Week 283 (October 23-30). Stories. Topic: Patterns

[[deleted user]]

Thank you, Captain! :)

[Caitlan]

Neat topic!

[Garrison]

Last week, I ventured into lovey-dovey territory and this week, I go back to mystical ultra-violence. This story is called "Streetwalker" and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Ryan Brock, Barbarian John
Danielle Courtney, Dark Mage Prostitute

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The patterned purple and green flames on Danielle’s predominately black dress give her an aura of mysticism and magic, which her customers either find appealing or intimidating.

SYNOPSIS: In a D&D setting, Ryan is looking for a prostitute as a way of celebrating his latest brutal conquest. He finds one in Danielle, who is using the money to pay for wizard school. When Ryan becomes too aggressive with her, Danielle shows him just how powerful her magic really is.

[Garrison]

AUTHOR: Garrison Kelly
TITLE: Streetwalker
GENRE: Fantasy
WORD COUNT: 1,779
RATING: Somewhere between PG-13 and R for fantasy violence, swearing, and implied rape without actually showing it



Danielle Courtney looked stunning in her wizardly dress. The predominately black overtones brought out her dark side, but it was the green and purple flame patterns that struck fear into the hearts of overzealous men. And yet, she needed the attention of as many men as possible given her nightly profession, so her mysterious dress had a long slit in her left leg and a low-cut top as well. Her outfit alone told any potential client that she could make their dreams come true, but also their nightmares if they got too frisky. With black lipstick, flowing black hair, and red ruby high heels to complete her ensemble, tonight was the perfect night for some fun.

The cool and crisp evening had been one of clear streets and loud partying from within the bars and taverns. Danielle could easily scope out clients from within those bars, but given their inebriation levels and her limited magical abilities, the night might not go according to plan. She kept walking the streets in her killer heels until she spotted a rather muscular looking man standing at the corner with his brawny arms folded and his villainous smile concentrated on her.

As soon as Danielle got closer into the light, she could make out the man’s features much more easily: a black Mohawk, clean shaven beard, and pieces of meat stuck between his teeth. This man was a celebrity in this town. He was Ryan Brock, a barbaric warrior who spent his days hunting gigantic animals in the woods and bringing the carcasses back to sell as meat to the highest bidder. Clearly, Mr. Brock was looking for a different kind of fresh meat judging from his devilish grin, which struck a little bit of fear in Danielle Courtney’s heart.

“You look stunning in that dress. Hell, you’d look stunning no matter what you were wearing. I bet you smell good too. Let me ask you something, miss: how much are you?” said Ryan. There were several other ways he could have phrased that question that would have been less offensive. “How much for your services?” would have been nice. “Can I have some company for the evening?” would have been even better. But “How much are you?” really got under Danielle’s skin. Nevertheless, she had a job to do if she wanted to stay in wizard school.

The lady of the night smiled right back at her new client and said, “One-thousand gold pieces should do just nicely.”

Ryan laughed and said, “Goddamn, you’re driving a hard bargain. If I have to pay that much money, it must mean you’ve…done this before!” There he went again with another vulgar expression that made Danielle feel cheaper than the price she was offering. Nevertheless, he tossed her a sack full of gold coins and said, “It’s a done deal.”

Danielle opened the pouch and counted her money. All one-thousand pieces were there. “Very good, Mr. Brock. I trust your meat sales are doing nicely. Come with me. There’s an inn across the way we can stay at.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” said Ryan before he gripped his new woman’s hand tightly. “I’ve got an even better place to do this. It’ll be nice and secure and you’ll…get more business out of it!”

The wizard prostitute used her free hand to cast a spark spell on the barbarian’s hand, the sharp pain forcing him to release his painfully tight grip. Both client and businesswoman shook the pain out of their hands and got some blood flowing yet again. Danielle said in a stern voice, “Let’s make one thing clear, Mr. Brock. I don’t care how much of a celebrity you are around here. I don’t care how many people you’ve killed in your so called ‘epic battles’. My rules apply to you as well as every other man who propositions me for business.”

Ryan Brock laughed out loud and said, “Alright, little lady. We’ll do things your way. But if you use any of that hocus pocus shit on me again, I might have to break more than your ‘business rules’. I’m not the kind of guy you can afford to miss if you throw one of them fireballs at me from your fucking fingertips.”

Danielle tossed the bag of money back at her now former client and said, “You know what? I don’t need this shit. I’ll find another client, probably one who isn’t anywhere near as disgusting as you!”

“Bitch, you’re in the wrong business if you think you can cherry pick your own clients,” said Ryan. “Hell, I don’t get to choose who I fight most of the time. They just come to me looking to throw down and if I don’t give them what they want, they’ll leave me bloody and bruised on the sidewalk. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Except you don’t want any part of that, because you’re too much of an arrogant bitch.”

“Here’s the deal,” said Danielle while folding her arms in contempt. “I’m going to turn around and walk away. If you come after me, I’ll have no choice but to…”

“But to what? Throw some more sparks at me? Give me a break, woman,” said Ryan while cracking his knuckles and slowly approaching the lady of the night. “This is going to be a cakewalk. I don’t normally get the chance to fight a magical bitch like you. But trust me, pumpkin: this won’t last eight rounds!”

Danielle kicked off her high-heeled shoes and ran barefoot in the other direction, but Ryan was monstrously athletic and caught up to her with so little effort. He bear hugged her kicking and screaming as the two of them went into a dark alley together. Danielle had to think of a spell to cast quickly, but she was only a novice at what she did and had a limited range of what she could cast.

Ryan threw the wizard on her back hard against the concrete, taking the wind out of her while the barbarian smiled evilly at her from above. “You want to say no to me?” he said. “We’ll see how those two little letters work out for you from here on in.” With Danielle still trying to regain her breath, the warrior laid on top of her and held her arms down with almost crippling force.

And then…her first idea for a spell came to her. She obviously couldn’t use her arms, so she shot lightning bolts out of her eyes, burning a hole in Ryan’s forehead. After he got off of her and danced around holding his wound in pain, Danielle thought she had it all figured out, that she would just get up and run away from all of this.

She was able to stand up after catching her breath, but at that same time, Ryan had said, “Just kidding!” and stopped hopping in pain. He removed his massive hand from his forehead and revealed that the ashen wound didn’t even penetrate his skull. It looked more like a cigar burn than the result of a magic spell.

Danielle clenched her fists and her teeth tightly knowing she was in a fight for her life. Orange energy swirled around her as she got the inspiration for another magic spell. Ryan continued his arrogant posturing with his sarcastic facial expression and hands on his hips. It would appear he would pay for his mockery when the wizard threw a rainstorm of fireballs, lightning bolts, and glacial spikes his way.

A multi-colored magical aura formed around Ryan like this deadly spell was going to consume him completely. Danielle continued to throw energy until she was so exhausted from doing so that she fell to her knees and panted heavily. She didn’t want to look up to see if her magic had actually worked this time. She just knelt down on the pavement and sobbed to herself.

She had even more reason to sob when she felt an ashen, yet muscular hand on her shoulder with the same gravelly voice that said, “That was a hell of a light show, honey. But you forgot one important thing. In order to cast a spell properly…you need the world’s biggest magic wand!”

With a mixture of tears, trauma, and darkness washing over her, the next few moments were a blur for Danielle Courtney. She seemed to stay in that state of numbness for eternity and she had no illusions about what Ryan Brock was doing to her. It was vile. It was disgusting. It was the longest period of misery she had ever experience. She may have had sex for a living, but being raped and molested was not part of her resume until that night.

Danielle finally came to hours after the dirty deed had been done to her. She was sore all over and her beautiful dress was torn to shreds. She was bleeding heavily from her groin and sobbing hysterically as she saw the remains of what was once a delicate flower. Even though Ryan Brock was gone and couldn’t hear her, she said in a slow whisper, “You will pay for this. You…must…die!”

The broken prostitute crawled on her hands and knees and painfully dragged herself over to where Ryan dropped several bags full of gold coins. Except he didn’t drop them on purpose. Danielle actually had a plan in mind. In her magical flurry of madness, she aimed most of those projectiles at his sash and belt, where the money was kept. He had more than one-thousand gold pieces on him. In fact, carrying that much money could have counted as strength training.

Ryan took off without ever knowing he left that much money behind. And now it all belonged to Danielle, who swore to herself that she would spend the money not only on wizard school tuition, but also for advanced and doctorate classes. By the time her studies were over, she would be the most powerful wizard on the planet. Then and only then would she be able to exact her revenge on the ultra-powerful Ryan Brock.

Learning magic of such a high degree would take years. At first Danielle didn’t think she could handle that much schooling. But after tonight, her focus was tighter than ever. She would hold the image of Ryan’s disgusting face in her mind for as long as she was attending classes. That was her motivation to graduate: knowing one day she would be a powerful enough wizard to rain Armageddon flames down upon the one man who ruined her life. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And hell was waiting patiently for Ryan Brock.

[Sikandar]

A wrote: "You have until the 30th of October to post a story, and October 31-November 4th, we’ll vote for which one we thought was best.

Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don’t use ..."

If I submit a story here could I later on delete it so I can get it published elsewhere?

[[deleted user]]

Yes, Sikandar :)

[Edward]

A scary one, just in time for Halloween!

Title : Vicious Circles
Author : Edward Davies
Genre : Horror
Word Count : 2010
Rating : PG

Caleb and Georgia loved everything about their new house, except for one tiny little thing.

The carpets.

The hideous patterns on the floor looked like something you might find in a Stanley Kubrick movie, and the first thing they planned on doing once they got together enough money was to rip them up and replace them with something a little more modern. The concentric circles with interwoven triangles dotted throughout them looked repulsive, especially in the unusual colour combination of beige, olive, and pink, and they unfortunately ran through most of the house!

Georgia stared at the carpet as she waited for her husband Caleb, who was busily hunting down the car keys so they could drive to the airport to pick up her mother.

“I can’t find them,” he told his wife, “do you know where the spare set are?”

“They’re hanging from the fridge, where you put them.” Georgia rolled her eyes impatiently, “Come on, my mum’s flight is due to arrive at the airport any minute. You know how she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Caleb shuddered at the thought of his mother-in-law visiting for the next three weeks. The only consolation would be that eventually she would have to leave, and it would be another glorious year before he had to put up with her put-downs in person again.

Grabbing the car keys from the magnet that held them to the fridge, Caleb danced around their dog, Musso, who was asleep in the middle of the kitchen floor, and raced to the front door. Musso stirred as he heard the front door slam behind Caleb and Georgia and padded his way into the kitchen doorway. He looked down at the carpet in the hall and, as if to give his own impression of what he thought of it, swiftly threw up.

Caleb drove slowly down the motorway towards the airport, not wanting to get there too early and have to listen to his mother-in-law drone on about how horrible the flight had been. She lived in Florida, where she’d thankfully retired to a few years earlier, but that didn’t mean that her influence stayed on the other side of the Atlantic. Far from it. She called regularly and made the usual interfering suggestions you’d expect from your husband or wife’s parents.

“Can’t you go any faster?” Georgia asked, “If I knew this was going to be like a scene from Driving Miss Daisy, I’d have driven myself to the airport.”

“We can’t go much faster,” Caleb told his wife, “there’re road works ahead, so the speed limit’s been reduced.”

“So what?” Georgia growled, “There aren’t any police cars around, so just speed things up a bit, will you.”

Caleb looked at his speedometer and pressed lightly on the accelerator, adding maybe a single mile an hour to his speed. It seemed to pacify his wife anyway, and it made him happy to know that he was getting away with driving slowly.

On arriving at the airport, Georgia’s mother was already waiting, sitting down next to the luggage carousel in the arrivals lounge with her suitcases by her feet, looking very lost.

“I told you we’d be late,” Georgia fumed at Caleb as the two jogged over to her. Georgia’s mother looked up at them as they approached.

“Oh thank God,” she breathed a sigh of relief, “I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”

“Of course not,” Georgia hugged her mother, “we’d never forget you.”

“If you were that worried, you could have called,” Caleb said.

Georgia’s mother glared at him, “I wasn’t going to use a public phone,” she told him, “there was an Arab looking fellow nearby and he might have been holding a bomb.”

“For Christ’s sake, don’t say such things,” Caleb said through grit teeth, “it’s bad enough you have to be so racist, but you don’t say bomb in an airport.”

“It isn’t racist to call someone Arab if they are Arab,” Georgia stuck up for her mother, but even she knew she was in the wrong about her mother assuming all Arab’s carried bombs around with them at the airport.

After bundling the luggage into the boot of their car, Georgia and Caleb drove back home with Georgia’s mother in the back seat, complaining all the way.

“Do you have to go so fast?” she asked Caleb, who was going at least five miles under the limit.

“Yes, honey.” Georgia agreed, in complete contradiction to what she’d said on the way to the airport, “Could you slow it down a little? You don’t want to get a speeding ticket.”

Caleb eased off the accelerator, knowing that the drive home was going to be a very long one, even longer now that he had reduced his speed.

Once they arrived at their home, Caleb took the cases out of the boot of the car and carried them up through the front door. Georgia’s mother stared at the house with a look of judgement on her face.

“What a quaint little place,” she said condescendingly, not bothering to wipe her feet before walking into the hallway, “and such... lovely carpeting.”

“We’re getting it replaced,” Georgia told her, showing her to her room.

“I could do with a drink after that terrible plane ride,” Georgia’s mother told her, pulling a bottle of wine from her carryon luggage and pouring some into a glass that was sat next to her bed. A glass that had been put there for night-time water, but clearly Georgia’s mother was finding a different use for it.

Having already taken the rest of the bags to his mother-in-law’s room, Caleb headed to the kitchen to grab a drink himself, but stopped just short of the kitchen door.

Next to a small puddle of sick on the carpet lay a charred corpse, one that looked like it might have once been a pet dog. Caleb stared in horror at his beloved pet, charred to a crisp in the middle of hall carpet.

“What the hell...?” he shouted, drawing the attention of his wife and mother-in-law from the spare room.

“What is it?” Georgia asked, coming to see what was going on and stopping next to Caleb when she saw the charred doggy corpse, “Oh my God! Musso!”

“Someone truly twisted must have done this!” Caleb shouted angrily, pulling his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialling 9-9-9, “I’m calling the police!”

“What if the sicko who did this is still in the house?” Georgia whispered as Caleb dialled, “What if we’re next?”

Caleb held his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone, looking at his wife, “Don’t be ridiculous,” he told her, “we’d have seen them by now, We’ve been in most of the rooms already.”

Suddenly a scream came from the other side of the house. It was Georgia’s mother.

“Mum!” Georgia shouted, running down the hallway to check on her mother. Caleb followed close behind her.

When they arrived at the spare room, they found Georgia’s mother lying on the carpet next to a spilled bottle of wine, her body blackened by some sort of accelerant that neither Caleb nor Georgia could identify.

“Mum!” Georgia wept, crouching down futilely to check her mother’s pulse. The body was still hot from being burned, but she was definitely dead.

“What’s going on, Caleb?” Georgia asked, weeping heavily, “Who would do this? And where the hell are they?”

Caleb ignored his wife as he finally got through to the police, “Hello?” he said, “Please, you’ve got to send the police around immediately! Someone has set fire to my dog!”

Georgia stared at Caleb through teary eyes. Caleb licked his lips before adding, “And my mother-in-law.”

After giving the address, Caleb ended the call and put his arm around his wife.

“it’s going to be okay,” he told her comfortingly, “the police will be here soon, and they’ll soon figure out who is behind this.”

“That won’t bring my mother back,” Georgia sobbed.

“I know,” Caleb said, a slight smile flickering at the corner of his mouth, “I tell you what, I’ll go make us both a nice relaxing cup of tea.”

Caleb went to the kitchen stepping over the charred corpse of Musso the dog, and switched on the kettle. Once it had boiled he poured out two cups of tea, bringing them through to his wife who was still in the spare bedroom with her mother’s dead body.

“Here you go,” Caleb said calmly, handing his wife one of the cups. Her hands trembled as she took the cup of tea, and a few spots of liquid spilled over the side, soaking into the carpet.

As they did so, Caleb and Georgia heard a growling noise coming from the floor. They looked down to see the carpet moving, changing shape. The circles started to snap open and shut, the triangle shapes forming pointed teeth as the carpet sprouted mouths throughout the hallway. Georgia screamed, throwing her cup at the nearest mouth, which swallowed it whole. Flames started to shoot from the mouths, catching her dress on fire before she accidentally stepped into one of the gaping mouths and disappeared from sight.

Caleb barely had a chance to react before his wife’s body suddenly shot back out of the carpeted floor, landing on the ground completely burnt to a crisp. He stared at his own cup of tea, gingerly placing it on the bed side table before racing down the hallway to the front door.

Too scared to watch where he was going, Caleb tripped over a potted plant in the hallway, crashing to the ground and sending the plant falling with him. Soil and stale water spilled over the carpet, and Caleb heard the growling noise again as he pushed himself up onto his knees.

The carpet in the hallway burst into life, the circular patterns snapping open and shut as they tried to get a hold of Caleb, flames licking from their depths as he tried to back into a corner.

But it was no use. Caleb felt his hand give way beneath him as it plunged into an open mouth, flame licking up his wrist and forearm as he plunged sideways into the burning depths, only to be spat out again as another burning corpse.

As the flames died down, there came an abrupt knock at the front door. Two police officers stood on the doorstep, one holding a half-eaten doughnut in his hand as the other knocked on the door for the second time.

“Sounds like nobody’s home,” said the doughnut eating police officer, “let’s go back to the station.”

“We’d better check round the back first,” the knocking police officer suggested, “the report said that someone had been set on fire.”

The two officers walked around to the back door, peering through the glass of the door into the kitchen. Just across the room they could make out the charred remains of Musso the dog.

Frantically the officers smashed the glass in the door, reaching in through the hole and opening the door so they could check on the remains. Glass crunched underfoot as they crossed the kitchen lino and approached the dead dog.

“It’s just a dog,” the doughnut eater said, “it looks like someone set him on fire for some reason.”

“There’re three other bodies in the bedroom,” the knocking officer called out from the spare room, “these one’s look like they might have been human.”

The doughnut eater followed the sound of his fellow officer’s voice and came to the spare room, his mouth dropping open in disbelief when he saw the charred remains. His hands trembled, and crumbs from his doughnut fell to the carpet.

“Careful,” the knocking officer warned, “we don’t want to contaminate the crime scene before forensics can get here.”

The doughnut eater looked at the crumbs by his feet as a growling noise rose up from the floor. He stared at his colleague, his brow furrowed in a look of confusion;

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

[Garrison]

Edward, I admire your creativity when it comes to your story’s prompt conformity. Patterns can come in many shapes and sizes (literally), but yours took on the form of a demonic carpet that was supposed to be replaced with something more pleasant. The carpet didn’t want to be replaced, to it chewed and burned everybody who opposed it. While the concept was unique, the story somehow feels incomplete. I don’t necessarily need an explanation for the carpet’s behavior, but I would like to know who the real estate agent was and why that agent wasn’t getting curious about the sudden disappearances of his clients. That could be a story for another day, but for now, you’ve made Halloween even more frightening than it was intended to be. Good job, buddy!

[Edward]

Garrison wrote: "Edward, I admire your creativity when it comes to your story’s prompt conformity. Patterns can come in many shapes and sizes (literally), but yours took on the form of a demonic carpet that was sup..."

Cheers bud. The carpet didn't like people staining it, hence it killed the dog when it puked, the mother-in-law when she spilled her wine, the wife when she spilled her tea, and the husband when he knocked over the pot plant. Now the policeman has dropped doughnut crumbs... I guess the previous owners were tidier than these guys. :D

[Edward]

Garrison wrote: "AUTHOR: Garrison Kelly
TITLE: Streetwalker
GENRE: Fantasy
WORD COUNT: 1,779
RATING: Somewhere between PG-13 and R for fantasy violence, swearing, and implied rape without actually showing it

Dan..."

A rape-revenge story in a fantasy realm, but I would have liked to have seen the revenge exacted! We only suspect that Ryan Brock will pay some day, but we don't get to see him do so! Poor Danielle...

[Garrison]

Cleanliness is right next to godliness. Or demonic possession, one of the two. Hehe!

[Garrison]

Edward wrote: "A rape-revenge story in a fantasy realm, but I would have liked to have seen the revenge exacted! We only suspect that Ryan Brock will pay some day, but we don't get to see him do so! Poor Danielle..."

If I didn't give my audience the slight impression things could go either way, the story would end too perfectly. I wanted to let the realness of the rape set in so that the struggle would be more believable.

[Edward]

Garrison wrote: "Edward wrote: "A rape-revenge story in a fantasy realm, but I would have liked to have seen the revenge exacted! We only suspect that Ryan Brock will pay some day, but we don't get to see him do so..."

Too true.

[Garrison]

Agree to agree! Or as you would say, cheers! ^_^

[Edward]

Garrison wrote: "Agree to agree! Or as you would say, cheers! ^_^"

Chin-chin, what-what.

[Anne]

Edward wrote: "A scary one, just in time for Halloween!

Title : Vicious Circles
Author : Edward Davies
Genre : Horror
Word Count : 2010
Rating : PG

Caleb and Georgia loved everything about their new house, exce..."

Loved this story, Edward! Very creative and as you said, perfect for Halloween!

[Edward]

Thanks Anne! :D

[Anne]

Ok, I have to credit Edward for inspiring me (don't ask how or why -- I really don't know). I wasn't planning to write anything this week. But somehow, after reading your story, I got an idea & had to go with it.

[Anne]

Title: The Secret Keys
Word Count: 2218

“And Mr. Reynolds' last bequest is, of course, to his nephew, Sidney McAllister. This includes the house and all its contents, as well as the rest of his money.”

Tom Brady looked at me over the rim of his silver-framed glasses, just to make sure I was paying attention. The lawyer didn't like repeating himself. It wasn't a complicated will. Uncle Mike left a generous pension to his housekeeper and house staff; and mementos to a few friends. We were a small group here today, sitting in the big old house that now belonged to me.

“So, laddie, how much did the old man leave you, eh?” Matthew Monahan elbowed me with a wink, wink. Nosy old codger. I expected no less. The three friends – all in their eighties – leaned towards me expectantly.

“His accounts totaled about $50,000.”

“What? That's ridiculous!” Emily Hawthorne spouted, as Matthew and Peter Silvers began talking over each other, all appearing very taken aback by this announcement.

“What happened to all his money?”

“He was a millionaire! At least three times over!”

“No, you probably didn't look in all his accounts.”

“He couldn't have spent it all. He didn't go anywhere these past years.”

Then things got ugly.

“Someone must have stolen it.” Matthew eyed me with a sideways glance.

Emily nudged Matthew. “Don't be ridiculous. It's not stealing if it belongs to him anyway. Besides, Sidney grew up here. Mike was more of a father to him than an uncle.”

“Yes,” Peter piped up, “but he hasn't lived here in what, at least 20 years?”

“I didn't take anything.” I attempted to defend myself. And it was at least 25 years, but I wasn't going to correct him.

“Maybe he gave it to charity.” This doubtful comment came from Emily.

“Bah! He didn't give a rat's ass about anyone else. Tightfisted miser he was.” Peter opined. “He was mad, but not that crazy to give all his money away.”

“He was, wasn't he,” Matthew looked at me a tad more kindly this time. “You know it's true. Crazy as a loon, he was sometimes, with his ideas. I never held with this 'speak no ill of the dead' nonsense. Call a spade a spade, that's what I always say.”

I couldn't entirely disagree.

Emily shuddered as she spoke, “I still have nightmares about those maze dinners. What kind of person invites people to dinner, then makes them walk through a hedge maze in the garden to find the dining area? I got so lost in there, I was in tears. It was huge.”

“Aye, I remember that. And there he'd be, with his piano in the middle of the maze, playing one of his famous compositions, as we struggled to find our way to him.” Mathew said in a hard voice.

“He thought he was some kind of a great inventor, too.” Peter spat out. “It wasn't enough to be a world-famous composer and concert pianist, he had to fiddle around with all kinds of things.” Now he looked at me, “Is that why you became an engineer?”

“Well, I, uh...I'm not sure exactly...” I hedged. When could I tactfully kick them out?

“Did you work with him on that sound alarm thing?” Peter accused.

Matthew rolled his eyes and nodded. “Aye, no need for a doorbell, now, is there? When all you have to do is step anywhere on the property and ye gets blasted with Beethoven's ninth.”

“No, no,” I quickly reassured them, “I had nothing to do with that. It was clever, though, wasn't it?” I added wistfully.

“Damned nuisance is what it was.”

“He was very security conscious, wanted to know if anyone was lurking around. He didn't like unexpected visitors.” I had always been in awe of Uncle Mike's tinkering abilities. But I had to wonder, were his friends unwelcome intruders?

“Paranoid, is more like it,” grumbled Peter.

“And hooking up the water line to a gauge that belted out “Lover's Concerto” when water usage exceeded a certain limit.?”

Matthew would have to bring that up. I lamely explained, “Well, there was a water leak once...”

“He did the same thing with the gas and electricity, too, though, didn't he?” Matthew pressed.

“Well, yes...”

“Harumph.” The lawyer loudly cleared his throat. The three friends quieted and we all looked at him.

“There's one more thing before I leave. I was asked to give this to you, Mr. McAllister. Mr. Reynolds said it would address any concerns you might have.”

He handed me a sealed envelope. I nodded my thanks as he made his way to the front door. I began to put it in my jacket pocket, but Emily put her hand on my arm to stop me. “Oh, don't keep us in suspense! I'm sure Mike wouldn't want you to keep secrets from his best friends.”

I wasn't sure about that, but I reluctantly pulled my hand back up. The lawyer's eyes met mine with a bemused glint as he stepped out. No help there. I was sure he found this all most entertaining.

I opened the letter and took out the single sheet of paper. On it was written:

Patterned bars of dawn's first light
Notes the keys to riches bright.
You will gain what's yours by right
If you have the wit and sight.

“Pah, what nonsense is this?” Matthew boomed over my shoulder. The three were crowded close as they read the lines with me. Emily and Peter frowned and drew back.

“Well, dear,” Emily patted my arm, “It sounds like a treasure hunt, doesn't it? We'll help you find your riches. It's the least we can do. We'll be back at dawn.” She looked pointedly at Matthew and Peter who both solemnly agreed.

**

Dawn's first light found the four of us on the east side of the house. The back lawn spread out before us, gently sloping down to Lake Michigan. The house stood on the periphery of one of the most prestigious villages about halfway between Chicago and Waukegan, Illinois. Uncle Mike had been born here eighty years ago. What started out as a modest three-story mansion of brown stone had been added to with red and tan brick over the years. The stables became a 4 car garage and storage shed. The house boasted 2 turrets at either end, 6 huge bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, 2 porches, including a small enclosed porch off the master bedroom on the second floor. Several nooks and small sitting rooms rounded things out nicely. Great-aunt Camille liked to live in style.

Emily quickly took charge. “Let's spread out. We'll each stand 20 feet apart and watch where the light goes. We should be able to detect any patterns as it hits the house. It will probably tell us the location of the keys.”

“Aye,” Matthew quickly agreed. “The keys are probably hidden and will open some hidden door, or safe in the house.”

“There aren't any,” I disagreed. “I've been in all the rooms, no secret rooms or passages, no locked rooms, no safes. All the keys and rooms have been accounted for. There's nothing to find. You're wasting your time.”

And mine, I thought.

Still, we stood as the sun came up and shone on the lawn, then the house. No hints. No keys.
Finally, disgruntled, they left.

Peace.

Maybe now I could concentrate.

I took stock of the rooms facing east: The back of the garage, then the kitchen, library/den, music room, and billiards/arcade room, in that order, south to north. These had all been added to the original house. The living, dining, and family rooms faced west. Three of the upstairs bedrooms also faced east, as did one of the bathrooms and a large sitting room on the third floor with its own little porch – good for watching fireworks.

I studied the windows. Most had traditional frames. Several featured stained glass inserts. I examined them, looking for clues. Maybe a key was embedded somewhere in the design, and when the sunlight struck, maybe... I shook my head. Don't get all Indiana Jones.

The music room had different – unusual – glasswork. The glass panes were of an irregular size and shape, and included a number of narrow rectangles, separated by occasional black panes and horizontal wooden slats.

The next morning, I tried a new approach.

I entered the music room just before dawn and watched the first rays peek through the windows from inside the room. Nothing. Turning around to face the other way, the rising rays sent rectangular shafts of light onto the wall opposite. I had wondered why Uncle Mike had left that wall bare, devoid of any artwork or decoration. I stared at the sun-speckled wall, willing it to disclose its secret. What, or where, was the key?

Too quickly, the sun rose too high and the panels of light disappeared. No secret door was illuminated. No secret key unearthed. Still, I felt something nudging the edges of my mind.

I repeated the process the next three days. The third day, I sat at the piano, playing a little tune he had taught me when I was a child – one of his simpler compositions when he was a student starting out. Since then, his work had been in demand by film producers and royalties flooded in. He didn't write just for his concerts. There was a lot about him his friends never knew. But their one concern WAS justified -- What HAD happened to his money? And not just his money, I remembered trips to New York and Europe with him – attending art auctions, and spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on art. Those pieces no longer hung in this house.

Was this riddle his way of making sure his wealth didn't fall into the wrong hands?

The fourth day I woke up way too early. Restless and uneasy, I went down early to the music room. Rummaging through his sheaths of music, I found one I could play. Maybe it would relax me. I set the music in front of me and slowly stroked the keys, the small lamp casting just enough light for me to see in the dark.

As the sun began to rise, I turned the lamp off and stared at the blank wall off to my right. The bars lit up in the same uneven display.

And I gasped as I looked between the wall and the pages in front of me. Of course. How predictable. I laughed and quickly grabbed a pencil to copy the rectangular panes of light on a piece of blank music paper.

The bars of light represented notes on a keyboard. The bottom window frame delineated the bottom edge of the note. Several groups of five thin lines in the walls (barely detectable), provided a frame of reference to identify the notes. The black panes book-cased each one. Stained glass decorated those panes that did not signify notes.

There were 10 notes in all. I sat down and played them in all the octaves.
I should have know it wouldn't be that easy.

Not to be deterred, my mind struggled to solve this puzzle. I was so close...

Okay, let's try some combinations. I played the first 10 notes of Beethoven's Ninth, followed by his 10 notes. Nothing. Then I added the last 10 notes of Beethoven's ninth. Now the10 wall notes were sandwiched between Beethoven's.

I heard a loud creak, and a wall panel slid open directly in front of me.

It took me a moment to remember to re-hinge my jaw.

I stood and walked through the doorway, noticing this was a temperature & humidity controlled environment. Here was the art. A large box stood in the middle of the room, a letter taped to the lid. I removed it and read:

“I hope it's you, Sidney, that finds this and not some demolition team tearing down the house. You may wonder why I went to this trouble, but believe me, everyone wants something from me. And the older I get, the worse it gets. I can see them thinking, “He can't take it with him.” I can't trust anyone, not even my tax accountant or financial adviser. You're the only one who never asked me for anything; you've always taken pride in making your own way. If you find this, you'll have proved worthy. I hope you do.
PS: I thought you'd get a kick out of the challenge.”

Yes, Uncle Mike, in retrospect, I did get a kick out of it.

I lifted the lid, looked inside and choked.

End part I

[Anne]

Part II, Secret Keys

Here was the money. Bundles of 100$ bills. Millions of dollars.
I shook my head at the old man's paranoia. Was he justified in his suspicions?

I walked around the room, taking stock of what I was seeing, trying to come to terms with this and mostly, trying to decide what to do with it.

I knew Uncle Mike, crusty old bachelor that he was, had a soft spot for kids. That's why he took me in when I lost my parents. I wonder what he would think of making this place into a summer music camp for kids... maybe underprivileged kids with some talent, but no money. Yes, he would have liked that.

I began to plan.

[Edward]

Anne wrote: "Ok, I have to credit Edward for inspiring me (don't ask how or why -- I really don't know). I wasn't planning to write anything this week. But somehow, after reading your story, I got an idea & had..."

Honored to be an inspiration! I'll have to read it tomorrow when I get to work!

UPDATE - read it, loved it. Great fun; like an Agatha Christie short story!

[Ajay]

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[Anne]

Edward wrote: "Anne wrote: "Ok, I have to credit Edward for inspiring me (don't ask how or why -- I really don't know). I wasn't planning to write anything this week. But somehow, after reading your story, I got ..."

Thanks Edward!...yeah, but no dead bodies...Hmm, maybe on my next re-write...