Mandy White's Blog: Dysfictional, page 10

Social Distance

A fictional tale of young love in a post-pandemic world… updated to include recent events.

Hannah dressed meticulously. Each piece went on in a specific order: After the undergarments came the stockings, then two petticoats, the first with wide hoops sewn into the fabric, and the second made from a light, flowing fabric, slipped over top of the first. Her blouse buttoned high, up to her chin, and the sleeves fit snugly from wrist to elbow to accommodate the long gloves she would slip on over top after lacing her calf-length boots. A skirt of royal blue silk finished the ensemble, paired with a matching bodice laced over the blouse. She pinned her hair in an elegant yet casual updo and topped it with a wide-brimmed bonnet.

She slipped down the staircase quietly, hoping to avoid unnecessary questions from her mother. She didn’t want to have to explain where she was going. Her mother would not approve of her meeting a boy unsupervised, but today was special. Today was her sixteenth birthday and Noah had a gift for her.

“Is that you, Hannah?” her mother called from the kitchen.

Rats!

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Are you going out?”

“Um…yes, just going for a walk.”

“All right. Be careful.”

“Of course. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

Hannah escaped through the front door and waved at her mother through the kitchen window.

When she reached the park, she spotted the bright blue of Noah’s cap. He was waiting for her in the gazebo, as planned. It was one of Hannah’s favorite places; private, with a lovely view of the pond and gardens.

Noah sat on the bench. His companion, a small mixed-breed dog, sat at his feet.

“I’m glad you made it. Have a seat.” Noah gestured to the empty bench opposite his. “I can’t stay long. I told my mom I was just walking Roscoe.”

Hannah sat, adjusting her hoops to fit the bench.

She had known Noah most of her life, but this was only the third time they had met in person outside of school. It was a bold move, frowned upon by the adults, who preferred teenagers only interacted from a distance.

“Happy birthday,” Noah said. “I made something for you. Can I give it to you now?”

“Yes! Please!” Hannah beamed with delight.

Noah placed a small pink box on the end of her bench and then retreated back to his seat.

“Go ahead,” he said, “I hope you like it.”

Hannah untied the ribbon slowly to savor the experience. She seldom got gifts from anyone outside her immediate family. Inside the box was a pendant on a silver chain – a tiny pink blossom suspended in a clear resin dewdrop.

Hannah gasped. “I love it!”

“It’s Verbena. I love the way you can suspend things in resin and they stay perfect and protected forever. My grandmother taught me. She used to make these and sell them at markets, in the Before Time. She said she was good friends with your grandmother back in those days. She tells me stories of the crazy things they used to do.”

Hannah paused a moment to imagine her grandmother as a young woman. She could definitely see her doing crazy things. She made a mental note to ask Nana Bella about the old days.

“I want to put it on, but I don’t have a mirror. Can you help me?”

Noah hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure it’s perfectly safe.”

Hannah reached into her handbag and removed a small bottle, which she used to spritz the pendant and then her hands. She stood and turned around so that Noah could reach the back of her neck. He fumbled with the clasp, awkwardly navigating her cumbersome bonnet. He removed his hat so he could see better, and then managed to fasten it after a few tries. She had never been so close to a boy before, and she suspected from his shaking hands that he shared her anxiety. She could smell his mysterious, intoxicating scent and feel his breath on her neck. What they were doing was so forbidden; her body tingled with electricity. She imagined herself turning around at that moment and kissing him, but she could never do that. Even now, they were taking a risk. If someone happened to see him this close to her, they could be in trouble. The danger of being caught and punished made it all the more thrilling.

Hannah caressed the smooth teardrop-shaped pendant with her gloved fingers. She couldn’t wait to touch it with her bare hands.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“So are you,” Noah whispered.

His hands lingered at the nape of her neck, and then brushed her shoulders briefly before he hurriedly stepped back. The touch of his gloves sent shivers down her spine.

“This is the best gift ever. Thank you so much,” Hannah said. Her heart hammered in her chest. She ducked her head to hide her flushed face behind the brim of her bonnet. The more self-conscious she felt, the more her cheeks burned.

“I-I should go,” he stammered. “My mother has dinner ready.”

“Yes, me too. I’ll talk to you tonight,” she said.

Hannah watched Noah leave, Roscoe trotting by his side.

She sat for a moment, eyes closed, hands clasped over the teardrop pendant, her mind swirling with impossible fantasies. After some time had passed, she set out for home, a spring in her step.

“Well hi there, Smiley!” A voice said. “What’s got you so cheerful?”

Her grandmother sat on a blanket on the front lawn, in the shade of the big oak tree. Her bare toes sported purple nail polish to match her hair. She was the picture of comfort, in black yoga pants and a baggy t-shirt.

She patted the blanket. “Have a seat, sweetie. Tell me about your day.”

Hannah gathered up her hoop skirt and plopped down on the blanket. She pulled off her bonnet with its plastic face shield and tossed it on the grass beside her. She took a deep breath and tilted her face toward the cool breeze as she peeled the long gloves from her hands.

Nana Bella reached into a small cooler and grabbed a can of Coors. She held the can toward Hannah. “Beer?”

Hannah hesitated. “My mom might give me shit.”

“Fuck it. It’s your birthday. Sweet sixteen, baby! She’ll get over it. I got your back.”

“Thanks Nana. I love you.” Hannah opened the can of beer and took a sip. Her mother wouldn’t get too mad if she only had one.

Nana Bella cracked a beer for herself and then looked at her expectantly.

“Can you keep a secret, Nana Bella?”

“Can I? Oh, hell yeah. You have no idea, girl.”

“I just came from seeing a boy.”

“Did you now? Well, that is juicy.” Nana Bella grinned.

“He’s a friend from school. He gave me this.” Hannah held up the pendant for her grandmother to see.

“Noah? He’s a nice boy. His grandmother is an old friend of mine, you know.”

“How did you know?”

“I’d recognize Angela’s handiwork anywhere.”

“Yes, Noah told me. She’s been teaching him. He made this one.”

“It’s lovely. Make sure you sanitize it or your mom will have a cow.”

“Already did.”

“Noah told me you and Angela did some crazy things when you were young. I’d love to hear some stories.”

Nana Bella laughed. “I bet you would. Oh, yeah, I’ve got some great stories for you. Things were different back then, in the Before. We were free. Angie and I used to go to concerts. We loved music. We saw so many awesome bands together.”

“Is that who ‘Rob Zombie’ is?” Hannah said, pointing at the image on Nana Bella’s shirt.

“Hells yes! I saw Rob Zombie live three times. But there were so many more. There were massive music festivals that lasted for days. Angie and I would camp out and spend the whole weekend partying. There was this wicked thing called a mosh pit, where people would cram together like sardines, dancing and shoving, sometimes even punching each other for fun. We’d climb onto the stage and dive into the mosh pit. People would catch you and pass you to the edge. It was like surfing on a sea of hands.”

“They were touching? Without gloves? Didn’t anyone get sick?”

“Yes, but only from too much booze.” Nana Bella laughed and waggled her can of beer. “There were no bad viruses back then. Well, I mean, yeah, there were… there were things that could make you sick or even kill you, but it took a little more than getting breathed on, if you catch my drift. And you could stay pretty safe as long as you had a condom.”

Hannah thought for a moment, and then her eyes widened. “You mean sex? With strangers?”

“Not always. We got to know each other first, but when you do the nasty with someone, there’s a certain level of familiarity that develops pretty fast. But also, we could meet people and hang out together and get to know each other.” Nana Bella sighed. “That’s the thing I probably miss most. The companionship of strangers. All the new friends out there waiting to be met. That was how I met your grandfather.”

“I wish I could touch Noah. Today I even imagined kissing him. But of course that’s impossible.”

“Not as impossible as you think. You two could get together one day, when you’re older.”

“It’s not fair. Why do we have to wait until we’re 18 to date? I’m old enough now. We wouldn’t do anything bad, we just want to spend time together. And even then, there’s so much paperwork – application to date, health checks, quarantine certificates. What if we did all of that and then decided we didn’t like each other?”

“Then you’d have to start over. Apply and quarantine to date someone else. I know, that’s a lot to go through just to be with someone, but it’s worth it, if you find someone special.”

“I mean, I’d do it for Noah. I hope he’d want to too. But why can’t we just spend time together to see if we even want to date?” Hannah finished her beer. A comforting warmth had spread through her belly, lowering her inhibitions and loosening her lips.

“Preachin’ to the choir, sis!” Nana Bella said. “Back in the old days we could test-drive the car before we bought it, so to speak. Date someone one week, someone else another. Live together for a while, maybe not. Whatever we did, it was our choice. Things got a little nutty after the Great Pandemic.”

“But that was so many years ago! Aren’t we safe now? Most everyone is vaccinated and nobody has been sick since, well, ever, that I can remember. Why do we have all these stupid rules?” Hannah reached into her grandmother’s cooler and helped herself to another beer. “What was it like? I mean, I studied it in school, but what was it like to be there?”

“The pandemic? Well, it was a crazy time. It was scary, for a lot of us. The whole world was locked down for weeks to control the spread. The economy crashed. I’m sure you learned about all of that in school. But the lockdown was working. We were getting the spread of the virus under control and the death toll started to slow. And then suddenly there was a bunch of asshats who didn’t want to do it anymore. They were tired of quarantine. They decided the virus was fake, just because they hadn’t caught it. They were sick of being told what to do, and they took to the streets in crowds, protesting the restrictions, screaming about their rights and freedoms. Like a bunch of damn toddlers having a temper tantrum.”

“I can’t believe they thought it was fake. Didn’t they see how many people were dying?”

“They claimed it was a big conspiracy. That all deaths were being labeled as COVID-19 to fake a pandemic. The number of people around the world that would have to be involved in such a conspiracy is mind-boggling. But there are always some wackos who would rather believe a complex conspiracy than a simple truth.”

Hannah shook her head. “Wow. I can’t even imagine.”

“And then in the midst of all the chaos, a black man was killed by police – totally unrelated to the pandemic – which set off anti-racism protests around the world.”

“Black Lives Matter,” Hannah said. “I learned about George Floyd in school.”

Nana Bella nodded. “It was a turning point in world history. People were rightfully pissed and they wanted change. Sure, a lot of the protesters wore masks and tried to keep distance, but it’s not easy to do when you have crowds of people and things get heated. The protests lasted for weeks. It sucked that it happened during a pandemic, but it’s not like you can plan that sort of thing. It happens when it happens, and change was long overdue.” Nana Bella paused and took a sip of her beer. “You know what happened after that.”

“The variants.”

Nana Bella nodded. “You know it. It’s in all the history books. Each time we thought the virus was under control, it mutated. First we had the Alpha strain, then the Beta, Gamma, Delta, and so on. Omicron was super infectious but not as deadly. By the time we reached Omega, everyone was more or less complacent even though percentage-wise, we’d had more death than the Black Plague. Two-thirds of the world’s population, gone, but all everyone could think about were their damn rights and freedoms. More protests rose up, this time against travel mandates, mask wearing, and vaccines.”

“My mother was born during the pandemic, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, she was. She was conceived during the first wave. My boyfriend Tyler and I had just moved in together, and we both worked at the same grocery store. Life didn’t change much for us during the lockdown. When everyone else got to work from home or take time off with free money from the government, Tyler and I were working overtime. People were such rude assholes, shoving, ignoring social distancing guidelines and swearing at us when they weren’t allowed to buy stupid amounts of toilet paper and other stuff. I took more abuse in those days than I ever have in my life. When Tyler and I did have days off together, that time was precious. I doubt we would have gone out, even if we could have. We were so much in love. I wonder if we’d still be together today.”

“I wish I’d met him,” Hannah said.

“Me too, honey. You would have loved your grandfather. He was a lot of fun. Great sense of humor. I’ve always loved a man with a sense of humor. Even in the thick of the pandemic, with fear and death all around us, he still managed to crack a joke. Even after he got sick…”

Nana Bella’s eyes grew glassy and she stared off into the distance for a few moments, then she cleared her throat.

“When Tyler got sick, I should have stayed home because I’d been exposed, but according to our boss, Tyler hadn’t been tested yet, so he wasn’t a confirmed case of COVID. For all we knew it was just a flu. The boss said that if Tyler wasn’t going to come to work, he had to find someone to cover his shifts or he was fired. I covered his shifts as well as my own. I was at work when he texted to tell me that he had called 911 because he couldn’t breathe. I texted back that I loved him and would call him as soon as I got off work. He never answered his phone because he was on a ventilator. He was gone the next day and I never got to say goodbye.”

“I’m so sorry, Nana.”

Nana Bella squeezed Hannah’s hand. “It’s ok, sweetie. It was a long time ago, but I still miss him. A few weeks later, I found out that I was pregnant. That was right around the time the second wave hit. I got sick and spent three weeks at home, alone and scared, but I recovered.  We didn’t have any COVID vaccines yet, and it was impossible to tell who would get really sick until it happened.”

“If most people are vaccinated now, then why do we have to be so careful?”

“Because life always finds a way and even a virus has a will to survive, as we’ve seen with all the variants. Every time we block it, it adapts. Maybe it’s nature’s way of dealing with overpopulation. There are plenty of theories. But also, because that pandemic took a toll on humanity. We were never the same after that. Psychologically, society is still damaged, even all these years later. There is always that underlying fear. We had no sooner learned to manage COVID-19 and all its variants, when Monkey Pox came along and scared the shit out of everyone all over again. The Pox didn’t amount to much; it wasn’t as infectious and only killed a few, but it served as a reminder that new viruses can develop at any time, and a potential threat is always around the corner.

But we were pros by that time. The 19 had taught us how to manage a pandemic. So, this new type of paranoia took over. Nobody wanted anymore lockdowns or mandates, especially not the ones who had the most to lose – you know, the rich folks, the governments… The social distancing and sanitizing that was necessary during the 19 became common precautions, and now it’s just a lifestyle. Virus wear became fashionable.”

“I wish I could dress like you, Nana. You look so comfortable. But my mom would probably have a fit. Plus, everyone would laugh at me. All the girls my age are wearing hoops. Fashion sucks.”

“Remember, it’s all for your protection. Your face shield. Your gloves and all the layers of clothing you dress in – they’re treated with anti-viral chemicals, which is easier than scrubbing and showering every time you touch anything. Is it overkill? Probably, yeah. But you never know. If we’d been doing all of that when COVID-19 first came along, a lot of people might have lived. Your grandfather might have lived, who knows?” Nana Bella’s eyes misted. “I just wish Tyler could see how things turned out. So many times he was harassed by police on his way home from work at night, just because he was a black man. I wish he could know that racism in police forces was finally exposed and that people at least tried to fight it.”

“I wish he knew that too. He sounds nice.

“He was, honey. He would have loved you so much.”

“Still, I think your clothes are a lot better than mine.”

“Patience, my dear. When you turn 18, you can choose how to dress in public. But keep in mind, I don’t give a shit if anyone laughs at me or gives me the evil eye. I’ve already survived the worst pandemic in history and several lesser ones. I’m hard to kill. You, my dear, have your whole life ahead of you. If living that life means taking some extra precautions, isn’t it worth it?”

“Maybe. I guess it’s better than dying. But I still wish I could be with Noah. Nothing dirty, just like, hold his hand and maybe kiss, you know, like in those old movies you showed me.”

“You’ll get there. All good things take time.”

Hannah’s mother called from the house. “Mom? Is Hannah with you?”

“Yeah!” Hannah called.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Time to wash up.”

“Ok!”

“Thanks, Nana,” Hannah said. “Don’t tell Mom about the beer, ok?”

Nana Bella winked. “Our little secret.”

Hannah ran upstairs to her room and found a message waiting on her laptop. It was from Noah.

“I know it’s a little soon, but will you date me? I have paperwork ready to sign.”

Hannah typed a quick response before rushing off to wash her hands.

“YES!”

Copyright © 2020 Mandy White

Chernobyl Charlie

A story about a boy and his dog…

This is a repost, I know. But it’s another of my favorites, and it is featured in WPaD’s newly released pet anthology,
Furry Tales (and Feathers & Scales) Available worldwide on Amazon.

~ CHERNOBYL CHARLIE ~

The old man placed another log on the campfire.

“You kids ready for a story?”

“Yes!” Kylie and Joel chorused together.

Every summer, his daughter-in-law Laura brought the grandchildren on weekends for a backyard campout. The kids got to sleep in a tent and enjoy fireside stories, just like they’d done with their father. Since loss of her husband, a Marine, Laura tried to maintain a connection with his side of the family. The old man appreciated the effort she made. The kids enjoyed his stories and he enjoyed telling them, and boy, he had a lot of stories.

“Get comfortable, ‘cause tonight I got a great story for ya. This one’s about Chernobyl Charlie.”

“Wait!” Kylie ran to the tent to grab her blanket. She returned and nestled in her lawn chair with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “Okay, I’m comfortable now.”

Her brother rolled his eyes. “Ok, are you ready now? I want to hear the story.”

The old man began,

“There once was a boy, we’ll call him Nathan. This boy only wanted one thing for his entire life: a dog. He didn’t want anything else, not ever.

Every year, his parents would ask him what he wanted for Christmas or his birthday, and his answer was always the same:

‘I want a dog!’ he’d say.

And every time, the answer would be the same: ‘No’.

It wasn’t that his parents were mean, or didn’t want him to have a dog. It was just that they lived in an apartment, and weren’t allowed pets in the building, other than fish or birds. Birds gave him the creeps and goldfish just weren’t the same. Fish were boring. They just sat in a bowl. You couldn’t take them for a walk or pet them or play ball with them.

But one year, the year he turned twelve, Nathan’s life changed forever.

His father had started a new job a year ago, and was making more money. Enough money that they could finally buy a house. A whole house! With its own yard and everything! Most importantly, there was a fenced area for a dog! This year, when Nathan’s parents asked what he wanted for his birthday, the answer was yes. He could have a dog.

His mother agreed to the dog on one condition: they would adopt, not shop. No pet stores or fancy breeds; they would find a shelter dog that needed a home. Nathan was fine with that. Any dog would be a great dog, and he would love it with all his heart.

They registered with the SPCA and a bunch of other rescue groups, looking for a dog that would be a good fit for their family. One day, Nathan’s mother called him to look at something.

She was sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop open to some website.

Nathan took a look over his Mom’s shoulder to see what she was looking at. The screen had a picture of a group of dogs on it.

‘What’s this?’ he asked.

‘There are puppies available for adoption, and you’ll never guess from where. Chernobyl!’ she told him.

‘Isn’t that place like, radioactive or something?’ he said.

His mother explained, ‘According to this, hundreds of dogs roam the woods in the exclusion zone near Chernobyl. They are the descendants of pets that were left behind in the evacuation. Some of the puppies are being brought to the U.S. for adoption. The adoptions will be done through the SPCA, and we’re already registered with them. We can ask to be put on a wait list for one of these puppies if you want.’

It sounded pretty cool, but Nathan had some concerns. He asked his mom, ‘Is that even safe? Like are they mutants or anything?’

‘No, not at all,’ she told him, ‘Many of the dogs are perfectly healthy. No radiation sickness, and they are carefully vetted before they are put up for adoption.’

Nathan was sold. ‘Cool! I want a radioactive puppy!’

‘And if we don’t get one, we will find another shelter pup that needs us, agreed?’ his mom said.

‘Okay!’ Nathan said.”

“What happened that they had to evacuate, Grandpa?” Kylie asked.

“It was a meltdown!” Joel said. “We learned about it in school. Some kind of power plant in Russia. It went nuclear. Like, psssh!” He made a sound that mimicked an explosion and motioned with his hands.

“Well, it didn’t actually blow up, but it was really bad. It happened back in the eighties. They used some pretty dangerous stuff to make electricity in the old days. The power plant at Chernobyl had a bad accident. All the land around it became poisoned from radiation, and the people had to evacuate. The place is still deserted today. You can see pictures on the internet of all the empty buildings. There’s even a deserted amusement park. And nobody can go there even now, because it’s still radioactive.”

“But what about all the animals?” Kylie asked.

“A lot of them got left behind to fend for themselves. Some died, and some just went wild. There was still a working power plant there, thirty years later. And the workers started feeding some of the wild dogs that were running around. And, as dogs do, some of them became friendly again. Eventually, some rescue organizations got wind of it and started to capture the dogs. The wilder ones got checked by vets, fixed so they couldn’t have any more puppies, and then set free again. And they started catching the puppies and finding homes for them.”

The old man took a sip of his coffee, which had gotten cold, and continued the story.

“June twenty-fifth was a date Nathan never forgot, because it was the happiest day of his life. School was out for the summer, but most importantly, the time had come to bring home the new puppy. Surprisingly, their application for a Chernobyl pup had been accepted and they were minutes away from meeting their new family member. Nathan and his mother paced the waiting room of the SPCA, too excited to sit down.

They didn’t know much about the puppy, other than it was a male, approximately four months old, and would grow to be a medium to large-sized dog. The breed was anyone’s guess, but it was said that some of the wild dogs had been running in wolf packs, so the puppy might even have had some wolf in it.

A woman came from the back room, holding a wriggling bundle of black-and-white fur in her arms. When the puppy saw the new people, he squirmed away from the woman. He ran to Nathan, slipping and sliding on the floor on huge, clumsy feet. The puppy whined and wagged his tail so hard his whole body wagged. He licked Nathan’s face, covering it with dog slobber, but Nathan didn’t mind.

‘I’m going to call you Charlie, and we’re going to be best friends!’ he told the dog.”

“Oh!” Kylie squealed. “Just like –”

“Will you shut up and stop interrupting!” her brother said.

“That’s ok. She’s just excited. Right sweetie?” The old man gave Kylie a knowing wink.

“Anyway, where was I? Ah yes. Charlie. He named the dog Charlie, and they were the best of friends from that day forward. They were inseparable.

To most people, Charlie seemed like an average puppy; he liked to chew, had boundless energy and loved Nathan more than life itself. As far as Nathan was concerned, Charlie was exceptional. He was bright and obedient, and easy to train.

Charlie loved to fetch, and his favorite toy was the Frisbee. After he had shredded several regular Frisbees, Nathan bought him a special chew-proof one designed for dogs. Every day they walked to the dog park, rain or shine, to play fetch. Charlie didn’t really need a leash, but Nathan put one on him to and from the dog park to keep the neighbors happy.

One particularly blustery autumn day, Nathan threw the Frisbee and a gust of wind caught it, sending it sailing over the fence and onto the busy street next to the park. Charlie was in hot pursuit. Without missing a beat, he leaped over the fence – a six-foot-high chain link fence it was – and dashed into the traffic. Nathan didn’t have time to wow over the amazing feat of fence-jumping he’d just witnessed – he had to get his dog.

He dashed through the gate, shouting, ‘Charlie! Stop!’ but Charlie was on a mission.

Nathan was too late. The driver of the truck couldn’t possibly have stopped in time, even if he had seen Charlie.

It happened in slow motion, to Nathan’s eyes. The big eighteen-wheeler mowed Charlie down and ran over him, first with the front wheel, and then both sets of wheels on the trailer. He watched in horror as Charlie was flung like a rag doll from one set of dual wheels into the path of the second set.”

“No!” Kylie cried. “You didn’t tell us he was going to die! I don’t like this story.” She looked like she was going to cry.

“Shh! Don’t interrupt!” Joel hissed.

“Don’t worry, it gets better,” the old man assured her.

“Anyhow, there Charlie was, lying in the road, just a limp bundle of black-and-white fur. Nathan’s knees felt weak. He wanted to collapse, but he willed himself to stay standing. He wasn’t going to leave Charlie out there in the traffic, even though he knew it was too late to save him. Tears streaming down his face, Nathan ran toward the scene of the worst horror imaginable.

He reached the edge of the road, and then the unthinkable happened.

Charlie stood up, shook himself off, and walked over to pick up the Frisbee from the street. He trotted happily over to Nathan, holding his head high in the air all proud-like. All he cared about was that he’d gotten the Frisbee. He knew he was a good boy.

Nathan checked him over, and he looked fine. Not a scratch on him, just black marks on the white part of his fur from the rubber tires. He rushed home to tell his parents, but they didn’t believe him. They thought he was exaggerating, but they brought Charlie to the vet just in case.

Dr. Michaels found nothing wrong with him. No injuries of any kind. She explained to Nathan in a condescending way that the wheels of the truck had missed Charlie when the truck passed over him.

‘But what about those black marks in his fur?’ Nathan said. ‘That’s rubber from the tires. I saw the tires run over him.’

“That’s probably grease from the underside of the truck,’ Dr Michaels said. ‘See? That reinforces what I was telling you. The truck straddled him. The tires missed him. He’s one lucky dog.’

Nathan didn’t argue further, but he knew what he’d seen. The most important thing was, his best friend was okay.

Fall turned into winter. Charlie loved the snow as much as he loved everything else. He found fun in everything he did. He learned to ride a toboggan and tried to fetch snowballs. He discovered hockey, which Nathan and his friends played on the frozen pond. Charlie was an excellent goalie.

One day in the middle of a game, they heard screams. Nathan and his friends rushed to help, with Charlie racing alongside.

A crowd of kids were gathered around, and it turned out a small child had fallen into an ice fishing hole. Usually they’ll put some kind of barrier or safety cones to let skaters know there’s a hole, you know. But this jerk, whoever the fisherman was, had just left an open hole there.

The little boy had been skating with his mother. She had already called 911, but time was running out. The poor woman was in hysterics.

Nobody could reach the kid; the hole was too small and the kid had sunk too deep. By the time someone got there with something to cut the hole bigger, it would be too late. That little boy was a goner.

Charlie pushed through the crowd and slithered into the hole like an eel. Nathan wouldn’t have believed the dog would fit, but he did. But how was he going to get out? Now they had lost Charlie as well. Nathan peered into the depths of the hole, trying to get a glimpse of Charlie or the little boy, but saw only blackness. Minute after agonizing minute passed.

They heard sirens in the distance, but Nathan knew help wouldn’t get there in time.

There was still no sign of Charlie. More than five minutes had passed since he dove through the hole in the ice. Nathan started to think that this time Charlie wouldn’t be so lucky.

And then, he saw a glow under the water. The light grew brighter, and then Charlie surfaced, holding the collar of the little boy’s jacket in his teeth. The boys pulled the child out of the water and passed him to his mother.

Nathan helped Charlie climb out of the hole. The dog shook the water from his fur nonchalantly, as though he had just taken a fun little swim.

Nathan hugged him tight and told him what a good boy he was.

The paramedics arrived and performed CPR on the little boy and wrapped him in blankets, then carried him to the ambulance.

The boy survived, thanks to Chernobyl Charlie.

And then there was the time when Nathan was sixteen, and he took a camping trip with a few of his friends. And Charlie, of course. Charlie was a great camping buddy because he was also a night light. You see, he glowed with a soft greenish light when he was happy. All it took was a belly rub or a scratch behind the ears to turn the light on. Or telling him he was a good boy; that worked too.

So, on this camping trip, the boys hiked a ways into the wilderness, to a spot beside a nice little lake. They planned stay a couple of days and do some fishing. The first day, they caught a nice bunch of trout. They cooked a few over the fire for dinner, and packed the rest in ice in the cooler.

Well, it turned out, a bear had caught the scent of their fish. Late at night after the campfire had died down, the bear came into the camp to steal the fish. It was a big bear, too. A Grizzly. The boys had hung all their food in a tree, the way you’re supposed to when you’re camping, but this bear was determined. Mr. Grizzly smelled that food and wasn’t leaving until he found it.”

Kylie shivered and pulled the blanket more tightly around her. “This is scary.” She glanced over at the tent, where she and her brother would be sleeping that night.

“Don’t be a fraidy-cat. There aren’t any Grizzlies around here. Right Grandpa?” Joel said.

“Right. Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe. I promise there are no Grizzlies here. Remember, the boys were high in the mountains, out in the wilderness.”

“What happened next?” Kylie asked.

“Well, the boys woke to the sound of the bear rampaging through the camp. And I’m not gonna lie, they were plenty scared. They had hung up the food, but not all of it. They had snack foods in the tent with them. A bear’s nose is sensitive enough to detect even a small amount of food. They didn’t have anything to use as a weapon. All they had was an axe, and it was beside the fire.

Charlie started growling. Nathan tried to shush him, but he wanted out of that tent something awful. He started tearing at the door of the tent until he found an opening in the zipper and forced his way through. He charged at the bear, barking and snarling like he’d lost his mind.

He chased the bear away from camp, and in the distance the boys could hear the sounds of a horrible fight – snarls, roars, branches breaking. Once again, Nathan thought his dog was done for.

A while later, Charlie returned. He was covered in blood but otherwise just fine. The boys were pretty shook up. They cut their trip short, packed up the camp and left as soon as it got light. On the hike back, they came across a gruesome sight on the trail. The remains of a large Grizzly bear. The bear had been ripped to shreds. Like it had gone through a meat grinder or something. One of the boys commented how lucky they were that the marauding bear had killed another bear instead of them.

Nathan knew that the bear hadn’t been killed by another bear.

Chernobyl Charlie just panted and smiled. He knew he was a good boy.”

“Time for bed, kids! Say goodnight to Grandpa!” Laura had joined them sometime during the part about the bear.

“But Mom! He’s not done the story yet!”

“I’m done for tonight. We’ll tell more stories about Chernobyl Charlie tomorrow.”

“Give Grandpa a hug.”

Kylie and Joel hugged their grandfather.

“Goodnight, Grandpa. Thanks for the story,” Joel said.

“What happened to Charlie? Like, did he live with Nathan forever?” Kylie asked.

“Well, you know, sweetie, dogs don’t live as long as we do, but I’m sure he had a good long life. Charlie was pretty special.”

After the children were tucked into their sleeping bags, Laura returned and sat next to the fire.

“You know, Nate, I wish you wouldn’t tell them scary stories before bed. Grizzly bears? Can’t you make up something a little, I don’t know… nicer?”

“What’s nicer than a dog that saves the day? Besides, it’s all true.”

“I mean, I know you believe it’s true, but seriously. It’s pretty far-fetched.”

“I promise I’ll tell them a ‘nice’ story next time, ok?”

“OK. Thank you.” She stood and gave him a hug. “You’re a good grandfather. I appreciate all you do for them.” With that she went into the house.

“Don’t mind her, Charlie,” Nate said to the old black-and-white dog that lay at his feet. “I know how special you are.”

Charlie thumped his tail on the ground and a soft greenish glow emanated from his body. He knew he was a good boy.

Previously published in DysFictional 3 by Mandy White

New Release!

I work with a group of writers known as WPaD (Writers Poets and Deviants) and we are pleased to announce our latest release, Furry Tales (And Feathers & Scales). It’s a collection of stories with some poetry sprinkled in between, all following a pet theme.

This book is not for kids; inside you fill find a wide variety of stories, ranging from heartwarming to thrilling and downright chilling, when you consider that one of my contributions is a disturbing tale called A Feast Not So Fancy, which is about some cats that attempt to eat their owner alive. Don’t worry, we saved that one for the end, in case some readers aren’t up to the challenge.

We also have some warm fuzzies and fantastical tales about pets not of this world.

With original cover art from the very talented Jason Kemp of Tenkara Studios, Toronto, and contributions from a wide range of authors, this book has something for all pet lovers.

The ebook is available worldwide on Amazon and the paperback edition is coming soon.

Furry Tales (And Feathers & Scales) ~ ebook available worldwide on Amazon

Battle of the Bean/Vacation

This post is a repeat of two of my favorite short stories. They go together like a good cuppa Joe and the apocalypse!Battle of the Bean

It was the end of the world as we knew it, and nobody felt fine. Remember that song by R.E.M.? It’s been stuck inside my head since this whole thing began.

Anarchy reigned; society was in chaos. People rioted in the streets. Yadda-yadda apocalypse…

All because of one little thing. A tiny thing, really. Not quite miniscule, perhaps the size of a pea, but a tiny thing nonetheless.

The all-powerful coffee bean.

We were warned of the impending extinction of our precious bean, but like so many warnings before it, we chose to ignore it until forced to confront the ugly truth.

It began early in the century, when farmers in Colombia noticed a troublesome blight affecting the Arabica plants. The blight, known as “coffee rust”, was a type of fungus that spread rapidly, despite all efforts to eradicate it.

Some blamed pollution, others blamed global warming, but regardless of whom or what was to blame, Arabica crops in Latin America were wiped out by 2027, and from there it spread to crops in Africa.

Still, the public pooh-poohed. As long as Starbucks kept pouring eight-dollar lattes, there was no cause for alarm. The problem was far away from their sheltered yuppie environment. Cultivation was the farmers’ problem, not theirs. Even when the Arabica crops were gone and the price of that particular variety skyrocketed, people simply switched blends.

It wasn’t until every coffee plant on the planet was dead that we were willing to acknowledge that we had a problem. The problem escalated to catastrophic levels when the governments took control of the world’s remaining supply of coffee.

Coffee disappeared from supermarket shelves. Starbucks went out of business. Coffee shops with boarded-up windows littered the urban landscape.

At more than ten times the price per kilo, coffee replaced cocaine as Colombia’s most lucrative illegal export. Coffee cartels waged war on each other in hopes of controlling the world’s dwindling supplies of the precious brown bean. Penalties for smuggling coffee ranged from several years to life in prison or even death by firing squad, depending on which country one was arrested in, but that didn’t stop an intrepid few from trying their luck.

Street value of an ounce of ground coffee climbed higher than that of gold. Users traded automatic weapons, priceless family heirlooms and even the deeds to their homes for a cup of espresso, just to get one more fix of that aromatic black nectar.

We tried consuming tea, colas and caffeine pills, but it didn’t take us long to learn that caffeine wasn’t what gave coffee its addictive nature. It turned out there was another ingredient we had overlooked. A mystery ingredient that latched onto the brain much like cocaine did. Suffice it to say, lack of this ingredient made some people very unhappy indeed. Scientists analyzed it, tried to isolate it and tried to synthesize it but to no avail.

The increase in violent crimes due to coffee withdrawal led to the global legalization of marijuana. Pounds of Purple Kush, Amsterdam Indica and BC Big Bud now occupied the shelf space that had once displayed pounds of French Roast, Breakfast Blend and Decaf. A society of anxious, stressed-out bean-hounds became laid-back and complacent, sleepily smiling as they crammed their mouths full of snacks.

Of course, there were still the hardcore addicts, for whom nothing else but the bitter ambrosia would do. White-collar professionals became organized crime bosses, dealing the world’s most valuable substance to street addicts, some of them former colleagues. When the coffee finally ran out, one country accused the next of hoarding it, even though nobody had any coffee anymore.

With everyone at each other’s throats, the UN dissolved. Their final meeting ended in a massive brawl; a Battle Royal between nearly 200 delegates that resolved nothing. The situation deteriorated to the point of war, with everyone pointing warheads at everyone else.

With a bunch of coffee-starved world leaders holding their jittery fingers over the red button, I did what any sensible man would, and went to ground.

I found the bomb shelter in my neighbor’s back yard after investigating the sound of a gunshot. I found him at his kitchen table, where he had been trying to snort lines of instant coffee before giving up and swallowing the barrel of his .357. Poor bastard – everyone knows there’s no real coffee in that instant stuff, but looks like he died trying.

I found a shovel and thought I’d do the neighborly thing and give him a decent burial, but damn, the ground was hard! I tried a few different spots but kept hitting rocks, then at one point I hit something metal. Curious, I dug it up, and damned if I didn’t find a bomb shelter! Probably built during World War II and long forgotten under layers of landscaping. My neighbor probably bought the house without even knowing it existed.

So, when the threat of nuclear war became imminent, I packed some supplies and retreated into the shelter with plans to stay put for a few weeks or months until the coast was clear. I brought food, plenty of water, books to read, flashlights and batteries, but I needn’t have bothered to pack so much because when I got down there I discovered the shelves well-stocked. Sure, eighty-year-old canned goods might not be ideal, but they were better than nothing if it came down to it. I scanned my flashlight over the shelves and lo and behold! What did I see? Coffee! Cans and cans of magnificent, marvelous coffee!

I had packed a butane camp stove and several cases of fuel, so I was all set to prepare hot meals. Now hot coffee would accompany those meals! This dark, dusty hole in the ground had suddenly become paradise.

I’m writing this down, partly to keep myself busy so I don’t think about coffee. I also thought it would be a good idea to record what became of our world just in case nobody else is alive to do it.

As close as I can figure, it’s been about six months since I felt the first of the bombs hit. My food supply is dwindling, even the really old stuff. If I have to eat another can of cold lima beans I’m going to scream. Who the hell puts lima beans in a bomb shelter? I guess I could leave the shelter, but as long as I have coffee in my possession, I run the risk of getting robbed, maybe even killed for it. Lord only knows what’s happening up on the surface.

I’m down to my last can of coffee, but I’ve been putting off opening it because once it’s gone, then I truly will be out of coffee. After that, I will leave the shelter and see what awaits me up above.

I’ll wait one more day to open it. I can go without coffee for just one more day. I’ve been saving one last can of butane to make it nice and hot. Cold food I can handle, but cold water won’t brew coffee.

See? One day wasn’t so tough. Why not make it two? If I have a cup of coffee every two days, it will last twice as long. If I wait one more day before opening the last can, that’s one more day before I run out for good.

I made it a whole week. Wow. That’s one more week before I run out. As long as I have that can of coffee, I’m the richest man on earth. I might also be the only man on earth, but… mere details.

Two weeks, and that damn can of coffee sits there unopened, mocking me, daring me to open it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Nice try, coffee can. I’m smarter than you. After all, you’re just a stupid can of coffee. I’m over you. I don’t love you anymore. I could quit you cold turkey if I wanted to.

Aw, fuck it. Since I know I can quit anytime I want, I might as well drink it and enjoy the last coffee on earth.

I’m doing it. This is it. I’m opening the can.

Tomorrow.

I’ve been out of food for weeks now, and starvation is weakening me more each day. The can of coffee still sits unopened, though. I have decided to save it until the very end. If the last thing I do before I leave this world is drink the last cup of coffee in that can, I will die a happy man. I’ll have to do it soon, though. I’m on my last two gallons of bottled water.

Maybe it’s time I left the shelter. There is probably clean water on the surface. Hell, I don’t even care if it’s contaminated, just as long as it will make a decent cuppa Joe. But… what if it’s total chaos up there? I’d be killed for my can of coffee for sure. I guess I could leave it in the shelter. Nobody knows it’s here. But what if I was followed on the way back, or worse, what if someone found this place – and my coffee – while I was away? Without my coffee, I have nothing. No, the only way it will be safe is if I stay and guard it.

When I finish the water I have open, I will open the last jug of water along with the can of coffee and brew a nice steaming cup of Heaven. When the coffee is gone, I will leave the shelter. If the world is destroyed, I’ll use the revolver I took from my neighbor’s hand and exit in likewise fashion.

NO! NO!!!! I went to open the last water jug and found it empty! DRY! All this time I thought it was full but I didn’t actually pick it up and shake it. The jug must have had a leak at the bottom because the water is long gone. No! No! No! I can’t live without water, because without water I can’t make coffee. A world without coffee is not one I want to face.

Goodbye world, whatever’s left of you.

* * *

The steel door groaned open. Two faces peered into the hole, closing their inner eyelids to shield their eyes from the rising dust.

“What is this?”

“I’m not sure. Looks like some kind of ancient ruins. There’s a cave or something down there. Let’s go down and check it out.”

They scuttled down the shaft into the cavern below.

“Look, there! Bones! What kind of creature is that?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not one of us. Look, only four appendages, and it doesn’t even have a tail! Must be some kind of weird old fossil.”

“What’s that object beside it?”

A webbed, green-scaled hand reached for the metal can.

“Is it some kind of weapon?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe it’s food or something. Look, I can open it.”

Sniff. Sniff.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know, but it smells delicious! Should we taste it?”

“No, it might be poison. Let’s go and ask Mom first.”

 (Previously Published in Goin’ Extinct by WPaD and DysFictional 2 by Mandy White)

Read on…

Vacation

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“How much farther?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m bored. Can’t we stop somewhere?”

“Will you stop harassing me? We will get there when we get there.”

“Don’t yell at the children, Dax. They’re just restless. They’ve been cooped up in this vehicle for ages. Can’t we find a place to stop so they can get some exercise?” Sky said.

“Where would you suggest?”

“I’m sure there’s someplace suitable around here. How about that place?”

“What if it’s no good?”

“There’s only one way to find out. Scan it.”

Dax entered the coordinates into the computer and read the results.

“Sounds ok, but might be some kind of tourist trap.”

“Well, we’re tourists, so it sounds perfect.”

Dax sighed. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to stop and stretch our legs for a while. Maybe we will find a nice place to camp.”

“That’s the spirit. We’re on vacation. Let’s relax and enjoy ourselves.”

* * *

The place looked promising. Clean air, trees, plenty of water. The children scrambled out of the vehicle and rushed toward the beach. Within moments they were splashing happily in the water.

Sky nuzzled her mate. “See? That was all they needed. Why don’t you relax while I find us something to eat?”

Dax was feeling more relaxed already. The place was pretty nice, he had to admit. Maybe they could stay a while. It seemed like a great place to spend a holiday.

Sky wandered away, taking in the sights while Dax basked in the sun, lying on a large flat rock near the water. Some time later, Sky returned, her arms filled with tasty looking food.

“What are those?” Dax asked.

“I don’t know, but they taste good. Here, try one.” She handed a wriggling, furry creature to Dax.

“Children! Come and get something to eat!”

“But I wanna swim!” Chi whined.

“You can go back and swim after you eat something and warm up for a little while. You don’t want to get a chill,” Sky ordered.

Pouting, Chi and Dik left the water and joined their parents on the beach. Their reluctance quickly turned to enthusiasm when they saw the delicious treats their mother had brought.

“This is nice, don’t you think, Honey?” Sky said, gazing up at the brilliant yellow sun on its backdrop of blue.

“It sure is,” Dax agreed, “Why don’t we stay here for a while and camp? Looks like we have the whole place to ourselves.”

“Yes! Let’s do it.” Sky said.

“Yay!” the children shouted in unison.

* * *

The next day, the children did some exploring while their parents napped in the sun. They happened upon a strange object.

“Wonder what this is?” Chi said, examining the rounded metal thing.

“I think it’s some kind of lid. Help me open it.”

The steel door groaned open. They peered into the hole, closing their inner eyelids against the rising dust.

“What is this?”

“I’m not sure. Looks like some kind of ancient ruins. There’s a cave or something down there. Let’s go down and check it out.”

They scuttled down the shaft into the cavern below.

“Look there! Bones! What kind of creature is that?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not one of us. Look, only four appendages and it doesn’t even have a tail! Must be some kind of weird old fossil.”

“What’s that object beside it?”

Dik’s webbed, green-scaled hand reached for the metal object.

“Is it some kind of weapon?” Chi asked.

“I don’t think so. Maybe it’s food or something. Look, I can open it.”

Sniff. Sniff.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know, but it smells delicious! Should we taste it?”

“No, it might be poison. Let’s go and ask Mom first.”

“What’s this other thing?”

“I don’t know, but it looks like it was as important to this creature as that container. It died holding both of them.”

* * *

They ran back to their parents carrying the metal container and the other strange object they had found clutched in the arms of the fossilized remains.

“Mom! Dad! Look what we found!”

Dax and Sky examined the objects their children had found. The container was filled with dry, dark brown granules that had an intoxicating aroma. The other object appeared to be a collection of ancient writings, inscribed on thin sheets of a brittle, delicate material.

“I’ll scan this with the ship’s computer. Maybe we can decode it,” Dax said.

He scanned the documents and then left the computer to analyze the alien language. Meanwhile, the family went out to explore, starting with the cave the children had found.

It appeared to be some sort of underground home, accessed by a metal tube. The remains of a lone life form lay below. Nearby, they found some ancient ruins, above ground. Inside, they found the remains of another life form, and its death appeared to have been caused by a large hole in its head.

“What happened to these creatures?” Sky wondered aloud. “Do you think any of them are left?”

“I don’t know,” Dax said. Maybe those ancient writings will have a clue.”

“Let’s look around some more. These things are fascinating if nothing else.”

Some distance away, they found more ancient ruins that appeared to be untouched since the demise of the civilization that had built them. It was an archaeological marvel, this crumbling city, destroyed by some sort of war or disaster. They found more remains, lying where they had fallen. Whatever had happened, not everyone had seen it coming.

They explored until dusk, and then returned to camp. Dax checked on the ship’s computer to see if it had made any progress decoding the ancient language. It had. The results were amazing.

“Sky! Children! Come here! You have to see this!”

They crowded around the screen as Dax read what the computer had translated.

“According to what the being in the cave inscribed, this planet was once a thriving civilization, but it was destroyed by war. That cave was not a home, but a shelter, built to withstand the blast. It seems that poor fellow went down there to escape the war and ended up starving to death, even though he could have come back to the surface.”

“What made him stay down there?”

“He was protecting a substance more valuable than anything on the planet; the very cause of the war. It seemed this civilization worshiped the substance, until one day the plant that provided it became extinct. When the supply ran out, war broke out. They bombed themselves out of existence with their own weapons. That guy found a treasure trove of the valuable substance down in the shelter, so he went to ground and locked himself in. He had one container left when he ran out of water. He died down there, probably of starvation, locked in with his treasure.”

“The container! That must be the treasure!” Chi exchanged an excited look with her brother. “We just found the most valuable thing on the planet!”

“So, what exactly is this treasure?” Sky asked. “What makes it so valuable?”

Dax leaned over the screen again.

“It says here that it’s some sort of drink. They called it COF-FEE.”

This story is a sequel to Battle of the Bean,

published in DysFictional 2 and WPaD’s Goin’ Extinct Too.

Blind Trust

Published in Creepies 3: Nightmares on Deviant Street
by WPaD Publications ~ * ~

This year, Gina’s gift to her husband would be extra special. It had been years in the planning; an interminable wait list, clandestine phone calls, hasty arrangements with the help of her sister when the time finally came.

Keeping the secret from Stuart had been agonizing; usually, they told each other everything. Conveniently, he was away on business when Gina and Maxine boarded a taxi for the airport. She told him her sister was recovering from surgery and needed an extra set of hands around the house for a couple of weeks. It was a half-truth; she did stay with her sister in Boston, but it was Gina who was recovering from surgery.

Gina had spoken to Stuart on the phone several times while she was away, but hadn’t told him she was returning early. He wasn’t expecting her for another day. The surprise would be perfect. His birthday wasn’t for another week, but she would give him his gift as soon as he arrived home that evening.

The sunset faded from orange to purple as the taxi pulled up at the curb. Gina stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes after getting out of the car, savoring the view.

The first thing Gina did when they reached the house was remove Max’s harness. She wouldn’t be needing it anymore, but she had left it on for the flight so Max could fly as a guide dog and not as a pet. The German Shepherd gazed up at her, puzzlement in her amber eyes. Gina reached down to stroke her head.

“It’s ok, sweetheart. As of now, you’re retired from active duty. Let’s go inside and get some dinner, shall we?”

Gina brought her suitcase into the bedroom. Though previously accustomed to navigating in darkness, she now noticed the dimness of the room with the curtains drawn.

She clicked the switch on the lamp and gasped. She saw its beauty with her own eyes for the first time. In truth, she was seeing it through someone else’s eyes; the corneas of a young man killed in a motorcycle accident, whose family had donated his organs.

The lamp was one of Stuart’s creations, handmade in his workshop. His art took many forms, mostly jewelry and small figurines carved from hardwoods – yew and walnut, he told her. He had a process for curing the wood that hardened it to almost a porcelain consistency, except much stronger. The lamp was one of his finest pieces.

He had made the lampshade as well, from soft calfskin leather, scraped thin in places to create an intricate design of tree branches, which would light up when the lamp was turned on.

Even though she couldn’t see it, for years she had felt the design with her fingers and formed a picture in her mind’s eye. The base of the lamp formed the trunk of the “tree”. The curve of the wood mimicked a tree trunk perfectly, right down to its graceful curve and non-uniformity of its shape. On the surface he had carved a heart with their initials inside. Tiny bumps covered the surface of the trunk, each painstakingly carved by her husband. It was a Haiku, written by him and inscribed in Braille for her:

Sun may fade from sight

Love for you burns ever bright

My eternal light

Now, for the first time, Gina saw the lamp in all of its glory, and it was exquisite. The glow of the lampshade projected the intricate tree branch design on the walls, giving the illusion that she was surrounded by forest. Gina caressed the shade, which she had felt hundreds of times, but now she could see what her fingers felt.

What unusual leather, she thought. It was unlike anything she remembered from the days before she lost her sight. She had expected it to be more of a tan color, but this was a pale cream shade with a pinkish hue. A muted floral design decorated the edge of the shade. The trunk looked different than she had expected as well. She had always envisioned it being the deep brown of walnut, but it too was a light cream color, almost white.

Stuart was a true artist. She wished he would give up his sales job and focus on his craft, but Stuart insisted that the things he made weren’t worth selling.

“I do this because I enjoy it, dear. Nobody wants to buy a bunch of homemade junk. Knowing that you like them is enough for me,” he had told her.

* * *

After feeding Max and making some dinner for herself, Gina contemplated calling Stuart to find out when he would be home, but resisted the urge. She didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but the anticipation was too much to bear. She paced nervously, stopping to stare at herself in the hallway mirror every time she passed. She barely recognized herself; so many years had passed since she had seen her own face. She compared her reflection to the wedding photo of her and Stuart that hung on the wall next to the mirror. It was hard to tell the difference from the photo, but she found it unsettling nonetheless.

Gina turned on the TV but couldn’t find anything interesting to watch. What to do? She could take Max for a walk, but it was dark out. She chuckled. Too dark! Darkness had never been a problem before. Maybe she could take Max out into the yard at least. She hadn’t looked at her garden yet. She shoved her feet into her shoes and slipped into a light jacket. It was late spring, but a chill lingered in the air. She called Max and opened the sliding door to the backyard. Max stayed by her side at first, waiting to be harnessed. Once she understood that her mistress didn’t require her assistance, she bounded across the yard and busied herself sniffing all the nooks and crannies.

The tulips were in bloom near the shed Stuart used as a workshop. Their colors stood against the darkness, bathed in a glow from the window. That was odd. He must have left a light on.

Or perhaps it wasn’t odd at all. Gina knew nothing about the methods he used in creating his art. Maybe part of the wood-curing process required light of some sort. She didn’t know because she had never seen. She had never even been inside his workshop.

I shouldn’t. I should wait for him to show me. It didn’t feel right to snoop, as curious as she was. She would ask Stuart to give her the grand tour when he came home.

Maybe just a little peek. What harm could it do?

Gina tried the door. It was unlocked. She pushed it open a crack and peeked inside. A curtain hung in front of the door, obstructing her view of the inside of the shed. She pulled the curtain aside and entered her husband’s workshop.

Something tickled her hair and she jumped back, startled. Eerie shadows danced on the walls. A string swung next to her shoulder. She brushed it away and looked up. The string was connected to a chain, which was attached to a dangling light fixture. The swaying bulb was the sole source of light in the workshop.

The workbench was cluttered with tools and debris from partially finished projects. A bit of wood here, a scrap of leather there. A pale stick of wood was clamped in the vise, a work in progress judging by the half-worn sheets of sandpaper and fine layer of dust on the bench below. She caressed the graceful curve of the piece with her fingertips, wondering what it was going to be. It always amazed her; the way Stuart could create such elegant contours from an ordinary chunk of wood. She couldn’t wait to watch him work.

A large barrel sat in one darkened corner of the room. Curious, Gina lifted the lid to peer inside. A powerful odor assaulted her nostrils. The barrel was filled with some sort of dark liquid with a strong chemical smell. Things floated inside the liquid, but she couldn’t see what they were. She wasn’t about to poke around in that nasty stuff. Her toe bumped against the barrel, causing the liquid to slosh a bit. Something floated to the top. A recognizable shape, but no – it couldn’t be that – it had to be a trick of the light. Gina used the pull-cord to swing the light bulb in the direction of the barrel. Back and forth it swung. Light splashed over the barrel, then dark. The thing disappeared between the surface of the liquid. She kicked the barrel again and swung the light.

Light. Dark.

Light. Dark.

Light. The thing came into view again. The light swung, revealing the shapes of skeletal fingers.

Gina screamed.

The bulb swung another arc, illuminating the far corner of the room. A wooden crate came into view. It overflowed with sticks much like the one currently clamped in the vise. Now she saw that they weren’t sticks at all, but bones.

Human bones, she was certain. What else could they be?

She stumbled backward, scrambling for the door. She ran outside and tripped over Max, who had heard her scream and come to her rescue. She landed face down in the grass. Max whined and rushed to lick her face.

She heard vehicle approaching and headlights flashed across the driveway. Stuart was home. Gina ran to the house with Max close on her heels. She dashed inside and ran to retrieve the Max’s harness from her bag. With shaking hands, she slipped the harness on the dog and fastened it in place. She dove onto the couch and managed a few deep breaths to appear calm before the door opened and Stuart walked in.

“Hey, beautiful! You’re home. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Why didn’t you call? I could have picked you up at the airport.”

She took care to look past him rather than at him to maintain the illusion of blindness. But she did see. She didn’t miss the dark splotches of red on his grey t-shirt. He looked like he’d been in a fight.

And won.

“I wanted to surprise you. Besides, I know how busy you are. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re never a bother, sweetness.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek.

She smiled and kissed him back, keeping her eyes downcast for fear he would see a difference.

“I’m going to take a shower. Have you eaten yet? We could order pizza,” Stuart suggested.

“Yes. I mean, no, I haven’t eaten. Pizza would be fine. I’ll call while you’re in the shower. You want the usual?”

“Whatever you like, my love.”

Gina couldn’t fathom eating, but she knew she needed to keep up appearances. She couldn’t let him suspect anything was wrong.

* * *

A week passed. They celebrated Stuart’s birthday with dinner at a nice restaurant and she gave him a watch as a gift. She maintained her façade of blindness, kept Max harnessed and allowed the dog to guide her everywhere she went. Max knew something was different, but Gina’s secret was safe with her.

She wracked her brain to devise a way to escape her predicament. Leaving Stuart without an explanation didn’t seem like a viable option. She was afraid of him now. A homicidal monster lurked beneath his kind and loving exterior, and she had no idea what it would take to trigger his wrath and turn that monster on her. She needed to know more about what motivated him to do the things he did.

She waited patiently and watched his daily activities. Soon a pattern emerged. Monday through Thursday he was home for dinner, but on Fridays he worked late. Or so she had always thought.

One Friday night she looked out the window and noticed the light was on in the shed. Stuart was out there, and yet his van was not in the driveway. Gina slipped out the front door with Max in harness and walked around the block, where she discovered Stuart’s van parked in the alley behind their house. It seemed he was parking in the alley and sneaking in through the back gate. He didn’t want her to know he was home.

As she watched, a truck pulled up behind his van. A strange man got out and the two of them unloaded a large plastic-wrapped bundle and together they carried it through the back gate and to his shed.

A chill ran down Gina’s spine. She didn’t have to think very hard to guess what was inside that bundle.

Who was the man? Stuart had an accomplice? She tried to get a look at the license number, but it was too dark.

What was she to do? Call the police? With what evidence?

She didn’t even know what kind of truck it was. She couldn’t tell a Ford from a Dodge because she had never seen different types of vehicles up until now.

Gina realized she had a long way to go in acclimating herself in the sighted world before she could be a reliable witness to anything.

Gina spent the following week studying everything she could to fill her brain with visual information – books, websites, and just going for walks with Max and taking in the sights in her neighborhood. She had sworn her sister to secrecy about her sight restoration. The neighbors still believed she was blind, and it was easy to fool them as long as she wore her dark glasses. She could carry on conversations while studying the minute details of a person’s face, clothing, and immediate surroundings and no one was the wiser.

She spent hours in the attic, searching through old boxes, some of which had been there prior to their marriage. The house had been in Stuart’s family for generations. She found old photos of his parents and grandparents and marveled at the resemblance he bore to them. Another box held photo albums from a more recent era, from Stuart’s childhood through to adulthood. She pulled a white album from the bottom of the box and gasped when she saw the photo on the first page. It was a wedding photo, of Stuart and another woman. He hadn’t told her he’d been married before. Why?

Then again, it wasn’t the only thing he hadn’t been honest about.

She flipped through the pages, studying the woman’s face. His previous wife was in other albums as well; vacation photos, mostly. There they were standing in front of the Grand Canyon, and here on a beach in Mexico. His ex-wife had a nice figure for a bikini, curvy but not quite plump, and had a lovely floral tattoo down the length of her thigh – some sort of delicate vine with little pink flowers on it. What kind of flower was that? She was sure she had seen it before, recently. It had to be recently, since she had only had her sight for a few weeks.

* * *

One afternoon Gina gathered the courage to take another look in the shed. She let Max run loose in the yard. Stuart wasn’t due home for hours.

The sludge barrel was empty. It smelled foul and strong. No hands or feet to be found. The same crate of bones sat in the corner. In the daylight they somehow didn’t look as ominous. What should she do? Take some of the bones to the police? That would probably be the best way to proceed. She crouched beside the crate and reached toward it.

“I see I’m not the only one with a secret,” Stuart said behind her.

Gina screamed and leaped to her feet. She stumbled backward, tripping over more bones.

“How long, Gina?”

“I – don’t – know what you mean,” she stammered.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why would you hide it from me? Jesus, Gina, you can see!” Tears shimmered in his eyes. “It’s a miracle, and the biggest event of your life – of our lives – I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t share it with me.”

“I’m sorry. I meant to tell you. I wanted to surprise you, I just – I didn’t know when to tell you, and then I found… I found…” Gina looked down at the scattering of bones at her feet.

“I guess I owe you an explanation. I should have told you. But it was easier to let you think I was crafting with wood. People find bones a bit creepy, even when they’re just animal bones.”

“Animal bones?”

“Of course! Gee whiz, Gina, what the hell did you think they were?”

“But I came in one night, and I saw… in that barrel… it looked like…” Gina looked down at her hand and spread out her fingers, then looked back up at Stuart.

“A hand? Is that what you thought it was?” He laughed. “I think I understand now. Sweetie, have you ever seen a human skeleton? Or an animal one for that matter?”

“Well, no, I guess not,” Gina admitted.

Stuart put his arm over her shoulders. “Come with me, darling, and I will show you. I think we can clear up this whole misunderstanding.”

As they walked back toward the house, Stuart hugged her close and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I can’t believe you can see! I want you to tell me all about it!”

Gina’s heart warmed with renewed love for her husband. He had already forgiven her lie and suspicion. She beyond embarrassed that she could have suspected he was a murderer.

Back at the house, Stuart sat Gina in front of the computer and showed her pictures of bones on the internet.

“You see? This is a human hand, without the flesh. Does that look like what you saw?”

“Yes, actually, it does.”

“Now look at this. This is a bear paw. Do you see the resemblance? Once the flesh is removed, the toes actually have a finger-like appearance. Could this have been what you saw?”

Gina hung her head. “Yes. The lighting was poor, and I only saw it for a few seconds. It could just as easily have been this that I saw.”

“Just for comparison, this is a fox, this is a wolf, and this – this is the fin of a whale. All mammals share the same characteristics in their skeletal structure.”

“Who was that man I saw you with? I saw you and another man carrying a bundle into the shed.”

“That was Lars. He’s one of the hunters I work with. He brings me carcasses after he’s stripped them of meat, so that I can clean the bones and make things from them. That was a bundle of moose bones we were carrying. I almost have enough for a matching pair of rocking chairs. I wanted to try my hand at building something larger.”

“That sounds amazing.” Gina hung her head, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Hey,” Stuart said, taking her in his arms, “Don’t do that. What’s the matter?”

Gina sniffled. “Being blind most of my life, I’ve always had these pictures in my mind of what I thought things looked like, but now that I can see, everything is so different! I feel like I’m in an alien world, and I don’t know what to trust anymore.”

“Shh,” he said. He held her against him, stroking her hair. “It’s ok. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. Just tell me what you need so I can be there for you.”

“I have everything I need. I have you.”

She felt ashamed for thinking he could be capable of anything so unspeakable. Her husband had an odd hobby, granted, but his art was beautiful and she couldn’t have been more proud of him.

She decided not to mention the old photo albums and wedding photos she had seen. Whether or not he had been married before was none of her business unless he chose to tell her. It was a conversation for another time.

* * *

Later that night, after a romantic candlelit dinner, Stuart led her upstairs, where they made love by the dim glow of the handcrafted lamp. Along the edge of the lampshade a faded design was visible – a delicate vine with little pink flowers.

Copyright © 2018 Mandy White

The Good Husband

When the henpecked husband finally snaps…
~*~ Published in DysFictional 2 ~*~

Harold was a good husband. His mother taught him that a good husband should cater to his wife’s every whim. His father had left when he was two years old, so he didn’t have much basis for comparison. On her deathbed, his mother begged him to find a good woman and hold onto her.

“Promise me, Harry. Don’t chase after some bleach-haired floozy. Find a sensible woman who doesn’t sleep around and put a ring on her finger. Be a good husband. I want you to be taken care of.”

“I promise, Mama.”

True to his word, Harold ignored the flirtations of his lovely secretary, Linda, who was clearly waiting for him to ask her out. His mother would not have approved of Linda. She would have called her frivolous. Linda’s long, manicured nails, perfect makeup and unnaturally crimson hair meant she was a high-maintenance woman who probably spent all of her free time at the beauty salon. Personally, Harold wouldn’t have minded if his wife spent extra effort on her appearance, but he had made a promise to his mother. If nothing else, he was an honorable man who revered his mother above all others.

He met Bernice at a charity fundraiser. He was obligated to attend on behalf of his employer, and she was one of the volunteers. She was a solidly built woman; a little on the heavy side. Her angular face was free from makeup and her dishwater-blonde hair was twisted into a tight bun, without a single stray strand. Linda wore her hair up as well, but she always had a few loose strands wisping over her smooth, rouged cheeks. Mother would have approved of Bernice.

Harold proposed to Bernice after just two months of celibate dating, foregoing intimacy to consummate their marriage the way a proper husband and wife should.

The dream honeymoon he had planned didn’t turn out quite the way Harold hoped. He wanted Hawaii, but settled on Niagara Falls because Bernice felt it was more practical to drive a few hours away than spend all that money to fly over the ocean to a resort filled with starved bikini-clad sluts. Howard acquiesced, intent on pleasing his new bride. His spirits weren’t dampened much; the promise of sexual release made mere details like location unimportant.

The honeymoon proved to be a disappointment. After one obligatory roll in the hay, Bernice refused to let him touch her. Like a good husband, Harold respected her wishes, confident that she would warm up to him when she was ready. She took his credit cards and spent the entire week shopping, leaving Harold waiting patiently in the hotel room.

Weeks passed, then months, still with no intimacy. To compensate for his nonexistent sex life, Harold threw himself into his work, quickly climbing the corporate ladder and bringing home increasingly larger paychecks, like a good husband should. Bernice sat on the couch eating snacks, drinking gin and watching the Home Shopping Network, spending the money as quickly as he could earn it.

Harold did his best to please Bernice, but she was never happy. She rarely spoke to him without yelling. Not much of a cook, she insisted on being taken out to eat frequently, which he dreaded because she took every opportunity to humiliate him in public.

Harold was miserable, but never allowed his feelings to show. He endured Bernice’s abuse meekly, replying only when asked to.

“Yes, Dear. You’re right, Dear. Whatever you want, Dear,” became his mantra. He recited the words automatically, often without even hearing what she had said. He knew his mother would have been proud of him for being such a good husband.

He wanted out, but there were only two ways he knew of to get out of his miserable marriage: divorce or suicide. Neither seemed like a viable option. Divorce meant lawyer’s fees, a hefty settlement and alimony. If he committed suicide, Bernice would get to keep all of his money and possessions. It was win-win for Bernice, with Harold ending up the loser in both cases.

As the years passed, Harold’s desperation grew, as did Bernice’s waistline. His eyes had been wandering for some time; after all, he was a man, and only human. His secretary Linda grew lovelier the more he watched her, and he spent many afternoons with his office door locked while he satisfied his urges, imagining various scenarios involving the two of them.

One day, his fantasy came true. Preoccupied with the low-cut dress Linda was wearing, he had forgotten to lock his office door. He was on the verge of climax, eyes closed and head thrown back in ecstasy when the door opened and Linda walked in.

“Mr. Benson, I need you to sign these requisitions for…” She froze when she saw him, sitting at his desk with his pants wide open.

Harold scrambled to cover himself and recover whatever dignity he had left. Linda’s next stop would be Human Resources. He would be publicly humiliated and probably asked to resign. His career was over.

What happened next was unexpected.

“Can I help you with that?” she asked, voice dripping with honey.

Unable to speak, Harold merely nodded. Linda leaned back against the door, shutting it. He heard the lock click into place.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” she said, slipping out of her dress and letting it fall to the floor.

Every fantasy he’d ever had was about to come true. For one sickening moment, Harold was certain he was asleep and dreaming; that he would wake up just as she was about to touch him.

When Linda climbed onto his lap and made love to him, he didn’t wake up from a dream. He did, however, experience an awakening of another kind.

His affair with Linda continued, and as the months passed, Harold gradually felt his confidence returning. For the first time in his life he felt like a man. He accepted the possibility that his mother may have been wrong. Subservience didn’t make him a man. It made him a doormat. Standing up for what he believed in was the mark of a true man, and he believed that he wanted to be with Linda.

He made a decision. No more would he endure Bernice’s abuse. He would ask for – no – he would DEMAND a divorce that night.

* * *

Harold ducked to avoid the half-full tumbler of gin and tonic Bernice hurled at him. The glass exploded against the cupboard door behind where his head had been a second earlier.

“A divorce?” she screeched. Her cheeks flushed with alcohol-fueled fury. “Oh, you think so, do you? You think you’re just going to put me out on the street like some used-up old whore?”

“I believe you actually have to have sex to be considered a whore,” Harold said calmly. He never would have dreamed of speaking to her that way before. Now, he felt cool and confident. He was unafraid of her, and his new-found courage was liberating.

“What did you say to me?” Bernice roared, wobbling a bit in her drunken haze as she looked around for something else to throw at him.

“You heard me.”

“Well, let me tell you something, Mister Smartypants.” Bernice grabbed her bottle of Tanqueray and took a swig of straight gin. “It just so happens, I know a thing or two.”

“Do tell, Dear.” Harold made sure he made ‘Dear’ sound anything but endearing.

“I know about your little affair with that slut in your office.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“DON”T FUCKING LIE TO ME!” she screamed.

“Calm down, Bernice. It’s quite simple. I don’t love you. I don’t know if I ever did. This marriage has been a sham from the beginning and I want a divorce. I’ll see that you’re well taken care of. I don’t think we have much else to discuss.”

“Oh yes, there is, you cheating bastard!” Bernice squinted, curling one side of her mouth into a sinister sneer. “I know. I know everything. About Linda, your little office grope-fests, those nights you were supposedly ‘working late’. A while back, I got an anonymous call from someone in your office. Someone cared enough about the sanctity of marriage to tell me what you were up to. I didn’t care much. If you were getting it from her, then you wouldn’t be always trying to put your perverted hands on me.”

“But I never…!” Harold protested, trying to quell the rage that boiled inside him. He had long ago given up making any attempts at intimacy with his wife. It was more peaceful just to leave her snoring away in her gin-soaked slumber.

“No, you never, did you? All these years, I’ve tried to make myself attractive to you, and you won’t so much as lay a finger on me!” She sniffled, tears forming at the corners of her bloodshot eyes. “I’m a woman, you know! I have needs too! Needs that a limp-dicked loser like you could never satisfy!”

Harold’s jaw hung slack as he struggled to comprehend her incredulous accusations. He had tried, Lord knew how hard he had tried to develop an intimate relationship with her early in the marriage, but she’d made it clear she did not want to be touched. Where was this coming from? Then all at once he knew. She was already preparing her case for divorce court. She planned to paint him as cold and neglectful and herself as the longsuffering victim of a loveless marriage.

“This is your response? To try and make it all my fault?”

“If it isn’t your fault, then whose is it? You’re the one who wants the divorce. After I wasted all of my best years on you!”

“Those were your best years? Then it’s a good thing I’m getting out now, because I don’t think I could handle the worst ones.”

“For better or for worse, I believe it was. But,” she waggled her bottle of gin at him. “I thought I’d better get some insurance, just in case. So I hired a private investigator. I have photos of your little love affair. Photos you aren’t going to want shown in court.”

A sudden chill gripped Harold’s gut, squashing the bravado he’d felt moments earlier. With proof of adultery she would assassinate him in court. He’d be left with nothing. Linda wouldn’t want to be with him if he was broke, he was sure of it. He needed to rethink his strategy.

“Bernice, Honey, let’s not be hasty.” He did his best to muster up some realistic-looking tears. “I’m sorry. I take back everything I said about not loving you. I was weak, I admit it, and I’m so sorry I hurt you. Please, Darling, forgive me. I’ll do anything to gain your forgiveness,” he wept.

“Anything?” Bernice was grinning now, a wide, cruel smile that stretched her already too-thin lips to the point where they almost disappeared.

“Anything you want, Dear. Haven’t I always been a good husband? Haven’t I always provided for you and given you everything you wanted? All I ask is you forgive me this one transgression. Tell me, Darling, how can I make it up to you?”

“Oh, it’s going to take me a while to make a list, but the first thing you’re going to do is fire that floozy you’ve been fooling around with.”

“Fire Linda?”

“You got a problem with that? Fire her tomorrow or I’ll call my lawyer.”

“Sweetheart, tomorrow is Saturday. The office is closed.”

“Then Monday, stupid! Do I have to do all the thinking around here?”

“Yes Dear, whatever you want, Dear.”

“That’s more like it,” she slurred. The gin was almost gone, and hopefully she would go to bed soon.

Harold’s mind reeled. He didn’t want to fire Linda, but he needed more time to think. How could he make the weekend last longer? Then he had it.

“Darling, I’m desperate to make it up to you. Why don’t we take a trip, just the two of us? Two weeks, anywhere you want to go. You can go shopping. We’ll eat someplace fancy every night. Please, I don’t want our marriage to end like this.”

“Anywhere I want?”

“Anywhere.”

“What about work on Monday?”

“I’m an executive. I can take time off if I want to. I’ll just call in sick.”

“You are sick. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Dear. You’re right. I’m sick.”

“I know where I want to go. You’ve always refused to take me there.”

“Where?”

“Hawaii.”

Harold wanted to punch her right in the middle of that smug grin. She was the one who had refused to go to Hawaii, not him! But he gritted his teeth and gave her what he hoped was a sweet smile.

“Fine. Hawaii it is. I will make flight arrangements first thing tomorrow. Why don’t we get some sleep now, Dear?”

“Way ahead of you,” she mumbled, wobbling off toward the bedroom.

The last thing Harold wanted was to do was take a vacation with his shrew of a wife, but it was the only way he could think of to buy some time. He had successfully distracted her from demanding that he fire Linda on Monday. If he booked a Sunday flight, he would have the excuse that he’d have to wait until they returned to fire her. In the meantime, he would get a message to Linda, informing her of the recent developments and ask her to take care of business matters for him.

* * *

Luck was on his side, and Harold managed to secure two First Class seats on Flight 266 to Honolulu and a room at a luxurious Oceanside resort.

The following morning while Bernice was sleeping off her hangover, Harold slipped out for coffee at Starbuck’s so he could call Linda in relative privacy. He related the previous night’s events to her.

“I just don’t know what to do, Linda. I’m so sorry you got dragged into this. If I divorce her now, she’ll ruin me.”

“Then there’s only one solution,” Linda said.

“If you know of a way out of this, I’m all for it.”

“You take her to Hawaii, but only one of you returns.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yes. Read between the lines, Harry. All I’m going to say is, lots of accidents can happen in Hawaii. People drown in the surf. You take a hike up a volcano, then… oops! Use your imagination, Babe. You’ll figure something out. When you get back, I’ll be waiting for you. I love you, Harry.” She hung up before he could respond.

She loves me! His heart fluttered, in a way it never had for Bernice. No matter what happened in Hawaii, he had Linda.

But kill Bernice?

He had to admit, he’d thought of it more than once, the same way he’d fantasized about having sex with Linda. That fantasy had come true, so why not this one?

His phone dinged, indicating a text message. It was from Linda. He opened it eagerly. It was a picture of a breast. The message said, ‘Remember what’s waiting for you. Now delete this and go get ‘er!’

He picked up a bouquet of flowers on the way home and walked back into the house whistling a light-hearted tune. For the first time since he walked down the aisle, he saw light at the end of the tunnel.

After receiving a tongue-lashing from Bernice about buying flowers that were just going to be dead by the time they returned, Harold helped her pack for their dream vacation to Hawaii.

It was going to be a dream, all right. A dream come true. He had the entire flight and subsequent two weeks to plan and execute his wife’s demise, and then he could finally start his life.

* * *

The plane hadn’t finished taxiing down the runway when Bernice started to complain.

“This seatbelt is faulty. It’s too tight. I’m taking it off.”

“Just a few minutes, Dear. Once we’re in the air you can take it off.”

“Well who designed these damn things? Probably the same assholes who design clothes – anorexics only!”

Harold clamped his lips shut tight. It wouldn’t do to argue with her or point out that the seatbelt was tight because she had gained considerable girth since their wedding. It was a good thing he had booked First Class, because he didn’t think her ass would have fit in a Coach seat.

The moment the Fasten Seatbelts sign went off, Bernice had the flight attendant running, bringing her gin after gin, slippers, a pillow, then a new pillow because the one she had smelled like farts.

Harold gazed out the window at the rugged snow-capped mountains below, picturing the curve of Linda’s breast in her last text. He mulled over the various ways he could kill Bernice. Drowning might be difficult, since a woman her size was incredibly buoyant. With his luck he’d push her overboard and she’d bob there like a cork until someone rescued her. Of course, there was always the possibility of a shark attack…

The volcano option was unlikely, since Bernice wouldn’t hike anywhere unless a buffet was waiting at the other end.

Poison, perhaps? Alcohol poisoning? Maybe he could make it look accidental. There had to be a way.

The plane gave a sickening lurch, then shuddered violently. Harold jumped in his seat. The Fasten Seatbelts sign lit up again. Bernice muttered curses into her gin and tonic.

Oxygen masks dropped in front of their faces, and a crescendo of screams rose from the Coach cabin behind them. A flight attendant emerged from the cockpit and gathered the others into a cluster, where she whispered to them urgently before ducking behind the curtain that separated First Class from Coach.

A woman’s voice came over the intercom.

“This is flight attendant Julie Todd. The captain has informed me that we are having mechanical difficulties. The cabin may lose pressure, so please take a moment to place your oxygen masks over your faces. If traveling with small children, please put on your own mask first before assisting with theirs.”

Harold detected a quaver in the flight attendant’s voice. She sounded scared, and it frightened him. She was trained to handle events such as this.

Harold put on his mask, noticing that Bernice was still sipping her gin. She had made no move to fasten her seatbelt or put on her mask.

“Honey, you should put your mask on. This could be serious.”

“Bullshit. This is just a drill. They do it all the time. It’s like a fire drill.”

Harold knew for a fact that she was mistaken, but decided to leave her alone. She’d be better company unconscious anyway, if the plane did depressurize. A flight attendant was headed in their direction, having seen that Bernice was not wearing her seatbelt and oxygen mask. The plane suddenly banked to the left, sending the flight attendant and anything that wasn’t nailed down hurtling to the other side of the plane.

“Assume crash position and brace for impact!” the captain’s voice said over the intercom.

Everything moved in slow motion. The sounds of fear and chaos filled the cabin – screams of passengers. Flight attendants telling people to place their heads between their legs to prepare for an emergency landing.

Harold dared a peek out the window. Did those mountains look closer? The plane was traveling in a distinct forward slant now, and he realized that he probably wasn’t going to survive.

His thoughts went immediately to Linda. Not to the loss of his own life, but the loss of what might have been if he hadn’t been such a pushover all his life. If this is what it meant to have your life flash before your eyes before you die, his was a pretty poor example of a life. So many regrets, so little life lived.

Bernice’s screams jolted him out of his reverie.

“This is all YOUR fault, Harold! You dragged me onto this death-plane against my will! Is this how you planned to get rid of me? To kill me in cold blood? You coward! You’ve been a coward all your life, and now you’re going to die a coward!”

Suddenly, everything became crystal clear to Harold. His biggest regret was not that he was going to die without having really lived, but that he was being robbed of the chance to kill the red-faced screeching banshee wedged into the seat beside him.

Harold tore the mask off his face. Nobody reprimanded him, because all of the flight attendants were already strapped in and tucked into crash position. He unbuckled his seatbelt and lunged at Bernice, wrapping his hands around her throat.

“I’m going to kill you if it’s the last thing I ever do!” He shouted into her face, squeezing with Herculean strength he didn’t know he had.

She made a gackkk sound and flapped her thick, doughy arms at him. Her face darkened from red to purple. Harold squeezed for all he was worth. He felt her windpipe pop under his thumbs and he pressed harder. There seemed no end to his strength, and he’d never felt more alive than he did at that moment. All the years of quiet subservience, humiliation and frustration culminated into that one single act.

Bernice’s eyes bulged and her lips opened and closed, silently for the first time since he’d known her. She looked like a giant purple fish, dying on the shore.

“You WILL die before I do!” he panted, spittle raining over her violet face. “You owe me at least that, you insufferable bitch!” Harold closed his eyes and clamped his hands down with everything he had. Bernice’s head sagged limply to one side, but he maintained his iron grip on her throat. This was how he wanted to die. They would literally have to pry her from his cold, dead hands. He would have the satisfaction of seeing her suffer in his last few moments of life, and that was the greatest gift she could ever give him.

“I love you, Linda! Harold shouted, bracing himself for impact.

* * *

Linda stretched out on her couch with a glass of Chardonnay to watch the evening news. Harry would be in Hawaii by now, and hopefully he had figured out how he was going to kill his wife.

It had been a long, slow process, but she had finally succeeded in seducing her boss. Now that he was in her back pocket, all she had to do was get rid of his wife and she would be on Easy Street. With Bernice too dead to drain him for alimony, everything would be theirs, and eventually hers. As Harry’s wife, she would no longer have to work as his secretary. Her replacement was already waiting in the wings – Brittany was a sultry blonde who had given up exotic dancing for secretarial school. Harry wouldn’t be able to resist Brittany. Once a cheater, always a cheater, and now that he’d done it once, the second time would be easier.

Linda would use the same trick she had suggested to Bernice when she placed that anonymous call months earlier. She would hire a private investigator, most likely the same one Bernice had used, to gather all the evidence she needed to prove adultery.

Yes, Easy Street. She’d earned it.

Lost in her champagne and caviar daydreams, Linda only half listened to the newscast, until something about a plane crash caught her interest. She sat upright when she heard the word Honolulu.

Wait – what? That was where Harry and Princess Bingo-Wings were landing. What the hell flight were they on? It couldn’t possibly be the same flight! She turned up the volume and sat, riveted to the screen.

“Flight 266 from New York to Honolulu experienced engine failure while flying over the Cascades near Washington State. The pilot saved the lives of nearly all passengers and crew with a last minute maneuver that steered the plane away from the mountains and over Puget Sound, where he executed a heroic water landing. The Coast Guard arrived quickly and rescued all survivors. There was only one casualty, a woman whose name is being withheld pending investigation and notification of immediate family. There has been talk of extenuating circumstances surrounding the woman’s death. She did not die as a result of the crash. Apparently she was deceased beforehand, having been strangled to death by her husband, who survived the crash. Several witnesses have corroborated the story, though authorities have declined to comment.”

The picture switched from the newscaster to live footage of passengers disembarking from Coast Guard cutters in Seattle. The dejected masses wrapped in blankets lost the spotlight to a single passenger, a man, who was led from the boat wearing handcuffs and handed over to waiting police.

Copyright © 2014 Mandy White

A Puppy for Christmas

~*~ A short story inspired by the art of Omar Rayyan ~*~

Susie bent over the paper, pencil in hand, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth in concentration.

LOVE SUSIE

There. It was finished, and it was probably the best thing she had ever written in her short life.

The shakily drawn letters were a bit too large for the lines, but she thought Teacher wouldn’t mind because of the care she had taken to make it nice, adding some pretty illustrations at the bottom.

It was an important assignment, perhaps the most important of the entire school year. Tomorrow she would read it in front of the whole class.

* * *

“Dear Santa,

My name is Susie and I am a very good girl. I wasn’t bad this year.

I only want one thing for Christmas. I want a puppy. Please can I have a puppy. If you send me a puppy for Christmas I will do anything you say and never want another thing.

Love Susie”

Susie grinned up at Teacher, seeking her approval.

Miss Jenkins smiled. “That was very nice, Susie. Now take your seat and put your letter with the others. Tomorrow I will mail all of your letters to Santa for you.”

* * *

Christmas morning arrived and Susie couldn’t contain her excitement. She just knew Santa had read her letter and seen how badly she wanted a puppy. As she opened each gift, her enthusiasm waned. Each toy, game, and pretty dress eroded her faith in Santa Claus.

“What’s the matter, Honey?” her mom asked, “Don’t you like your gifts?”

Susie shook her head sadly. “It’s not that. They’re great, really. It’s just… I thought… Never mind.” Susie turned her head to hide her welling tears. And then she spied it – way in the back, behind the tree – a flash of red. Susie crawled under the tree and sure enough, there was a large box she hadn’t seen before. She dragged it out. It felt heavy, and it seemed like something moved inside. The fiery red box had a removable lid made from fine mesh.

“What’s this?” her mother asked, looking at her husband. “Dave, what did you do?”

Susie’s father shrugged. “It isn’t from me. I thought you wrapped all the gifts.”

Susie lifted the lid of the box. Inside, nestled in a soft red blanket was a tiny hairless creature with large ears.

Susie squealed with delight. “He read my letter! He gave me what I wanted! Oh, thank you! Thank you, Santa!”

Susie’s mother glared at her husband. “Dave, seriously? I am not ok with this! It is never, ever ok to gift wrap an animal! Not to mention doing this without discussing it with me! This is a living creature, not a stuffed animal! This is a decision we should have made as a family!”

“Whoa! Whoa!” Dave held up his hands in defense from his wife’s barrage. “Honey, I am in complete agreement with you here. I swear, I didn’t do this!” He leaned over the box to study the little creature. “Looks like one of those hairless Chihuahua puppies. Hey look, there’s a card.” Dave removed the card from the box and opened it to reveal a message, elegantly inscribed in red calligraphy.

He read:

“Dear Susie:

I received your letter and agree to the terms of your offer. Here is the gift you requested. I will contact you in the future to discuss fulfillment of our contract.

Best Regards,

Big Red”

Dave frowned at his wife. “Karen, I’m not upset that you did this without discussing it with me, but why would you blame me for it? I don’t get it. I would have loved to be in on the surprise.”

“But I didn’t, honestly. I don’t know anything about this.”

“Then who is it from? And the card is weird. Who writes a message like that on a gift to a little girl?”

“Well, your mother, for one,” Karen said.

“Your mother. Back atcha.”

“It’s from Santa!” Susie squealed, hugging the blanket-wrapped bundle to her chest. “I wrote him a letter and asked for a puppy! And he gave me one!”

“Careful, sweetie,” Karen cautioned “Don’t squeeze him too tight. He’s just a tiny little thing.”

“Let’s take a look,” Dave said, “Maybe it’s a her, not a him.”

Susie lifted the blanket and the three of them examined the tiny creature. It didn’t look like any dog they’d ever seen, but it most closely resembled a hairless Chihuahua. It was about the size of a squirrel, with ears larger than its head, a pointed snout, short legs, and a long, thin tail. And it appeared to be a male.

“It’s a boy, just like I told you,” Karen said. “This little guy needs a name.”

“I’m going to name him Cuddles!”

Dave rolled his eyes at Karen and they both suppressed a giggle.

“Whatever you say, Sweetheart. He’s your dog.”

“He’s going to need some little clothes to keep him warm,” Karen said. This kind of dog comes from a place where it’s very hot, and he isn’t used to our cold weather. We can make him some cute little jackets during Christmas vacation.”

“Yes! Thank you, Mommy!” Susie kissed Cuddles on the top of his head. “Cuddles is going to have the cutest clothes of any dog!”

* *

Karen and Susie soon discovered that making clothing for Cuddles wasn’t as easy as they thought. He grew so quickly that he was in constant need of something new. In the beginning, they made several cute outfits for him, but by the end of January he changed jackets once a week; each time he outgrew the previous one. Cuddles also didn’t appear to mind the cold, in spite of having no fur to protect him from the weather. Unlike most Chihuahuas, he loved to play in the snow, and would even lie in it. Whenever he lay, the snow quickly melted from his body heat. He never shivered or appeared to be chilled.

By Easter time, Cuddles had outgrown all of his Chihuahua-sized clothing and fit a medium-sized dog jacket purchased from the store. They began to wonder exactly what breed he was. After some research, they concluded that he most closely resembled a large Xoloitzcuintli, also known as the Mexican Hairless. By summer time, Cuddles weighed a hundred pounds and from what they could tell, was still growing. A Mexican Hairless generally grew no larger than 60 pounds. Cuddles had to be mixed with a larger breed, which explained his unique appearance.

* * *

When Susan graduated high school, Cuddles weighed nearly 400 pounds and was taller than a Great Dane. His still-hairless skin rippled with muscle and his impossibly long tail had developed a sharp spine at the tip. His extra-long canine teeth protruded outside of his mouth like the tusks of a wild boar. He was still Susan’s best friend and protector, and she took him with her when she moved away to college. Living in the dormitory with Cuddles was out of the question, so Susan rented a small house near the campus. She tried inviting a roommate to share the place, but Cuddles scared the shit out of everyone who answered the ad. Susan’s social life was nonexistent, as was any chance of romance; Cuddles didn’t like any of her suitors and none returned for a second date.

* * *

Unencumbered by personal relationships or parenthood, Susan rose to success in the business world, and was CEO of a finance company by age 37. She sometimes wondered what her life would have been like without Cuddles; would she have married, had children? She felt a yearning at times for what might have been, but it passed when she imagined life without her best friend, Cuddles. The fact that he was at least thirty years old was a topic she avoided thinking about, and never discussed with her parents or anyone else.

* * *

By age 50, Susan lived a life of luxury. Her mansion was lonely with just her and Cuddles, so she invited her parents to come and live with them. They agreed to help take care of the house, given that servants always quit during the first week. Her parents aged, as parents do, and eventually Susan found herself alone once again, except for Cuddles.

* * *

Susan lay in bed, weak from age. Cuddles curled up beside her, as always warming her with his scorching body heat. She had left provisions for Cuddles in her will, and she prayed he would be cared for and loved as she loved him. She knew her time was coming soon, but it had been a good life and she was ready to reunite with her parents. She closed her eyes, searching for the white light to take her home to them. Darkness enveloped her.

“Are you ready, Susie?” A deep voice said.

Susan opened her eyes to find a stranger standing beside her bed. He was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, impeccably dressed in a dark maroon suit and black tie.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“You don’t remember me?” he chuckled. “Well, I suppose it has been a while since you last heard from me. It’s time to fulfill our contract.”

“Contract?” I don’t understand.”

The stranger reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. “It’s all here, in writing.”

Susan focused her eyes on the paper. She recognized the shaky letters, so carefully drawn by her six-year old hand. The illustration at the bottom of the page clearly depicted a little girl with a disproportionately large, oddly shaped creature. Susan read the words she had written so many years ago:

“Dear Satan,

My nam is Susie and I am a very good girl. I wasnt bad this year.

I only want one thing for Chrismas. I want a pupy. Pleas can I have a pupy. If you send me a pupy for Chrismas I will do anything you say and never want a other thing.

Love Susie”

“As you can see,” the stranger indicated Cuddles with a wave of his hand, “I have upheld my end of the agreement. It is time to collect the debt. You will do as I command for eternity. Don’t worry, Cuddles can come along. He will be happy with the other Hellhounds.”

Flames rose around the stranger’s feet, and then a fiery cavern opened beneath the bed, swallowing the room and its occupants.

Copyright © 2022 Mandy White

The Dark Side of the World

Humans flee a dying Earth to recolonize another planet, but it appears they have learned nothing in the process…
Available on Amazon, but you can read it here for free today: The Dark Side of The World

Snippets of conversation and laughter drifted through the brisk air. From a distance, the shadowy figure observed the small family huddled around the fire.

The stranger had been watching them for what felt like days, scavenging their scraps for survival, hesitant to come out of hiding despite the group’s benign appearance. Things were not always what they seemed on an unknown planet.

The ship had exploded following the crash, destroying the navigational equipment and anything else that might have provided a clue as to where this place was. It was a stroke of luck to have escaped the wreck alive, and landed on a planet with a breathable atmosphere.

It was an eerie land, cloaked in twilight, with sunlight visible on the horizon. The stranger had been walking toward the light when the ramshackle settlement came into view. Why did these people choose to live out here in the darkness, instead of closer to the light? The question needed an answer, before further travel in that direction was attempted.

The stranger strode into the camp.

* * *

Aaron pinched his sister’s arm. “I saw that. Quit hoarding the protein pods. I want some too!”

Lucy squealed and slapped his hand away. “Stop that! I wasn’t done yet!”

“Both of you stop it!” their mother scolded. “We do not fight over food.”

Preoccupied with bickering, none of them noticed the stranger in their midst until the crunch of gravel underfoot caught their attention.

Donna’s eyes widened at the sight of the shadowy figure. She scrambled backwards, shoving her children behind her.

The stranger reached a hand into a jacket pocket, withdrew a small device and aimed it at Donna.

“Please don’t hurt us!” she pleaded. “Take whatever you want. We don’t have much, but it’s yours if you spare our lives. Please! Kill me if you have to, just don’t hurt my children!”

The stranger lowered the device and removed the battered helmet from her head. She smiled at Donna.

“Looks like I won’t need this thing,” she said, placing the translator back in her pocket. “I’m not going to hurt you. I am lost on this world and in need of help.”

The woman’s age was difficult to guess; she looked middle-aged, yet her athletic, muscular physique gave her a youthful appearance. She wasn’t pretty in the conventional sense, but no less striking. Tattoos snaked up her neck, over her cheek and one side of her half-bald scalp like alien tentacles. Silver hair cascaded to her opposite shoulder. Metal rings glittered in her nose, ears and lips. A thick lens covered her eye on the bald side, held in place by metallic bands embedded in her flesh.

“Go and get your father,” Donna whispered to Lucy, shooing her toward the cluster of tents and shacks.

Aaron knew it was rude to stare, but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the fascinating stranger.

Donna’s fear evaporated when she recognized the woman’s military uniform. “Come and warm yourself by the fire,” she offered. “You must be cold, traveling out in the wasteland. I’m Donna, and this is my son, Aaron.”

“I am Vista.”

“Where did you come from?”

Vista pointed toward the Dark. “I have been walking since my ship crashed. I don’t know how far or how long. The darkness… it’s confusing. I kept moving, toward the light.” She pointed toward the bright horizon. “I saw your fire, but didn’t approach at first. I didn’t know if you were hostile. I have been watching you from a distance.”

“No, what I mean is, where are you from? How is it we speak the same language?”

“I am from Earth,” Vista said, “As I assume you are.”

Lucy returned with her father in tow. Her eyes widened at the sight of the woman seated beside the fire.

“Donna, are you all right?” He held a flashlight in his hand, and he shone the beam in Vista’s face, revealing rough, twisted scar tissue beneath the tattoos. The lens on her eye made a whirring sound as it adjusted to the light.

Donna stood and gave her husband a brief embrace. “Yes, we’re fine. Darius, this is Vista. She is from Earth. Her ship crashed near the Dark Line. She was traveling to Summerland when she came upon our camp.”

“Summerland?” Vista’s brow furrowed. “What is Summerland?”

Aaron pointed toward the horizon. “Summerland. Land of the Light.”

Donna scowled. “Land of the Deviants, you mean.”

Aaron shrugged. “Well, that goes without saying.”

“What do you mean?” Vista asked.

“First, you explain some things to us,” Darius said. “How can you be from Earth, if we have never met?”

“I think you just answered your own question. Have you met everyone from Earth? I haven’t.”

“What I mean is, you didn’t come here on the ship with us.”

“No. My ship crashed. I don’t know where I am, only that I am far from home.”

“You’re military?” Darius asked, indicating her attire.

“Yes. North American Air Force. Captain Vista Daune.”

Lucy sat on the bench beside Vista. She reached up to touch the tattooed, marred surface of her face.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Lucy!” Donna scolded, “Don’t be rude!”

“It’s ok.” Vista put an arm around Lucy. “You’re not rude. You’re direct. It’s a good quality to have. Don’t ever lose that, sweetie. I’ll tell you, as long as it’s all right with your parents.” She looked at Donna, who nodded her consent.

“When I was younger, I worked at an amusement park. A low-budget little place, way out in the desert in Nevazona. It featured low-tech, cheesy attractions, enhanced by spraying the patrons with a mind-altering drug while they stood in the lineups. Anyway, to make a long story short, there was a malfunction on one of the attractions, a train ride that was supposed to mimic time travel. Riders started disappearing. They’d get on, but when the ride returned, it was empty. We asked our bosses to shut the ride down until we could find the problem, but they refused. One day the train returned with a single rider on board, and he was freaking out, bad. He’d had a reaction to the ride drug, and he insisted he was from the past. I tried to calm him down, but he was trippin’ balls somethin’ awful. He accused me of being part of a conspiracy. I gave him the antidote to the drug and sent him on his way, but apparently he didn’t swallow the pill. He returned later, still in a psychotic state, and threw a jar of acid in my face. Turns out the amusement park was actually a military experiment. They were testing mind control drugs. The idea was, use a drug to make subjects suggestible to whatever reality they chose to feed to them.”

Lucy gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. “That’s awful!”

“It’s not so bad.” Vista pointed at the lens. “The optical implant is better than a regular eye. I can see things really far away, even in the dark.”

“Cool!” Aaron said. “I want one!”

“Well, first you need to find a sharp stick…” Vista joked.

“You must be hungry,” Donna said, offering her a wrapped package of food. She shot her husband a stern glance, and Darius passed Vista a bottle.

“Thank you.” She took a sip. It tasted sweet and fruity, some sort of wine.

“After the accident, the military wanted to keep me close, because I knew too much. They offered me a job. I enlisted in the space program where I worked as a mechanic.”

“What year did you leave Earth?” Darius asked.

“I left in October, 2048,” Vista replied.

“But that’s impossible! You couldn’t have! The planet was long – ”

“Destroyed? Yeah, no it wasn’t. That’s just what they told all of you to convince you to evacuate. I know the story. A giant asteroid was on a collision course with Earth, extinction level event, blah blah… everyone needed to evacuate or they would die.”

“Yes, exactly. And after we were off the planet, we watched it hit. We all watched Earth being destroyed on the screens, from the safety of the ships.”

“What you saw was fake. Spectacular special effects, staged for your benefit. They just wanted to be rid of you.”

“Who?”

“The ones in control. Governments.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I worked for them. I helped build the ships that brought you here, and countless others who ended up who knows where in the universe.”

“I don’t know,” Darius shook his head. “It all sounds pretty far-fetched. Not to mention coincidental that you ended up here, the same place where we landed.”

“It’s quite logical, when you think about it,” Vista said. “The ship I came in was built with the same technology as yours, though a bit more advanced, being a newer model. But both were built with the same type of navigational system. They’re programmed to seek out habitable planets. The difference is, yours landed safely. My landing gear was damaged during the flight and I crashed.”

“Assuming what you’re saying is true, why did they send us away?”

“As you probably remember, Earth’s governments were run by the wealthy. Every high office in the world was for sale to the highest bidder. The Elites wanted the planet to themselves. They’d tried genocide in the past, but then they realized it wasn’t race or religion that was the problem, it was population. The masses of non-wealthy were taking up space they felt they were entitled to and cutting into their profit margin.

“So they made up a lie to make us leave?”

“Yes. What better way to get rid of a problem than by shooting it into space? They’d been doing it with their garbage for years: out of sight, out of mind. And then they took credit for cleaning up the planet. They did the same thing with what they viewed as human refuse. Anyone they decided was a burden – basically anyone who was in the wrong tax bracket – was sent into space like so much trash.”

“How did they decide who was a burden?”

“Anyone with a bank balance of less than a million dollars was immediately disqualified. After that, the heads of the nations met, and each came forward with a list of those they deemed worthy. The chosen ones were informed. Everyone else was told the planet was about to be destroyed.”

“I remember,” Donna said softly. I was only sixteen years old. My life was just beginning. They told us we were going to die. I’ve never been so afraid in all my life. Before that day, my biggest problem was getting the boy I liked to notice me. In an instant, my whole world changed. Everyone’s did.”

“And the bastards let you all think you were going to die. For weeks they fed you a mixture of doomsday bullshit and false hope. Their ‘brilliant’ scientists were working on a solution, they said. And then, two months after the news of the asteroid, came the big announcement. Humanity was saved! Everyone would escape the doomed planet onboard a massive intergalactic cruise ship, with a chance to find a new world somewhere out there. Tickets were free, of course, but passengers had the option of buying upgrades – private quarters, individual stasis pods – all stuff that made no difference in the long run, but the Elites never failed to grab an opportunity to make a buck. Billions of people blasted into space in every possible direction. Some were doomed to die; some are still out there cruising, locked in stasis until their ships find a livable planet. Some got lucky and found a place to land.”

“We got lucky, I guess, if you can call this lucky. My family signed up right away. But my grandparents refused to go with us. They preferred to stay and die in their home. I wonder what happened to them?” Donna sighed. “I miss them. I wish we could go back.”

“Actually, no, you don’t. After the evacuation, the Elites tried to starve out the squatters by making life as rough as possible for them, dangling the promise of food and shelter aboard a cruiser. A lot of them gave in and finally left, but some refused to take the bait. The survivalists fared the best; many had been stockpiling for Armageddon since the turn of the century. Those who were unprepared just starved.”

“But there must have been some chosen ones who didn’t agree with the plan!” Donna said. “What happened to them?”

“The penalty for non-compliance was execution. They couldn’t risk putting them aboard a ship with the masses once they knew the truth. The secret had to be protected at all costs. A few chosens met their end that way, but not as many as you’d think. Wealth and corruption go hand in hand.”

“Why did you leave?” Aaron asked. “Were you sent away too?”

“No. Military was exempt. They didn’t want to be left without defenses in case of attack. The Elites didn’t trust each other. They were so worried about being betrayed by one of their own, they overlooked the real threat.

Once the Elites got rid of everyone, they didn’t have the planet to themselves for long. Hostile aliens landed and took over. Our guess was they intercepted one of the evacuation ships and tracked it back to Earth. Our weapons were no match for them. Most of our armed forces were wiped out. As a mechanic, I never saw the front lines, so I survived. The Elites lost everything. They were forced to live in squalor, slaves to the new alien overlords.”

“Serves them right, the bastards.” Donna threw a bundle of sticks on the fire with more force than necessary and it erupted in a shower of sparks.

“Right? It was kinda beautiful, to be honest. Anyway, I escaped, stole a ship and got the hell out of there while the rich idiots had the aliens distracted, demanding rights and fighting to keep their country clubs. I didn’t know where I was going; just set the autopilot and went into stasis, hoping to land on a world less corrupt than the one I left.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Darius said, “but it isn’t.”

“What? I left only fifteen years after the evacuations. How could anyone fuck things up that quickly? You got some kind of Lord of the Flies thing happening here?”

“Some kind of. I don’t have much basis for comparison, to be honest.” Darius reached for the bottle and Vista handed it to him.

“We left aboard a ship called the Aldous, four months after the doomsday announcement. Donna and I were teenagers, traveling with our families. We didn’t meet on the ship; everyone went into stasis shortly after takeoff. We met here, after we landed.”

“And what is “here”? Does this place have a name?” Vista inquired.

“We named the planet Xterra.”

“I get it. Ex-Terra. Kind of a clever play on words. It was also a model of car, if I remember correctly.”

“Apparently, yes. I don’t remember, but that’s what someone told me.”

“Where are the rest of you? That ship had a capacity of five hundred thousand. Are there more settlements like this one?”

“Yes, there are more like this, but not everyone is out here. The rest live in Summerland.”

“And why aren’t you there as well?”

“Because,” Darius said, passing the bottle back to Vista, “Summerland is only for the Uppers.”

“What the fuck is an Upper?”

“According to what you’ve told us, a lot of people who considered themselves Elite didn’t make the cut. They took what they believed was their rightful place. As for the rest of us…” Darius gestured at the surrounding camp.

“So you live out here in the dark, while those entitled assholes get to live in the sunshine? How do you survive? Where do you get food?”

“Why we work, of course. For the Uppers. And for the record, this isn’t the Dark. This is the Twilight Zone. The Dark Line is still a great distance from here.”

“You live in the Twilight Zone? You can’t be serious.”

“Of course.”

Vista shrugged. “Sure, whatever. Suitable, I guess. What’s this Dark Line?”

“The Dark Line is where Twilight becomes Dark. It’s the borderline between the habitable and inhabitable zones. Xterra is different from the planet we came from. Remember how Earth rotated on an axis? I mean, I assume it still does.”

“Xterra doesn’t rotate?”

“Yes, it does. The way my father explained it, this planet turns so slowly it travels around its sun faster than it makes a single rotation. On Xterra, a day is longer than a year. On Earth we had short days and nights, seasons, cold places and warm places. This planet has those as well, but the dark and light move very slowly.”

“Your father sounds pretty knowledgeable.”

“He used to work for NASA.”

“And yet they sent him away.” Vista shook her head in disbelief, even though she already knew most of Earth’s scientists and scholars had been evacuated.

“Yes. Their loss, Xterra’s gain.

“I’d like to speak to your father.”

“So would I,” Darius said, hanging his head. “My father died, a few years after we landed.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“He was sick. Cancer. That’s why he retired from NASA. He wasn’t expected to live more than a year when we left Earth. He beat the odds, survived a deep space flight and helped colonize a new planet. He completed his life’s work and died happy, given the circumstances.”

They passed the bottle between the three of them in silence. Finally Vista spoke.

“Tell me more about Xterra.”

“The sides closest and furthest from the sun are inhospitable. The Scorch burns everything in its path. The Dark is frozen, like deep space. In between, are the regions where we live. Summerland is the ideal place to live. The sunlight is warm but not too hot, and the constant light is great for growing crops. We plant crops at the edge of the Twilight Zone, and by the time they reach the Scorch Line, they have matured and been harvested.”

“You must have water here, then.”

“Yes. The Dark is covered in ice, like Earth’s poles were before the climate change. As the sun advances, the ice melts and flows toward the warmth. The Scorch evaporates it into clouds and it rains and snows, just like it used to on Earth.

“Which explains the atmosphere. But your homes must also get scorched. What do you do, move the camps?”

“Yes. We move the camps as far as we can into the Twilight Zone, so we don’t have to move as often. It’s dark and cold for a while, but it gets warmer and brighter as the Summer approaches.”

“But what about the people who live in Summerland? They must have to move as well. Do they come out here too?”

“The Uppers? Oh, hell no. They would never leave the light. Moving them is a constant process. It keeps all of us working. Those who aren’t tending crops, working in the city or serving in the homes of the Uppers are on Moving duty.”

“You mean they move the tents and camps for the Uppers?”

“Tents! Ha!” Donna chuckled, opening a fresh bottle of wine. “I’d love to see an Upper sleep in a tent!”

“But how do you move them, if they don’t live in tents?”

Darius said, “We build. And dismantle. And rebuild.”

“Let me get this straight. You take apart entire buildings when the heat gets too close, and rebuild them where it’s cooler?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re ok with that arrangement?”

“Yes. We earn our food and whatever else we need, and everyone is happy.”

“Are you?”

“Happy? Yes, I’d say so, considering the alternative.”

“But why can’t everyone live in Summerland? Like you said, it’s a huge planet.”

“Because the Uppers won’t allow it. They don’t want crowds of Workers cluttering up their space.”

“Just like fucking Earth,” Vista muttered.

* * *

Vista accepted the family’s invitation to stay at the camp. They provided her with a tent and some necessities. Getting a job wasn’t a problem. Everyone worked, and the Uppers didn’t question who was who as long as the work was being done.

Vista couldn’t wait to get a look at this Summerland civilization.

Crews worked around the clock on Xterra because Summerland was daylight all the time. With no discernable day and night to guide them, they relied on Timekeepers to notify them of shift changes. The few remaining functional timepieces from Earth were used to create calendars based on Earth years, to give them a relatable way of measuring time. Shift changes were announced by the ring of a Timekeeper’s bell.

Vista was scheduled to start a shift on the next bell.

* * *

Aaron accompanied Vista into Summerland for her first shift. He was also scheduled to work at the next bell. Darius and Donna had finished their shifts and were at home asleep.

During the walk to the city, they chatted.

“How old are you, Aaron?”

“Mom says I’m about thirteen, in Earth years.”

“And you work? Don’t you go to school?”

Aaron laughed. “School? That’s only for the Uppers. They go to classes in the church. We don’t have to. Our parents teach us all we need to know.”

“Church? Seriously? They’re still flogging that old horse?” Vista laughed and shook her head. “Some people never learn.”

“All the kids work, as soon as they’re old enough.”

“Even your little sister Lucy? What is she, about eight years old?”

“Seven. Lucy works with my mom, on the Cleaning crew.”

“Cleaning?”

“The Uppers like everything clean and polished.”

The sky grew lighter as they neared the city, and the temperature warmed by several degrees, like an ordinary sunlit morning. People came into view, other Workers, all walking in the same direction, toward a small building that looked like a toll booth.

A bell sounded in the distance.

“We’re almost there. We’d better hurry up and punch in.”

“Punch in?”

“You punch in at the gate when you get there. Keep your card with you and don’t lose it. You’ll need it to punch out at the end of the shift.”

“The card keeps track of our pay?”

“The card is your pay. It’s a voucher. You collect vouchers, and then you can spend them in the marketplace.”

“Huh. Cut out the middleman. It’s so simple, it’s almost brilliant.”

They had reached the toll booth.

“Where do you work, Aaron?”

“Here.” Aaron took his place inside the booth, relieving a youth of about the same age. He punched a card and handed it to Vista. “Remember to punch it again when you’re done, or it will be worthless.” He beckoned to a man standing behind Vista. She recognized him from the encampment. “This is Carl. He’ll show you what to do. You’re both on the same Moving crew.”

Vista tried not stare as she entered the city of Summerland. She intended to keep a low profile, but her jaw dropped in awe.

Shining towers rose all around, connected by raised, enclosed walkways, like a giant above-ground ant colony. Workers moved about the streets at ground level, while figures in flowing white robes traveled through the walkways.

“What is that made from?” she asked Carl, pointing at the towers. “It’s so shiny!

“Gold, mostly. And some copper.”

“You’re kidding!”

Carl shrugged. “We use what is available. The Aldous came equipped with plenty of tools, and seeds to grow crops, but not a lot of building supplies. We mined the planet’s minerals and smelted the metals. There happens to be a lot of gold available. There are other materials, but the Uppers prefer the gold.

“Of course they do.” Vista shook her head at the absurdity of it all. “So you have gold towers with thatched roofs?”

“Mostly, yes.”

“And I thought Earth was fucked up.”

* * *

With Carl’s guidance, Vista survived her first shift without asking too many questions. She turned a few heads, but transfers from other shifts weren’t uncommon and nobody questioned her presence.

The crew was in the process of dismantling a mansion-sized home on the hot side of the city. Each building, she learned, had a duplicate next to it, which the occupants lived in while the other was being moved. Once the first home was rebuilt on the cool side of the city, crews went back and dismantled the second. And so on… building by building, until the entire city had been moved. Half of all buildings in the city were unoccupied at all times. And yet the people who did all the work were living in tents in the darkness! Vista fumed as she worked. The job never ended. As the city moved, the sun advanced.

Vista pondered what the Uppers would do if they had nobody to move their city for them.

The Uppers did nothing for themselves. Household servants prepared meals, cleaned their homes, shopped in the market for them and brought them everything they needed from the outside.

All buildings were connected by walkways, allowing Uppers to travel anywhere in the city without coming in contact with the ground. They were obsessed with cleanliness; their shoes never touched dirt and they wore spotless white garments. All the Uppers Vista saw were overweight, some morbidly so. The place was like a country club for obese germophobes.

They even had an above-ground golf course on the roof of the marketplace, with live sod planted over a fabric membrane. The marketplace was like a gigantic open-air shopping mall, with vendors of every description gathered under a roof like a giant parking garage.

One shift, while transporting materials to the cool side, Vista caught sight of something shiny. She zoomed in with her implant. The Aldous! The magnificent ship that had transported them to the planet sat a few miles outside the city, past the farmlands.

An idea formed in her mind.

* * *

Later, in the encampment, Vista and Darius were seated at a table in the tent that served as a pub.

Vista asked, “What happens to the Aldous during the move? Do they move it as well, or does it stay in one place?” She had to speak loudly to be heard over the chatter of voices in the busy pub.

“In the past, Captain Samuels would fly it deep into the Twilight Zone,” Darius explained, “as close to the Dark Line as possible. But he was old. He died recently, and the person who took his place doesn’t know much about the ship. On the last flight, it had a rough landing and now the engines won’t fire. We have nobody who knows how to fix it.”

“Yes, you do.” Vista grinned.

“You?”

“I spent my entire military career working on that propulsion system. I know it well.”

“The ship should be moved if possible,” Carl said, “We don’t know if it would survive the Scorch and the Dark Freeze.”

“I can answer at least half that question. The Aldous was built for intergalactic travel, which means it was designed to withstand extreme temperatures. Yes, it would definitely survive the Freeze. That’s equivalent to the temperature of space. As for the Scorch, I’m about fifty percent certain it would survive that as well. Though the ships weren’t designed to fly into something as hot as a star, they are well insulated, in case of landings in harsh environments. I don’t know enough about this planet to say for sure. I don’t know how hot it gets. But that’s irrelevant, because we aren’t going let it get trapped in the Scorch. We want that thing accessible and operational, and I’m going to make it happen.”

“Vista, what are you plotting?” Darius asked. “If the Uppers find out…”

“Then what? Tell me, WHAT will happen if the Uppers find out?” Vista’s voice rose. “What will they do?” She gestured around the room. “What can they do to any of us that they haven’t already done? Is there some sort of punishment I don’t know about? Public beatings? Executions? Prison?”

“No, nothing like that! But they could cut off our food supply,” Carl said. “Without the crops, we’d starve. We need access to Summerland to survive, and the only way to get access is to work there.”

“And what if you didn’t? What if none of you did?

“What are you saying?” Darius asked. A murmur rose across the room. Vista had the attention of other tables besides theirs.

“What would the Uppers do if everyone refused to move their damn houses for them? Would they pick up the tools and do it themselves? Of course not! They wouldn’t know where to begin. I’ve worked over a dozen shifts and haven’t seen one of those pricks set foot on the ground.”

Vista stood and addressed the room.

“Don’t you people realize you’re the ones with the power, not them? I say fuck the Uppers! Let them burn when the Scorch comes! We’ll survive, because we have tents and know how to move them. We know how to plant crops. Who would feed the Uppers if we didn’t harvest their crops or serve them their food?”

“Fuck the Uppers!” came a shout from the crowd.

More voices joined in until it became a chant.

“Yeah! Fuck the Uppers! Fuck the Uppers!”

Vista turned to Darius and said, “That, my friend, is what we Earthlings used to call a strike.”

* * *

Word of the strike spread through the camps, along with instructions that everyone was to work their normal shifts until told otherwise.

Vista traded shifts with one of the farm Workers. The first chance she had, she slipped away, to the Aldous.

Walking onto the bridge of the old ship was like coming home. Vista blinked back tears. If she forgot about the messed-up civilization outside, she could almost pretend she was back on Earth, back at her old job, before everything went to shit.

The Aldous was easy to fix; just a loose connection caused by the impact of a rough landing. She completed the repair, then accessed the ship’s navigational system and reprogrammed it. If this strike went the way she expected it to, the Aldous would take care of their problem for them.

* * *

Workers gathered in the wasteland at the edge of the settlement where they awaited instructions and answers to their questions.

Vista did her best to alleviate their fears.

“In our old lives back on Earth, we were used to working for someone else. We all had Uppers to answer to. It’s natural to want to continue what we’ve always known. It feels safe.”

Several heads nodded and voices murmured in agreement.

“The rules have changed. This is a new world, and you have the power to write new rules. The Uppers are playing by the old rules. Their power lies in your willingness to obey. Take that away and they have nothing! If nobody shows up for work, the Uppers will be afraid. They will be in a position to negotiate, and we can ask for whatever we want.”

“But what if it doesn’t work? What if the Uppers won’t negotiate?” a voice in the crowd asked.

“We have the Aldous. We will threaten to leave, and tell the Uppers to take care of themselves. Believe me, they’ll negotiate.”

“We could actually leave this place?” another voice asked.

“I think that’s a question we need to ask.” Vista addressed the crowd, “Would you want to leave on the Aldous, and take your chances in space? There’s always the chance the ship’s navigation system doesn’t locate another hospitable planet, or that the one it finds is inhabited by a hostile race.”

A woman spoke up. “I think I speak for most of us, when I say, we don’t want to leave. This is our home now. Our children were born here. We want to negotiate better living conditions for ourselves.”

The crowd voiced its agreement.

 “Ok, it’s settled, then. We will leave only as a last resort. We are going to demand equal treatment for everyone. The Uppers will have no choice but to share Summerland and all its luxuries with us.”

“How long will it take? What if we run out of food?” someone asked.

“There’s nothing stopping us from helping ourselves to the crops in the fields. Nobody goes there except us.”

The chatter of voices rose. Apparently nobody had considered the obvious.

“Just give me three shifts. You all have enough food to last that long. Three shifts. I promise you, we’ll know the outcome by then.”

A cheer rose from the crowd, followed by chants of, “Fuck the Uppers! Fuck the Uppers!”

* * *

When the next bell rang, all Workers went home, but no new shifts took their places. Even the Timekeeper left.

The Uppers woke from their clean white beds to find no clean robes to change into. Their breakfast wasn’t made. Their household servants didn’t arrive with fresh goods from the marketplace.

An eerie silence had fallen over the city. The constant sound of construction was absent. No Workers bustled in the marketplace. No Timekeepers’ bells marked the shift changes.

Nobody did anything at first; they just waited for their servants to arrive. After the second sleep with no meal, they ventured out of their homes.

The Workers had vanished. Only Uppers were left.

They raided the marketplace, stripping it of anything edible. When the food was gone, what would they do? Nobody knew.

There was plenty of food in the fields, but with nobody to harvest, how would they get it? With nobody to run the bakeries, who would make the breads and cakes the Uppers loved to eat? More importantly, who was going to move them away from the Scorch? They were going to burn to death!

Panic gripped the city.

BONG! BONG! BONG!

The Timekeeper’s bell sounded in the courtyard.

The Workers were back! They were saved! They rushed to their windows.

A lone figure stood in the courtyard. A strange looking woman nobody had seen before.

“Uppers! We need to talk!”

* * *

The meeting with the delegation of Uppers went as expected.

Vista studied the row of ponderous, balding old men, lounging in their overstuffed armchairs. She recognized a few of them as former politicians from Earth.

“I regret to inform you, that as of this moment, all work in the city will stop, unless our demands are met,” she told them.

The room erupted in laughter.

“Get back to work!” A man who looked like Colonel Sanders dismissed her with a wave of his hand, as if swatting a fly. “Everyone needs to get back on the job, right now. There’s work to be done!”

Vista joined in their laughter.

“What’s so damn funny?” Sanders demanded.

“Suddenly I have a craving for Kentucky Fried Chicken,” she giggled.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Just a moment, gentlemen, before we get down to business, I need to take care of something.” She withdrew a small aerosol can from her pocket and covered her mouth and nose with a cloth. She sprayed the air above the men’s heads.

“What is that?” one of them asked. He looked like an aging Cabbage Patch doll.

“Just a precaution. A little disinfectant for your protection. I came from outer space, remember? I don’t want to expose you to any deadly space germs.” When Vista stole the mind control drug from the amusement park, she never imagined she would use it on an alien planet one day.

Their eyes clouded with confusion. The atmosphere in the room changed from belligerent to complacent as the spray took effect.

“Thank you,” Cabbage Patch said.

“Kentucky Fried Chicken,” Sanders said.

“I was from Kentucky, once,” a voice drawled. The owner of the voice resembled 500 pounds of sweaty melting wax. “Senator Roy Gubbles.”

“I remember you, Mr. Gubbles.”

“Senator Gubbles,” he corrected.

“Whatever, Gumby. Actually, you were only a senator on Earth. Here, you’re just… I’m not sure what you are here. Jabba the Hutt, I think. Such a shame your colleagues didn’t choose you to stay.”

“What do you mean? Nobody stayed. That planet is dead. Destroyed by the asteroid.”

Vista grinned. “Oh, no, dear Gubbles. That’s what they wanted you to believe. The sad truth is, they chose the ones worthy to stay and blasted the undesirables into space. You, sir, did not make the cut. Did you piss anyone off, by chance? Money troubles, Senator?”

Gubbles hung his head and she knew she had nailed it. He’d fallen into financial trouble and his cronies were tired of bailing him out.

“Why should we believe you?” Sanders said.

“Because I was there. Long after you all got kicked off the planet, I remained, along with your old golfing buddies. If you don’t believe me, I have a little video you might want to see.”

Vista clicked a button on her implant and turned around. An image projected on the wall in front of them. It was the phony broadcast shown on the ships, of the asteroid destroying Earth. Except this video wasn’t on a ship’s screen. It was displayed on the giant screen in Times Square, with a party of New Year’s Eve proportions in full swing below. Billionaires from around the world cheered and celebrated. Champagne corks popped.

The Uppers watched in stunned silence.

“Sorry guys. Hate to break it to you, but there was a big party, and you weren’t invited. They celebrated after you left. You were duped. Thrown away by your own kind.”

“But… what…?” Sanders sputtered.

“Chicken butt!” Vista giggled. “But seriously, boys, if I were you, I’d be pissed off. I’d want revenge! Those bastards took everything you had! Your jobs, your property, your money!”

“Those bastards!” Cabbage Patch repeated.

“You know what I’d do if I were you? I’d go back there and take back what was mine.”

“We can’t! The ship is broken!”

“Not necessarily.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, I can fix it. I can program a course for Earth and send you on your way.”

The Uppers murmured amongst themselves.

“Think about it fellows! The assholes who sent you away will be long dead by the time you get to Earth. But you – you’re still young and strong and… erm… healthy, thanks to stasis travel. You could take your families back home and take your rightful place on the planet of your birth.”

“What do you want in return?” Gubbles asked.

“Why nothing, really. Just leave this planet, this pain-in-the-ass, useless, always-having-to-move planet, to the less fortunate. The Workers have no place to go. You wouldn’t have to take them with you to Earth. You’d have the ship all to yourselves.

* * *

It didn’t take the Uppers long to reach a decision.

Vista moved the Aldous closer to the city in preparation for boarding. The Workers built a walkway for the Uppers, leading from the city to the gangplank to allow them to board without having to walk on the ground. The Workers loaded the Uppers’ belongings, most of which were made of gold. Hopefully the alien overlords of Earth liked gold. Maybe they’d be able to bargain for their miserable lives.

The new citizens of Summerland gathered to watch the massive ship and its equally massive cargo rise into the sky, and then in a flash it was gone.

Donna gave Vista a huge hug. “I don’t know how to thank you. I can’t believe you convinced them to leave. How did you do it?”

“Let’s call it the power of persuasion.”

* * *

New Summerland thrived. Everyone did their share of work, and everyone shared in the benefits. The ridiculous golden towers were left to melt when the Scorch came, and the city was replaced with more practical, easily movable structures to suit the Summerlanders’ nomadic lifestyle. Aaron and Lucy grew up and had children of their own.

Even though Vista was old and blind in her real eye, she was not blind to the trend developing in the new generation. Some citizens stopped doing their share of work, opting to saddle others with their workload in return for goods or favors. As the lazy ones increased in number, the working class was pushed toward the edges of the city. One day she overheard someone suggest they move the workers out of the city, into the Twilight Zone.

Vista’s fingers caressed the spray can in the pocket of her robe. Some people never learned.

“Here we go again,” she muttered.

Copyright © 2018 Mandy White

Easy Beezy and Another Freebie!

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EASY BEEZY

We were too busy looking for outside threats to notice disaster on our own doorstep. After World War II, we had the threat of nuclear war to worry about. When that didn’t materialize, the doomsayers warned us about Y2K, and then that Mayan calendar fiasco. We survived the COVID-19 pandemic, but something new always lurked around the corner; some potential disaster to keep us distracted from the core issue, which was the damage we were doing to our planet. Our oceans were dying, our forests decimated and our climate was changing. Yet even with all of those odds against us, we could have repaired the damage.

The extinction of the honeybees marked the point of no return for humanity. We had done a good enough job on our own of killing off our precious bees, but they were holding their own until the Murder Hornets invaded North America. The giant Asian Hornets fed on our honeybees, decimating entire hives in mere hours.

Of course, science had a solution. They genetically engineered a new species of bee, a Bee 2.0, if you will. They selected the best characteristics of all species of bee, including the Japanese honeybee, which was quite skilled at combating the invasive hornets. They mixed in a little of this and a little of that. Some say they combined genetic material from African killer bees with that of cockroaches and tardigrades to make the new bee harder to kill. It was all speculation. Nobody except the creators themselves knew exactly what went into the new bee.

We found ways to keep our food supply alive. Miniature computer-controlled drones were built to give the new bees a helping hand with pollination until their numbers increased. A new generation of self-pollinating hybrid plants replaced many food crops. The general public learned to embrace laboratory-grown foods. In the face of adversity, we did what humans always do: We survived.

Honey grew scarce and expensive. The old supplies dried up, and the meagre population of new bees wasn’t able to produce enough to keep up with demand. The honey shortage led to the development of unhealthy synthetic substitutes, most made from high fructose corn syrup. So the mad scientists at the genetics lab went to work. They took a little dab of Bee 2.0 honey and combined it with a bunch of other ingredients to make it stretch. The result was Beezy – the first honey substitute that tasted close to the real thing, probably because it contained actual honey. Some people said it tasted even better than real honey.

Beezy was so popular the FDA allowed it to be pushed to mass market without fully testing it. Early indications were extremely promising. The new 2.0 honey brought some unexpected health benefits. It proved to be a kind of super fuel for the immune system. A new over-the-counter pharmaceutical called “Easy Beezy” outsold every other cold and flu remedy on the market. Over time, we learned that not only did it treat the common cold and flu, it cured them – absolutely nuked them, in fact. It even killed the dreaded coronaviruses that had killed so many in the past. Further study revealed a plethora of uses for the revolutionary product. It eliminated cancer, diabetes, and an ever-growing list of previously terminal ailments. AIDS no longer existed. Vaccines became irrelevant. It even seemed to affect the aging process. Scars faded, wrinkles smoothed. Elderly people looked years younger.

People seemed almost…immortal. Time would tell just how true that was.

The exciting new product was promoted as “The Elixir of Life”. We bought it and, like the fools we were, consumed it in copious amounts. Beezy surpassed everyone’s wildest expectations.

If only it hadn’t.

If only it had been deadly.

I lost count of how many times I had prayed and begged and railed at God for bringing this curse upon us. But the truth was, God wasn’t to blame. We did it to ourselves. We created it; conjured this cursed amber elixir straight from the bowels of Hell.

Prolonged life. Disease-resistant. No more fear of cancer, of pandemics and other silent killers. Sounds great, doesn’t it? Who wouldn’t want that? What possible downside could there be? Someone offers me a food that can do that, where do I sign, amiright? That was the thinking of the general population.

Beezy took the place of artificial sweeteners in nearly every product worldwide. By the time any adverse effects were discovered, nine-tenths of the world’s population was consuming it on a regular basis. Except for the ones too poor to buy it, or people starving in third world countries. They were the lucky ones. I had a severe allergy to honey, so I abstained as well.

Lucky me.

I was angry at first. Angry that I had been denied the chance for immortality because of my allergies. Just one more chance for life to give me the big middle finger. I couldn’t swim in pools as a kid because of the chlorine. I lived in fear of insect stings. I had never tasted seafood, milk, or peanut butter. It wasn’t fair. And now this. The one product that might have cured my allergies might also kill me.

Yes, Beezy seemed like the answer to everything.

After all, who wouldn’t want eternal life?

Little Jimmy Wilson, for one.

Jimmy was an eight-year-old boy who lived on my street. He was riding his bike when some drunk asshole ran him down. The car dragged him for several blocks. His screams will haunt me until the day I die, which thankfully will be soon. The paramedics collected the pieces of poor little Jimmy and rushed him to the hospital. The surgeons did their best, but Jimmy was in bad shape. Arms and legs mangled. He had been decapitated, but somehow he was still alive. Unable to die but too damaged to heal, Jimmy was doomed to an agonizing existence as a stitched-up, oozing mess that should have been laid to rest with dignity.

As the years passed, more who should have died continued to live. Soldiers returned from the front lines of various wars with limbs blown off, holes in their heads, bellies full of shrapnel. Some of them were not much more than an exploded pile of meat, yet still alive, irreparable but conscious and feeling pain. Victims of violence, accidents, fires, all alive and suffering unbearable agony. All modern medicine had to offer was a pittance of relief in the way of pain medication. Powerful opiates were given freely without a prescription. All of them were addicted, but it no longer mattered. Nobody died from overdose anymore. Nobody died. The worst cases suffered brain damage but lived on, shuffling through the streets like zombies; broken and oozing, moaning and wailing in agony but still alive, sentient beings.

There was talk about putting them out of their misery somehow, perhaps through cremation, but the ethical argument was one no politician wanted to touch. None of them wanted to be the guy that tried burning people alive.

* * *

To escape the horror of reality, I made a daily trek to my favorite place – a grassy clearing at the top of a hill overlooking town. It was far enough away that I couldn’t hear the cries of the suffering. From that distance the town looked like it once had; normal, peaceful.

The smell of the wildflowers reminded me that I was still human, and still allergic. I fished in my pocket for the allergy medication I had bought the day before. The pharmacy had been out of my usual medication. Pharmacies were out of most everything except painkillers these days. There wasn’t much demand for other medications now that Beezy had cured everything. I paused to read the box of the unfamiliar allergy meds. Sublingual, it said. Place 1-2 tablets under the tongue as needed. Hopefully it would work as well as my regular brand. I popped two of the pills out of the blister package and placed them under my tongue. The metallic sweetness lingered long after the pills dissolved in my mouth.

I found solace in the silence, but most days I gazed to the heavens, praying for contact from another world, begging for one more chance. Was there anyone who could help us? Either heal this mistake we had made or send us into blissful oblivion?

Today, I lay on my back gazing into the azure sky and repeated the same mantra I’d spoken so many times before:

“If anybody’s out there, if anybody’s watching us, now’s the time to make contact. Please help us! Please save us from ourselves.” Tears streamed down my face. To another unseen entity of whose existence I was also doubtful, I added, “Please forgive me. I need to be free.”

I removed freedom from my pocket, placed the barrel under my chin and pulled the trigger.

* * *

The darkness cleared. The sky was still there, but now tinged with a touch of red. The sun must be setting. Slowly my other senses awakened. Numbness came first. I raised my hands to my face. It felt wet. My chin was gone. So was my nose, and one of my eyes. A gaping exit wound near my hairline told me I should have been dead. And then came the pain. A wildfire of agony ravaged what was left of my head.

Was this Hell? Was this God’s punishment to me for committing suicide?

No, I was alive. The sky, the rustle of wind in the grasses, the smell of the many pollens that bothered my allergies. I could still taste the sweetness of the allergy pills under my tongue, even though my tongue was no longer there. Sweetness. Sweeteners. Sublingual pills contained artificial sweeteners.

Beezy.

Easy Beezy, no more sneezy. I tried to laugh, but it came out as a gurgling noise.

Did this mean I was no longer allergic? Could I finally eat a lobster dinner or a peanut butter sandwich? I heard it sticks to the roof of your mouth.

What does it stick to if your mouth doesn’t have a roof?

Copyright © 2021 Mandy White

Sphere

Freebie time!

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FREE download April 4-8! Click here to download your copy.

SPHERE

Lola almost turned back when she saw the darkened street filled with abandoned buildings. Love for her sister and a desire for a better life for both of them spurred her toward the address given by the woman on the phone.

48 Egasuas Ave. There it was. The building didn’t look like much; it appeared deserted, except for the freshly painted white door and intercom. Lola paused before pressing the button. Last chance to turn back.

Footsteps scuffled in the alley. A thin, hunched figure was approaching.

Shit. A junkie. Just what I need.

Lola slid her hand into her purse and felt for the smooth round security of her pepper spray canister. She jabbed the intercom’s call button.

“Yes?” A woman’s voice crackled over the speaker.

“Lola Cooper. I called on the phone. Can you let me in please?”

“Of course, Ms Cooper. One moment please.”

Lola wanted to scream that she didn’t have a moment. The junkie was only a few yards away and probably seconds from mugging her.

A buzzer sounded, followed by a metallic CLUNK and the door swung open.

Lola dashed inside and tried to push the door shut behind her, but it was automated and inched closed at an excruciating pace.

Fuck. Fuck. He’s going to get me.

“Hello? she called, “Is anyone there? I need some help here.”

The junkie was right outside the door. Lola heard his raspy breathing.

“Wait! Hold that door!” he said.

Not on your life, asshole, Lola thought. The door clicked shut and she slumped against it with a sigh of relief.

The intercom buzzed.

Seriously? He’s a persistent one.

Lola heard the muffled sound of the woman’s voice over the speaker outside, and then the buzz and CLANK as the door opened for the junkie. Lola backed away from the door, unsure of where to run.

“Help! Somebody! Help me!”

Footsteps echoed from somewhere and a door opened. Light spilled from the doorway, around the figure of a woman dressed in white.

“Ms Cooper. Sorry to keep you waiting. This way please.”

Lola scurried over to the woman and ducked through the doorway into the safety of the light.

“Thank you. But we need to hurry, there’s a – ”

“We just need to wait a moment. There is one more person joining us.” The woman held the door open for the approaching junkie. “Mr. Benson, welcome. Come this way, please.”

Lola’s cheeks flushed and she ducked her head to hide her embarrassment. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might not be the only one arriving at that time.

The young man who stepped through the doorway wasn’t more than a kid; maybe twenty years old, but his sunken cheeks and gray complexion told a story of a hard life and probably addiction, as Lola had suspected. He was part of this too? Lola realized it made sense. An offer of a large sum of money to participate in a scientific experiment was bound to attract a lot of desperate people. And nobody was more desperate than an addict.

“If you’ll both follow me, please,” the woman said.

Lola almost had to jog to keep up the brisk pace. She focused on the tight blonde bun above the collar of the woman’s lab coat, to avoid meeting the eyes of the junkie.

The woman stopped at a closed door and entered numbers on a keypad. Another CLUNK and the door opened.

The glare of fluorescent lighting reflected off of every surface in the room. Everything was white from floor to ceiling, even the furnishings. Small tables with chairs occupied most of the floor space. It was a cross between hospital cafeteria and futuristic nightclub.

“Please have a seat anywhere you like,” the woman said, “The others will be here shortly, and then we’ll begin. Can I offer you some refreshments?” She pulled a remote from her pocket and pressed a button. A section of the wall slid back, revealing a fully stocked bar, coffee machine, and a glass-front fridge filled with beverages. “Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll be back shortly.”

Lola knew better than to eat or drink anything offered by strangers who kept hidden lairs in old buildings.

The addict made his way to the bar and rummaged, probably in hopes of finding something besides liquor. He finally settled for a can of Pepsi.

He leaned against the wall across the room from Lola, arms folded, scratching himself every few minutes.

Some time passed and then the door CLUNKED again. The woman in white returned, leading three people: The first was a large bearded man who might have come directly from a taping of Duck Dynasty. He was dressed in camouflage clothing from head to toe, from his boots to his baseball cap. The other two were a couple, judging from the way they squabbled. The woman wore heavy makeup and her hair was teased into a jumble of red on top of her head. Part of a faded blue tattoo peeked over the top of her hot pink tube top.

“Lola Cooper and Josh Benson, please welcome our newest arrivals: Bradley and Becky Modine and William Worth”

“Naw, nobody calls me William, sweetheart,” Duck Dynasty drawled. “It’s Billy, but everyone just calls me Bud.”

“Very well, Bud. Why don’t you and the others get acquainted and help yourself to some refreshments. We are waiting for a few more to arrive, then we’ll begin.”

Lola wasn’t sure if she wanted to acquaint herself with any of the others. She remained silent and stayed in her seat.

Becky wandered around the room, searching for something.

“Where’s the ashtrays?”

“Sorry, there’s no smoking in this part of the building,” the woman in white told her.

“What? That’s fucking bullshit! I didn’t sign up for…”

“Shut up!” Bradley shouted in her face. “Don’t start your shit right now, woman. Why don’t you make yourself useful and go find me a drink.” He planted himself in a chair and put his feet on the table.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Becky said, making a beeline for the box of Merlot on the counter. She poured a generous glass of wine for herself before opening the fridge to look for beer. She grabbed a can of Coors and gave it an extra shake before tossing it to Brad.

Lola heard the crack of the can being opened, followed by a string of cuss words as beer foam spewed over Brad’s hand.

“Fucking bitch! Be more careful next time!”

“How ‘bout next time you get your own fucking beer?”

* * *

An hour later, the room was filled with men and women ranging in age from approximately twenty to forty years. Many stood due to lack of seating.

A man walked into the room. Like the woman, he wore a lab coat.

“I am Dr Lawrence Hughes. You have already met my associate, Dr. Kathleen Welch. Thank you all for arriving on time.”

Junkie Josh raised his hand. “How much longer is this going to take?” Sweat glistened on his forehead.

“Not long. We will get started with a brief meet-and-greet. After that, we will proceed to the next room, where we will begin the experiment.”

“And then we can get our money and go?”

“Unfortunately, not all of you will be accepted for our program. Those who don’t meet the requirements will be paid a thousand dollars each for their time, as a thank you for taking the time to answer our ad. We will need to see identification from all of you. Please have your I.D. ready for Dr. Welch to inspect.”

Wallets and purses opened and everyone produced identification for the blonde doctor to inspect. Except for one – Billy-Bud Worth, aka Duck Dynasty.

“What if I don’t show I.D? he said. “Not sure I’m comfortable whippin’ it out for a bunch of strangers.”

“Then you won’t be accepted for the program. You will leave and collect a thousand dollars, no strings attached.”

Josh waved his hand. “Hey Doc! I’m out. Got no I.D. I’ll take the thousand and get out of your hair.”

“That’s too bad. Ok, if you’ll just bear with us – ”

“Nope. Now. I have to leave now. Give me my fucking grand and let me out of here.”

Dr. Hughes gave Dr. Welch a nod and she led Josh from the room.

Bud pondered for a moment, then sighed and pulled out his wallet, which was attached to his belt by a chain. He slapped his driver’s license on the table.

“When I call your name, you will follow me to the next room. Those of you whose names do not get called, thank you very much for attending. Dr. Welch will see you out and give you your thousand dollar payment.”

Hughes began calling names, and those called followed him down a hallway. The rest remained in the room, waiting to be escorted out by Dr. Welch.

The next room was white as well, but with slightly different décor.

Rows of white psychiatrist-style couches lined the room. On each couch was a clipboard with a document attached and a pen.

“Take a seat, everyone. The document you see is a release. This is your last chance to change your mind. You can choose not to sign, walk away right now and collect a thousand dollars. If you sign it, you give consent to participate in our ground-breaking sleep study. It will also release our payment to you. As promised, you will receive one million dollars in cash, or electronic bank transfer if you prefer. If you choose bank transfer, please include the email address you use for online banking. The security password will be “payday”. We will transfer the funds and you can see it deposited in your bank account before we proceed.”

Mutterings rose across the room, along with a few laughs as everyone scoffed at the idea of accepting anything other than cash.

Bud’s voice boomed over the others, “Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna use any o’ that online shit for money. Y’all know that’s how the hackers git ya. I’ll take mine in cold, hard cash.” He signed the document with an illegible scrawl.

Hughes leaned over and pointed at a line on the document. “Be sure to add your next of kin, Bud. In case anything happens to you, we need to know who to give your money to. Just a precaution, of course.”

“Ain’t got none. If I don’t come outta this, I want my money to be buried with me.”

“As you wish.”

The rest of the room followed suit. All opted for cash except Lola. She chose the bank transfer option because it seemed wise to have a paper trail. She also had little confidence in her ability to tell the difference between real cash and a good counterfeit. She doubted anyone other than a banker could know for certain and the room seemed to have a distinct shortage of financial experts.

True to Dr. Hughes’ word, Lola accepted the transfer and then checked her bank balance on her phone. The new balance was one million dollars higher than it had been moments ago.

“Holy shit, it’s real,” she whispered. She hoped this was worth it, whatever this was. If anything happened to Lola, her twin sister Lisa had access to their joint bank account and the money would become hers.

Once everyone had signed and been paid, Dr. Hughes allowed them a few minutes to examine their briefcases full of money. Lola had never seen a million dollars in cash before, but didn’t dare ask anyone for a closer look. The paranoid glances that flashed from one face to the next warned her to keep her distance.

Dr. Hughes cleared his throat.

“It’s time to get started. If you’ll all please lie back on your couches and relax, we will get this over with quickly and then you will be free to enjoy your wealth.

They obeyed with some reluctance, not wanting to let their money out of their sight. Twenty-nine people lay on couches, clutching briefcases to their laps. Lola lay briefcase-free, her arms by her sides.

The lights dimmed until only shadows remained.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to make history. You are pioneers, about to take part in the creation of a brave new world.”

A murmur of excitement rippled over the room.

“Listen to the sound of my voice. Relax. And when the lights return, the experiment will be complete.”

The ones closest to the walls heard a faint hissing sound as colorless, odorless gas filled the room.

* * *

Bright light filled the room, accompanied by the rustle of movement, the rasp of smokers’ coughs, and yawns.

Lola faded back to consciousness. It took a few minutes to remember where she was. Gradually the memories returned; the doctors, the million dollar payment, the Craigslist ad that started it all:

Volunteers wanted for sleep experiment. Payment in cash. Substantial monetary compensation for the right candidates. Call for more information.

When she called to inquire, the woman, presumably Dr. Welch, conducted a brief interview over the phone. Some sort of psychological questionnaire, judging by the odd questions:

“What is your favorite dinosaur?

How old is the Earth?

Who was the first man to walk on the moon?

Who was responsible for 9/11?

Is the Earth round, square, or flat?”

And so on… simple questions any fool would know how to the answer. A week later she received a call saying that she had been accepted for the experiment, and the payment would be… WHAT?

“I’m sorry, could you please repeat that?”

“One million dollars.” You will be paid one million dollars in cash,” the voice on the phone said.

Lola was skeptical, as was her sister Lisa. They had made the phone call together, via speaker phone. Lisa answered the questions, even though it would be Lola who showed up for the experiment. She didn’t agree with Lisa’s answers, but she never argued with her sister. Lisa needed to feel in control whenever possible. Her disability didn’t allow her that luxury very often.

“But what if it’s for real? We need the money.”

Lisa rolled her wheelchair closer to Lola and reached for her hand. “I need you more than I need money. Let’s pray on it. The good Lord will guide us with His wisdom.”

Lola tolerated the prayer like she tolerated the rest of Lisa’s eccentricities: her obsession with chemtrails, her membership with the Flat Earth Society, and of course her religious beliefs, which bordered on fanaticism. But all quirks aside, Lisa was her twin, and she loved her. Lola knew she was going to go, regardless of what Lisa thought God wanted.

She didn’t want to upset Lisa; her faith was her life. But Lola lived in the real world. Prayer didn’t pay medical bills. Lisa’s insurance didn’t cover the cost of her treatments, and as her illness progressed, the mountain of debt grew ever bigger. God wouldn’t have given her sister MS. God wouldn’t have buried them in debt they couldn’t pay. Fuck God. But maybe science could bail them out. She left Lisa a note asking her forgiveness and promising to return, then made her way to the address given to her by the caller.

* * *

While the rest of the room yawned and stretched, Bradley and Becky were already arguing.

“Gimme one of them!”

“Get your own damn smokes, woman! I only got a few left.”

“You ain’t gonna have any nuts left if I don’t get a smoke right now! Gimme!”

“Keep sassin’ me and you’re gonna get a fat lip. Here.” Bradley threw a cigarette at her.

“Gimme a light.”

He lit a smoke of his own, rubbed the lighter on his crotch and then flung it at her. “Stupid bitch.”

“Aw, real mature. Dickhead.”

Bud opened his briefcase to look inside, then snapped it shut again, as if worried that his cash would escape.

“Hey! Anybody know where a guy can drain the lizard ‘round here?”

A murmur ran through the group. Several others had the same idea.

“Over here!” A blonde woman in a leopard-print dress and stiletto heels clip-clopped toward an open doorway with male and female restroom signs on either side.

Other members of the group followed, forming dual lines in front of the bathroom doors, all clutching their briefcases of money. Bud drained the lizard one-handed, keeping a firm grip on his briefcase with the other.

The group milled around the room, exploring their surroundings. It wasn’t the same room they were in when they fell asleep.

A large TV screen hung on one wall with bland yet comfortable looking couches and plush armchairs arranged in front. Lola noticed one oddity: all the seats were equipped with seatbelts. A blind covered the opposite wall. The third wall accommodated the restrooms and the fourth held a set of double doors that led to a large open kitchen with booths and tables, all bolted to the floor like a fast food restaurant. Like the TV room, the seats had seatbelts.

“I still can’t find no ashtrays. Maybe I can open a window and ash outta that.” Becky strolled over to the wall opposite the TV and pulled on the blind. “Let’s see what’s behind here.”

The blind rose, revealing a large window. The room fell silent.

Space.

Blackness with stars stretched before their eyes.

A small tube was attached to the window. Becky saw the word TELESCOPE printed on the side of the tube. “Anyone know how to work this thing?”

Lola joined her at the window and examined the telescope. Astronomy was a hobby she kept secret from her sister, who didn’t believe in space or anything scientific. The telescope’s mount was a collapsible accordion-style thing. She pulled it away from the window and then expanded the telescope.

“Dang! Ain’t that nifty!” Becky said, breathing a lungful of smoke over Lola’s shoulder.

“Please, would you mind blowing that somewhere else? I don’t smoke.”

“Whatever, snowflake.” Becky huffed, moving back a few paces.

Lola ignored the remark and peered through the telescope. After a few seconds of searching, she found what she was looking for and confirmed her suspicions. A tiny blue planet with an even tinier moon could be seen in the distance. She adjusted the magnification on the scope to enlarge it.

Earth.

And they were not on it. In fact, they appeared to be moving away from it. But to where?

“Now what?” Becky said.

As if in reply, the TV screen flickered to life.

Dr Hughes was on the screen.

“Greetings everyone! If you’re watching this, then the sleep experiment was a success. Congratulations! Feel free to help yourself to refreshments and use the facilities at your leisure. You will be arriving at your destination shortly, and you will be notified prior to landing. When you hear the landing announcement, we ask that you follow instructions and remain seated with your seatbelts fastened. It’s just a precaution, of course. We anticipate a smooth landing, but in case the opposite occurs, we can’t have you hurtling around the cabin.”

“Cabin? What fucking cabin? Are we on an airplane?” Brad said.

Hughes droned on. Apparently they were watching a pre-recorded video.

“I’m sure by now you are wondering what your destination is. Let me start by saying that you are the first humans ever to set foot here. You are making history. You are pioneers in every sense of the word.”

Blondie stomped over to the screen and shouted at the larger-than-life image of Hughes. “I demand to know where you are sending us! This isn’t funny! I have an appointment tomorrow, and my manicurist will flip her shit if I have to cancel! You don’t even know…”

Voices rose across the room.

“Where are we?”

“You sendin’ us to one of those A-Rab countries? This better not be no Eye-Rack, or you gonna hear from my lawyer!”

“What the fuck kinda plane is this, anyways?”

“Hey! Quiet! Maybe we should listen to the rest of this!” Lola shouted over the crowd and pointed at the screen.

The TV screen had split into two panes. One continued to display Hughes, and the other, an image of outer space. A large reddish sphere filled most of the screen.

“What you see is your destination. The Red Planet, also known as Mars.”

“What? Fuck outta here with that bullshit.” Bud said.

“Yeah,” another voice piped up. “Y’all know that shit ain’t real.”

Dr. Hughes continued in the background. “You good folks have the honor of being the first humans to set foot on Mars. You will be the leaders of a new colony that has been decades in the making. We have sent numerous missions to Mars, manned by robots, which have constructed the domes and various structures that make up the colony. All that remained was to introduce a human population. You have all been carefully selected to be that population.”

Lola scanned the faces in the room. It looked like a trailer park block party. She had nothing in common with these people. How was it that she was chosen?

And then it hit her.

Lisa.

The questions.

Lisa had answered the questions, which were carefully selected to screen out everyone except science deniers, conspiracy theorists, Creationists… Flat Earthers…

Hughes droned on.

“You are all very fortunate to be part of this group. Your group is the only one to receive a large cash payment for participation. Our financial backers cut our budget immediately following our payout to you. They felt a million dollars was too extravagant and that we should select test subjects with less… financial motivation. So you not only have the honor of being the first humans on Mars, you will also be the most wealthy.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ bout!” Bud whooped, waving his briefcase. “Rest o’ them assholes can suck it!”

“To be honest, we didn’t think you’d get this far,” Hughes said. “Our previous test subjects didn’t survive the hyper sleep. And then we thought; why not kill two birds with one stone? This can be an experiment in education as well. So we chose individuals who would be most resistant to the idea of a space colony. Non-believers, if you will. Well, I predict that if you survive this experiment you will emerge as believers. How can you not believe in space or science, when you’re in space, making scientific history? And anytime you feel homesick for your beloved “flat” Earth, you can gaze at your home planet through the telescope and bask in its beautiful spherical glory.”

The only thing Flat Earthers have to fear is Sphere itself…

The screen switched and the image of Mars filled the screen again, but Hughes’ voice continued to narrate.

“I’ll ask you now to please find a seat and fasten your seatbelts. The ride might get a little bumpy from here. Best of luck, we’re all rooting for you. If you survive the landing, you can rest assured that your colony is going to grow. We have already dispatched a second shuttle filled with death row inmates to keep you company.”

Copyright © 2018 Mandy White