blue dice #2

 dragon/stormcloud/angel-fairy/mushroom/lute/apple

I had a full heart as I left Madame Guiol's that day, and a head full of dreams.  Nothing could stop me know.  The wonderous vision that would be the light of my life forever was just around the corner, although perhaps only metaphorically.  I sought the confirmation eagerly in each face I came across, but there was no recognition in my soul of any of them.  They were as ghosts, fleeting shadows that meant nothing to me.  Some appeared to look with scorn or anger as I examined them, but they were of no matter.  If they only understood, they would have blessed me for giving them the tiniest chance to be my queen, be at my side, where only the worthiest of women could sit.

I began to feel an emptiness inside.  This time it was not my weary soul, it was my worldly stomach.  Fortunately, the market was close by, for I had ambled my way through many streets.  I went immediately to the produce.  Gifts of the earth.  And it was there my angel did appear.

She did not notice me at first.  She was carefully weighing packages of mushrooms.  Oh yes, a careful woman.  That was what I needed.  One who would tend to my needs with such attention and be pleased with my accomplishments as with her own.  I cleared my throat politely.  I waited with grace and good manners for her notice.  When finally she did turn, her face filled my heart with all the joy of a thousand lives.  And yet, that joy was not reflected back at me.  My soul twisted at this, but then I realized - she was under some spell of another.  I explained that I had been promised this alliance, but she would have none of it.  The evil magic covered her eyes and made her flee from her rightful lord.  I had no fear.  I would slay any dragon to save my lady for myself.  Even a metaphorical one.

I did not pursue her, as the rash might have done.  It was promised and made by fate.  There was no need for me to act unwisely.  But act I must.  Only in calmness.  I returned home, having purchased good greens, full of iron, and good fruits, full of vitamins.  Only the healthy knight prevails.  I began to compose my songs of love even before reaching the checkout.  If there is anything that reveals the soft and squeezable matter of a woman's heart and soul, it is a fine love song.  So yes, a song I must have for her.

She would be mine as it was promised.

The dragon at the doors blew a useless puff of smoke at me as I passed.  He might be easier to defeat than I had thought.

black dice #2

 monster/ghost/spiderweb/witch triangle

It's hard to see the evil inside other people sometimes, maybe because we don't really want to believe it's there.  I don't know if it's harder or easier to ignore our own evil.  Our spirits can speak to each other through the ether, if we let them.  The reason is that we are all connected.  We are a human network, we cover the earth.  Cells of a greater body.  Yeah, sometimes a little clarity is only possible with some outside help, a little bump up from another body, a body of softness and resilience.  The green body.  Witches knew what they were doing with their cauldrons, man, all those roots and leaves and berries.  And sometimes the fire too.  Green cells respond well to fire.  Better than ours.  I have to tell Anna about this, and let her know I'm on her side.  She's more about taking the green cells into the meat body than turning them into air, but I think I can explain it all to her.  Just hope nobody in her neighborhood is uncool.  I might have to commune with some of the green network to get to her house.

white dice #2

 footprints/bird/"bang"/lightning/flame/key

 

"Heel, boy, heel!"

It was a good thing that dog had been well-trained, it could have jumped right on top of me before I could even think to get out of the way.  It did stop, although giving me a look like it was ready to pounce again at any second.  A young man came running up behind the dog, a little out of breath, but still calling out, "Sorry, he gets really excited to be out in the woods.  He thinks he'll bring down a bear or something."

I smiled, trying to look unperturbed.  The guy was cute.  I could even deal with a big dog for him, maybe.

"Well, no harm done.  I was just heading home.  It's nice enough out here, but everybody has to go back to civilization."

"Right," he scratched his head sheepishly, "But you do have to have your keys to your little piece of civilization if you want to get back into it."

"Oh, I saw some keys just down there, towards the creek!  I wasn't sure if I should pick them up or not, I thought somebody might be back soon for them so I didn't want to take them all the way to the police."

The young man's smile was intensely bright, like not even actors could have teeth so shiny.  He did look genuinely happy though.  "Thanks a lot!  We went that way, I bet those are my keys!  Have a safe trip home!"  He went off with a good deal more energy, whistling to the dog and breaking my heart.  OK, not really, but who knows what could have been if I'd been quicker to ask him out for coffee.  Oh, well, life goes on.

And little annoyances too.  When I got home, I saw the neighbor kids were running around in their driveway, setting off those shitty little firecrackers that don't have any color or smoke.  They just make a loud, stupid noise.  I went inside, planning to break out my heaviest metal to blast through my headphones.

I decided to do some old classmate snooping while I boiled up a pot of macaroni.  I might not have been able to finish shopping, but I still had some stuff lying around the kitchen.  Might as well use up the cheese before it goes bad.

Hot bowl in hand, I sat down to see what my old friends and enemies were up to, and was more than a little shocked to see obituaries come up for no less than three old classmates.  We weren't that old, how could there be that many at once?  OK, not at once exactly, over the last two years, but still.  All cancer, too.  Maybe those kooks who go on about the chemtrails are actually onto something.  And I haven't been to the doctor for a couple of years, maybe I should go just in case...

With these thoughts of mortality in mind, it's not the best moment for a surprise.  But, that's what I got when a large bird smacked into my living room window.  I guess it was disoriented by the firecrackers still going off next door.  I was musing about the fleeting existence we humans lead when in the last glowing fingers of sunset, I saw the winged animal collide with a hollow crack and slide down to the grass, just like in the cartoons.  It looked like maybe a crow.  I yanked off my headphones, only realizing then that there hadn't been any music playing for several minutes.  How else could I have heard the bird hit.  But was I so absorbed in thoughts of death and dying that I didn't notice the lack of Pantera?  Weird.  It had been a weird day all around.

So, I went out to check on the probable new death in my life.  The kids regrouped closer to their house, hopefully not organizing bigger and better explosions for the night.  I expected a still and shiny corpse to be lying on the grass underneath my window, but there was nothing there at all.  Not even a feather.  Well.  I guess the bird was just stunned, but for some reason I felt uneasy about not seeing anything there at all.  I looked around, just in case the poor thing had hobbled and hopped off to die under a bush or something, and I almost felt my heart pop up out of my mouth when I saw Basi standing by the corner of my house.

"Hey, Ranna," he said, "Got a light?"

blue dice #1

castle/thunder cloud/crown/fish/apple/witch

 

I knew it would be a good day, in spite of the coming storm.  I knew the time was coming for my fulfillment.  Of course, I am no psychic, so I had to get the help of a professional.  My mother swore by Madame Arguiol, so that was good enough for me.

She had her little shop on the main square, like the cheesiest of TV show psychics, and I think she even chose her decorations to give that effect.  But for the special customers, there was another space in her magical wonderland where real wonders took place.  It didn't have the colorful tapestries and beads of the "commercial" part, it was a back room, like a storeroom, dark and a little musty.  The bricks in the walls were large, almost like stones in a dungeon.  She never turned on the light; maybe there wasn't even a light in the room.  She always led her special customers in with a large candle.  The table was a folding card table and the chairs old wooden stools.  It was the least like a medium's seeing room as it could be.  I'm sure that was also on purpose, not that she had run out of money for decorating.  Surely, she wanted her powers to be clear and her customers undistracted by baubles.

On that great morning I went to visit Madame Arguiol.  There was no rain, but there were grumbles of thunder and electricity was in the air.  It was a day to start something grand.  The Madame welcomed me inside and ushered me past the carnival style room, with it's thick and brightly dyed carpets and cloths, and into the darkness of the back room, the true seeing room.  We sat on the stools and the Madame stared into the flame of the candle intently.  There was no sound but a distant dripping of a leaky pipe somewhere in the walls.  I didn't even hear her breathing or mine.  After some time, she spoke.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

"What are you referring to, Madame?"

"This grand plan you have.  This person you seek.  None of it is necessary."

She wasn't putting on any strange voice for my benefit, it was her normal speaking voice, perhaps a little breathier as she put her energy into reading the fire.

"It is a very important goal for me, Madame.  I know it can be done.  I know I am the one to do it."

"Yes, you know a lot, it seems.  You already have the crown on your head when you look in the mirror.  You should listen more to what others tell you when they look at you, instead of only paying attention to your own voice."

I couldn't take it as an insult, it was just a standard warning anyone could give.  There are dangers in shooting for the stars, and people who fear those who try.  The Madame glared with more intensity at the flame and rubbed her mouth with one hand.

"Well, now, it seems you have several roads you can take.  I think you will take the worst one.  But I want you to remember that there are others.  They aren't as appealing, they might look like harder roads.  But in the end they will serve you better than that poisoned prize you seek.  You are about to bite into something you won't be able to swallow."

I waited patiently for her to tell me the key to my plan.  To confirm it, really, I was already sure of what I would find on this glorious day.  Finally Madame Arguiol sat back and cleared her throat, saying in a calm voice, "What you want you can find among the leaves and the roots, where the water flows but little.  There is your...princess, I suppose."  She waved her hand dismissively at the last part, but I knew she just didn't want to show her awe at the grandeur to come.  Surely she could see it.  She was a psychic, after all.

The Madame rose from the table and gestured for me to do the same.  We walked out to the street door and I pulled out my wallet to pay.  The Madame stopped me.  "Your mother already paid for you the last time she was here, she thinks you need to hear what I have to tell you."

"Oh yes, she's very right.  My mother is always right about everything," I smiled.  How well my dear mother knew me.

The Madame stared at me for a few seconds, trying to glean some other evidence of my coming greatness or uncover some weakness even I had ignored.  Then she opened the door for me and said, "Good luck to you.  You don't know how much you'll need if you keep chasing that one fish in the sea."

I smiled brightly and took my leave.  Now I had to figure out where exactly there were leaves and roots and water for a princess to wait for me.

Black dice #1

mummy/coffin/broom/witch's boot

Oh, sad I was to lose my beloved.  So sad I thought my world had gone away forever.  I would have no joy again.  But when I found the old book in the attic, I discovered that there are many ways of keeping those you want with you.  Now, sometimes they get lost and you have to remind them.  You have to be patient with the dead in their new lives.  There's trauma in getting a new life, you know.

I studied that book with all my might, and absorbed all I could of what it had to offer.  There was so much wisdom.  I thought I could never take it all in.  I think I haven't gotten it all, really.  But I do think I have more than any of those so-called experts that tried to give me guidance when my beloved left me.

I did try to bring the body back home, to preserve it, to call her back into it.  That was a mistake.  Only fools believe that the old body can last forever, I know that now.  It was also trying to return the body, falling into crumbly little pieces, when the police caught me breaking into the cemetery.  After a hearing, I was released to the custody of my nephew, which was a relief, but also a pain.  Everybody thought I had just lost all my marbles.  Nobody would take me seriously about anything.  Fortunately, my nephew doesn't care that much about keeping tabs on me, and let me go back home by myself.  I do have to check in with some kind of care worker every week.  I always say my nephew calls me every day.  He never calls.  I don't know if the worker talks to him too.  Anyway, when I found the book I forgot all about those old wives' tales.

The book tells me how to see old souls in new bodies.  They never lose that certain glow they have, they are always the same soul.  Even with the new body and the new memories, they are the same.  I see lots of old souls when I watch people go by in the street in front of the supermarket.  And one day, my prayers were answered.  I saw her.

It was a new body, a much different body than her old one, but healthy looking.  Nice hair, good build.  Not the kind of clothes I like to see on a woman, but these are new times.  I had to follow her around a little to be sure.  In the produce section I was sure, the way she held the melons up was exactly like my darling had done.  I went home that day with the lightest heart in many, many months.  Maybe ever.  I had to take careful steps now.  Like I said, the souls have new memories in their new bodies, and the old memories don't always come out when you want them to.  You have to remind them very carefully.  Not only could you get in trouble for "bothering strangers", but you could cause some distress to the soul you want to reach.  I, for one, would never want to distress my beloved.

I returned to the book, pouring over the most important pages, looking for all the details to be sure I had them right.  I did, but I had to make sure.  The rituals had to be performed to "wake" the old soul's memories, and I had to establish contact with the new body.  I have an attention grabbing look, but really most people don't remember very much about me when I'm not right in front of them.  I don't think I'm very threatening.  This will work well for me.

I spent a few months coincidentally running into my beloved's soul around town, acting the fool a bit, building a feeling of trust.  I might be odd, but I'm no danger.  In the meantime, I performed my rituals at night, trying to strengthen the power of the old soul.  It didn't seem to be working very well.  I read over the whole book again, and finally noticed a small paragraph that talked about interference from others.  Sometimes some witch or magician or something tries to pull an old soul to them for power, even though they had no connection to them in the last life.  That makes it harder for a loved one to make contact, especially when they are amateurs like me.  I couldn't be sure, but that might be what was happening.  I would have to keep my ears and eyes open about town.  I would have to try to warn my beloved somehow.

white dice #1

tree/feet/car/fish/flame/key

There's nothing like running through a forest on your own.  The peacefulness, the breeze, the power of air that hasn't been filtered through fifty cars' engines.  Of course, when you're potentially running for your life, it's not quite as positive an experience.

It started in the supermarket, of all places.  I guess I'd heard a lot of stories about women being picked up at the supermarket, but nothing like that had ever happened to me, not even close.  So I kind of never thought about it.  I didn't notice the tall man hovering behind me, I didn't pay attention when he sidled right up to me at the frozen food case, I didn't think twice about answering his "Nice day," with "Yep, sure is."  Who the hell expects flirting in front of a freezer of filleted fish?  He started asking me about my dinner choices, which was a little weird I admit, and I hemmed and hawed, not out of self-preservation but because I am a shitty decision-maker.  Can't for the life of me make plans and follow through on them.  He kept asking questions, though, and trying to pin me down on something - a favorite food, a favorite restaurant, something like that.  I hadn't even looked him in the face.  Finally it dawned on me that this guy was really trying to have some kind of conversation, not just randomly-passing-people-in-public-small-talk, and I turned to see who I was actually supposed to be speaking to.  He was totally unremarkable, except for his height.  Some older guy, black-rimmed glasses, short-sleeved button-up shirt.  Weird shit-eating smile.  Closed mouth smile, too.  I don't know why, but that's always bothered me.

"Look, do I know you?" I finally asked.

"Not like I want you to," he said.

"Seriously, do I know you at all?"

Weirdly, this question seemed to please him greatly.  He smiled more broadly, still lips together, and tilted his head back to look down on me with one of the smuggest expression I've ever seen.  I was bothered by that too, since there doesn't seem to be anything to be smug about, harassing somebody who's never seen you before.  Then he said, gleefully it seemed to me, "I knew I would have my chance with you.  Madame Arguiol said so.  She knows you."

This had to be a joke.  "No, I don't know any 'Madame' Argo.  Is some fortune teller taking your money to tell you how to pick up girls?  Just go on Tinder or something."  He was older, but there are lots of older people on the internet these days.  He shook his head and actually clucked at me.  What BS is this?

"Madame Arguiol has seen you and she knows you.  She knows all of us better than we know ourselves.  She told me you would come to me with the salmon."  He pointed triumphantly at some packages of frozen fish.  The specific type of fish made it even creepier to me, even though I couldn't tell if any of the plastic wrappers said "salmon" on them.  The frost made them all illegible.  I was getting chills down my spine by now from the discomfort of the situation.

"Look, dude, I don't know you or your fortune teller and I don't think I want to continue this conversation."  I couldn't finish my shopping now, it was just too weird.  If I had to go pay for and pack up all my stuff, he could just follow me and keep bothering me easily.  I left the cart abruptly and walked away.  When I turned down one aisle I trotted ahead and zipped around the corner of the next one, hoping I was fast enough that he hadn't seen me.  Maybe he wasn't even following me, I didn't hear any footsteps.  My heart was pounding though.  I had never really thought of myself as an anxious person, but this situation was making me rethink it.  It was a quiet time in the supermarket, hardly any other customers, and the employees weren't bustling around the aisles restocking much either.  After a few minutes I decided to just leave the store.  I could come back tomorrow.  When I went out the doors I heard my name.  It was Basi, a sort of homeless by choice hippie who wandered around town.

"You have a good day, kid!" he called.  He lit his pipe with a tie-dye lighter and took a toke.  Then he flashed me a thumb's up and croaked, "Just watch out for the weirdos.  I heard there's one around here looking for you."

I stared at him for a second.  "Where the fuck did you hear that?"

Basi slowly released some smoke from his nose and seemed to be trying to remember.  He gestured vaguely with the pipe towards the town square.  "You hear things on the street, but you don't always know what's really important.  There was something I heard when I was on my way here, but I didn't put it together until I saw you come out the door all shaky."

"I look all shaky?"

Basi shrugged, "Not so much look, but I can feel it, ya know?"

I wanted to ask Basi for more details, but it suddenly occurred to me that the "weirdo" might be about to come out of the supermarket.  "Well, look, I gotta get home now but I'll see you around.  Take care."

Basi waved cheerfully as I strode off across the parking lot.  Basi said a lot of things to people.  Pot wasn't the only drug he indulged in, even if it seemed to be his regular thing to do.  He had warned me about things in the past that had never turned out, like bee attacks or getting caught in the rain.  He once told me to stock up on aftersun cream before a vacation, swearing I was going to get the sunburn of my life.  That week was the rainiest of the year and I never even got to the beach.  This could just be a coincidence.  Yeah, that's it.  There are all kinds of stories about creepers at the supermarket, or the bus, or the coffee place.  I was still walking pretty fast down the street.  And then I was going past Forest Park.

Forest Park is just what it sounds like, a forest that has been taken as a park by the city.  They don't do a lot of landscaping, just clearing fallen branches and trunks from the faint trails.  The trails aren't very clear because they chose not to mark them out, but let people decide where the best ways to go were, and since the park was pretty new, just over a year old, the best ways hadn't been collectively decided yet.  The trees made an inviting space for me, feeling paranoid about being followed or spied on.  I went through the gate and straight into the greenish shade.

After a couple of minutes trudging over the stunted grass and crackly fallen twigs, I was feeling much calmer.  I guess here is when people will say I should have known better.  "Hey, you!" came an angry voice behind me.  I looked.  There was a man charging through the wood, looking awfully pissed off.  It wasn't the guy from the supermarket.  But, shit, I wasn't going to just stand there and wait patiently for him to come tear my head off.  I sprinted away, taking a less worn down path.  He was a heavier sort, and didn't look all that agile.  I could hear him still coming after me, though, crushing leaves and branches underfoot, but at least he was huffing and puffing a little.  I had panic adrenaline and maybe I could find some other nature lovers to shield myself with.  I moved like a deer, so I thought, and popped out into a more open area near the creek.  It was low and narrow these days, and I zoomed over the open land and jumped to the opposite bank.  There was a drop just behind it and I went down, burrowing into the dirt like a rabbit (so many spirit animals).  I heard him come up to the drop but stop.  He was panting noisily and I could imagine him with his hands on his knees, looking crankily out at the empty woods.  "Fuck this, man," he coughed to himself, terrifyingly close to my hiding spot, and he stomped away, deeper into the park.  I waited several minutes before venturing out and climbing back up to the creek bank.  Nobody in sight.  I sighed and started back for the entrance.  Just at the edge of the clearing, something was shining on the ground, something metallic.  It was a key.  I quickly checked my pockets, relieved to find that my keys had not fallen out, and I thought it must belong to coughin', runnin' man.  I considered picking it up, that would serve him right, but then I thought it might have been somebody else's.  I could take them to the police or something, but that might be a big pain in the ass for somebody to go to the station.  Even if it was that guy who lost his key, no need to poke the bear that is the universe.  I was almost at the entrance gate, feeling pretty good about myself, when I saw the dog coming right for me.  And all I could think was that I had to run.

all dice #2

alien/coffin/spiderweb/spider/briefcase/car/smiley sun/table setting/speech balloon/banana

So I went up the stairs like I was in a dream.  I felt that same disconnection from reality that dreams have.  I put my feet right on the glowing prints, because it seemed like what I was supposed to do.  There was practically no sound either, like everything was muffled.  The walls were covered in spiderwebs and little shiny-eyed spiders stared at me as I passed.  I could have sworn they were laughing at me, but that was a little to far for this particular waking dream.  I walked slowly down the hall to the bedroom at the far end.  The door was slightly open.  It was the only room that I couldn't see into, even though there still weren't any lights on anywhere.  I pushed the door open all the way and in a flash I saw what I needed to do.

The next thing I knew I was standing on the street in front of the house and Janelle was screeching up the curb.  I had my phone clutched in my hand.  I got into the car, moving the little monster to the dashboard and Janelle roared off, without even telling me to put on my seat belt.  She was pissed, for sure.  So much so that we didn't even go home, we went to get super omelettes at Norbert's Nook, famous for its breakfasts throughout the county.  It was Janelle's big comfort food.  Sausage, mushrooms and hot sauce.  Way too much for me.  I waited until it was on the table in front of her before explaining what had happened in the house.  I was expecting her to interrupt and tell me I was full of shit many, many times, but she stayed quiet through the whole story.  When I finished she took a big bite of omelette and stared at me while she chewed and I waited.  Finally she swallowed and said, "You think I'm going to yell at you, but I'm not.  Weird shit went down at home last night and it actually doesn't surprise me that weird shit happened to you."

"What?  What happened at home?"

"First, I think Nick's dead."

"WHAT?  You think?  And you still have the car?"

Janelle sighed and looked out the window, blinking in the brilliant early morning sun.  "I went to give him the keys last night when you were taking such a damn long time, and I assumed you would either get a ride for yourself or call in the morning.  No answer.  I looked in the window and everything was all messed up inside.  Door's locked and no windows open, so I don't think there was a break-in."

"But why do you think he's dead just because of a mess?"

"They told me.  The voices."

Well, shit.

"I mean, I know they're not completely reliable, they make mistakes and they lie.  But it would make sense as a warning.  We got the car from him, after all."

"But it wasn't just that."

Janelle sighed again, now looking down at her plate, picking at the remains of her omelette.

"There was a lot of noise from downstairs all night too.  Lots of squeaks and growls.  Dragging things."

"But from the basement?  The hell was down there?"

"It sounded like it should have been the basement, but I went down there with the bat, with mace and with the talisman, and there was nothing actually there.  There were still noises, but like a TV in another room when I was actually in the basement.  Not from ... below."

"Wait, you got out the talisman?  I thought you always thought it was a bunch of crap."

"Well, what do you want, I was scared and ready to try anything.  I mean, not scared to enough to just leave the house.  But I felt like I needed something less, I don't know, worldly."

I was starting to feel like things were coming together.  If anyone was afraid, it wasn't us this time.  I had never been in Nick's house, there's no reason to think he was dead just because of some mess.  Maybe he was just, like, messy.  And the noises that didn't belong anywhere?  Just a sorry attempt to freak us out.  Janelle, anyway, I was probably known to be away from the house.  But there wasn't anything really threatening that could be done, the noises didn't even stay in the basement.  I was feeling more and more sure that we could do this.  I needed to get a little bit of information.

"We should go to the library.  I don't want to go home and give any clues about what we need to find.  You have your laptop, or mine?"

"I have mine in the car.  Lemme finish this up."

Janelle started shoveling the last quarter omelette into her mouth.  It was reassuring to see her invigorated.  In a matter of minutes we were out the door and on our way.  The library had wireless so we didn't even have to go in, we could just sit on the picnic tables around the back and do our search.  Except that then it started to rain.

We were blocks away, under a sunny morning sky, almost cartoony.  I half expected to hear the birds singing Disney songs.  But then clouds rolled in, again, like in a cartoon, and somebody turned on the shower.  Rain poured down in curtains and the car started to slide.  All over the road, worse than in winter.  Winter has ice, this we could feel was slime, thick, sticky, slippery, the kind of stuff they use in kids' game shows to gross everyone out.  Now this was scary.  We started to go sideways, turn around on the road, by some miracle there were no other cars and we slid, unimpeded, right up to the library steps.  The back of the car scrunched against the concrete and stopped, just like that.  Janelle and I looked at each other and grabbed for the laptop case.  She got it first.  I let go.  "Sorry, it is your laptop."  She nodded and tore out of the car and up the steps to the door.  I followed, trying to keep my phone dry so I could call a tow truck.

The security guard and one of the librarians were at the door, watching the rain in awe, and only nodded to us as we dashed inside.  The just-opened building was still empty and we had our choice of study rooms, so naturally we went all the way to the end.  Janelle pulled the laptop out of the case and opened it up.  I cracked my fingers and said, "Time to find some medicine."

more dice #2

bird/footprints/smiley face/car/tea/frowny face

I managed to convince Janelle to come with me to the meeting, promising we wouldn't stay for more than an hour.  "I just can't stand that New Age crap," she told me, "It makes me feel like I'm on one of those hidden camera shows.  I mean, who really, but really, believes it?"

The sun was going down and it was getting pleasantly dim on the street.  I couldn't see any spiderwebs anywhere now.  Either got cleaned off or they're invisible in the dark.  Like most things, I guess.  The house was way on the other side of town, so Janelle had begged our neighbor's car for the evening.  I didn't much like it.  It was the blandest thing I had ever seen, I don't even know what kind it was.  It was gray.  And four door.  Probably made of plastic.  Janelle kind of liked it though.  She was humming some song as she got into the driver's seat, made all the adjustments and started it up.  We didn't turn the radio on.  I had heard it enough when neighbor Nick came up his driveway, he was a big fan of bass heavy electronica.  Not for us, thank you.

We drove up to the house a scant 10 minutes later.  It was, in fact, not much like the photo.  It was a little scary looking even so, with a sharply pitched roof and tar black windows in the twilight.  There were little flickers of light inside, candles I assume.  "They're really playing along with the natural angle, aren't they?"  I was trying to encourage Janelle.  She stared hard at the house without even taking off her seat belt, and finally she said simply, "Fuck this.  Not going in."

"Oh come on, you think I want to go in alone?  I know it was my idea and everything, but what it Gertie's there?"

"I don't give a shit, you can deal with her.  Tell her there's a spider on her shoulder."

In the end, I did get out alone.  I told Janelle I'd send text her to pick me up when it was time, probably an hour like we had planned, and she nodded stiffly and drove off.  I don't even know where she went.  Could have just gone home, I suppose.  I had to go into this creepy giant cottage house.  I knocked on the door and waited.  Like in a horror movie.  No answer.  I knocked again, looking around for a doorbell and not finding one.  And just like in a movie, as I turned to go to door opened.  I was expecting somebody witchier.  Or at least female.  I guess the guy was a little gothy, so he went with the house.

"Yeah?"

"Uh, sorry, there's a meeting here tonight?"

He blinked, "Meeting?"

"Yeah, it was on the webpage.  It didn't say anything about calling ahead so I just came..."

He looked genuinely confused.  Then something seemed to occur to him.  "Hang on a second," and he darted inside the house.  He left the door open, so I could hear voices mumbling from some darkened room within.  I suddenly had a horrible feeling that I was doing exactly the wrong thing.  I couldn't quite feel out if these people were going to betray me or if I was going to get them mixed up in their worst nightmares, but I was about to turn around and walk right home.  But then Goth Guy came back.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't recognize you.  You can go into the side parlor with everybody else, they're working on the equations now."

"Uh, yeah, I've never been before..." but now he was smiling pleasantly and showing me the way to the "side parlor".  So damn fitting.

Everyone in the room looked disappointingly normal.  Jeans, tees, light sweaters, Crocs, nothing that would say magic and New Age to me.  A woman seemed to be leading the group, holding up a notebook with numbers and formulas slathered all over the page.  I pulled a little stool up behind a couple others and listened.

"As we know, each part has to balance.  It's basic science, just like chemistry.  The problem is knowing the exact contents of each ingredient, in order to find the correct balance, but if you get the purest ingredients the numbers are exactly those in your pink books.  If you have reason to doubt the purity, you might have to muddle around a little, so keep a very close eye on the color and the smell when you mix.  It has to remain neutral, colorless and odorless."

Oh god, what did I walk into?  I guess it was a little like witch's brew class or something, but since I had missed the introduction I didn't know what they were trying to cook up.  And pink books?  Paraphernalia it sounds like.  Stuff they gotta sell.  I more or less tuned out the rest of the talk, glancing over the attendees.  Gertie was thankfully not there.  I didn't know any of them, in fact.  They all had a weird ageless quality to them, I couldn't quite tell how old they were for some reason.  Something about the eyes told me middle aged or more, but hands were smooth and free of signs of age.  At some point the speaker said something about breaking into groups and everyone smoothly gravitated towards three natural groups.  Everyone except me.  Dammit, I hate being out of place, but what else should I have expected.  The speaker glided up to me and smiled.  Genuinely, in a truly friendly way.  I don't know why I was so surprised.  Maybe it was the bird on her shoulder.  I hadn't noticed it before.  "She's a pirate witch?" I thought, although the bird wasn't a parrot.

"It's always nice for new people to take an interest in our work," the speaker said.  "It's a shame you didn't read through all the introduction so you knew where to get the materials to work with."

"Well," I huffed defensively, "How do you know I didn't read it?  Maybe I just wanted to check things out before making the investment."

The speaker laughed like fucking Tinkerbell, I swear to god, and the bird gave me the evilest I have ever seen.  "No, nobody does that," she said, still giggling, "but nice try.  Isn't it Mr. Pickywick?"  She and the bird exchanged looks.  "Come with me, you can try something easy for beginners, before making any 'investment'".

I don't know why that was as insulting as it was.

We hustled off into the kitchen and the speaker started pulling dried herbs and powders out of drawers and cupboards.  A bottle of vodka came out of the freezer.  Ah, now things will get good.  "You have to start with clarity," she said, pouring the alcohol into a large clear bowl.  Then with swift movements she started adding a bit of this and a bit of that, mashing with a spoon along the side, giving a quick stir, and I was disturbed to see the liquid not change color at all.  The herbs were that normal dried herb greengraybrown, but the powders were all kinds of colors.  And nothing, nothing, gave that vodka any tint or texture at all.  Everything just disappeared into it.  "This is what you need," said the speaker, handing the bowl to me.  It was surprisingly warm.  Chemical reactions?  "Bottoms up," she said brightly while the bird looked away in disgust.  I realized with a start that I could see everything perfectly in the house even though it was night and not a single light was on.  I hadn't even noticed any candles, although we had seen those little spots of light from outside.  And during my revelation my hands brought the bowl to my mouth and I took a big drink.  It was water.  Hot water, but water.  I looked at the speaker, about to say something, and she was nodding at me in satisfaction.  Then she pointed to the hallway.  Instead of grumbling, like I wanted to, I put the bowl down on the table and went to look.  I saw a trail of glowing footprints leading to the stairs and to the upper floor.  And I felt exactly no surprise.  Nor did I feel surprise that my feet were automatically following the prints even while a voice in the back of my head started up a piercing shriek of rage and terror.

It felt like all the answers were going to fall into my hands that night.

fewer dice #2

eyeball/fuzzy monster/angular house/spider

So I went home at a brisk walk, surprised that Janelle wasn't waiting in the front yard to yell at me for running off.  She was in the kitchen with a big glass of water and a pack of ibuprofen, grumbling to herself.

"Hey."

She looked up but didn't answer.  Her eyes were red and watery.

"Headache?"

She nodded, still not speaking.  I went to her room and got her little wild thing.  That's what she called him anyway, it was a monster doll from I don't know where.  I put him on the table next to the tablets and said, "I had the weirdest experience with a Young Republican a little while ago."

Janelle sat back, rolled her bloodshot eyes, picked up the monster, and went to the living room.  "So what, is he going to be the sacrifice for weirding you out?"

"It was a she, actually..."

"Well then she deserves it, doesn't she, self-hating woman for sure."

"I also ran into Gertie-"

"Aw Christshit!"

"No, I got rid of her pretty fast.  Turns out she's afraid of spiders.  There's a fuck ton of 'em out there today."

"Maybe all the ones from the basement, posted all over town to watch us," shuddered Janelle.  Could be, I thought to myself.  That might explain it.  "Did you lock the garage when you put your bike back?"

"Um..."

"Oh fucknuts, you want us to get robbed?  They've been breaking into garages all over the place for weeks!"

"Maybe we should stake it out and sacrifice them," I offered lamely.  Janelle huffed and squeezed the monster in her arms.  We stayed where we were in the living room for several minutes, trying to think of something to say.  At least there weren't any whispery voices right now.  No visions from the corner of my eye either.

Then I had a thought.  It was almost like a vision, the memory was so clear, I saw Gertie and her witch's boots hippety hopping beside me down the street.  Witch's boots.  Spells and incantations.  Power.

"I have an idea," I called as I sprinted out the door.

"Well don't tell me anything right away, jerkass!" Janelle shouted after me.  She'd get over it.  She had those ibuprofens.

I ran to the spot where I rammed the tree and collected my bike.  I wasn't really surprised that it was still there, but I expected to see a nasty note or two taped to it.  People don't like to see anything left on the street in this town, not at all.  I dragged the bike with me, holding the front part up and letting the back wheel along, looking for the way to Gertie's house.  I hadn't been for a long time, but I thought I could probably find it.  Turns out I couldn't.  A couple of frustrating hours later I was back home, sweaty hands and messy hair.

"Did you lock the garage this time?" asked Janelle from the computer.

"Yeah," not at all sure that I did, "Listen, look for new age or neopagan groups in town."

Janelle turned and gave me a look that said, "Use your own laptop for that shit," but then she shrugged and typed in the search anyway.  Most of the results were connected only the most distant way to magic or community, but towards the end of the page one looked promising.  I reached over Janelle's shoulder to another smoldering glance and clicked.  I couldn't tell if it was the same group that Gertie was involved in, I rather hoped it wasn't, but it looked like it might be what we needed.  And there was a meeting scheduled for tonight!

"You're not serious," groaned Janelle, "These idiots are just playing around, they don't know anything about supernatural shit.  I mean, look at the house in the picture they have."

It was the most Scooby Doo/Addams Family house I had ever seen in a photograph, that was true.  But it probably wasn't their actual house or meeting place, it was just to give some of the right feel to their page.  I was already looking forward to going.

all dice #1

spider/(ghost noises)/witch's shoe/coffin/speech bubble/elephant/alarm clock/frowny face/eye/hand

Well, the cat didn't do any damage to my bike, and I don't think I hurt it too much, just gave it a good scare.  It was the tree that I swerved and skidded into that mashed the wheel all up.  Just what I need now, no bike.

With nothing else to do, I started walking.  As I said before, I didn't really have anywhere to go, I just didn't want to be at home.  It was a summer morning, but not too hot yet.  Still, I could feel it in the cheerful rays of early sun that it was not going to be too comfortable on the street in a couple of hours.  I might as well be a vampire with how much I can't stand hot days.  I've spent entire weeks in the basement during July and August.

So, just a leisurely walk then, no hurry, no particular destination, just out for some air.  No need to draw attention to myself.  But of course-

"Hey, long time no see!" came the voice that was just about the last one I ever wanted to hear again.  Gertie means well, but...let's just say there are problems with boundaries.  I shouldn't have turned around, I should have kept walking like I had earbuds in and didn't hear anything (almost unbelievable with her voice, but worth a try), but I automatically turned my head.  And shoomp she was right next to me and plastered onto my right side.

"Hello Gertie," I managed before the floodgates opened.

"Oh my god, I have to tell you all about this new club I joined!  It's so cool!  We do all these craft things with natural ingredients and stuff!  I feel like I'm in a witch's cult!  You should come with me next time!  It's just the best!"  I couldn't even bring myself to correct her use of "cult", I just wanted to find an excuse to get away and into a calmer space.  I let her chatter for a while, looking for some object of interest to fob her off on, cursing myself yet again for living in a small residential town instead of someplace with a shopping district.  You don't even see people in their front yards most often.  But, as I was dragging my new accessory down the street I started to notice a much higher number of spiderwebs than normal.

Now, they weren't like in those pictures of towns covered in blankets of spiderwebs that go viral and it turns out there's a migrating spider population or something, they were normal kind of fine webs, but like...lots.  One between fence slats and one on a car mirror.  One over the top of a garden bush.  One stretched over a streetlight.  And as far as I could tell every one had one spider right in the middle.

"So I just had to get these boots 'cause I think they go with the whole atmosphere, you know?  I think Wolf will really like them, he hasn't seen them yet, but what do you think, aren't they great?" Gertie was hopping along beside me, holding out a tightly booted foot to be admired.  I don't know if it was footwear for a witch or not, I would have said it was more, I don't know, steampunk or something, but what I said at that moment was, "Hey, aren't there a lot more spiders than normal?"

I learned something about Gertie that day.  I learned she had a bad case of arachnophobia.   I feel a little bad about making her tear off down the street swatting herself all over as if she was crawling with bugs, but I did get her off my nearly literal back.

Now that I was alone again, I wandered down to the high school, where they were setting up for some summer school theater thing.  I was never much into theater myself, but I was impressed by the props and scenery that these kids often made.  They were real artists, some of them.  I hope they got into creative professions.  Now, I don't know what play they were putting on this year, but it looked like something with a Halloween theme.  The parking lot was full of foam gravestones and cardboard coffins, which made for a weirdly organized looking cemetery feel.  I browsed the stones to see if they had put any joke names on them, but no luck.  Not even funny epitaphs.  Must not be a comedy.  Then, by a stack of brown stained coffin boxes I heard a low moan.  I looked around grinning, thinking some kid was playing a little trick on me, but there was nobody close enough to make the noise.  It sounded like it was right next to me, inside the coffins in fact.  I was going to lift the lid of the top one just to make sure nobody was hiding inside, but I realized as I touched the top of it that there was no lid.  It was all folded and taped shut.  I was ready to go through the pile to see of one of them did have a lid and a body inside it, but I was accosted by yet another bouncy voice.

"Excuse me, have you registered to vote?"

"There isn't even a campaign on right now."

"You should be registered anyway, elections happen all the time.  Our local elections are important too!"  Certainly the peppy teen wasn't old enough to vote herself, but I couldn't fault her enthusiasm.

"Well, I mean, can I even do it here?  I don't have anything to do with the school..."

She laughed like a cheerleader and said, "No, we just give you the information here and tell you where the best place for you to register is.  You can find everything online too, of course, but a lot of people just want to hear it from a human voice."

"A little nostalgic maybe?"

"The human touch is always welcome," she stated firmly.  Who did she remind me of?  Young Reese Witherspoon maybe?  I noticed the elephant on her button.

"Are you guys going to complain about whatever weirdness this play is going to be?  Corrupting youth and that?  No ghosts and blasphemy?"

She laughed again, with real amusement I think, and answered, "We're Young Republicans, not Young Fundies.  I know what a lot of people in the party say on TV, but our group is firmly in favor of separation of church and state.  It's constitutionally correct!"  Then she leaned in and seized my arm with fingers with perfectly painted nails, looked me dead in the eyes and let the words pop out like cubes from an icemaker: "We're the good ones."

She let go of me and cheerily walked off, calling back a reminder to register over her shoulder.  I swear the cold dead eyes my senator shoots through the TV screen aren't as scary as that Young Republican's secularism.

It might have been the weird happenings of the morning that made me more susceptible, but I was starting to feel the tingle of observation.  The pressure was growing in my throat, and the sensation of little voices in the back of my head was picking up.  I wished I had a job to go to.  Maybe I should look into something on my way back.  Problem is, if I have to deal with people there will be incidents.  Just like there were when I was working before.  I guess it's time to go back home and see if Janelle has seen more spiders than normal too.

many dice #1

sun/eye/moon'n'stars/cat/ladder/bicycle

We sat out in the backyard the next night thinking about what we should do.  It was obvious that we couldn't just run away, we'd tried it before.  At the same time, we had a very clear feeling of impatience building in our ... idol.  Janelle was smoking, even though she knew I didn't like it, and the smoke wound up into the sky, casting a gauzy curtain over the twinkling celestial bodies of the night.  The feeling of surveillance was overwhelming, more than it ever had been before.  Finally, I broke the silence.

"Maybe we should go down to the creek."

Janelle looked at me in annoyance.  She didn't say anything.  Her thoughts were obvious.

"Well, what do you want to do, then?  Buy a goat?  Or a chicken?"

Janelle ground out the remains of the cigarette in frustration and stomped back into the house.  I sat outside looking up at the stars, wishing I were a believer so I could ask for help from something greater than myself.  Funnily enough, I didn't think of the skull as greater.  It had powers, that was for sure, but it was something like a bully you try to deal with for a school year.  They aren't better than you and you know it, but for the moment you can't fight them.  I also wished I was a smoker so I would have a cooler excuse for just sitting on my ass in the yard, doing nothing else.

Suddenly, I woke up with the sun burning my eyes like eye drops you forgot about in the bottom of your medicine cabinet for a couple of years.  I sat up quickly and saw that Janelle was breaking up slabs of wood and dumping them into the grill.

"It's not a wood burning grill, Janelle," I grumbled irritably.  She gave me another look of frustration and kept on with her task.  I tumbled to my feet, feeling like a Russian circus bear, and wobbled over to see what she was actually doing.  I had to get right next to her before I could make out what the wood was from.

"Is that the ladder?"  Terse nod.

"Did you smash it?"  Sigh and understood eyeroll.

"How will we get to the lower levels now?"  Janelle stopped and looked at me with an expression of smug knowing and pity that I had to ask.  I scratched my head and looked around the yard.  It was a splendid morning, truth be told.  Other days I would have been very proud of myself for being awake and out of bed, ready to do some yardwork or something.  Today I was just confused and fearful.

I did absolutely nothing but watch Janelle bring out all the wooden planks and slabs and smash them up and drop them unceremoniously in the belly of the grill, and finally dig out a half-used pack of matches and light one, drop the others on top of the wood, and drop the lit match.  For some reason I expected a fwoosh but it didn't happen.  Naturally, Janelle hadn't put any lighter fluid in.  The fire caught slowly, and smoked with all the years of underground humidity.

After a while I said, for no reason, "I guess I should go to work."  Janelle gave me the evilest eye I've ever seen and I went to the garage to get the car out.  But, sitting in the driver's seat, I had the worst feeling of doom I've ever felt.  Sure, people have premonitions all the time that turn out to be nothing, but when you feel it you know you have to do something, if only for your own peace of mind.  I eased myself out of the car, like I expected to set off a bomb, and gently shut the door.  I hadn't turned the engine on yet.  I stood and looked at it for maybe a minute, and then I grabbed Janelle's bike.

"What the hell?!" she yelled after me as I zizzed down the street.  "The car is out of gas," I called over my shoulder, knowing she would believe that as much as she had my line about work; I hadn't had a job in almost five years.

I hurtled down the early morning streets with ease, weaving from side to side and from curb to curb.  You would think I would be able to dodge an obstacle without too much trouble, but cats are the worst fucking obstacles out there.  Not matter what, they will be right under your foot, your tire, or if they get away it's because you have begun to have a spectacular accident.  And that's what happened to me.

fewer dice #1

skull/spiderweb/spider/candle

Into the darkness of the cellar we pressed, faces grim, souls shuddering.  The lights had gone out with the storm, so we lit the way with candles.  It was much creepier now than it ever had been in daytime and with nice weather.  Actually, I think it wasn't even this creepy most nights, as long as there was no lightning ridden thunderstorm outside.  The place was clean and dull-looking as always, a cleaned up relaxing area for a family.  But that wasn't all that it was.

Janelle went to the wall behind the water heater and felt around for the hidden switch.  She grimaced and coughed as something clicked and the trapdoor in the floor popped open.  "Gross.  Fucking spiderwebs," she whined.  I didn't reply, but pulled the trapdoor open fully to reveal the rickety ladder to another level.

You ask why we continue the traditions?  Why we don't just walk away from the old ways?  It's not that easy, you know.  We might physically leave, but the voice would always be there in our daydreams and nightmares.  Sometimes more than a voice.  But only when we aren't doing what we should.

It always smells musty in the second level.  It's weird because it's not unfinished here, either.  The walls are cement or something, even painted.  But it still smells like an old root cellar.

Our candles make little headway in the thick air underground, but we do know the way.  It's something we do regularly.  Unlike in the house, we know there's nothing left on the floor from a game or visit, nothing that will trip us up.  This level is completely clean and empty.  It's like an insulation level.

We have to go down a spiral staircase to reach our destination.  I don't know why the access from the basement is a wooden ladder and now we have a metal staircase.  Seems like poor planning.  Or different designers who never even saw each other.  It's at least as old as the ladder, maybe even older actually, considering how wood tends to hold up in our climate, but it still seems sturdy and safe.  Doesn't jiggle or anything when the two of us go down it.

There it is, bathed in it's own aura.  The green skull.  It is the object of our worship, as it was for those who lived here before us.  All we have to do it...feed it.  We have absolutely no idea where it came from.  We don't even know how we found out about it.  It just happened one day that we both stood up from whatever we were doing and made our way down here, to kneel, to bow down, to chant.  The next time we came with the offering.  Janelle was the first to try to leave, she went to visit her cousins in Pisa, but she came back after a month.  She said it had been talking to her, in her head.  We tried to abandon the house together, but in less than two weeks we were receiving messages to kill each other, to stab the other while they slept, to grab the wheel and take the car off the road.  It sounds kind of like what schizophrenics describe.  But it's only when we are away from the house for too long.  We haven't been doing exactly what we're told recently, though.  We haven't brought an offering for a while.  It isn't...angry.  But something is up.  We do the ritual as usual on the new moon and go back upstairs.  There's a weird energy on this level now.  Not the insulation level, though.  That's normal.

Same with the basement.  I push the trapdoor down to lock it and it doesn't catch.  Janelle reaches behind the water heater to fiddle with the switch and gasps, drawing her hand back in a flash.  With both candles we can see a huge colony of spiders on the wall, surrounding that switch.  They seem to look at us with their shiny little eyes and grin with shiny little fangs for a second.  Then they scuttle off into the darkness.

It's even worse than a voice in a dream.

dice exercise #11

elephant/burger/lightning/banana/fire/cell phone
 
It was a grand scheme, you know.  Nobody had yet considered the obvious profit in elephant burgers. Of course, certain calculations were necessary to prevent waste.  You don't want to make a thousand patties to feed ten people.  Well, we did have that good industrial freezer, big enough to fit the animal in before it was processed, but it just didn't feel right to have an elephant dragged, skin and tusks and all, into your place of business.  That's right, we even got 'em with tusks on.  I'm surprised, actually, that they didn't sell that ivory off first, or kill for the ivory and give us the leftovers.  I mean, I know that's illegal and all, but I know the black market is lucrative.  I mean, I don't know, but I've heard.

Anyway, we got our first shipment to the processor out by the old highway and got everything ground up and packaged.  They took the tusks back with them, along with a few bones, acting like they were surprised that we didn't want them, but they could do us the favor of taking them off our hands (after we had paid for them with the meat still on, mind you!).  We got things divided into three pound packs and boxed up and stacked up in the freezer before the night was out.  It was looking pretty good, if I do say so myself.  Something about that wild meat looks so healthy, even when it's just a mass of ground up flesh.  Even dead it looks like it'll kick you in the face if it can, or something.  We were ready for our grand opening that evening.

We had a pretty good turnout, but not much in the register at the end, what with all the giveaways, brand building and that.  We didn't serve as much as I'd hoped, but the freezer was going to keep everything fresh for us.  We had stock for the whole month, at least for burgers.  And maybe things would pick up if we got the health idea to spread around.  It's funny how positive rumors never have as much traction as negative ones.

The first week was alright, although I'd hoped for a little more in the customer department.  Still, it was just the first week, and we were still within the projected range of profit/loss and product usage.  Then the disaster happened.  Was it a short circuit?  A bad freezer?  Sabotage?  Who knows?  Al I can say is that one morning I was coming in and got hit with the stink of rot from three blocks away.  I couldn't believe things had gone bad so fast, when just a half a day ago everything was fine.  Maybe things were already going off and I spent too much time in there to notice any subtle odors.  Maybe elephant burgers have a safe time of three hours unfrozen and uncooked.  The fact is, we had to figure out what to do, now that we had an industrial freezer full of bleeding, stinking, zombie-looking eleburgers.  Steve was just staring at the leaking doors, calmly eating a banana.  It made him look more like a gorilla than his hulking frame and unfortunate body hair already did.

Naturally, we didn't open that day.  I took advantage of the lack of eyes around me to sprinkle the gasoline and drop the spark (no matches, just in case.  Those Youtube survival videos sure came in handy for starting a fire, though).  Then I drove west until I couldn't keep my eyes open.  Fortunately, there was a motel just at the exit after I almost drifted into the ditch, a lonely looking cheap motel.  Wasn't even a McDonald's next door.  So now I'm on the bed filling out the insurance forms and getting distracted by that infernal buzz.  Is there a fly in here?  Oh no, it's my phone.  It's Mr. Ran.  I bet he has another great idea for me...

dice exercise #10

(I'm trying to be less literal with the dice.  I still feel like I took the easy way, though.  Oh well, it was five minutes.)

fire

So that's the way it is, huh?  Leaving me so far away, with no outlet for my feelings.  If only you had given me some contact, some form of technology, then maybe I could have been more at ease.  But no, you just waved me into the airport (didn't even come in with me!) and left me to check in and board all alone.  I should have told you everything, this cosmic connection I feel.  I tell myself that if it's meant to be it'll turn out all right, but opportunity after opportunity goes by and you're never in my daily life.  I ache for you every night in my narrow bed.  I scan the news pages of your town, looking for your name.  I know you'll see my worth if you look.  I know we'll be happy if you make an effort.  I know it, I feel it.  I just need to make you feel it too.  I see plane tickets east are cheap now...

dice exercise #9

bird/plane/lightning/question mark/key/bang

Hope is a thing with feathers, they say.  It sings like a bird, it soars and sees the world from on high.  Maybe that's why I've always felt hopeless, the fact that I can't imagine looking down on the world.  My soul has always been a despairing one, peering up from the lowest ground to gaze upon a higher authority.  You'd think, somebody as well-traveled as I would have a downward perspective.  How many plane rides have I taken?  Plenty.  But, as luck would have it, I always fly at night and I sleep, or it's too dark to see the ground.  I've traveled by plane a lot, yes, and by car and bus and train too.  Traveled everywhere in this here land.  There's another quote for you.  This land and more than one or two more.  I can't quite explain why I move so much; I'm not just traveling, I'm moving.  Changing house and home.  It's a split second decision too - one day I'm perfectly happy and the next I'm aching to get somewhere else.  I guess I'm looking for something.  That sounds cliché, doesn't it?  But I think it's true.  I always feel like I'll find some missing piece and I'll finally take root and really settle down.  I'll be the one to hand out wisdom on a plate, in bite-size pieces, whether you want it or not.  And if I never find that perch?  That place in the sun, that garden of dreams.  I guess there's always a way out.  Maybe I have some hope after all, another thing that flies and sings as it whizzes past you, crows and roars in a thunderous voice.  But no feathers.  My hope is as smooth as apple cider whiskey and leaves you just as flat on the floor.

dice exercise #8

book/rain/night/eye/phone/banana

"It was a dark and stormy night," the girl read, before her sister stopped her.

"Are you reading 'Peanuts' again?  That old shit?"

"It's a classic!  It went on for like 50 years!"

"So many better comics didn't last.  'Calvin and Hobbes' isn't classic?  'The Far Side'?"

"I didn't say those weren't good, but 'Peanuts' spanned a whole, like, century."

"Ugh!" grumped the older sister, tossing her head and stomping out of the room.  She was never very good at maintaining a good argument.  It felt good to win, of course, but sometimes the girl wished she had a little more of a challenge.   

She returned to her book, lovingly feeling the pages with their edges fuzzy from fingers turning them.  She loved the simplicity of the lines, the easily identifiable characters, the basic storylines.  Other comics had more action and more patter, that was true.  But, there was something so close in this one, so much a part of daily life without exaggerating and creating fantasy worlds.  Well, except for that dog.  He was the girl's least favorite character, surprisingly for many.  He just wasn't very realistic.  At least he didn't actually talk like in that one with the dumb dog and the mean cat.  Whatever it was called.  Now she hugged the book to her chest and looked up at the towering bookcase, full of comics.  She stood up, replaced the book and slowly studied the shelves for another.  Maybe a more complete family now.  With adults and everything.  She pulled the book out and went to find her sister, ready to bore her with tales of growing up in a comics page.  Absent-mindedly, the girl picked up her phone as she left the room.

As she wandered into the kitchen, she saw the disaster about to happen.  It was the most comic cliché of them all.  The banana peel.  The inattentive pedestrian.  The fall.  And the modern phone to record it all.

"That was better than any 'Peanuts' strip!" the girl shrieked as she ran out to the back yard, smarting-bummed sister in hot pursuit.

quick try

We waited for several hours, but there was no way anybody would stop for us.  It was an awful day and the rumors of the Highway Ripper were making everybody nervous anyway.  The green landscape of Washington highways is small beauty or pleasure when you have no wheels, and even when you do you have to worry about what you might run into.  I'm glad I have my poncho; Nero had it worse.  He was soaked through in no time.  It was a surprise when that pickup slowed down as it came down the road past us, and even more when pulled over on the shoulder and stopped.  The truck waited, making that chugging noise they do when they're idling, and we ran to see who our savior was.  He was the typical old dude who would drive a pickup out here.

"Can I give you kids a lift?"

"We'd sure appreciate it," and we clambered in.

Now we're rattling down the road without so much as the radio to distract us.  I'm in the middle, the driver on my left, Nero staring out the window on my right.  Finally the driver speaks, "Ain't so smart these days, hitchin'."

"It's something exciting."

"Sometimes that gets a body kilt."

"'A body kilt'?  Where're you from?  Or when?"

"Don't you mind my old timey talk, I always admired my grandpap.  Where you kids goin' anyway?  You never said when you got in."

I look away and kind of nod with the texture of the road under the wheels.  After a minute I say, "We go wherever the road takes us."

"Well, whatever," the driver grunts.

We go on in silence until it gets dark.  The driver's eyes are glued to the road at all times, but his voice seems to be aimed right at my eardrums.  "Suppose you heard about the Ripper."

"Of course."  Nero's still staring out the window.

"Don't it make you think twice about stunts like this?"

"Does it make you?"

Another moment of silence.

"I try to do favors for folks, pickin' 'em up off the road.  Sometimes they ain't so grateful, I guess."

Nero shifts restlessly in his seat.  "A lot of people aren't grateful for nothin'.  Me, I give credit where credit is due.  My boy Nero, too."  More shuffling around from my right.

"You never get in trouble?"

"There's two of us.  We're safe travelers.  You oughta think about that."

"I guess."

Nero sighs and leans his head against the window.  He's getting restless.  I hate that.  Now the driver keeps looking in his rearview mirror.  When I look at it I can see his eyes flitting up and back to the road in front of us.  I think the road is empty, though.  "You ever want to do something you shouldn't?" I ask with the feeling of a hand around my throat.  It's not a real hand, I know it isn't.  Not mine, not the driver's, not Nero's.  But it's there just the same.

Nobody Loves a Poe

What a night that was.  Now I'm sitting exhausted on my rumpled bed, thoroughly spent but exhilarated.  A small part of my soul is wondering if it was all just a dream, but I mostly know that it wasn't.  At least I feel that it wasn't.  There's an easy enough way to prove it to myself.

I go through the living room towards the old guest room, now hidden behind a rather handsome bookcase, if I do say so myself.  I pull The Classic Mystery Collection out of the fourth shelf up and squint into the little hole behind it.

It is still there.  Just as I'd known, even if I was too gleeful to believe it completely.  Sprawled on the floor, now bare of carpet, it was groaning softly.  Probably just regaining consciousness as I had been minutes before.  Suddenly it realized it didn't know where it was and heaved itself to its feet with a squeaky grunt.  Its eyes darted around the bare room, floor and walls stripped of all decoration and comfort, and it started panting in a panicked way.  Huh, "panicked".  Of course, I'm only projecting what I think I would feel.  I have no idea if it feels anything at all.  Well, if it doesn't feel anger, it does a remarkable job of approximating it; it starts bellowing my name and stomping around the room in that familiar manner, kind of lurching about, like Frankenstein's monster.  There's a recessed light in the ceiling so I can keep an eye on it, but I start to feel a glimmer of nervousness that it will notice the small hole in the wall.  I replace the book quietly and begin my daily routine.  But it is the first day of a new world for me.  A world where I know it won't find me again.                                                                                                      
The day goes by normally, doing my work, having my lunch with colleagues, making small talk.  I do my best to put my secret at the back of my mind, knowing it would not be smart at all to let people know I had something cooking, so to speak.  At the same time, I cannot bring myself to forget it completely.  It is just too enjoyable.

When the end of the day comes, I hurry home and race on tiptoes, like a child, to the bookcase.  I gently remove the book again and peek into the hole.  It was on its back, arm thrown over its eyes.  Still breathing, raspily.  I wonder if it has been screaming while I was at work.  No neighbors close enough to hear it if it did.  It doesn't move for what seems like a long time, and I grow impatient, tapping on the wall.  Stupid move.  It flies to its feet, bellowing, "You have to let me out of here!  This is illegal!"  I replace the book and back away from the wall, hoping I haven't given my position away.  I realize the light has been on all day, and was on the whole night too.  It must be tired now, without a good night's rest since waking up in a strange room.  I go to the upstairs crawlspace to switch off the light and hear it roaming its space, still shouting.  Good.  It doesn't seem to have figured out where my tap had come from.  I'll be more careful in the future, though.  I wonder if the noise will keep me awake tonight, but in the end it doesn't.  My satisfaction puts me to sleep without any trouble.

I start awake in the bleak grayness of the morning, sure it has escaped and is stalking the house for me.  I listen for any sound at all in the dim early of the day, but there is nothing more than the blood pounding in my ears.  I creep out of my warm bed and out to the bookcase.  Everything is in place.  The light is out in the room and I don't hear it shuffling around inside.  Even though it's earlier than usual, I am awake, so I start my day.  Before leaving, I go upstairs to switch on the light and hear thumping and scrabbling noises from the room below.  No shouting though.  Too thirsty?  Too bad.  I go off to my regular life, much calmer than the day before.  My prize is now surely mine, and the specialness is wearing off.  You can get used to anything.

Well, you can get used to anything if you want to.  Some things are not worth getting used to.  Some problems need to be kicked in the face.  That was what I did.  Unfortunately, instead of breaking off the weed, I hit the hornet's nest, and my only options were to run or to exterminate.  I couldn't run.  Not far enough, anyway.  Extermination was the only choice left for me.  I still remember feeling incredulous that it had agreed to meet me for drinks, and the joy and triumph in its eyes as it strode in the door of the bar.  Could it really have convinced itself that I was in fact deeply in love with it after all?  It didn't come to argue, but drank down the beer I had ordered for it and commenced to gloating questions about whether I was sorry.  I don't remember what I actually said, but the act was apparently convincing.  When the drug kicked in, one of the waiters helped me get a taxi and load it into it.  The driver helped me unload to my door.  And no neighbors saw me pull it inside.  Nobody saw me leave a while later, alone, back to the bar where I complained quietly to the bartender about how much whiskey dick sucks.  I drank another beer in private victory.

Now my problem is behind bare walls.  It waits, grunting and mewling, for any sort of stimulation.  I watch its clothing grow ever more rumpled and filthy, and I know there will be some scrubbing to be done later.  I wait with anticipation for the skin to shrivel and peel.  I savor the voice growing thin and harsh.  Maybe I'll be lucky and make a mummy.  Won't that be a treat for future archeologists?  Such a luxuriously large burial chamber!  And I'll be sure to leave it a crown to wear in its dusty eternity.

beer

The bar was filled with damp, beery air, but not a lot of noise.  This wasn't really strange.  It was Wednesday night, after all.  The bartender leaned back against the mirror, the college kids racked up on the pool table, the rest of the customers gazed stonily into their half full glasses.  Young William Alberts drummed the bar restlessly with his left-hand fingers.  Finally the bartender glanced at him and said, "Dude, just drink your beer or order another one, or something.  You're freakin' me out with that face you're making."  Young Alberts looked up.  "What face is that, Danny?  I'm not making any goddam face."  The bartender rolled his eyes and looked back to the room, making sure everybody was behaving.  "What face, Danny?  I'm serious."  Young Alberts had straightened up and was looking earnestly over at the bartender now, with just a hint of worry in his voice.

At that moment, the door to the bar opened and a small crowd of young women hustled in.  They were about the same age as the pool players, likely from the same school given the size of the town.  Neither group acknowledged the other, though.  The girls tumbled over to a booth, amid giggles and hair flings, and piled in, four or five to a side.  The bartender stared at them incredulously.  The customers hadn't even raised their eyes to the disturbance.  Young Alberts leaned over the bar and almost whispered, "What's up, Dan, they give ya problems before?"  The bartender rubbed his forehead and eyes with vigorous irritation.  "Christ, Alberts, just mind your own business."

They both waited for a while, letting the new crowd settle down, and finally a couple of pony-tailed representatives trotted over to the bar.  "So we gotta order at the bar, or what?"

"You see any waiters?" the bartender motioned with his hand.

The two looked around the room like birds at a puddle.  "Well, can we get a pitcher at our table then?"

"Pitcher a' what?"

"Whatever's cheap today."  And the ponytails swayed on the way back to their herd.

The bartender audibly growled as he filled a pitcher with PBR - from cans.  Young Alberts studied the group at the table.  "Hey, Danny..."

"Don't even ask, Alberts, it's not worth it."

But Young William Alberts had been captivated by one of the young women in the booth.  She wasn't as bubbly as her friends, in fact she was almost solemn in her demeanor.  She had the same long light-colored hairstyle, looking like it was probably helped out chemically in its coloring.  Her clothes  were the same style and color scheme.  But there was just something...different.  Maybe it was her expression.  Not serious exactly, she was smiling.  But it wasn't the shiny, toothy smile the others had.    Young Alberts could swear that she was thinking about being somewhere else.

The bartender left the pitcher at the tables and hustled back to the bar to cries of, "But we need cups, come onnnnnnn!"  He gathered up half-pint glasses from behind the bar and shot Young Alberts another warning glance before going over to deliver them.

He came back to the bar and stared for a moment at Young Alberts before saying, "I know you're checking out Soledad.  Just forget about it, dude."

"Soledad?  Not Soledad Quiroga?"

"The very same."

"Holy shit, I thought she was a maneater."

"She is, don't let the sorority girl outfit fool you."

Young Alberts stared with even more interest at the booth and at the calmest woman in it.  He drained his glass, in the vain hope that it would give him courage, and stayed put right on his bar stool.  He was both surprised and exhilerated to see the girl of his dreams walking over to the bar all of a sudden.  She did not, however, give him the slightest glance.  She leaned over the bar and said in a low and syrupy voice, "Can I get a pint of good lager over here?"

The bartender coughed and rolled his eyes again.  "Good lager, you say?  What's wrong with what you and your buddies got?"

She looked at him with an expression of patience and pity.  "You know how beers are, you know what I mean."

They locked eyes for a good minute and the bartender poured a pint from the tap.

"Just leave it on the bar," she said, pulling out the money for the pint, "The right one will ask for it."

The bartender smirked and said, "How the fuck will I know the right one?"

"You'll know," replied Soledad Quiroga, prancing her way back to her friends, glancing over her shoulder.

"Hey, Danny," said Young Alberts, "I feel like a pint about now."

"Fuck off, Alberts," said the bartender.

And the evening went on, with pool, giggling, and a beer on the bar.

Young Alberts couldn't help glancing at the pint every minute or so, with eyes of longing, although who could tell if it was longing for the beer or for the girl who had it set there.

The night dragged on, as nights like these tend to do, and little by little the bar emptied.  The collegiate pool players went home, their money having made rounds in all their pockets.  The few regulars eased out into the dark like puffs of smoke.  The table of pitcher beer drinkers was among the last to be cleared.  Young Alberts was also still at his post at the bar.  The pint was still there on the end.  When the herd was passing him, Alberts felt in his gut that it was his last chance and he hopped off his stool and grabbed up the pint, spilling a good third of it.  The bartender groaned from behind the bar, disgustedly.  Alberts raised the glass and rasped, "Here's t'you, Soll-a-dad!"  He poured what he thought was a respectable swallow into his mouth and waited for her calm, sexy approach.

It was a long wait.

Not really.  Just a couple of seconds until the gaggle of girls burst into shrill, alcohol enhanced laughter, and Young Alberts gaped at them like a startled dog at the garage.  Soledad Quiroga was in the middle of the pack, flanked by her guards as it were, shaking her head angrily.

"Wull, ya didn't akshully say who th' right one was gunna be," slurred Alberts, trying to save face.

"It sure as hell wasn't you," she snapped, and turned to lead her flock safely home.

"Mussa bin onna them pool pricks," concluded Alberts.

"Yeah, sure.  It's a different right one every night and he never gets his fucking beer, then some asshole like you grabs it, spills all over, and pisses her off," snapped the bartender.  "At least she didn't start a fight this time.  I guess you have some sense after all, waiting until closing, you drunk bucket of pre-shit."

"Waddaya mean, she alliz gets a beer for the bar?" wheezed Young Alberts.

"Yep.  Every damn time she's in here.  Her bait for Mr. Right, I guess.  I don't know what headfucking chick flick she saw that dumbshittery in."

The bar now completely empty and only Alberts was swaying on the floor while the bartender wiped down moist, dark surfaces.  Suddenly he looked up like he had forgotten he wasn't alone and shouted, "What the fuck christ, Alberts, go the fuck home!"  And Young Alberts, startled once again by a loud noise, waddled out the door to the street.

Although they say cool air clears a drunken head, it isn't really true, especially not for Young William Alberts.  He was as wasted as he was in the warmth of the bar when he started stumbling down the street, on the way to his bed, to tell himself about how he almost got with Soledad Quiroga.

The Dead

There is no way to remember all my Dead.  They are many, and their names are lost to the universe.  Those that even had names.  My Dead were proud in their way, toiling in their journey to create better worlds for the future.  They pushed plows and wielded hammers.  A few even carried guns.  They brought children into an uncertain life, sometimes with intent, sometimes with surprise.  They stuck to their roots, they tore them up and replanted in better lands.  They saw the world from wagon and from ship, from calm village and burnt city.  Their ships sailed through waves and wind, and airplanes through clouds and radiation.  They borrowed and they saved, they worked and they dreamed.  They kept their eyes on the earth, careful to bring out its fruits.  They raised their eyes to the heavens, hopeful for blessings.  They set their gaze on better futures - a new spouse, a new house, a new country, a new life.  New knowledge was everywhere.  Languages that were not their own surrounded them, and all became theirs.  People that were strangers became family.  Family far away were as strangers.

My Dead are stories on a page and a screen, their lives are notes and images on paper.  My Dead are brief flashes in a wooden box, a pastry, a story warped from its first living.  But all the Dead are there, they are there, they are resting, and they are gone.  And they are mine and all of ours.  They are as we will be, to the future.