So Say the Winos, Part 13

October 27, 2016October 1, 2019JT Twissel 2 Comments

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

“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….”

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

October 26, 2016October 1, 2019JT Twissel 5 Comments

Daniel 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.

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.

“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

October 24, 2016September 30, 2019JT Twissel 6 Comments

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

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!”

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?

So Say the Winos, Part 10

October 22, 2016September 30, 2019JT Twissel 8 Comments

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by Victor Vasnetsov, 1887

“Behold, I am coming soon, bringing my recompense, to repay every one for what he has done,” Daniel began as he crossed the room and lay his contribution to dinner – a grocery bag containing Wonder bread, Skippy’s peanut butter, and some cheap screw-top wine for him – on the counter.

The girls stopped strumming their guitars and looked up at him bewildered. He continued,“I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.”

“Revelations? Really, Daniel, how unfriendly,” Martin said as he slithered along the wall.

“Where’s Marcia?”

“Oh my. Marcia has had a nasty day dealing with the wretched underbelly of Manhattan. She’s in the shower, cleansing off their filth. And these three young ladies,” he said with a wink towards the girls huddled on the floor, “have been entertaining me with the stories of their travels. Did you know they are from Reno Nevahda? Have you ever met anyone from Nevahda? Quite unusual really, one only thinks of Nevahda as the home to sagebrush and jack rabbits, now doesn’t one? Not three lovely birds — but here they are.”

“What are you doing back here?”

“You mean from Hell?” he chuckled. “Oh don’t be so Hollywood, Danny Boy. I’ve been evading coppers since I was fourteen. They’ll never catch me. They don’t even know my name. Speaking of stories, that was rather funny this morning, wasn’t it girls?”

“It was four in the morning.” The Catholic’s daughter said.

“Sorry Luv! That’s when me shift at the docks ends. So funny, once they heard my English accent, they weren’t at all afraid of me. It’s those bloody Beatles. Made life ever so easy for us British blokes!”

“You work at the docks?” One of the girls asked.

“Longshoreman, we’re called,” was the reply.

It was a ridiculous lie, so ridiculous that Daniel couldn’t help but utter a loud “Ha!”

“Why do you scoff, Mate?” Martin asked, “I didn’t have the benefits of a seminary education — a mother who thought I was the Second Coming. I’ve been on me own since I was a lad and, aye, I’ve had to do things I’m not proud of but that’s life on the dole.”

From Poe’s “The Black Cat” – illustration by Harry Clarke

“If you’ve been on the streets all your life, how come you recognized the quote from Revelations?” The Catholic’s Daughter asked.

“The one book you can always get in any jail, Luv, is a Bible and I must confess, Revelations is my favorite chapter. Fallen is Babylon the great! It has become a dwelling place of demons, a haunt of every foul spirit, haunted of every foul and hateful bird; for all nations have drunk the wine of impure passion and the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her, and the merchants of the earth have grown rich with the wealth of her wantonness. Lovely, hey? The sight of me evidently inspires Daniel to recite Revelations. Ask him why.”

So Say the Winos, Part 9

October 21, 2016September 30, 2019JT Twissel Leave a comment

The Krishnas were sitting in a circle on the floor in preparation of their evening meal when Daniel arrived. Those assigned to serving carried bowls of rice and vegetables, placing them in the middle of the circle while others lit candles or passed out paper plates. The crowd wasn’t very large, just four or five families, a couple of novitiates, the elders, and a hippie or two who’d wandered in for the free meal. They let Daniel pass in silence.

The week before six o’clock had been twilight with orange haze hanging over the city and just a whiff of decay. Now six o’clock was dark and funereal. He could hear the girls singing as he climbed the stairs to Marcia’s. They were off-key. So off-key that Daniel began to dread sitting and listening to them politely. There were so many young people with guitars singing protest songs off-key, each believing they had talent or a gift. Most ended up on the streets. He thought of turning around and then a voice – God? – told him he must proceed.

Martin stood with his back to the poster of Che Guevara. The comparison between the two was vivid; Che, so full of passion that even in two dimension and long dead he made Martin look like a bloodless slug plastered to the wall. Like all good demons, Martin claimed a familiarity: “Daniel, old man. How splendid to see you.”

They’d met Martin the year before on their weekly date at the laundromat. Daniel was a few minutes late and so arrived to find Marcia already speaking to a dark-haired stranger as she sorted through her things.

At first he thought jealousy had made him wary of the stranger. The man was charming and full of stories of a life spent wandering the world whereas Marcia knew just about every aspect of Daniel’s sorry existence. But when Martin claimed to have been a poor destitute Cockney youth and then spoke in an accent reminiscent of Henry Higgins and not Alfred P. Doolittle, Daniel’s worry meter began to spike. He longer for the safety of Marcia’s flat.

And then, he heard the one person who was his refuge from the world invite the demon for tea.

So Say the Winos, Part 8

October 20, 2016September 30, 2019JT Twissel 2 Comments

To recap the story thus far: Three young girls are rescued from a night on the mean streets of the lower east side of NYC by a troubled ex-Jesuit named Daniel. He escorts them to a flat belonging to his childhood friend, Marcia, where he assumes they will spend the night before fleeing the city. To read from the beginning click here.

By the time Daniel arrived at the gas station the next morning the car with the Nevada plates was gone, retrieved, the boss explained, by three “pea-brained hippies.”

“Praise the Lord,” he sighed. Marcia must have convinced them to flee the city of broken glass and backed up sewers where the only people who seemed to make any sense, whirled and chanted until they fell into a stupor. He imagined them telling their adventures to mortified parents; the gutters filled with piss and vomit; the creatures who tried to draw them into the shadows.

His good deed sustained him through a busy morning fixing tires for teamsters (their only customers) and helping the boss keep his ledgers balanced. If he hadn’t taken a lunch break, it would have sustained him for the whole day and beyond. It would have been a deed mentally rehashed for months as he assumed only the best of outcomes had resulted. He’d help save three girls from New York City, sent them back to the safety of their suburban lives. But corned beef called, corned beef stacked on rye bread with sauerkraut and a drizzle of the kind of cheesy mayonnaise found only at certain delis. An indulgence he couldn’t afford every day but would be his reward. Corned beef on rye.

He savored the thought for several blocks, noting the cool October breezes as his stomach growled. Winter had come early and it would be a long one. Long and cold. He pictured the inside of the deli, with white-coated salami and barrels of pickles, the musty smell of an old building as he turned onto Hudson Street. Maybe he’d just eat half the sandwich and give the rest to a street person, he thought, some poor soul seated on the curb or hunched in one of the alleyways. That would add to the goodness of the day.

Alas like all moments too good to be true, this one wouldn’t last. Exiting the deli were two of the girls he thought he’d saved, Venus and young Eleanor (he couldn’t recall their real names). Big, guileless grins on their faces as they greeted him in delight, “Daniel!”

“What are you girls still doing here? I thought you were leaving.”

“Marcia said we could stay another night because Fiona’s really sick and we hardly got any sleep last night because of that friend of hers.” Venus said, licking chocolate from her fingers.”

“Did the lawyer come back?”

“Oh no. This guy was really creepy. Creepier that the lawyer. He woke us up about five in the morning.”

“Freaked us out but he just laughed.”

“It was more like a howl.”

“It woke Marcia up and she said something strange like … ‘after a year the two of you suddenly reappear’ … and then he asked about you Daniel.”

From Brownie Fright Night, October 2015

“Me? I don’t know any of Marcia’s friends. What was this guy’s name?”

“I don’t remember but he had an English accent. Sounded a little phony but … ”

“You think any guy with an English accent is cute!” Young Eleanor interrupted, “but he was creepy.”

“I did not think he was cute! His eyes looked so cold.”

Now Daniel knew why winter had come early. Why frantic birds had begun flying into the windows at the station, why the rain was not refreshing, and why the winos warned of crueler ghost ships roaming the deserted streets in search of fresh recruits.

“You look really strange, Daniel. Is Fiona in danger?”

“Where’s he now?”

“Well, Marcia said he could crash in her room while she was at work. And then Fiona said she was hungry and so … you don’t think he’ll …”

“If it’s who I think, he’s an night creature. Harmless during the day. Of course, to Marcia he’s just another poor, damaged soul in need of kindness and I’m still brainwashed by my mother to see demons on every corner. She has the luxury of not believing in demons.” Now he’d gone and really spooked them. “I’ll try to come by tonight.”

That wiped most of the fear off their faces and they began to babble about the wonders of chocolate halvah and how they couldn’t even buy it in Nevada.

So Say the Winos, Part 7

October 11, 2016October 11, 2016JT Twissel 9 Comments

Marcia began grilling the girls in her best professional voice. Where had they come from? How would they make money? So on and so forth. She finally ended with “…and you have to admit, coming to New York City not knowing anyone or having a place to stay is a very bad idea.”

“Thus sayeth the Social Worker!” Daniel quipped as the bedroom door squeaked tenuously open. What emerged was a lawyer. Of that fact, Daniel was 99% sure. Brooks Brothers suit, well-shined shoes, monogrammed shirt, and a smug, superior look on his wishy-washy face.

“This is Bill, a friend from work,” Marcia reported clinically of the man. “Bill, Daniel is the younger brother of my best friend in high school. He has a tendency to appear without any warning but he’s harmless. And these young ladies are in need of a place to crash for the night. I guess you’d call them, castaways.”

“Castaways, hey? Like in Gilligan’s Island, ha!”

His joke fell so flat that not even Marcia attempted a giggle. Across the courtyard the chanting ballooned in intensity as though gallons of orgasmic god juice had been thrown upon the Institute.

“Shit, those Krishnas have gotten loud.” The lawyer continued, “Are they always like that?”

“Only until the moment of a shared cosmic orgasm, which — I’ve been assured in triplicate — can only be achieved if you chant Hare Krishna and spin in circles for several hours. After that, they’re quiet.” Daniel replied.

Marcia chuckled as she walked to the kitchenette to make a pot of tea. Looking for chamomile, Daniel thought as he watched her. Always chamomile in the evening.

“The noise ordinance specifically prohibits any sound louder than a trumpet at this hour and I’d say they’re getting close.” Bill the Lawyer reported.

Again no one responded and so he continued to another subject, “So, Daniel, you and Marcia grew up together? You’ll have to tell me what she was like when she was a little girl.”

My favorite slimy lawyer – Jerry Orbach in Chicago.

Aha! A married lawyer. A married lawyer, playing around, Daniel assumed. Did Marcia know? He clutched the ironing board and, using it as a pulpit, began: “Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy. Nothing is hidden that will not be known. Whatever you have said in the dark shall be heard in the light, and what you have whispered in the private rooms shall be proclaimed upon the housetops.”

The lawyer looked to Marcia for explanation.

“You should have heard him when he was a true believer,” she began. “My God, all the girls adored him. Once his mother held this overnight retreat for troubled teens and the girls cornered Daniel in the kitchen. His sister and I had to come save him! Remember that Daniel?”

Before Daniel could repudiate her story, the lawyer said. “Well listen, man, I could have never hacked it as a priest either. All that abstinence BS.” He stopped to check the time. “Oh shit! Is it 8:45 already?”

“Wife and child expecting you?” Daniel asked.

“No, sorry Daniel. Not married.” He replied, waving the naked ring-finger of his left hand as he grabbed his overcoat, “Listen, I’ve got to catch the nine o’clock express. I’ll see you in dependency court, Marcia. Good luck girls.” With that, he left.

“A fellow social worker?” Daniel asked, as he watched the lawyer try to make his way through the throng of Krishna disciples who’d spilled out into the courtyard for air. He stopped to talk to one of them. A mistake. Daniel laughed. “Looks like he’s trying to explain the noise ordinance to the Krishnas.”

He’s a public defender.” She mumbled.

“I knew it. Still going for that house on Long Island. Shall we try to save him from the Krishna’s?”

“No. He can handle them.” Marcia absentmindedly replied and then quickly she changed the subject, “Listen, girls, I have to be at work very early tomorrow morning so, you can crash here on the floor for tonight but tomorrow you have to find another place, okay? I can help you, if you want, but you’ll have to find another place.” Mumbling their thanks, the girls dropped their things to the floor and slumped onto the resulting pile. They looked exhausted but relieved as they removed wet coats and kicked off shoes.

Daniel took a deep breath. His mission was over. “Daniel, are you staying here tonight too?” Marcia asked as she pulled mismatched cups from the cupboard. She was so predictable. Every event ending with a tea ceremony and a heart-to-heart. Something without caffeine, seductive, relaxing and healthy, of course.

“No, I have to go. I have things to do.” He replied, walking to the door.

“What things? Why haven’t I heard from you for over a year?” She snapped, “I was worried you know. What have you been doing?”

“I think this line of questioning falls into the same category as ‘why are you screwing men you hardly know and don’t care about,’ don’t you?” The teakettle began to whistle. Why had he said hurtful words to her? What right did he have to judge anything she did? He walked over to her and muttered an apology “Their throat is an open grave, they use their tongues to deceive. The venom of asps is under their lips, their mouth is full of curses and bitterness. Their feet are swift to shed blood and in their paths are ruin and misery.”

She smiled. “You bastard.”

“Thank you.” “

You really know the Bible.” The Catholic’s daughter needlessly pointed out.

“If I remember correctly, Romans.”

“Why didn’t you become a priest?” He knew she would ask that question. It was always the first thing out of a girl’s mouth when they’d found out he’d been a seminarian. Particularly a Catholic girl. Before he could say something snide, Marcia intervened: “He didn’t want to be Daniel, Beloved of God.”

And she was right.

th-2 Dear Readers – I’ll be back on October 20th to introduce Martin, who for reasons you’ll soon see could well have been the Devil. What do you think? Does the Devil exist or is it all a fantasy developed by the church to keep worshippers in line? That’s what I used to think.

Happy October!

So Say the Winos, Part 5

October 8, 2016October 8, 2016JT Twissel 6 Comments

The shadows came to life as men, women and even children, all ignoring the light rain and oncoming cold as they rattled forearms and ankles overgrown with silver and gold bangles.

“This is the International Society for Krishna Consciousness,” Daniel said in answer to their unspoken question. “Marcia lives in a carriage house in the back. Why? You might ask. It’s cheap and soon you’ll find out why. By the way, don’t look the Krishnas in the eye or say anything to them. Just follow me closely.”

“Why?”

“They’ll latch onto you sweet young things and before you know it you’ll be shaving your heads and panhandling at the airport.” They laughed. But he wasn’t kidding. They were just the sort of recruits the Krishnas loved.

They plunged into the crowd, riding wave after wave of humanity until being washed inside the institute where the light momentarily blinded Daniel. The chanters inside were even more intense. Dozens upon dozens spun mindlessly into each other, so absorbed in the coming rapture that they paid little attention to the four strangers elbowing through their midst like salmon swimming upstream. Men sat on the floor slapping bongo drums and rattling tambourines as the stench of burnt cooking oil and sandalwood incense filled the air. Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Vishnu, Hare, Hare — chanted again and again until eyes glazed over.

Daniel had to herd the bewitched girls out of the front room and down a long hall where the god-stoned bounced around like billiard balls on a pool table, in and out of the candlelit rooms where they slept. “We were lucky,” he said as finally they exited the back door. “They’re having some sort of celebration. Once they get started, they’ll keep going until they all fall over from sheer exhaustion. Then they wake up, get on their street clothes and go to their day jobs.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m really not kidding. I’ve seen people leave that place in the morning in business suits, carrying brief cases. Investment bankers on Wall Street during the day. Krishnas at night.” Daniel joked as they followed him across the cobblestone courtyard separating the Institute from a two-story carriage house. Marcia’s place on the second floor was dark which was worrisome. However, the doors to both the stairwell and to the flat were unlocked. That was a good sign.

“Marcia thinks the Krishnas will protect her,” he chuckled, as they entered the flat. “She never locks her door.”

Looking around he also recognized the sparse furnishings: the two beanbag chairs they’d sewed together over popcorn and beer one night and a wooden coffee table left behind by a previous tenant for obvious reasons. The clincher was good ole Che, still hanging on the wall next to the kitchenette. It was a poster of Guevara that she’d had since college, the dead revolutionary, young, handsome, and dangerous. The only light in the room came through a line of curtain-less windows facing the Krishna Institute. In the distance you could see the lights of the city.

“Marcia?” He called as he flipped on the light over the kitchenette. In response he heard two sets of voices coming from the bedroom. She wasn’t alone. What made him think she would be? She was attractive, young and smart after all. There’d been a brief moment when he thought if she could get past the fact that he was her best friend’s younger brother and that along with him came his mother, well, then maybe. Maybe, they could be more than friends. But who was he kidding. He couldn’t, wouldn’t inflict his mother on someone he cared about.

“It appears we’ve stumbled into something,” he said to the girls who now stood just inside the door dripping on the worn carpet. The Catholic’s daughter caught his meaning. She was the tallest of the three and model-thin. Black hair hung from a perfect widow’s peak to her waist, her skin was milky and her eyes a vivid shade of blue. Compared to her, Venus looked less goddess-like and more like the sturdy tomboy of the neighborhood. The third girl reminded Daniel of a young Eleanor Roosevelt.

The mumbling from the bedroom continued. “Marcia?” He repeated.

“Is that you Daniel?” Was the response.

“No, it’s Che Guevara.”

So say the Winos, Part 4

October 8, 2016October 8, 2016JT Twissel 5 Comments

Part 4 of my October offering to you. Read from the beginning here.

A creature, once human as it possessed massive arms and legs and a head to go along, had one of the girls tucked under his arm like a long, lost teddy bear and was dragging her back into the alley.

“. . . in the shape of a man, moves beyond the pale, bigger than any man, an unnatural birth, called Grendel by the country people.” Daniel mumbled under his breath, of which he suddenly had little.

Illustration of Grendel by J.R. Skelton from Stories of Beowulf.

“Oh baby, baby,” the creature moaned, eyes half closed, “Come with Daddy.” He was dressed head to toe in rags, his face too smeared with dirt and soot to tell his race, his bloodshot eyes empty.

Daniel looked around for something to swing at him. There was nothing. They were cut off from the civilized world, up against a man whose senses were lost to reason. Negotiation was futile. He had nothing to offer that would tempt the man from his prey nor was there anything nearby with which to distract him.

“Let me go! “ The girl screamed, swinging a guitar case into the chest of her captor. The blow did nothing. He twisted the case from her hand and threw it to the ground.

“Now come on, honey bunches, be good to your man.”

The girl reached into her coat and withdrew a crucifix. “Holy Mary, Mother of God! Pray for us sinners now and at the moment of our death.” The man’s eyes widened. What was his pet dangling in front of his face? Then recognizing the symbol, he threw his head back and began to roar with laughter.

By now the other two girls had joined in the melee, bombarding the behemoth with guitar cases and bags of clothes, only adding to his merriment. To a man of his size, they were nothing more than a trio of puppies yapping, nipping and spinning in frenzied circles. When they failed to amuse, he knew he could easily smack them against a brick wall or kick them angrily to the gutter but he had time to play with them, or so he thought. The laughter had shaken loose phlegm trapped in his lungs. He began to choke. Then hack. The hacking increased in intensity until he had no choice but to release the girl and lean into a nearby wall for support.

She stood motionless, glaring at the evil her priest had warned her about, a demon up from the pits of Hell who could be dispensed to the nether regions by symbols of Christianity.

“A crucifix isn’t going to save you, Catholic!” Daniel snarled, pulling the girl away, “It just distracted him for a minute.”

“I’m not a Catholic!”

“If you’re not a Catholic then why are you waving a bloody crucifix around?”

“Her mother’s a Catholic.” Venus of the Sewers explained. “She’s what they call a “charismatic” and does the laying on of hands and talking in tongues and all that stuff. ”

“I’m not a Catholic!”

“Okay, okay – you’re not a Catholic. Now kindly get a move on it before Grendel here catches his breath.”

Quickly they grabbed their bundles and shuffled off down the street, glancing back every now and then to make sure they weren’t being followed. Finally they reached a neighborhood that had not been completely abandoned to night creatures. Here and there were pockets of light; storefronts that were only gated for the night and not boarded up forever, apartments appeared to be occupied on the upper floors and every now and then a car rolled past.

As they neared Marcia’s block he heard what sounded like a hundred wind chimes. Well, at least they haven’t moved, he thought. He watched the girl’s faces in amusement as rounding the corner they saw a cloud of light, spilling forth from one of the storefronts into the misty street. Into and out of the cloud, shadows fluttered like moths.

So Say the Winos, Part 3

October 6, 2016JT Twissel 7 Comments

Dear Readers – this month I’m posting one of my oldest stories in celebration of Halloween (my favorite season and holiday). It’s a long piece so I’m breaking it up in parts. To recap, three young girls run out of gas in NYC and are taken under the wing of a troubled man named Daniel. You can read from the beginning here.

“I have a friend you can crash with for the night. It’s not too far and it’ll be safe for you.” Daniel said. The girls stared at him blankly, their eyes like shiny pennies.

“She’s a social worker.” His sock was wet. The next time his mother came to town he decided that he’d show her the hole in his shoe, then she’d insist on buying him at least two pairs of shoes, one of which he would give to the first shoeless street person he met, of course. That would make her happy. She wanted Jesus as a son but a well dressed Jesus, not a scruffy one.

“Look,” he added, “What choice do you have? You can’t sleep in the car. Not in this neighborhood. And the hotels are filled with … well, you don’t want to stay in the hotels.”

“But are you sure she won’t mind a bunch of strange people staying with her?”

“She won’t mind. Strange people are her business.” The sewers were backing up. Ah, the smell of Manhattan, Daniel thought, motor oil and garbage rotting, thick, moist human goo. In the country, the first rain cleanses. In New York City, it backs up the sewers and washes pigeon poop off the high rises down onto the pedestrians.

“Hurry up and make up your mind,” Daniel ordered. He knew what happened after dark in that part of town. The needy and vague-eyed — from drink or drug or mental illness — materialized from crevices of abandoned buildings, crying and moaning and demanding money while in the distance sirens wailed, but always in the distance. A loud crack echoed in the alley across the street, probably just a trashcan being emptied for use as shelter from the rain, but it sounded like gunfire.

“Okay,” they muttered. “But what shall we do with the car?”

“Drive it around back where it might have a chance of surviving the night in tact,” he replied, “but I doubt it.” He followed the car and then helped to remove anything of value. Bags of clothes, guitars, and pillows. One of the girls handed him a terra cotta sculpture of a young man’s head.

“This is Aragorn. He goes everywhere with us.” She explained.

“Aragorn?” Daniel asked. The thing weighed a ton.

“You know, from the Lord of the Rings.”

“Oh yeah?” said Daniel, “Leave him here. No one is going to steal him. I know what. He can be Aragorn, Defender of the Volvo.” Giggling they set the sculpture down on the driver’s seat where in the dim light it looked like a severed head. “That’ll scare the crap out some poor wino just trying to find a place out of the rain.”

They followed him on a zig-zag path down broken sidewalks, passing boarded up storefronts covered in obscenities, always careful not to step on glass or into gutter streams of piss and worse. Every now and then they heard a scream or a car screeching on rain-slicked streets, normal sounds for that part of the city but he could tell from the gasps behind him, they would not last long in the city. Soon they would be begging to leave, to return home to a safe suburb where the lights are out by ten and the police have little more to do than investigate mailbox crime. Some place like his parent’s house on the river, idyllic but sometimes too peaceful for his mother. Periodically she had to suffer for Christ.

Then it dawned on him. Marcia might have moved. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her. One summer had passed, at least. Maybe two. During that time, he’d moved many times. Maybe she had too. Maybe she’d married and moved to the suburbs. Maybe she’d died. No that wasn’t possible. His mother would have told him. Maybe he’d be stuck with the girls and forced to walk them all the way to Father Frank’s. Maybe that was a better plan in the first place. Maybe, maybe, maybe. He couldn’t decide.

They were halfway to Marcia’s when one of the girls screamed “Let me go!” Daniel froze then turned.