Mortal Fear

She and her friends had just seen a particularly graphic horror movie. Walking out of the theater she felt an ominous feeling come over her. From the depths of hell a demonic monster had ravaged a small town in Northern Main. From her perspective as a young professional in her mid-twenties the concept was fascinating which caused the actuality of fear to come over her. The movie centered on a group on young people, about her age, who fought against an evil incarnation. Unlike in most horror films the heroes did not win the battle. Rather, one by one, the demon slaughtered every last one. The movie ended with the grotesque monster laughing with a snarling gargle. The development of the plot highlighted engaging characters and the sense of familiarity to them was created. From the perspective of the movie viewer heroic qualities of the characters were attained. The demon first appeared after a relationship with two of the main characters was formed. On the edge of her seat throughout the movie, Tammy was shocked when characters that she had grown to care about perished in horrible deaths. A husband and wife, newly-weds, were the first victims of the monster. The movie began at the wedding of the two. A honeymoon occurred among the majestic scenery of northern Main in the cool summer. The monster then appeared. It creped it’s way into view and was forefront on the screen. It was a hideous beast with clammy green skin, horns, and fangs. Late in the first night of their honeymoon while enjoying the summer air of northern Main the couple was slain. The monster slashed their skin and devoured their dying corpses. This was the start of the movie. Throughout the movie the monster became more realized and more horrid. Walking to their cars after the movie Susan and her friends said their good-byes and promised to meet each other sometime next week. Usually on the weekends the friends would see a movie and, if not, they would find something else to do together. After the good-byes the ominous feeling that had come over Tammy at the end of the movie became more distinct. It was a 20 minute drive back to her small, one bedroom house. As she drove home the horror film, which was heavy on plot and character development, plagued her mind. She arrived back at her house. It was about 9 p.m. and the sun had just set. The ominous feeling that had consumed her since the end of the movie was now even more pronounced. She decided to turn on the television to see if she could get her mind off of it. “Let me see,” she spoke aloud to herself. “What’s on television? Chanel 2. No. Chanel 7. No.” “Here it is,” she thought. “Channel 11. A comedy is what I need,” she said to herself. She heard a loud blast of thunder, so loud that it shook the house. She looked out the door and realized there had been a quickly approaching storm and that it was beginning to rain. She could see the porch light of one of her neighbors was on a couple hundred yards away. Once again it thundered. She looked out of the window and could see an explosion of lightening light up the entire sky. She stopped looking out the window and decided to pour a glass of scotch. She heard a deafening blow of thunder and the electricity in the house went out. Her heart started beating fast. Amidst the bleak silence she could not understand why such a feeling of fear had come over her. She noticed the rain start pouring down on the ground and the sound of the rain pattering down on the roof was for some reason not soothing. She opened the door and looked to view the entire neighborhood. There was nothing but darkness. She closed the door in a hurry. “Why did I do that?” She asked herself out loud. She put ice into a glass and filled it full with a couple extra drops of scotch. Suddenly she looked over her shoulder into the mirror and thought she saw a hideous, monstrous face behind her. She dropped her scotch and the glass shattered on the floor. “It’s nothing,” she thought to herself. “It’s just my imagination.” She tried to come to grips with herself. “It was nothing. What am I afraid of, a movie? Am I supposed to be afraid of monsters? There are no monsters.” Yet her heart pounded with pronounced fear for no reason that she could understand. Maybe she should call one of her friends up. She thought. Of course she didn’t see anything, it was just my imagination. What could it have been? It was nothing. Of course it was nothing. When she moved into this one bedroom house more than a year ago she never thought that she would have to be worried about crime in such a nice neighborhood much less a hideous monster from the pit of hell. She consciously laughed to herself and grabbed the broom to clean up the broken glass on the floor. A loud blast thunder again irrupted. She turned around and as a bolt of lightning flashed she saw the menacing figure in front of her. She did not stop to think that there are no monsters or that all it had been earlier that night had been a movie. Rather than to try to rationalize she was simply petrified with fear. The beast laughed with joy at the fear incited by his appearance. She did not know what to do so she quickly grabbed a knife and plunged it into the cold, clammy skin of the monster. Once again the ogre laughed completely immune to such an attack. His excitement grew with her fear. The menacing figure patiently looked upon his victim more overjoyed with the terror invoked in his victim than in the actual carnage itself which was about to occur. He lifted the small woman by her neck and threw her across the room. She crashed against wall knocking down a painting that hung on the wall. She screamed in terror but nobody could hear her. Her small house was on a large parcel of land and her neighbors were completely unaware of the massacre which was about to take place. She got up from against the wall where she had just been thrown. She knew that the monstrosity could not be defeated and she prayed in vain for an exodus. There was no time for rational thought. All she could do was try to think of how to get out of there as her heart pounded faster. She had regressed to prey trying to escape the butchery of a predator. The hissing sound of the demonic figures laughing echoed through her mind. It was a sound of unrestrained evil. “I will devour your flesh,” the monster taunted. “Scream! You won’t be heard.” The malevolent sound of its voice echoed with saturation of the filth of its dank, sticky skin and putrid smell. She ran out of her apartment and the demon simply stood and watched. She thought maybe if she could make it to one of her neighbor’s houses she would be o.k. In vain she ran in terror. The power supply in the neighborhood was still off. The rain poured and an occasional outburst of lightening was the only thing illuminating the neighborhood. She ran to her nearest neighbors. Maybe she had lost the beast, she could not be sure. She couldn’t see it right now. She slammed on the door of her neighbor’s house banging and screaming. Nobody answered. She turned around and it was there once again. “I can smell your blood,” it said with it slimy voice of all-consuming revulsion. She stood still, unable to move. It walked closer to her, picked her up by her neck, and breathed into her face with the most repellent smell she could ever remember. A bolt of lightning struck, followed by the sound of crashing thunder. Suddenly all the lights in the neighborhood went back on. The street lights illuminated the surrounding area and she could see a small gathering of people in the distance. She screamed and yelled but she could not capture their attention. She ran up to them begging for help but they simply ignored her. It was as if they could not even see her. They were enjoying a conversation of laughter and frivolity and no matter what she did she could not get them to notice her. She grabbed an arm of one of them but he simply acted as if she were a nagging child begging for unwanted attention. As she screamed and yelled they enjoyed the festivities of their elated conversation as if she were not even there. From their perspective carnage was not taking place, it was simply a cool summer night. It was not an occasion for fear or concern to the grouping they simply stood there enjoying each other’s company as if relishing the night as it should be. The monster continued walking her way. She could not escape it. It laughed and snarled. The grotesque monster continued terrorizing her for its own amusement. It caught up to her and the small crowd of people that she hoped would be her salvation. They did not notice the creature. It was as if they did not even know what was happening. She turned to face the monster. The ravenous beast was ready to complete its kill. As she ran and screamed the monster snarled, “Run, run as fast as you can. You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man!” A member of the small gathering casually lit a cigarette for one of his companions. Crying and screaming in complete fear that was now bordering on seizures she watched the monster walk purposefully towards her. She screamed but the small group of people standing there completely ignored her, completely unaware of her presence. With its sharp claws ready to rip a whole in her flesh its mouth watered. In one backhanded slash it tore a gash into her mid-section. The blood and guts spilled out of her lifeless body and the monster enjoyed the consummation of its nightly kill. It devoured her dying flesh. The small group of friends did not notice or react in any way to the carnage. The following day was busy in which all the morning commuters were engaging in their regular activities. The sun was shining down on the ground this cool, breezy morning. The smell of bread baking from the nearby bakery permeated the immediate area. The smell of breakfast cooking could be smelled from the next house. The police showed up a few days later after Tammy had not shown up or even contacted her work. After calling and knocking on the door, the police had been able to obtain a search warrant. It was strange that the woman who one of the neighbors had seen arrive home slightly before 9:00 p.m. the night before did not answer the door. Her car was in the driveway and there were no indications that somebody had broken into the house. The fact that she did not answer the door was a cause of a mild amount of concern. The neighbors were somewhat concerned that there may be a problem with one of their friends and neighbors. Maybe something had happened. Maybe some kind of terrible accident had happened. A locksmith unlocked the door for them and they entered. They shouted to see if anybody was home. They toured the small, one-bedroom apartment and came to the alarming sight in the kitchen. Next to a broken glass of scotch she was lying on the floor. There was no blood and there were no signs of struggle, however, a lifeless body of a young woman in her mid-twenties laid on the floor. The coroner later that week released a report. “Inexplicable death,” was how it was recorded. There were no bruises, there was no blood, and there were no signs of struggle. She was not a victim of a heart-attack or any sort of foul play. “Inexplicable death,” was all that could be said.

"A Meaningless Life"

• Inspired by … “Desperado” by The Eagles

The barroom lights were low.  He came in here early after work, as he did every night.  The faces were familiar, yet daunting.

“What will it be tonight?” the barmaid asked him with a smile on her face.  She had seen him here very often lately. 

“I finished up college around here, a couple years ago,” he told her once.  “I’ve been trying to settle myself here since I graduated.”

She thought he was an especially good looking guy, but very quiet.

“I’ll start out with a Budweiser,” he politely asked the barmaid.

“It will be right up,” she told him.  She reached under the counter and handed him a bottle of beer.

“Do you want me to put it on your tab like I always do?” she asked him automatically. 

He came here often and he didn’t say much, but he was always a good tipper and she always appreciated that.

As she handed him his bottle of beer, he put a dollar on the table as a tip.

The music was playing in the background.  It was a song he knew and sometimes enjoyed, but as he typically would, after he ordered his first beer he went to the jukebox and put five dollars in to play an assortment of his favorite music.

He listened intently to the music as he vaguely paid attention to the conversation the guy on the next stool started.

The conversation was dull and routine as it always was at the bar.  He didn’t come to meet any women, or to meet up with any friends, he came to the bar simply so he wouldn’t have to spend the evening alone. 

The music continued to play in the background.

As he sat at the bar, he would often contemplate his life.  He was still very young, shortly out of college, but it seemed that he had missed out on a lot in his life.  Not that he could think of what to call it, but he had a vague impression that his life lacked passion.   Even in college, he showed up to class and did his homework, but he never put any actual effort into it.  His social life seemed to be lacking and he was unable to make close friends or have any sort of special relationship with a woman.  The monotony consumed him.

The music continued to play in the background.

“What do you think?  Will Seattle win The Superbowl again next year?” one of the patrons asked the group of friends. 

It was not football season yet, but much of the barroom conversation existed of talking about football and talking about women.

Justin, eager to discuss football because it was one of the topics he actually knew something about, rebutted.  He said, “I think the team that has the best shot of going all the way this year is Green Bay.  If Aaron Rodgers stays healthy and the running game continues from where it left off last year, I think they can beat any team in the league.”

It was mundane conversation, yet it seemed to break the nothingness in his life. 

Every weekend, more often than not, he would come to this same bar; he didn’t have any friends, but it was better than time spent alone.

The barmaid listened intently to the three men discussing football.  Not a football fan, Rebecca, enjoyed the conversation that served as mild amusement while she worked.

“Could I have another beer?” Justin asked the barmaid.

“You just ordered that first beer five minutes ago,” she told him as she handed him another Budweiser.  “If you keep it up, you aren’t going to find your way home tonight.”  The modest flirtation lifted Justin’s mood for a brief moment.

He, once again, put another dollar on the counter as a tip for the beer.

The music continued in the background.

The conversation in the barroom continued as the three patrons’ inebriation grew.  They discussed football and baseball.

“I would like to see The Dodgers do something this year, but I just don’t think it is going to come together.”

“I am interested in what The Cowboys will do in the offseason,” another of the patrons said.  “There offense was excellent last year and I think it is only going to get better.  I’m interested to see if they make some key moves on their defensive team.”

The barmaid cut into the conversation, “Any of you want another beer?” she asked the three men.

All of them vigorously nodded and she laid a beer down for each of them.  Justin put another dollar on the table and thanked the barmaid.

The music continued in the background. 

Justin thought of the chances of something meaningful that could happen in his life.  He thought of the void in which his life was now engulfed.

One of Justin’s fellow patrons, absorbed with his own typical drunkenness said to him, “What’s wrong buddy, something wrong with that beer?  Let me buy you another one.”

Justin gave a painful grimace which was all that was needed to disguise the solitude of his soul.

“One more beer for my friend,” he asked the barmaid. 

Justin looked into the mirror and kept drinking his beer as his two compatriots continued their own conversation.

His morbidity was well hidden, all of Justin’s compatriots thought Justin was having a good time.  Oblivious, the people who Justin considered to be strangers all considered Justin to be a friend.

The hours passed and the three friends got drunker and drunker.  The music continued to play in the background and Justin listened more intently to the music than his two friends.    His stone-cold drunkenness covered the blur in his mind.  Shortly after 1:00 in the morning, it was time for Justin to go home now. 

“Could you call me a cab? He politely slurred to the barmaid.

She grabbed the phone under the counter and dialed up a cab.

“It will be here in about fifteen minutes,” she said to him.  “Are you o.k.?” she asked slightly concerned with his level of drunkenness that was a little bit more than typical today.  “Do you want another beer while you are waiting for your cab?”

In a drunken stupor he thanked her.  He paid his tab leaving an extra five dollars for a tip.

As he walked out the door he the patrons wished him a good night and said, “See you tomorrow night, buddy.” 

The barmaid, not inflicted by the same drunkenness, looked upon Justin as he left.  She, although not

interested in the man, felt some level of empathy in a quiet understanding of the real reasons he was drinking.  She brushed it off along with a tear which almost welled up in her eye.

During the ride home in the cab, Justin, too drunk to sit up, nearly passed out in the back of the cab.

He arrived home, paying the cab driver his fair and a tip.  He went into his one room apartment and fell asleep immediately. 

Another day would end as it did before.  Another morning would start in a similar fashion.

"A Blessed Day"

• ·         inspired by … “Lord have mercy on the working man” by Travis Tritt

“5:30 in the morning; time to get out of bed.”

Miserably tired, Steven must face another day.  It was Thursday, with only two work days left until he could enjoy the weekend and get some sleep.

Working with the union at the automobile factory, the work was hard, but the pay was good.

First thing that he did after he awoke was to walk into the kitchen and make a pot of coffee.

Savoring every sip, he looked out into the yard and noticed the sun coming up through the leaves on the trees.

“No breakfast this morning, there wouldn’t be time.”

He finished his second cup of coffee to go upstairs and shower before work. 

His wife and children were still sleeping.  His wife, Penelope, would be awake very soon to make the kids breakfast before they went to school.

Penelope was sleeping and Steven felt the familiar warmth of love in his heart as he looked upon her. 

He went into the bathroom and shaved and brushed his teeth before showering. 

It was still very early.  He had to be to work no later than 8:00 o’clock and traffic was always bad.

Steven finished shaving.  In the mirror, he noticed the dark circles under his eyes.  Brushing his teeth, he contemplated the new day.

The monotonous nature of his work created a mundane routine in his life.  He had co-workers and some friends at the factory, but every day at work he kept an eye on the clock waiting for the bell to ring and for it to reach the time to clock out and go home. 

He was good at his job and had received a number of promotions over the years which now placed him as a stationary foreman in his sector.  He was in charge of over twenty men and enjoyed the latitude his placement allowed.

As he drove to work this morning, traffic was heavy on the freeway.  He stopped at a donut shop on the way, as he often did, to grab a glazed donut and a cup of coffee.  The familiar faces were welcoming.

He picked out his donut and asked for a large coffee as the clerk wished him a good morning and sent him on his way.

As he continued his journey to work, he listened to the news station on the radio.  The newsman discussed the situation in TheUkraine in a daunting manner.  It seemed that many were worried about the ramifications that might result from the crisis. 

As for Steven, he didn’t let it bother him much.   He figured that the situation would take care of itself and that everything would turn out right.

Baseball season was going to start soon.  “I’m betting on the Yankees,” he thought to himself.

Steven changed the station.  In another fifteen or twenty minutes he would arrive at work.  Right now he felt like listening to some music on the radio.

One of his favorite songs started playing on the radio.

“How come you never call me sugar, baby?  How come you never call me sweetie, honey?”

He almost began singing along to the catchy lyrics, but chose not to because of his insecurities about his own singing abilities.

Yet, the song playing on the radio immediately lightened his spirits and made the impending day seem less intimidating. 

Arriving to work, he had a parking space reserved.  It seemed like a minor convenience, but it made his trivial day more accommodating.  On salary, he still needed to clock in every morning.  They said it was a matter of bookkeeping or something.  But, it was no matter to him.  He got paid the same regardless of showing up ten minutes early or fifteen minutes late.

“Good morning, Steven,” one of the workers greeted.

“Good morning, Bob,” Steven retorted.

As the crew arrived each of them would meet in the lobby to enjoy one more cup of coffee before they got ready for the new work day to begin.  Welcoming each other with smiles, it brought camaraderie to the floor of the factory. 

Most of the employees arrived around 8:00 in the morning, but their work didn’t begin until about 9:00.  They were all very familiar with their jobs and were quite good at it. 

They all shared similar routines, in which Steven was the boss.  If there was some sort of problem with the equipment, Steven was in charge of getting it fixed.  If it were time for a break or anything else of that nature, it was Steven’s call. 

The only change to the routine was when there was a new worker and Steven was in charge of training the new employee to do their job.

The repetitive nature of the work allowed a break for lunch in which they all would gather in the cafeteria to share a meal with one another.   The food was surprisingly good for an automobile factory’s cafeteria and it kept the workers in good morale.

The day would continue after lunch.  Between 1:00 and until 5:00 they would continue with their work.  The work day would slow down after lunch, with many of the workers letting their lethargy get the better of them.

The hours past and it was time to conclude the work day.  Steven, as foreman, alerted the crew around 4:30 that it was near time to clock out and go home.  The workers, skilled in their routine, would shut down the equipment and return excess supplies to the storage area.

Today, like every other day, 5:00 finally arrived.  The work bell rang as the workers were finishing their work. 

It was time for Steven to go home to his wife and children to spend precious time with them which was all-too rare.

Driving up that Thursday evening, traffic was bad as it always was.  He listened to the news on the radio.  It looked like they had finally tracked that missing plane.  However, it didn’t seem like much of a success since there probably would be no survivors.  For some reason, the newscaster seemed more optimistic about it then Steven did.

Baseball season was starting soon.  “Boston could give the Yankees a run for it this year,” he thought to himself.

He changed the station on the radio to listen to some more music. 

“George Jones, George Strait, and Jason Alean; Jukebox heroes, that’s all that they are.  But, when they play those sad-drinking songs, my heart can’t help but sing along.”

“When Alan Jackson sings, ‘Midnight in Montgomery’ and Tim McGraw sings ‘The Ride’, the songs of Hank Williams take hold of my memory.”

He continued his drive home.  Penelope would surely by ready to serve dinner when he arrived home.

After a hard day’s work, he could not help but have a smile on his face.  The work was physical and monotonous, but it allowed him to share the grace of living with his wife and a happy family.

As he parked in his driveway, a brighter smile appeared on his face.  He opened the door, only to be greeted by his wife.  Once again he realized how much he loved her and how much he always would.

His family sat down to share dinner.  It was him, his wife, and his two daughters.  They shared an expertly crafted dinner prepared with care by his wife.  It was fettuccini alfredo with lemon-herb chicken and garlic bread.

As they sat down together to enjoy their dinner, he realized how much happiness the monotonous routine of family life meant to him.  He had a good job, he had a beautiful wife that loved him and that he loved, and he had two children who he adored.

He blessed the day only to wait for another.