chair where she had been sitting. She rushed to the door, turned in a huff, and opened her mouth to speak.

“Mother, don’t,” Theresa held up her stumps and shook her head, trying to send the message to her mother that ‘the sooner the better’ she dealt with reality was not the right thing to say at the moment.

Theresa’s mother then disappeared out the door.