Stumbles - Halloween 2018 Short Story #2

by: Roger A Wilbanks

I really hate Halloween. I mean I REALLY hate it. Not your garden variety "take it or leave it" kind of hate, either.

The "I want to set it on fire and salt the ashes after it burns alive" kind.

That's probably a pretty funny statement to hear coming from a ghost. I get that. You would just assume most of us supernatural types are partying it up on Halloween. But not me. No sir. And I've got my reasons.

You see, I'm a ghost. May have mentioned that before, but I'm not the "scare the Beejeebus out of you" kind. I'm the "I just want to be left the HELL alone" kind.

Thing is, I'm not graceful. I have this habit of, well, stumbling. I was like that when I was alive, I'm like that now. I guess God must have been short one yuck monkey in the afterlife when my time came up.

You can only imagine how hard it is keeping a low profile when you're constantly bumping into everything. I remember after I passed, I woke up like this, some kinda conscious cloud, invisible to the living. Well to people at any rate. Dogs can kind of see me, or smell me. To be honest, not really sure how that works, but they know I'm there and that's all that matters.

So there I am, this newly minted spook, not sure where or what I am and I start walking or floating or whatever it is I do in what used to be my house, only everything is different now. Imagine going to sleep and waking up to find that someone's thrown out all your crap and replaced all your junk with theirs and on top of that, they've moved it all around on you. It's like getting up in the middle of the night to go pee at someone else's house. Things just ain't gonna work out well for you at that point.

Case in point. When I first woke up here on the other side, I was still in a lotta pain. The cancer that killed me wasn't quite done with me and it felt like every piece of me was on fire. One second, I'm in my bed saying my goodbyes to my family, the next, I'm sitting in the same room I died in but everything's different. The bed's been spun around. The dresser's different and on the wrong side of the room. There's a nightstand in the way now. Horrible. I stand up for the first time as a spook in this bizarro world and I do what I always do. I stumble.

Now there's fellas that will swear to you ghosts are immaterial. Well, that fella's only halfway correct. We're immaterial when we want to be. At that moment, though...I didn't want to be. I was falling down and, hell...I didn't know I was a ghost yet. It's not like they gave me a rule book or anything. But anyways, I put out my hand like this to keep from falling and I knock over a lamp that had no place being where it was. It goes crashing to the ground, I pass clean through the floor and tumble through a wall, making a crazy racket the entire time. I hear some lady yelling in the kitchen and that was odd. The first time I heard a liver talk from the other side. It's like they're underwater or something. Well this liver cusses up a storm till she gets in the room. By this time, I've figured it out and am poking my head through the wall and watching her. She thought her dog made the mess till the little beast comes trotting in the room. Fido takes one look at me, smells me or whatever and freaks the HELL out. Starts barking and whining. I hear THIS just fine. Runs to the wall I'm poking my head out of and starts clawing it to shreds. Needless to say, this takes baby girl back a bit. She turns as white as me. I get a kick out of this and chuckle. SHE HEARS ME. Scared the piss out of her. Literally. She just wet herself right there where she stood. She was gone from the house in a week and I never saw her again. But she did take all her crap with her and left the house blessedly empty. So thank you, Pee Lady.

I found out living like this ain't like it is for the livers out there. Not like it is in the traditional, sense at any rate. There is no more 24 hour day. It all blurs now, like watching a movie that just keeps jumping forward. One minute my house is empty, the next thing I know, someone's put a frikkin ottoman in front of the fireplace and there is a fire burning. I discover both of these at approximately the same time as I trip over the ottoman and go sailing into said lit fire. It doesn't hurt, but again, it catches me off guard. I make a ruckus, I curse up a storm and then I sit in the fireplace and turn to see the family gathered around my fireplace. I'm guessing I had some soot sticking to me because as the sparks die down, they are all looking right at me. I pass on through the fireplace floor and into the basement. I come back up into the room behind them and watch them staring at the place I was and looking at each other. I figure at this point, I'll just go back to the basement and wait this out and turn and walk right into a display case that shouldn't be there and send it crashing to the floor.

Dad must have been the religious type cause he's got all of his spawn behind him and he's pointing a crucifix at me like it's a loaded gun. I giggle. He hears that and lunges at me mumbling something like "the flower of rice propels me..." I sink into the floor again to get away from him but this crazy man but the jackass follows me into the basement, throwing holy water on everything. Some of it sticks to the soot on my face and gets in my eye. I start howling like a wounded bear and the coot runs backwards and busts his head on a beam.

Time does that wacky thing again and jumps forward and now I'm alone in the basement. I hear commotion directly above me. I poke my head through the floor to see what's going on and see a full blown exorcism going on in my friggin living room. These assholes are trying to kick me out of MY house like I haven't paid the rent! This was MY house! I wasn't going anywhere! Still tho, I got it. I knew the score. As long as these mushrooms were in my house I had to be careful and not bump into anything. Easy to say, hard to do. Like I said, I ain't particularly graceful. So I bump into a few more things, Jehovah’s Gestapo chases me around with holy water and a super soaker until they finally give up and get out.

Now the place is nice and quiet with NO crap in the way. I don't even mind the broken windows and hole in the ceiling. But I will tell you what I do mind. Hallo-freakin-Ween. That's what. I get 364 days a year of peace and quiet till the calendar flips and then I get the crazies who want to see the 'documented poltergeist' whatever the hell THAT is. Some of these turnip heads even spend the night, running power into the house from a generator outside. Sometimes I unplug the cords, sometimes I switch the generator off, once I drained the gasoline out, but that was a pain in the ass. Most of the time I just hide in the basement and wait for them to leave. I blocked the entrance up so no one can find it. But every year they came and every year it got worse. So last year, I got fed up and had my "Popeye Moment" Where I "had all I can stands and I can't stands no more." As soon as they got in the house, I ghosted the locks so they couldn't get out. Then I "stumbled" into their kerosene lamp (Honestly. Who uses those anyway?) I dump the lamp on the floor and the house catches fire like tissue paper. I didn't mean to kill those people, well, I wasn't doing this for that reason. I really just wanted to scare them. Some par of me may have wanted some company, but it didn't matter. They didn't sick around. Almost the second they died, that light shined out of nowhere and everywhere and they walked right on in. I see this and start running towards the light, but wouldn't you know? I stumble on that lamp and fall and the light just goes away.

So now, here I am, living in the basement, house burned down and these crazy bastards have turned the entire place into a campground that kicks off on October 1. Every year.

GOD I hate this holiday.

All God's Creatures 2018 Halloween Story

All God's Creatures

by: Roger A Wilbanks

1

"Will you shut that goddamn dog up?!?"

Tom threw a half full beer can at the screen door between him and Sluggo, the 90lb Pitbul currently barking its head off.

"He's been going on like that all night and I'm trying to watch the goddamn news now.!" he growled.

"I already missed the end of Forged in Fire...stupid mutt. YEAH! I'm talking to you!"

He threw an empty can at the door. Sluggo continued barking, never breaking eye contact with the obese human screaming from his chair.

"Did he get into something? Check the garbage." Carol screamed. "I bet he got into some chocolate. I heard it makes em go nuts."

"How the hell would I know, woman? I haven't moved in three hours."

"Got THAT right."

"You better handle up on that miserable mouth of yours before I handle up on it myself."

Sluggo was now clawing at the screen door and scream barking.

"Look at that goddamn mutt of yours, woman! He's tearing up my fucking door! You better do something about it before I do."

The dog stopped barking. It now locked eyes with Tom and the sudden calm that covered the room felt alien when compared to the chaos that filled it only a few seconds before.

"Wait, what? The FUCK are YOU looking at dog? Honey? Get me my gun or some kind of big old stick. This dog don't look right!"

Sluggo's right ear pricked to his side. It took its time circling back to focus on a now shaking Tom. The hook lock on the screen door lifted itself from its hoop as Tom watched slackjawwed. His eyes doubled in size as the door creaked open and the dog took his first careful step into the house he was never allowed in. He had stopped looking at Tom now and focused his attention a point just over his shoulder. Tom began shuffling deeper into his La-Z-Boy, fumbling on the floor for one of his discarded shoes.

"Get in here and get your dog, Carol! He ain't right!"

Sluggo walked towards Tom with purpose and with care. It was a solemn walk intended to give one viewing it time to appreciate it. His attention still focused on a spot just on the wall behind Tom, a slow and menacing growl began to bubble from deep within the dog. Carol appeared in the hallway and saw her sweet little baby stalking her boyfriend.

"Sluggy-bear," she sang. "Come see momma."

The dog turned to look at her and as the door to the living room closed itself she saw Sluggo look back at Tom and smile.

2

"In local news, police in Cockrell Hill make a gruesome discovery when they find Thomas Sweeny and his common law wife Carol mauled to death by the couple's pitbull. Police were forced to euthanize the animal when it refused to allow them entry into the house and appeared to be protecting the bodies of the deceased when they arrived."

"Oh those dogs are so horrible!" Doris pulled another liver flavored treat from the pouch and presented it to Daisy. "Just dreadful." The shit-zu regarded the treat for a second before accepting it with regal elegance.

"Obviously bad breeding. Nothing like my little Daisy-kiss." She kissed the dog on the nose. The dog allowed it.

A whisper drifted across the room from an open window.

"Kill her." it said.

"What was that?" Doris turned down the sound on her television. Daisy hopped down from her lap. Doris cocked her ears to try to recapture the ethereal sound to no avail.

Daisy licked her feet as Doris returned the television's standard volume. The newscasters were waxing poetic on the public opinion regarding pitbulls as an aggressive species. Doris agreed. Daisy stopped licking her foot and stared at the living room window. Doris patted her empty lap and Daisy acknowledged her signal to resume her position but hesitated. She remained transfixed on the living room window. Her tiny brow crinkled. Her tiny nose scrunched up. This was a clear warning sign that a nip was imminent.

"Baby girl? What is it? What's wrong? Come snuggle with mommy."

Daisy hopped up into Doris' lap, never taking her eyes off the window. The high-pitched engine of her growl began rumbling.

"Kill her."

This time, Doris heard it. Daisy did as well. The rumbling turned into a full throated assault on the window. Doris turned to see what her precious sweetheart was going on about. She felt a cold flash rush through her as Daisy fell silent. The tiny dog's body was a tense coil of shaking steel. The window offered no answer. Doris looked into the eyes of her constant companion of the last 12 years. The dog was looking directly into her eyes and appeared to be crying.

"Do it. Do it now." a cold voice rasped.

This was the last thing Doris heard as her precious jewel lunged at her and tore her to shreds.

3

"Hurry up! We'll miss the train!" Paul dodged the always helpful Peanut on his way to the front door. The suitcases in each hand made balancing difficult, but he was an athlete and your baby girl only leaves for college once.

Carolyn exited her room at the top of the stairs with all of her worldly possessions contained in three bags. Her high school varsity cheer bag held all of her athletic stuff. Her suitcase held all her clothes. The rest of her material goods lay sheltered in her father's Navy duffel bag.

Peanut sat mid-stair, uncertain of whom to pounce upon first. The labrador was twelve, the girl was eighteen. Paul brought the puppy home the day they buried Carolyn's mother and she relished her role as family protector and court jester over the years. She chose Carolyn as the fun level there was always higher and dropped down in a pre pounce pose. She cocked her head towards the living room window.

"I'll bet it's another ambulance," Paul said. The dog hated ambulances. He waited for the sound to become audible to him. His time spent working on submarines in the Navy had focused his already adept hearing, but they had nothing on the radar cones parked on the chocolate lab's dome. Those puppies could hear a fart on the International Space Station, he thought.

This was different. There was no eventual wee-ooo of the siren this time. Peanut swung around the staircase and began growling at Paul. This was no playtime growl either. This dog meant business. She was warning Paul that danger and death sat on the stairs before him.

"Easy, girl. What's wrong?" He set down his suitcases and knelt at the base of the stairs.

"Get them."

"What the HELL was that?" Paul stood up and turned around expecting to see a burglar but saw nothing. The words came from nowhere and everywhere.

Peanut continued to growl at Paul. Carolyn put her hand on the dog's neck to calm her and she immediately looked back at the teenager with a pained whimper. She looked back at Paul and took a step further down the stairs, focusing her attention on Paul.

Paul was scared now. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what? I didn't hear anything. I'm scared, daddy!"

"Don't worry punkin. I'll-" Paul stopped speaking as a lightning bolt of coldness struck his body. It felt as if he were leaning back in a chair that has just slipped and he was catching himself, but that feeling perpetuated. Paul found himself falling deep into himself.

"Here I am beast. Go ahead and kill me." he found himself saying.

"Daddy, NO!"

"Quiet, whore! You're next." The cold maleficence in his voice was the thing that hit Carolyn the hardest. Paul saw himself speaking but it wasn't him doing the talking. Something dark had hijacked his body and taken control. Something cold and angry, very angry. He could see the thoughts of this entity and knew its mind. It wasn't of this earth. It was wandering the world in search of chaos and it had been forcing dogs to attack their owners just for fun. It meant to make Peanut kill him in front of his daughter and he was helpless to prevent it. The dog was inching closer to him. He saw the fear deep within Peanut's eyes and wanted to speak, to warn them to flee but was unable. The entity had dug its claws deep into his spirit and wouldn't release him until the job was done. Paul thought about his daughter. He remembered burying his wife. He remembered stopping at the pet store on the way home. He remembered the immediate connection this newborn puppy had with him. She was a poor substitute for a dead mother, but then he remembered Beth's last request to him. She had been quite specific.

"Get her a puppy. A labrador." He obeyed and the three of them healed the wound of a lost loved one together. They were inseparable for over a decade, but the years were starting to take their toll on the old girl. She wasn't as spry as she used to be. The slippage was real but right now, that was irrelevant. Her teeth were very real also and they were getting closer and closer to Paul.

Paul knew this dog would do anything under the sun to protect his daughter from harm. He fought back a tear of regret at the thought of what was to come and thought of Beth one final time. That was when he felt a wave of warmth wrap itself around him. The entity felt it too Its claws dug deeper into Paul's heart but they found themselves sinking and becoming trapped there. He knew he would never be able to expel this entity but now he was certain that he had the strength to contain it. The shock of cold he felt as the entity realized the certainty of its predicament numbed him and his body crumpled to one knee.

"Come on girl. You know what to do. I don't have much time." he said.

Peanut stopped when she recognized her master's voice.

"DO IT!" he screamed.

"Daddy? What's happening?"

"Don't have time to explain, punkin. You need to run. NOW! Take the fire escape. Go to the Smith's and call the police. AHHHHHH!" he felt a million needles pepper him. "No you don't motherfucker. I have YOU now and I'm not letting go! Fire Escape. NOW! Call the police but don't let them hurt the dog. This isn't her fault." Paul locked eyes with the old girl one final time. "You know what you need to do. I will always love you, girl."

The dog took a step backward and threw a warning bark at Carolyn, who obeyed her father's orders and shimmied down the fire escape ladder in her room. Peanut turned back to her master, certain the girl was safe and walked to where he knelt.

"I have it. Do it and I can take it with me. You will all be safe."

The dog understood. She licked his face and nuzzled his nose one last time and ripped his throat from his body.

The entity found itself locked in a box it couldn't understand. Its claws were still dug deep into Paul's spirit but they were now trapped there as Paul clung to them with a fierce resolve. A light opened up into the room.

Peanut turned to look into it and felt a small piece of her step outside her body. She walked towards the spirit of Paul, writhing on the floor with the entity. She plucked the shaking entity from his back and Paul felt the warmth return. He looked up to see the face of his beloved Beth standing over him.

"I have so many questions..." he stammered.

"I know. I can't answer them now but I will. I need you to go into the light now. The three of us will be there waiting for you when you get there." Paul's heart sunk. "Oh no, darling, don't worry. She will be fine and she will live a long beautiful life. Time doesn't work the same way there as it does here. You will understand." She turned her attention to the scaly being in her hand as pieces of it began to ignite and drop to the ground. "You on the other hand have a different fate waiting for you."

Paul walked towards the light and paused to glance over his shoulder. He saw the creature that tormented him shrivel in his wife's grasp and shrink into nothingness. He saw that nothingness belch reddish black smoke as it accepted its newest addition. He continued his path, leaving his ever faithful friend to guard his corpse.

The dog sniffed his body and pawed at his shoulder to rouse him but he failed to rise. She felt a white hot sun erupt inside her chest as her ancient heart finally gave out. She found herself in the living room but different as the light opened behind her.

"There's a girl!" she heard from behind her as she bounded into the light to join her three favorite humans, nimble as she was when she was a puppy.

I Forget - Halloween 2014 Short Story

by: Roger A Wilbanks

“You have no idea how difficult it is to begin.” I took a sip of water.

“Just start at the point where you feel the most comfortable.” He pressed record on his tape player. “How long have you been dealing with this?” he asked.

“This is all relatively new to me,” I said, “but it has been building in intensity over the past few years.”

“Has it always been this severe?”

“That just began.” I couldn't maintain eye contact with the man asking me these questions. I looked instead at the wall behind him and focused on the framed diplomas he had there. Rutgers man. I never saw Rutgers. Somewhere in New Jersey. That's where the Devils play.

Hockey.

Ice.

“Mr Granger?”

“What? Who are you?” I demanded. I didn't recognize this man or where I was. I was scared. “What am I doing here? Am I in trouble?”

“Do you know where you are, Mr Granger?” he asked.

“Of course I do. I am sitting in a chair, yours by the look of it. What have I done? Why do you have me here?” The door was close. If he became dangerous, even as old as I am, I could make it in time.

“You asked to see me, Mr Granger. My name is Doctor Ford. I am one of the nation's foremost experts on memory disorder and we are here in my office because you made an appointment to see me.”

“I think I would remember doing such a thing.” I said.

“That is why you are here, Mr Granger.”

I looked at the man before me. He sat calm and relaxed. He had the look of a teacher or a professor. Someone who demanded attention. Someone who had answers. “Did I slip again?” I asked.

“Yes. What do you remember this time? About just now. Do you recall any specific feelings or memories?”

“No. Not really. I saw your diploma. Rutgers. That's in New Jersey, isn't it?”

“Yes. Does that hold any significance for you?”

“Hockey,” I said. “The Devils play there. I remembered watching the Stanley Cup on television in a dark room with wooden walls. A lot like your office. What did I say?”

“You thought you were in trouble.” he said.

“It must have been because you look like an authority type. Always had an issue with that type.” I said.

“Well, I am a doctor.” he said.

We laughed.

“Do you remember the slip?” he asked.

“Vaguely.” I said. “It's like a TV show I watch from the corner of my eye while I am busy doing something else. I have an idea of what is going on but no idea regarding the who or the why. That seems to be a common thread with these episodes. I feel like I am watching someone else's life unfold but I have no idea why I am there.”

“Alzheimer’s doesn't have any rules, Mr Granger.” he said. “It has some common threads across its tapestry but it is precocious. It will throw you curve balls that make even us experts swing and miss.”

“What have I got to look forward to?” I asked.

“How frequent are these slips?” he ignored my question.

“Random. I was getting one a day, sometimes more. They seem to be triggered by memories. I get off on a thought tangent and my mind wanders. Once it gets going down that path it has a tendency to keep going that way, like a car rolling down an icy hill.”

“That is one of the common threads. How much of your self do you maintain in these slips? Your true self.”

“No idea. If by self you mean I know what I am, then a bit. I really lose the who and the why but the what remains constant. It's like I am plucked from a past memory and dropped into a current one with no context. The only constant is the feeling of total dread that overcomes me.” I took a drink.

“Before. You mentioned you felt you had done something wrong. Is this also common?”

I paused. “Yes. These slips always center on the feeling that I have done something wrong; like I have intruded into someone else's story or I am being called to the carpet for something I have no knowledge of. The recurring feeling is one of blame. Blame focused on me.”

“Delusions of persecution are the most common in Alzheimer’s patients, but often the fear is of loss, as if someone were trying to steal from you. In your case I think it stems from your own feelings of guilt. It is my guess you somehow feel responsible for your disease, as if you brought it upon yourself. I have referenced this as the Leper Mentality stemming from the Middle Age belief that Leprosy was somehow self-inflicted. It was thought of as an ailment brought down on one due to living an impure or unclean life. I can assure you now that there is nothing you have done or not done that brought this disease upon you. Regardless of what any televised charlatans say, there is neither a magic berry or super fruit you could have eaten nor any vice you could have avoided that would have prevented this. In truth, Mr Granger, you were born with this disease and it has been lurking deep within you biding its time until your body's natural recuperative powers waned with age. Anyone who tells you different is from Oz and is trying to sell you something rather than being truthful with you.”

“I believe you, Doctor. I really do. But I know deep-down in my subconscious, in that part of me that is immune to outside influence that it doesn't matter. That is the part of me in the driver's seat when I slip and no one can reach that particular version of me because it is impossible to hold. Like Mercury in your palm.”

“That is the true face of this disease, Mr Granger. The blank subconscious face of nearly every Alzheimer’s sufferer in existence. You retain the essential sliver of yourself but you lose all the context. This is not something a Psychiatrist like myself can fix I can only explain it to the you that remains constant in the hopes that it provides you with a base. It is my hope the part of you that refuses to participate in your life might someday see that as well, but it is not something I hold a lot of faith in.”

“This must be what Hell is like, Doctor Ford. The constant cycle of on and off I endure. It feels like a carousel ride sometimes. Like I keep moving past the same point on a circle but sometimes I just don't recognize it. I stopped traveling in a straight line a long time ago. I just cover the same ground over and over again and at no point in this does that slipping part of me understand or even acknowledge that fact. It is left to the tired and old me to sort out the pieces when I come to my senses. I owe thanks to my dear son for putting me in this institution because now, when I 'return' I am always here where it is safe instead of having wandered off to God knows where. I woke up one time in an Adult theater. No idea how I got there.”

“I read that in your file. It must have been frightening.”

“No. The terrifying part is the blanks. The parts I never remember. The terrifying part is how I feel when I have no understanding of my surroundings. I slipped while standing in line one time. I somehow remember staying in the line even though I had no idea how or why I was in it. When I got to the counter, I was crying. I told the attendant behind the counter that I had no idea who or where I was. They checked my wallet, called my son and now I am here. Safe.”

“Yes, this is a safe place, Mr Granger. It is my belief that now that you are in an environment that has removed that factor that your slippages may wane, if not in number, than perhaps in severity as your feelings of sanctuary grow. While you will never be free of this disease, its effects upon you will loosen their hold and allow you to enjoy what remains of your life.”

“Thank you, Doctor. That is very reassuring.”

“Thank you, Doctor. That is very reassuring...very reassuring”

“You have no idea how difficult it is to begin.”  I took a sip of water.

**********

“What's up with him?”

“Alzheimer’s. He's one of the new ones. Has this conversation over and over with some invisible doctor. He hasn't eaten in days.  I think he's a goner. Got no family to claim him. We found him in an Adult Movie theater having this conversation and he hasn't stopped.”

“That's sad.”

“Yeah. I guess so. What are we serving these guys for dinner tonight?”

“Meatloaf.”

--end--

The Bottom Man - 2013 Halloween Story

Dallas. 12:30am. August 20.

It was a little game they would play. Henry would come into the 7-11 for coffee on his way to work the night shift and Agnes would pretend not to remember him. Each time it was the same and in 2 years of consistency, Henry found comfort and Agnes found the respect from a fellow human being not often afforded one behind a counter.

August in Dallas, for those not familiar with the geography, meant it was hot enough to fry eggs on the hood of old cars. The local television stations all relished the ratings boom that hit when the thermometer allowed such a display as much as the residents hated the constant reminders. The heat had the bad habit of lingering long after the sunset, eliminating any logical expectation of relief, like the random acquaintance that sat at your table in the bar and refused to get the hint that you would rather be left alone. In this, it became just as annoying.

Henry's headlights shone in Agnes' window alerting her to his arrival and the start of their game. He entered as he usually did but something was different this time. Henry looked shaken.

“What happened, Mr Henry?” Agnes ignored the game for the sake of her friend. “You look like you seen a ghost.”

“I'm...I'm not sure, Agnes,” he looked back across the river in the direction from which he had come. “I was driving through West Dallas like I always do but just as I got to the bridge across the Trinity, some fella jumped outta the shadows onto the street, waving his arms like a wild man.”

“You didn't hit him, did you?”

“No! No...but there was something in his eyes....or rather missing from them. It set something off inside my head. Scared the shit outta---oh, sorry. Scared the Dickens outta me. It wasn't like he wanted help. No. It was like he wanted...”

“Like he wanted you.” A voice from the coffee bar answered.

Both Henry and Agnes spun around to see the owner of this voice.

“You didn't stop, did you?” she asked.

“No. HELL No!” Henry said. “Why would I? I don't know him. Some crazy crackhead jumps outta the bushes? I don't care if he was just shot. I'm crazy enough driving through this part of town just to shave 10 miles off of my commute. I don't need to add getting chopped into little crackhead kibbles to that list.”

“That won't no crackhead you seen, mister. Saw him just fore you crossed the river, yeah? Jumped outta them shadows like come outta nowhere, yeah? Looked atchoo like he know you, yeah?”

“...yeah. How do you know all this, ma'am?”

“Cause I seent that man too. Dat tha Bottom Man.”

“The wha?”

“Tha Bottom Man. He come from the river bottom, snatchin up souls what wanna cross that river. Everywhere there a river where the folk live, there a Bottom Man live too. He pure Evil, he is.”

“Bullshit, lady. That was no supernatural entity I saw. That was a crackhead. I have seen one there almost every night I drive past. It's where they hang out. Next thing you'll tell me you seen the Lady of the Lake. Over at White Rock Lake? Is that his sister?” Henry laughed.

“No. I never seen her, but she diff'rent. My folks grow up over there before the war. They saw that lady. She wasn't tryin to snatch no souls. She jus tryin to get home is all. Like I say. Diff'rent.”

She hobbled closer to Henry and he got a good look at her. She was an ancient looking woman no taller than a 7^th grader. Her skin was as weathered as the cotton dress she wore and she put a gnarled finger into Henry's chest. It was much stronger than it had any right to be.

“Don be fooled, child. Da Bottom Man don't never look the same way twice. You seen him many time but now he seen you too. He know you and he tellin you he want you. You can't go dis way no more. You gotta never pass that way ever again. Promise me you won't never go that way no more!” Her eyes glistened through her pleading. “He know you weakness now and next time you see him, he gonna go fo yo throat like a Pitt Bull an he ain't never gone let go.”

She clasped a bony fist in front of Henry's face to drive her point home. “You be careful if you ever come this way again, child. Don't stop for nobody nohow at that bridge.” 

 She paid for her coffee and hobbled away into the darkness. Henry and Agnes stood in silence as she vanished into the night. They said nothing to each other as Henry paid for his coffee and resumed his midnight commute. Agnes watched his headlights fade into the hot summer night and took a breath. She realized it was the first one she had taken since the old crone had started talking.

Another blistering weekend passed before Agnes returned to her post at the convenience store counter. She had spent more time worrying about her friend than she was willing to admit. She returned to work on the hottest night of the year. It was still in the 90's at 10pm, one of those nights when it felt like Hell itself had given the Earth a smothering hug. 

Agnes was hot and sticky even inside the air-conditioned confines of her store. Customer after customer passed before her counter but Agnes paid them no mind. Her eyes darted to the clock over the cooler at the back of the store as she waited for 12:30 to arrive. Her coworkers filed out to leave her to her solitary post as the clock passed midnight. Any second, Henry would pass through that door and they would play their little game and laugh at that crazy old woman.

Her eyes never left the parking lot as 12:30 came and passed. There was no sign of Henry, but this was no cause for concern. Often he would be running late and bypass his coffee to get to work on time. This had happened many times over the years. This time, it felt different, although Agnes refused to acknowledge that fact.

Three more nights came and went with no sign of Henry. Agnes felt now that she had permission to worry. She called in sick Friday night for the first time since she began working at the store and borrowed her neighbor's car. She drove into Oak Cliff to the nice part Henry lived in. He had described his house often enough to her she knew the way by heart. She saw no sign of his green Jeep Cherokee in the driveway. 

She turned around and followed the path he took on his commute, passing several other open convenience stores that sold coffee. This made her feel a touch of pride that her friend came to see her more for the companionship than the coffee. She passed beneath the highway as she drove down Westmoreland Avenue north towards the river. She drove through old West Dallas where Clyde Barrow grew up and past all the night walkers that inhabited this downtrodden neighborhood. 

 She saw how easy it was for Henry to assume the man was a crackhead from the many that loitered at the intersections even on this blast furnace of a night. The streetlights were out here in the City's attempt to conserve power at this time of peak electrical demand. The radio in her neighbor's car was unable to hold onto a station, but this was the Bottoms and that was to be expected.

Wary of running into an unseen obstacle on this dark street, Agnes hit the car's bright lights. To her shock, Henry was standing in the middle of the road less than 100 feet in front of her. She slammed on the brakes as hard as she could and screeched to a stop inches from where he stood.

He was torn and covered in muck from head to toe. 

He stood in the middle of the street and made no effort to communicate. He stared at Agnes as she sat behind the wheel but she felt him looking deeper inside her than any eye has the ability to. Any human eye, that is. 

 She began shaking as Henry turned and began shuffling around to her door. He walked one step at a time with a deliberate measure that frayed her nerves, all the time never taking his eyes off hers, until he stood right outside her window.

His broken fingernail tapped on the glass three times. Each time Agnes felt the window would shatter from the sheer malicious nature of the blow that struck it. She could see holes in Henry where no holes belonged and there was a worm that had erupted from his forearm, flailing against the air that had replaced the flesh it had just gnawed upon.

Agnes rolled down the window that stood between her and her friend and was never seen alive again.

On Nightmares...

Last night I had nightmares. We all get them, so that in and of itself is nothing worthy of note. I don’t get them that often though. When one does rear its ugly head, I deal with it using techniques I read in Omni Magazine back in the 80’s. That article dealt with something called “Lucid Dreaming” . The thesis of the article was that you can ‘wake up’ in your dream and take control of your environment. Picture the Holodeck from Star Trek. Now imagine that room responding to your thoughts. That article helped arm me against nightmares so that I can usually diffuse them before they get out of hand.
Lastnight, however, the nightmares were different. Or maybe they were the same and I’m just realizing something unique about the nature of nightmares. They came in bunches. Were it not for the storm that was raging outside and waking me up about every 45 minutes to an hour, there is a good chance I sleep through them all and remember nothing.
But remember them I did. I won’t repeat them here. My Demons are well documented. How I deal with them is for me and me alone.

I sensed something going on in my head that night. There was a feeling that came over me when the dream turned the nightmare corner. There was a sensation of ooze. Of a fog that coated the ground. It crept into the dream and carried in its wake the nightmare. It was a peculiar sensation, like theme music marking the entrance of the hero. This signal harbored dark intent. It wanted to scare me. I wanted to scare me.
I have studied just enough about dreams to understand that they are my inner mind’s way of dealing with the issues in my life. In so much as they seek to prepare me mentally to deal with emotions like love, hate and fear. Akin to dipping a toe in the water. But the takeaway from this night was the feeling that some outside force was intruding. I looked down in my dreams as an oily film flowed in from the outside edges, creeping across the floor and recognized it from the previous dreams I had awoken in the middle of. It felt Alien. It felt like it had bad intentions.
The ancient Greeks had a name for the creator of nightmares, EPIALES. They associated his intrusion into the dream as a “feverish chill”. I got the impression that this was an orchestrated assault, and that it wanted a pound of flesh…or the dreamland equivalent of that.
The feeling was as real and familiar as that of any other dream. When I saw this murky crust seeping in, it was telling me to prepare myself. To be on my guard. It was after this introduction that the fun started. Every time.

Enter the fog, cue the guilt nightmare.
Enter the fog, cue the poverty nightmare.
Enter the fog, cue the nightmare I get murdered in.
Enter the fog, cue my dead mother.

It was clockwork. By the end of the night in my dreams, I would see this fog and cue myself to wake up in t he dream. This didn’t prevent the horrible images that were coming my way from being any less graphic, but it did prepare me for them mentally and emotionally.

I feel like I have come face to face with the enemy here. He has tipped his hand.

He picked a stormy night to spill his ooze across my mindscape hoping to frighten me but I don’t frighten much these days. I startle…just like normal people, but I don’t tremble in fear.