Summer Issue 2009 Stories
Instant Water
By Crystalwizard
(First publication, Strange Worlds of Lunacy, Cyberaliens Press 2007)
The sun shone upon a small patch of tilled earth, baking it to a crisp. Marigolds blossoming around the edges wilted, and drooped. An old woman stood with her left hand on her hip, and squinted through one eye. “That garden ain’t gonna grow.” She turned a small cardboard box around, and peered at the label on the front.
Instant water.
She tossed a dirty look over her shoulder at a near-by bungalow, and wrinkled her nose. “Stupid late night T.V. shows... sellin’ mah husband all sorts ‘a rubbish!” She gave her attention back to the box, and tried to make out the directions on the back.
Add water...
She raised an eyebrow at the box, and snorted. “Yeah, instant water all right. ‘Fool an’ his money be parted!” She ripped the shrink wrap off the box, tore off the top and peered inside. A fine white, glistening powder filled the box almost all the way to the top. “Looks like sugar...”
She turned the box upside down, poured its contents into the grass next to the garden and tossed the container away. “Idiot husband. Gotta fall fer every scam that comes along!” She hobbled toward the house, leaving a pile of glittering white crystals behind.
The sun continued to shine, oblivious of her disgruntled unhappiness. Its rays drew moisture from the grass. Water vapor rising into the air interacted with the crystals, and they began to vibrate. A rumbling rose in a rapid crescendo and a monstrous tsunami erupted into existence, washing away everything in a fifty mile radius.
A small cardboard box washed up onto the edge of the devastation and lay drying in the sun, its waterlogged type visible for any survivors to read.
Instant water, the label read. Add water to activate. Caution. Contains enough for one medium lake. Handle with care.
THE LAST GHOST
by Dean Grondo
Three old ladies sat in the parlor drinking tea from Aunt Sally's gold rimmed porcelain tea set while they tittered over a deck of tarot cards spread across the glass coffee table. They were ghosts, of course. Billy watched them from the hall and listened to their ridiculous chatter. Silly old hags. A shrill voice came from behind him, "Billy!"
He sprang backward from the doorway in surprise. As he turned around he said, "Aunt Sally."
Aunt Sally stood at the end of the hall wearing her pink robe. "Billy, leave the girls alone."
"Yes ma'am."
Aunt Sally asked, "Billy, can you put a new bulb in the light in the kitchen? I'm afraid the old one's burned out."
Billy started down the stairs, answering, "Yes, Aunt Sally."
"Thank you."
When he got to the kitchen, Billy saw the new bulb on the table and a chair already under the overhead light. A sneaking suspicion crept over him and he bent down next to the chair and spotted the broken leg. He pushed the chair with a finger and as it began to collapse he held it up. He heard Aunt Sally coming down the stairs. Billy quickly snatched up another chair and placed it under the light. He put the broken one in its place at the table, careful to place the broken leg so that the chair would appear normal.
Aunt Sally was in the hall now. Billy picked the light bulb off the table and stood under the light. As Aunt Sally came into the kitchen he stared upward.
"Can you change it?" Aunt Sally asked in an innocent voice.
"Sure." Billy lifted his leg and stopped. He backed away from the chair. "Maybe I should get the ladder."
"Now, that's just silly!" Aunt Sally snapped. "You have a perfectly good chair right there in front of you. Just get on it and change that bulb." "All right." He hopped up on the chair suddenly and watched the look of astonishment that covered his aunt's face. Hiding his amusement, Billy changed the bulb in the light and retreated downstairs as a gruff, "Thank you," came from Aunt Sally.
Aunt Sally was always trying things like that. Poison tarts-a toaster bomb-the missing porch steps outside. It seemed like she came up with some new scheme every day. So far Billy had been lucky. But he knew that sooner or later that Aunt Sally would devise a plan that worked. Down in the basement, Billy found his friend Riley Bates in the coal bin in the corner.
Riley was the only ghost in the whole house that Billy really liked and he spent most of his time sitting in the soot inside the coal bin, watching the coal dust float around himself.
"Hi Billy," Riley said as the door to the coal bin squeaked open. "Hi Riley." The ghost saw his expression and asked, "What's wrong?" "Oh. Aunt Sally, she..... You know."
"Aw, Billy. You shouldn't let it bother you. It's just that darned contest. She only needs one more, you know."
Billy sat on an overturned plastic bucket and watched Riley through the open door of the coal bin. "I don't know how much more I can take. Sooner or later my luck is going to run out."
"She got me." Riley's brown eyes grew wistful. "I guess I wasn't as smart as you."
"Riley, you didn't stand a chance. Aunt Sally ran you over with that pickup truck of hers. I've just been lucky."
Riley nodded thoughtfully. "Well, it's not that bad, Billy. I get to sit down here where its peaceful and...." Riley slapped a hand at the pile of coal in front of him and a cloud of dust rose up. His eyes twinkled with glee as he watched the black powder sink slowly down again. "I kind of like it."
"That's just weird, Riley." "When I was alive, my wife Martha used to criticize and nag me all day and night and I was always unhappy. I'd never want to go back to that!"
"Well, I don't want to be a ghost." Exasperated suddenly, Billy hopped off his bucket and began pacing the dirt floor of the cellar. A white glowing light came from the floor in front of him. Billy stopped and watched as the ghostly form of a woman rose up. He said, "Sheila."
"Billy!" The ghost leaned close and kissed him on the cheek and Billy felt cold, clammy lips brush against his face. "Riley is right. Being a ghost is-" Sheila lifted her arms up and her body corkscrewed around and around as it moved upward, until she reached the ceiling.
"Wonderful!" Billy frowned. "Leave me alone, Sheila."
"But Billy! If you were a ghost we could...." Sheila floated forward, swaying from side to side. "We could go steady, Billy. Don't you want to be my boyfriend?"
Billy spun away as ice cold hands reached for him. He bumped his elbow on the coal bin door and stood there rubbing it. "No. I don't want to be a ghost!" Sheila shrieked and dashed away through the air, disappearing upward through the ceiling.
Riley laughed.
Billy gave his friend a sharp look and stared at the place where Sheila had disappeared. Sheila wasn't so bad, as far as ghosts went. Why couldn't she just understand? Billy heard a tiny creak over his head. He was used to jumping at odd noises and he leapt back just the rafters exploded open and a huge stone from the fireplace upstairs came plummeting down, missing him by inches. It hit the dirt with a thud at Billy's feet. A transparent white head stuck down through the hole in the ceiling.
"Darn!" Sheila complained, then she vanished again.
"That was close," said Riley. "Yeah." Laughter echoed inside the coal bin. "I guess she's got a crush on you!"
Billy said dismally, "She's just trying to help Aunt Sally win that contest." "Get it, Billy? A crush! Sheila has a- a crush....!"
Riley lost himself in another wave of laughter. "Yeah, I get it." Billy kicked at the rock. "I just hate all this." Riley's thin face appeared at the door of the coal bin. "Oh, Billy."
"I hate that stupid witches council and their stupid contest!" "Billy, if your aunt wins, she gets promoted to the council. You know how much that means to her."
"But she wants to make me a ghost!" "Billy, everyone ends up a ghost sooner or later. And it's really not so bad." "Riley, you don't understand. You are a ghost."
"Well, I guess you've got me there." The door upstairs squeaked open. "Oh, Billy." Aunt Sally's voice called. "Could you come up and help me a minute?" "Yes ma'am." Riley hissed from the coal bin, "Be careful, Billy."
"I will."
Upstairs in the kitchen Aunt Sally was warming stew on the stove. "I need to get some chives from the garden for the salad" she said. "Billy, would you put the rolls in the oven for me?"
Billy looked at the cookie sheet with the rolls all ready. "Yes ma'am." Aunt Sally went out the back door onto the porch, calling back, "Now don't forget about the rolls, Billy."
"I won't"
"Thank you." Aunt Sally closed the door again and her footsteps sounded on the porch outside.
Billy picked the tray of rolls off the table and moved to the oven. Just as he was about to open the oven door, he noticed a thin black wire dangling down toward the floor. Following the wire with his eyes, he saw that it ended in a plug stuck in the wall outlet a few feet away. Frowning, Billy pulled out the plug and put the cookie sheet in the oven. Then he replaced the plug in the outlet and sat at the table.
Aunt Sally walked in a minute later. She stared at the oven and then at Billy. Her eyes followed the wire to the outlet and then she asked, "Billy, did you put the rolls in the oven?" Billy was idly picking at a broken fingernail and he answered vaguely, "Yes, Aunt Sally." Confused, Aunt Sally walked to the oven and peered at the little window on the door. She yanked at the door's handle. Suddenly an eerie white glow emanated from Aunt Sally's body. The lights dimmed and her gray hair shot away from her head and stood on end.
Billy looked away and then there was a thump on the floor. He shook his head slowly and sighed. Voices rose up from out in the hall and all over the house. Dozens of ghostly white heads began to pop out of the walls, floor, and ceiling. "We saw the lights flicker," a tall thin ghost said as he slowly drifted away from the ceiling.
Sheila popped out of a wall to Billy's left. "What are you still doing here?" she asked in surprise. A matronly ghost named Mable was floating near the oven. "It's Sally," she told the others and a murmur ran across the room.
"Darn it!" A pale form rose from the floor. Aunt Sally's ghost floated up and she looked miserably at her body laying on the floor. "Oh, darn!"
The wall of the kitchen behind Billy started to shimmer. He turned and saw that a bright blue sheen covered the wall and a short figure was standing in the middle of the bluish glare. As the figure walked forward the glow evaporated away and suddenly everything looked normal again.
"William Porter?" Billy stared at the speaker in amazement. The old man was dressed in a gray suit and he wore a pointed wizards cap. Long white sideburns ran into the beard that covered his chin.
"Yes," Billy answered, wondering who the old man was and how he knew Billy's name.
"William, I'm Leopold Van Snootin from the Council of Witches. I am here to congratulate you being the first witch to collect one hundred ghosts. You've won the contest, my boy."
"What?" Billy was confused. Why, he wasn't even a witch. He sputtered, "It-It's a mistake!"
The old man spread his arms and said, "There are one hundred ghosts in this house and you are the only living witch here. Therefore...."
"I'm not a witch." Billy insisted.
The old man wagged a finger. "You are by birthright. You are a direct descendent of the Eastwich witches that lived in England in the 1600's."
Aunt Sally's ghost complained, "It's just not fair."
Leopold Van Snootin countered, "According to the rules of the contest he is the winner. William, you will become a member of the Council of Witches as a reward for winning the contest."
Billy protested, "I don't have any powers. I'm not-"
The old man interrupted gently, "This will take care of that." He produced a silver wand with a red jewel affixed to the end of it. He presented it to Billy with a flourish.
Billy got off his chair and accepted the wand. It felt cold and heavy. "What's it for,' he asked. "It is a symbol of your new station," Leopold Van Snootin said. "With it, you can also perform magic." Billy asked hesitantly, "What will it do?"
The old man gave him a wide smile. "Anything." Billy saw that Riley had come up from the basement. "Look Riley," Billy called as he waved his new wand. Suddenly the entire kitchen was filled with swirling coal dust.
Riley waved his arms merrily and laughed. "Billy!" The wand waved again and an vortex appeared in the wall. Behind the opening, a haze of yellow and gray moved.
"Come on, Riley!" Billy shouted as he moved toward the new entry. "Let's go check out the pyramids!"
Leopold Van Snootin objected, "But the Council will want to meet you."
Riley's ghostly form floated past Billy into the magical doorway. As Billy followed, he said, "Tell them-" He strode forward and left the kitchen behind him. "Tell them we'll be late!"
The kitchen and the house disappeared and he was standing in a dessert, next to a tall pyramid. A tremendous grin spread itself over his face. Oh, Billy was going to like this!
BIO: Dean Grondo is an adequate fiction and nonfiction writer. He lives in Iowa. (hey- the authors provide the bios...don't look at me)
Holding Pattern
by John B. Rosenman
Max was on his knees, cleaning the hearth, when he heard his dead wife’s voice coming down the chimney. It was so low he almost missed it, but when she spoke again, he caught every word.
“Max, how are you doing?”
He put the brush down and placed both hands on his knees. After a moment he opened his mouth to speak, then reconsidered. Though she sounded just like he remembered, Ruth had been dead for three years. A massive stroke at the dinner table had left no doubt about that.
“Max, why don’t you answer?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m imagining this.”
“Oh no, you’re not. I can see you clearly.” She giggled, a familiar sound that wrenched his heart. “Your hairline’s receded even more, hasn’t it?”
He closed his eyes. I’m mad, he thought, or this is some cruel joke. “Where are you?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s beautiful here.”
He rose numbly, dusted off his hands. Turning, he headed toward the bathroom, where he doused his face in cold water.
He promised himself he would stay away from the fireplace and avoid the living room altogether, but less than an hour later, he found himself kneeling on the hearth again. He sighed, remembering the first time he had seen Ruth, thirty-five years before. How beautiful she had looked, standing in that rose garden.
“Ruth,” he said.
A clump of ash fell in the fireplace. That’s all Ruth is anymore, he told himself. Ash. You’re just a lonely old man who’s imagining things.
He swallowed, then tried again. “Ruth.”
“I’m here, Max,” her voice answered. “I was hoping you’d come back.”
This can’t be true. He moved forward on his knees, put his head in the fireplace, and peered up. All he could see was a small, distant rectangle of blue sky. “Ruth?” he called.
“I’m here, darling,” she said. “Right before you."
Darling. “I . . . I can’t see you.”
“I am here, Max. I can see you clearly.”
“Wh . . . what’s it like, Ruth?”
The blue sky didn’t change. “I can’t describe it, Max. Remember how afraid I used to be about dying? Well, there’s absolutely no reason to be frightened. I can see the most glorious colors with my body, only I have no body.”
See with her body, only she had no body? “Ruth, how is this possible? How can . . .”
“I talk to you, Max? It’s the solar flares, and the chimney channels me to you.”
He remembered there had been eruptions on the sun recently. “How do you know this?” he asked.
“I just do.”
“Ruth . . .” He swallowed, then tried again. “Do you remember when we first met? In that rose garden?”
“Of course I remember,” her voice said softly. “I haven’t changed that much, Max.”
Suddenly the sweet fragrance of roses settled over him. He inhaled deeply, remembering a distant summer. “Is this what it’s like after death?” he asked. “You, uh, float about?”
“Not exactly, Max. It’s hard to describe. But I will move on.”
“Move on? To what – heaven, God?”
“To distant places and endless adventures, Max. Marvels that never stop but just get more wonderful.”
His neck was beginning to hurt from peering up. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. Always.” Her voice changed. “But you’re still with me, Max. In my soul.”
His throat caught. “But I’ll never see you again,” he said. “Never be with you.”
“No,” she said gently. “But in a way I can’t describe, Max, it won’t matter.”
He couldn’t take any more. He backed out of the chimney and sat down on the hearth, rubbing his neck. Was it possible he was dreaming this? Or had he simply gone over the edge?
“Max?” she called.
Illusion or not, Ruth’s presence and her mad words had overwhelmed him. Even more amazing, though, was that he wished she would just go away and leave him alone. That way, he could continue to do what he had done for years: mourn and miss her each and every day.
“Max,” she asked, “why are you so sad?”
A tear ran down his cheek. A million times he had dreamed about being reunited with her, but not like this. How could you embrace vacant air, or touch a body that wasn’t there?
“I know this is difficult to accept,” she said after a moment. Then, brightly: “I just wanted you to know how happy I am, and how wonderful the next life is.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Okay, you’ve done that. Thanks for dropping by.”
“Max –”
“I’ve been alone for three years, Ruth,” he said, teetering on the edge of self-pity. “I’ve got no one.”
“You should find someone, Max,” she said.
He nodded. The worst thing about it, he thought, was that he could hear and feel that she still loved him. Yet he had no doubt there was something else she loved more: all the distant places and adventures that awaited her.
“I know,” he conceded. “I should find someone. I should let you go. Get out of this damned holding pattern I’m in.”
A sigh. “Perhaps I’m in one too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Billy.”
He closed his eyes. “Our son.”
“Yes.”
“He’s dead.”
“I know. I killed him.”
“No.” He opened his eyes, for the first time recognizing something in her that had not changed. The terrible guilt was still there.
“Yes, I did, Max,” Ruth said. “I was going too fast that day and couldn’t stop in the intersection. The truck hit Billy’s side head on. It was all my fault!”
“Listen to me, Ruth,” he said. “It was an accident. It was no one’s fault. Besides that, it happened seventeen years ago. Isn’t one lifetime enough to torment yourself?”
“I know. If I could only see him, tell him how sorry I am.”
Though he knew it was petty, he felt a keen stab of envy. She still cares more about Billy than she does me, he thought, remembering how deeply and long she had mourned their son’s death.
“Can’t you go,” he asked. “Move on to all those places?”
Her voice started to fade. “I want to, but . . .”
“But what?” He leaned toward the fireplace, afraid she was about to leave. “What’s the matter, Ruth? Is something wrong about where you are? I thought it was beautiful.”
“It is, Max! It’s not the place, it’s me. I need to move on but can’t, because I can’t forget Billy!”
“Ruth, you have to let him go.” He waited. “Ruth?”
There was no reply.
The next day he stood in his garden, gazing up at the sun.
Solar flares, and a chimney that connected him with her, like a party line to the hereafter.
Only Ruth was gone again, back to a limbo of her own making.
He inhaled the fragrance of roses and remembered the old photo on the mantel. It showed him and Ruth on their wedding day, beaming with love and joy. 'All my love, all my life,' she had written on the back. Only her life was over, wasn’t it? And the only one she really loved now was Billy. She didn’t care that she had left him lonely, that his misery was her fault.
He dried his eyes and went inside.
A small voice was coming from the fireplace when he entered. He stood on the threshold, his heart pounding. Ruth had returned!
He rushed toward the hearth, feeling as if he were in a dream and running forever, suspended like Ruth between two places. Eventually, he reached the fireplace and waited. A minute passed, then another.
Finally, the voice returned, but it was a young voice. “Dad?”
Max caught the smell of grease and engine oil. “What?”
“Dad, are you there?”
He trembled. “Billy, is that you?”
“Yeah, sure is, Dad. I’m beaming down to you from that great gas station in the sky.”
Billy – he had always loved to repair things. Toys, watches, cars. Especially cars.
“How are the cars up there, Billy? Any Mustangs, ’Vettes, that sort of thing?”
“You bet, Dad,” Billy said, sounding like the fifteen-year-old-boy he eternally was. “Only they ain’t cars, exactly.”
Max nodded. “I know. You can’t describe them.”
“You got that right.” For a few moments, Billy’s voice crackled and threatened to dissolve.
Max waited tensely, hearing the interference of solar flares.
“Whew, I’m back!” Billy said finally. “Got kinda spotty there. Say, Dad, I guess from the way you’re acting that Mom’s stopped by, huh?”
“Yes, she came yesterday.” He tried to smile, almost choking with the desire to see his son again, hold him in his arms. “I’ve missed you, Billy-boy,” he said. “God, you’ll never know.”
“I know you’ve missed me, Dad. I’ve watched you.”
“I see,” he said, aware that Billy hadn’t mentioned missing him. Max found a handkerchief in his pocket and wiped his eyes. “Hey, Billy, have you, uh, moved on, yet?”
“‘Moved on?”
“Yes. To the next plane or whatever.”
“‘The next plane’? Naw, this is cool with me, Dad. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Man, the things I’ve got to work on up here! Only it ain’t ‘up’ here, exactly, if you know what I mean.”
Max nodded. He was beginning to understand, at least a little. Billy, for example, was surrounded by things to fix, even if he didn’t have hands, exactly, to fix them. Wouldn’t that be heaven for him? And Ruth had always wanted to travel to exotic foreign countries and see the world. Now she had eternity, and all the amazing places the universe held. That is, if she could only move on to experience them. He went to a chair, pulled it toward the fireplace, and sat down.
“Hey, Billy,” he said, “I’d give you the keys to the car, but I guess you don’t need ’em.”
Billy laughed, then turned serious. “Dad, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“Yes, son. What is it?”
“I know Mom always blamed herself for the accident. But since she died, has she . . .”
“What, Billy?”
“Well, what I mean is, I know how she felt when she was alive, how unhappy it made her and all. But I don’t know how she feels now. I thought that since she got in touch with you, you’d know.”
Max leaned back in the chair. “I do know.”
“You do? Well, gosh, Dad, tell me. How does she feel?”
Max sighed. Ruth and Billy cared far more about each other than about him. It would serve Billy right to know how guilty his mother still felt, how it tarnished even her afterlife. Maybe he wouldn’t think things were so ‘cool’ then.
“Dad,” Billy asked, “how does she feel? Please tell me.”
Not so happy and complacent now, are we? Max thought. Perhaps you’d like to know how I’ve mourned you for seventeen years, and how empty my life has been since your mother died. You say you know what it’s been like, but you don’t. “
"Dad?”
Max took a deep breath. “Billy,” he said, “your mother has gotten over her grief and guilt. Now that she’s, uh, passed over, she knows that your death was just one of those things.”
“Phew!” Billy said. “I’m so glad. That’s a great relief, Dad!”
“I hope you feel better, son.”
“I do. ’Cause the truth is, the accident was my fault, not hers!”
“Your fault?”
“Yeah. You see, I noticed the brakes were a bit soft and tried to fix ’em. But I forgot to re-hook the vacuum line!”
Max felt stunned. “You messed with the brakes?”
“Yeah.” For the first time, Billy’s childish voice darkened, sounding like that of the adult he’d never be. “When Mom couldn’t stop the car in time and the truck came toward me, I remembered my screw-up. My last thought was that I had it coming.” Max struggled to process Billy’s words. The inspector who had examined the brake system afterward had said it looked fine, but then, he probably hadn’t checked the vacuum line.
“Oh, son,” he finally said, “how could you do it?”
A ragged sob. “I know, Dad. Even worse, Mom blamed herself for my death, felt she was driving too fast when she wasn’t.” A pause. “But since she got over it, everything’s okay, isn’t it? Only I sure wish I could tell Mom how sorry I am and that it was my fault.”
Max swallowed. All those years, Ruth had blamed herself. Such needless, pointless suffering! “I’ll tell her for you, Billy,” Max said. “Next time I, uh, ‘see’ her.”
“You will? Hey, thanks!” A boyish laugh, filled with relief. “Then it’s okay, right? Everything turned out swell, Dad.” Swell. Max smiled.
“Super,” he said. More laughter. “Well, I gotta go now, Dad. But I’ll be back, promise! Bye.”
“Bye,” he said, knowing as he spoke that Billy was already gone.
“After loving you so much, can I forget
you for eternity, and have no other choice?”
The bleak lines from some poem ran through his mind, reminding him that no love, however fine, lasted forever.
Through the window, he could see the woman across the street pick up her newspaper from the porch and glance toward his house. Karen. Karen something. Three months ago, she had invited him to dinner, but he had begged off with an excuse, promising to call back. He never had. Nor, probably, would his son call back either. After all, he had set Billy free. And why should his son return when he had all those cosmic lube jobs to perform in the sky? Only they weren’t really lube jobs, were they, and it wasn’t the sky exactly.
On the mantel the clock ticked beside the wedding photo, dividing eternity into identical little units that stretched forever, all of them equally meaningless. He wanted to walk over, grab the damned thing, and smash it to pieces in the fireplace.
There was a crackling sound. He waited.
“Max,” his wife’s voice finally said.
“Ruth,” he said. “You can’t go on, can you?”
“No. I tried again, but something always holds me back.”
He went to the chair and sat down.
“It’s Billy,” Ruth said. “Even when I’m filled with joy, and the glory of what I have, I’ll suddenly remember him. And then . . .” “And then it’s hell,” he finished. “And you’re alone inside it.” He shifted his weight. “Ruth, tell me. If you could move on, would you still be able to visit me?”
“I . . . don’t think so, darling.”
“So. If you stay, you could continue to visit me, even if the sun calms down?”
The clock ticked.
“I could,” she said. “And I would, Max. Only . . .”
Only it’s not what you want and need, he thought. Even though you still love me, at least in your own way. “Ruth,” he said, “remember all those far-away places you wanted to go? Paris, Madrid, Hong Kong?”
“Yes.” Her voice turned wistful. “I do.”
He could give Billy peace, but found it more difficult with Ruth. Did she know how much he had suffered after her death, how much he had missed her? No, she didn’t know, and what’s more, she didn’t care. Under the circumstances, didn’t she deserve to be stuck here forever? Instead of distant, magical realms, she’d spend all eternity thinking about how she’d killed Billy.
Max rose and marched to the fireplace, his heart pounding with righteous anger. Then he stopped. Could he be this cruel? What had he come to? All these years, she had suffered miserably for something she had never done, something which was not her fault. Billy was the one to blame. Not Ruth.
“Max, is something wrong?”
You always hurt the one you love. Ruth would have all eternity to suffer and think of Billy. But it wasn’t fair. If he didn’t tell her that Billy had caused the accident, he’d prolong her misery forever. He looked at the photo of their wedding day on the mantel. Their young faces, her happy smile.
“Max,” she said, “please speak. What’s wrong?”
He shuddered, then reached out and touched their wedding picture. Tears ran down his face and he leaned against the fireplace. As he did, a memory entered his mind with such intensity that he knew it came from the same force that sustained Ruth in the next world.
For a moment, he was part of her life again. It was the day of the accident. He was watching Ruth drive Billy to school. He saw again their smiling faces as they waved goodbye. "No, don’t leave!" he shouted. 'You’ll both die and I’ll never see you again!"
But they didn’t listen, and as Ruth backed out of the driveway, he rushed after them, his heart pounding. Please stop, he cried inside, but of course they wouldn’t. This was the past, and he could never change it.
Seeing them leave, he felt something inside him loosen and finally give way. He raised his hand and waved back, gazing after his family until they were gone and the hard weight inside him had crumbled into dust. After a while, he lowered his hand and looked up at the fireplace. “Ruth?”
“Yes, Max?”
“Billy gave me a message for you.” Ever so gently, he turned their wedding picture over on the mantel.
Instant Water by Crystalwizard
Holding Pattern by John B Rosenman
The Last Ghost by Dean Grondo
Decision by Jeannie Patrick
Bio- John B Rosenman has.had fiction appear in Weird Tales, Starshore, The Age of Wonders, Hot Blood, and elsewhere. Some of his novels are featured on his web site, http://www.johnrosenman.com/
Decision
by Jeannie Patrick
Bleak swirls of gray, lavender and soft blues clouds filled the frame of the cold window Arwen rested her forehead against. She was cold except for her head and face which seemed to be radiating a nauseating heat from the shame and sadness she was feeling. She had embarrassed her family and been made a fool of all in one day, and all because some stupid boy had known all the right things to say. Turning her head slightly to rest her hot cheek on the window she caught the eye of a fellow passenger, a tiny elderly woman who seemed dressed too well to be riding in the dirty Greyhound bus headed across the country.
“You look sick, girl.” The old woman’s voice was strong and sure, not a match to her frail body.
“I’m fine.” She turned away, pressing the other cheek to the cold glass, hoping the old lady would take the hint.
She didn’t. Arwen felt her seat move as if someone had sat next to her.
“No, hon.” The lady reached out and wrapped her icy fingers around Arwen’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“Don’t touch me. I’m fine.” Arwen spat the words at the old lady. “Leave me alone.”
If she was startled she didn’t show it. “Okay. I’ll be right over there if you need anything, okay, hon.” She stood up silently called over her shoulder. “I’m Della, by the way.”
Arwen hoped Della would be getting off at next stop so she could sit in the torn seat and wallow in her misery alone.
“Momma, wake up. What is wrong with you?” Arwen opened her eyes and looked at the little girl standing over her. She might have been six or seven, maybe older, maybe younger- it was hard to tell. Red curls matching her own framed the child’s round face. She could have been her daughter, but she couldn’t be. Arwen was a child herself, barely sixteen. Not again. She had just closed her eyes and now she was in the strange place again.
She looked at the girl dumbly and sat up. They were in a wide open meadow, surrounded by wildflowers and buzzing insects.
“Are you okay now?” The girl looked up with deep concern crossing her face.
Arwen didn’t speak. She’d been here so many times in the past few months she knew better than to speak without assessing the situation first.
“Momma, are you okay?” The child was wringing her hands.
Arwen closed her eyes. Lola- that was the girl’s name. She remembered it from one of her last visits here. “Yes, Lola. I’m fine.” She waited, hoping the girl would say something to help her figure out what was going on.
“We can go home now, Momma. So you can rest.” Lola helped pull Arwen to her feet and led the way into the shimmering green of the forest surrounding them.
After a few moments of walking Lola spoke again. “I wish you would be well, Momma. I don’t like it when you go away like that.”
“I’m sorry.” Arwen was still not sure how to answer, even though she’d had this conversation with Lola several times.
Within minutes the large tree appeared and Arwen knew what would happen next. Lola would knock on the trunk in a few random places, then they would be inside the tree in a fairy tale type home. The first few times this had happened Arwen had been dumbstruck, but in the last several visits she’d learned to act as if everything was normal.
As expected, Lola began tapping here and there, and they were inside. At the table sat a large man with long dark hair and round glasses, tinkering with a strange looking machine. “Arwen, Lola. You’re back early.” He never looked up from the contraption.
“Momma went away again. But just for a few minutes this time.” Lola said matter-of-factly as she filled a kettle with water. “Tea, Momma?”
“Sure, why not?” Arwen sat across from the large man. She’d seen him several times but still had no idea who he was in this dream world. Lola simply referred to him as Doctor, but she often acted as if he were more of a father or grandfather. She looked at him hoping for some glimmer of explanation, but there was none.
“I have news. Della is coming to see you. If anyone can figure out what happened when you go away she can.” Doctor looked for only a moment. “She should be here today.”
“That’s wonderful, Momma! Della can fix you.” Lola squealed from the other side of the room.
Arwen’s mind was racing. Della was a familiar name, but she wasn’t sure why she knew it. Her thoughts were interrupted by Lola setting a cup of tea before her.
“Here, Momma. Drink this and then I’ll help you get supper ready for when Della comes. Lola was grinning so wide Lola could see everyone one of her perfect little white teeth.
“Hon, you okay?” Arwen felt something tapping her face hard. “Wake up, girl!”
Her eyes opened to the dim yellow lights of the dirty bus. She was staring up at the ceiling and knew instinctively she must be laying on the filthy floor. The old lady was kneeling over her. “I’m fine. I just fainted again.”
“You do this a lot?”
Arwen scrunched here eyes to hold back the tears she knew would come with this conversation. “Della, right?” Arwen asked as she sat up slowly.
Della nodded and sat in the seat across the aisle.
“It’s been happening for the past few months. Since I got pregnant.” She looked down at her still flat stomach. Still flat for now, but she knew in the next five months it would swell immensely.
“I see. So what are you doing on a bus in the middle of the night?” Della asked.
“Going away. In case you hadn’t noticed I’m kind of young. I’ve shamed my family and the dad says it isn’t his. I’ve become a burden, so I decided to leave.” The tears fought there way out and seconds later Arwen was silently sobbing in her hands.
Della moved over to the seat next to Arwen and wrapped her arms around the girl. “It’s time to make a decision, Arwen. You can’t flip back and forth anymore.”
Arwen looked up, tears still rolling down her cheeks. “What?”
“You must decide now. The bus is slowing and I must get off on the next stop. You can come with me, home where Lola is already happy. Or you can stay on this bus and make your own way for you and Lola.” Della lightly touched Arwen’s belly. For the first time she felt a small fluttering inside.
Screeching brakes alerted them. The bus had stopped. Della stood and began walking towards the open door.
“Wait! I need more time!” Arwen stood and called toward her.
“You’ve had four months, Arwen. The time is now.” She descended the steps leading and disappeared from sight.
“You got thirty seconds left, ma’am.” The driver called out to her.
Arwen stepped out into the darkness.
“Momma? Are you okay, now?” Lola again looked overly worried.
Arwen looked for Della and found her sitting in the corner with a gentle smile across her face. “Yeah, baby. I think this time I’ll be okay for good.”
Please visit our Meet our Authors page to view the bio of Crystalwizard and find more great stories and books from this talented individual.
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Issue # 7 ISSN NO 1942-4450
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Freaky Flashes and Quick Reads.....
