Scary Doors #ThursdayDoors

Here in Northern California we are just getting our electricity turned back on.  Since we were warned that the outage could last for several days and my devices are all old and in need to new batteries, I have basically been off-line since Saturday night.  I only turned on the EyePhone once every couple of hours for updates on the numerous fires in my area.  So for this week’s ThursdayDoors, Norm’s Frampton’s photo challenge which I truly enjoy and hate to miss out on, here are some scary doors from over the years!

Renwick Ruin,  Roosevelt Island, New York City.  For many emigrants, their only home in America if they were unfortunate enough to have contracted small pox. This place really gave me the willies.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt Monument, Washington DC.  Frightening because it could happen again.

Fort Sumter, South Carolina, where many soldiers were bombarded for days by their fellow countrymen.

Amtrak Tunnel.  Just spooky is all.  Happy Halloween everyone!

 

Vampire Lives Matter?

All the colors found in the skin tone of a typical Caucasian. Note, white is the last one.

The only thing I have to say to all those people parading around with White Lives Matter posters is, you’re not white. Often you’re raw siena and alizarin crimson, or you’re cadmium yellow and carmine. You have aquamarine or viridian – depending on the amount of yellow in your skin tone – in the hollows of your cheeks, under your chin and along your hairline. 

But guess whose skin tone is mixed using mostly titanium white?  Vlad the Impaler, otherwise known as Dracula. So my take away is that y’all White Lives Matter folks are trying to save your guy, Drac, from that evil Buffy the Vampire Slayer, right?  Such a kindly gesture and come Halloween night, I’m sure he’ll slither on down your chimney to say thanks and invite you to donate to his favorite charity, Vlad’s Blood Bank.

But seriously, if those White Lives folks want to know who really matters, they should go to a museum.  Might I suggest the one below?

It’s the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington D.C. When you first enter this museum, you are directed to an elevator large enough to fit a football team and taken three flights underground. There, in the dim light, you relive the experience of being chained together in the dark, dank bowels of a wooden sailing vessel with no idea where you are going or what will happen to you or the ones you love.   As you make your way up the ramps leading from floor to floor, the often bloody history of the African American struggle for equality unfolds.  I didn’t get many pictures as the halls were dark and the atmosphere, reverent.

In contrast, the upper floors of the museum are full of light, color and music as they celebrate the contributions of African Americans to our culture. You leave those floors grateful that Black Lives really do matter and without them, American culture would certainly not be the envy of the world. Think the experience would cause those White Lifers to change their attitudes?

Happy Halloween everyone!  I hope you all spend it with the people who matter the most to you.

From Brownie Fright Night

So Say the Winos, The End

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. Edgar Allan Poe

Broken glass. He almost stepped on it. He had to keep his eyes glued to the ground and seldom look up, otherwise he’d end up with a jagged piece of glass in his foot and bleed to death. Or get an infection and watch his foot grow black with gangrene.

“Pleasant thoughts you’re having this morning,” Daniel said to himself. It was time for him to go. He wondered if it was necessary to give two weeks notice at a gas station and then decided, it might not be necessary but it was moral. He knew the boss would hate to see him go. Unlike other grease monkeys, he was reliable, courteous, didn’t smoke or drink and could help with the bookkeeping. But the boss had mentioned retirement on many occasions and so maybe Daniel’s leaving would give him impetus to take that step and thus all would conclude well. Daniel liked conclusions that ended with both sides clear of conscience.

He was only at the station for about an hour when he looked up from sweeping the garage to see the girls from Nevada loaded down with all their earthly possessions and heading for their Volvo. Remarkably it had survived an entire night on the street or so he thought. He watched as they were approached by a panhandler. At first the man seemed satisfied with what they gave him. Then he turned around and followed them demanding more. When they refused, he grabbed one of their guitars.

Daniel ran across the street still holding the broom. It, plus their screaming, was enough to make the man drop the guitar and run. “Let’s get you guys out of here,” he ordered as he pushed them down the sidewalk.

th-10“Oh no,” the Catholic’s Daughter cried. “Look at my car.” The passenger side window had been shattered. Glass shards covered whatever remained inside, which wasn’t much. Just that head of Aragorn looking wistfully up at them. “Oh no! My flute! My flute is gone! We’ve got to call the police.”

“They won’t even take a police report. There are so many robberies down here.”

“That’s so awful.”

“That’s why you need to get out of here. Go across the street to the gas station and ask the man to help you. He’s a crusty old guy but his heart is pure.”

“How about you?”

“I have someplace I need to be.”

“We’ll never forget you.”

He chuckled. “Get on your way now.”

They drove across the street and cautiously approached Daniel’s boss who’d been watching them. “Daniel said you would help us.”

“He did huh?” He disappeared into the station and then returned with a newspaper folded neatly into a square which he handed the girl who seemed the most sensible. The paper was dated October 27 1967, a year ago to the day.

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“Terrible thing,” the boss continued. “What happened to him shouldn’t happen to a dog, no sir. And that poor woman,” he shivered.  “Terrible. Unthinkable. Gives me the willies. You know, Daniel was a good kid, a little mixed up but then you should have met his mother. That lunatic held vigil here at the station for three days thinking her son was going to resurrect like the friggin’ Christ.”

The girls didn’t say a word, even amongst themselves.  Perhaps he should have softened the blow but then he hadn’t had much experience with the so-called fairer sex. “It’s been a whole damn year and they still don’t have any suspects. Not a one. I shoulda retired.”

“He’s dead?” One of the girls mumbled as the newspaper fell to the ground.

“Yeah, but don’t worry. I see him too, always looking lost. Like maybe he don’t know he’s dead. Sometimes I even talk to him. The winos claim he’s waiting for the return of some ship called the SS Connemoira or so they say.” He shook his head. “Yup, that’s what they say. Okay, let’s get you gals fixed up and outta here.”

He helped them sweep out the inside of the Volvo and put cardboard over the shattered window. He even gave them a can of oil after checking the dipstick and sighing in disgust “women never check the oil, or the tires. We’d better check them as well.” When he was satisfied the little car just might make it to Massachusetts, he gave them directions on how to get out of town. He watched the little car as it sputtered down the road, thick smoke pouring out of the exhaust, young arms fluttering out the windows. They’ll never make it, he thought, but he waved back anyway. Then he disappeared inside the station. He’d dispensed with enough good will for the day.


Happy Halloween, everyone!  Did you guess the ending?  If so, how early in the story?  Like elements of many of my stories, there are bits of a real-life adventure in this piece.  Many people have asked what happened to the three girls – well, after their adventure in NYC they had marriages, divorces, children, careers and two have sadly died – but they never forgot Daniel.

So Say the Winos, Part 14

After the albino huffed away like a petulant child,  Martin turned on the huddling group. “What’s the matter with you? A few minutes for ten thousand dollars…”

“Ten thousand dollars, Martin. Really?”

“He had a wad of frigging hundreds in his back pocket. All one of you silly birds had to do was pretend to like the little pervert.  You didn’t need to fuck him, just distract him and I could’ve done the rest.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you really care, now do you Luv?  One less demented human who’d probably already sold his soul to the devil … who’d probably made that money off some child’s pain.”  He read a message in the air and spun in the direction of the Catholic’s Daughter. Slowly he approached her and then said.  “A few moments with my pigeon, Luv, and you wouldn’t have to return to Nevahda to live out the rest of your miserable life with the jackrabbits and sagebrush and that arse who got you preggers. Oh yeah, he’s an arse. He’ll bring you only pain.” The girl pulled forth her crucifix and held it in front of her face.  “Hail Marys aren’t going to get you out of this Sweetheart, but a few thousand dollars might have.” He swung around and facedthe other two girls. “Oh … I see,” slowly and deliberately. “Your friends had no idea what you’ve been doing  did they? They trusted you, the silly twerps! And there you were fucking away thinking how superior you were to the two of them because … ”

“You’re disgusting.  We were in …”

“Oh please … don’t say it.  I’ll have to vomit all over Marcia’s lovely carpet. I get it.  You weren’t forn-i-cating. Or screwing. Or fucking. Or even balling. You were making love!”

The Catholic’s daughter put her hands on her belly as though attempting to shield her unborn child as Martin turned his venom toward the other two.

“I’ll bet she made your lives a bloody hell, didn’t she? You know, she never really wanted to go on your silly, little romp across country. But she’d promised. She felt obligated. The most pathetic of emotions. Obligation. Now, see how she despises you. Despises you because she wasn’t bloody strong enough to be honest and tell the truth. Despises you, the hypocritical little minx.”

“Martin!” Marcia said. “That’s enough! Enough!”

“Obligation, love, guilt — bullocks! You might as well all wrap yourselves in chains right now and jump in the river!” He threw his arms up, “You pathetic bunch of losers.” He swirled and with a nightmarish laugh, disappeared through the open door.

Outside the sun began to sparkle through the spires of a distant church like confetti on the New Years Eve. Daniel put down the knife and for the first time since Martin’s arrival, took a deep breath.

He saw as though through a mirror, Marcia in a tract home in the suburbs, with Bill the Lawyer by her side. The poster of Che safely tucked in a trunk in the basement, perhaps looked at in twenty or thirty years with a sigh. A nice suburban tract home with a lawn, fence and dog. Maybe some children – if Marcia could convince Bill to adopt. Daniel doubted that very much. The lawyer looked like a man who would want his own children, not someone else’s.

Marcia neither smiled nor spoke and she walked over to the stove. He moved close to her but didn’t try to interrupt her thoughts. He put his hands flat down on the yellowed Formica and tried to summon the words to say but they wouldn’t come. Not one word of scripture. His brain had been scrubbed blank.

On the floor the girls whispered to each other of betrayal and hurt as the Catholic’s Daughter admitted Martin had been right, right about everything which meant … he was a devil. Only a devil could know all those things. It was useless, she said, to explain her feelings to them. They did not know what love was and how love and sex were so intricately entwined that you can’t have one without the other. She was angry with them. She’d sacrificed herself for them and now, instead of being grateful to her, they attacked her as if she’d done something wrong; as if she had ruined their dream. How she hated them. Really hated them. Worse than she’d ever hated anyone.

Marcia finally ended their squabble with camomile tea. Then turning her attention to the Catholic’s Daughter she said. “You have options. You don’t have to have this baby.”

It was then that Daniel knew he had to leave. He’d had a glimpse of the good ship Connemoira floating through the mist. Shore leave was almost over.


Tomorrow – have you guessed the ending?  

So Say the Winos, Part 13

Martin laughed, “Daniel? Heavens no. Daniel’s too pure. He left the church because he can’t stand to think that God loves him the best, which is what his mother drilled into him, because it means God loves the others less. The murderers, the rapists, the homeless. You get the picture? God, in other words, is a prejudicial old duffer who plays favorites. Isn’t that right, Daniel?”

From "The Mask of the Red Death" by Edgar Allan Poe, illustration by Harry Clarke

From “The Mask of the Red Death” by Edgar Allan Poe, illustration by Harry Clarke

They poured out innocent blood, the blood of their sons and daughters, whom they sacrificed to the idols of Canaan; and the land was polluted with blood. Thus they become unclean by their acts, and played the harlot in their doings…

Martin clapped his hands together, “Bravo, old man, we’re all sooooo impressed that you’ve memorized the entire Bible. But, we’ve come to see the lady of the house and not to be saved….”

renwikruin

Renwick Ruin on Roosevelt Island, NYC. If this place isn’t haunted, there is no such thing as ghosts.

“What’s going on?” Marcia stood in the doorway of the bedroom dressed only in a man’s white dress shirt, her strawberry blonde hair like a fine spider web about her face, a flannel bathrobe over her shoulders like folded wings.

“Bitchen,” The albino snorted, clapping his hands together, “Now you’re talking.”

“Martin…” Marcia began, affecting her hostage negotiator tone.

 The albino took a step towards her. “Hi Honey.  I would you like ten thousand dollars?”

“Marcia, Luv, I ran into this bloke at Ritchie’s. He’s just cut a record for Capital records. He just wants a good lay and he’ll pay…”

“Sweet Jesus!” gasped the Catholic’s daughter.

The albino turned and hissed at her. “Shut up you fucking virgins.”

“I’m not a virgin!”

“Well, of course you’re not. Look at you sweetie. You’re so horny you’d fuck a pole!”

“I think you’re disgusting!”

“Don’t worry, bitch. I don’t ball stupid little girlies anyway!” He turned back towards Marcia. “So, what do you say, Blondie? You look like someone who knows the score.”

Marcia calmly turned towards Martin. “Get this guy out of here.”

“But Jamie has just signed a record contract, Luv. He’s going be famous someday.”

“Get him out of here.”

“Come on, Marcia, ten thousand dollars,” Martin urged.

“Not for a million dollars!”

“That does it,” the albino spun toward the door. “There are plenty of bitches in this town who won’t give me this kind of shit!”

“Wait, Jamie…” Martin tried to hold him but the albino twisted free and then stomped down the stairs.


Okay – you’re almost to the end.  If you’ve made it thus far, thank you kindly for sticking with it.  Tomorrow the climax and then a conclusion you may not see coming (at least I hope not).
You can read from the beginning here. 

So Say the Winos, Part 12

th-4Daniel awoke in the grey of early morning to find the girls sleeping on piles of clothes and pillows on the floor next to him. Through the undraped windows he saw the silhouette of a city skyline preparing to greet the sun.

Slowly standing he tiptoed to the sink, stuck his mouth under the tap and sucked in the frigid water until his mouth no longer felt dry and salty. Then he grabbed the bread left out on the counter and ate until his empty stomach no longer retched.

The Catholic’s daughter slept with her face turned towards the setting moon, her head resting on a bundled up coat. She reminded him of his sister. She didn’t look like Francesca but she had the same sensuality, the same fiery contempt for all things Catholic and yet, like his sister, she slipped back on familiar symbols – like the crucifix – in times of distress. His sister, whose decline so young never touched his mother directly, entering through a secret crevice and exiting as a renewed calling.  But Francesca no more wanted to her mother’s “cross to bear” than Daniel wanted to the Beloved of God.

thefactsinthecase

He slumped into one of the bean bag chairs and considered going back to sleep. It was, after all, still dark outside. Then he heard someone with taps on their shoes crossing the courtyard below.  Closer they came until they were in the stairwell.  He crawled back into the kitchenette and reached into the drawer for a knife just as the door opened revealing two figures silhouetted  in the doorway. One tall, the other short. “What the fuck is that?” the short man asked in a voice not quite human.

“Oh, those are the girls I told you about, mate. They ran away from Reno Nevahda and all those cowboys. Out to see the big world; meet the Beatles. The standard rot.”

“How fucking cute. Are they virgins cause I can’t stand balling virgins, man.”

Martin laughed, “Probably, old man, but this isn’t what I had in mind for you.”

Daniel ran his hand along the greasy wall until he found the light switch. The resulting burst of light caused the short man to twitch. “Fuck!” He shrieked as he tried to shield his eyes from the light. He was an albino with a Beatle haircut. Perhaps to compensate for his shocking appearance, he was dressed in limes and lemons as though he’d stolen the luggage of a middle-aged golfer from Tampa. “Shut off that fucking light!” he ordered.

“I thought you weren’t coming back, Martin.”

“A knife? Aren’t you just like mother hen defending her chicks? How domestic, really, I think you’re ready for the suburbs, old chap.”

“Why did you bring a junkie back here?”

“SHUT OFF THE FUCKING LIGHT!!!” screamed the albino, stamping his foot. “I’m not a fucking junkie! But I am horny as fucking hell and this British asshole told me he could get me some prime tail… ”

“I think you should shut off the light Daniel. Our friend has very sensitive eyes, if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Who is this shit head?” The albino demanded.

murdersinrougemorque

“Oh, don’t pay any attention to him, Jamie, he’s an ex-priest. You know the type. One minute he’s sweating because he’s not doing God’s work and the next he’s trying to convince himself that he doesn’t believe in anything.”

Jamie snorted, “What did you get defrocked for, Father Holier than thou? Screwing the choirboys?”

So Say the Winos, Part 11

Daniel ignored Martin, addressing the girls. “I brought peanut butter and bread. Much healthier for you than halvah.”

thefactsinthecase

From “The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar,” by Edgar Allen Foe, illustration by Harry Clarke

The rumblings of the first evening prayers sounded across the courtyard – Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna,  Hare Hare – causing Martin to spin towards the Institute. “Oh my, they’re finished with their supper. That means it’s time for me to head off to work.”

“Are you coming back?” Daniel asked.

“I thought you didn’t live here any more, mate. I thought Marcia got tired of waiting for you to fuck her and kicked you out on your arse.”

The girls gasped. Don’t respond. He’s just trying to bait you.

Martin continued. “You’re such a funny old sod. This isn’t the bloody desert. You’re not the friggin’ savior and I’m not the devil. Although I do appreciate the honor of your, shall we say, compliment.”

“Are you coming back?”

“I don’t think so, Danny Boy. Not because of you but it’s rather crowded with all of us sharing only one loo. I think I’ll crash somewhere else. Perhaps St. Mark’s – I hear they have a tasty breakfast,” he paused, then froze Daniel’s heart with a howl. “Look at Daniel’s face, girls! Hahaha! Oh the humanity – the Demon Martin sodomizing the blessed Virgin as stained glass depictions of the saints melt all around her. Candles emitting icy darkness in the void left by the absence of God – hahahaha! And in the quiet morning, the faithful arriving to find their beloved priests hanging by their wankers in the blood-red chapel.”

“Enough, Martin.”

“Enough, old man? I’d say you started it. Why don’t you pull out your crucifix and order me vanquished to Hell? Oh, that’s right. You’ve had a crisis of faith.” He waited for Daniel to say something then threw his hands into the air. “Well, I couldn’t care less although it’s been – what do you Yanks say? – a gas! Cheerio!”

houseusher

From “The Fall of the House of Usher” by Edgar Allen Poe, illustration by Harry Clarke

With that Martin slipped through the door and down the staircase. Daniel stepped over to the window but saw nothing in the courtyard but shadows. He unscrewed the cheap bottle of wine he’d brought and took a swig.

Marcia emerged from the bathroom smelling of lavender “I’ve been thinking” she said to the girls, “we should call your parents. I bet they’re worried sick about you.”

“Oh yeah,” Daniel said. “Tell them their daughters are hunky dory. They just spent the day with the Devil.”

“Shit, Daniel! No wonder the girls look so freaked.”

“He killed someone.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. He’s not coming back. Girls, eat something and then we’ll call your folks.”

Daniel hadn’t slept the night before. His sole window at the Y was cracked and provided little protection from the rain or the wails of the city, the walls so paper thin he could hear a fellow transient snoring in the next room. Two years he’d spent in New York City practically homeless figuring it would free him. But it hadn’t. And so the wine quickly gained on him until a dizziness – borne of eating little and guzzling cheap wine – soon overwhelmed him. In the distance he could hear the girls on the phone. Yes, we’re Ok. Yes we’re going to Uncle George’s. Further and further away they slipped down the rabbit’s hole until he passed out and dreamt of the Red Queen.


What do you think Readers?  Is Martin gone for good?