2022 Creativity Project – April 3

Scares Out There

My dad worked on the equipment which compacted the waste that came into the landfill adjacent to one of the big metropolitan cemeteries. I accompanied him to work often.

I never claim to understand my life; I have, with some effort, come to accept most of it.

There were always odd interactions with machines. Most of them drew scant attention because they happened with other people present. These things are still a blight upon my life and have grown worse with the advent of technology.

The first time one of the dozers parked on the cemetery access lane cranked itself up as I walked by was a bit unnerving. The more times it happened, the less it could be explained as unrelated to my presence.

At the time, I wondered if some friendly residents were protesting my driving in the cemetery as I learned how. I never ran off the lanes or drove exceedingly fast, avoiding all processions. If a tent was over an open grave, I did not go near that area. So, I think it improbable I was disturbing anyone’s peace.

The colossal mausoleum, which looked like a gothic castle, fascinated me. I wanted to see how brave I was. I asked the caretaker of the building if a few friends and I could come about an hour before dark and stay until 3 am. I never dreamed he would say, “Why not? Just don’t break anything or leave any trash.”

I was the only girl in our Dungeons & Dragons group, so securing this little adventure stood to raise my cred. The thing I never expressed to anyone beforehand was that I was beyond terrified. This was when I was sixteen, and I had been reading some superb horror and science fiction ever since I left the children’s section in the library.

I always had an overactive imagination, plus I believed in ghosts.
When the evening arrived, the guys came with machetes, drinks, and snacks. There was a staff or two in evidence, as well. I brought flashlights, enough for the group. I never met a flashlight I was unwilling, given the opportunity, to possess.

When we entered the building, it was brightly lit. No sweat, everyone was okay. I walked down a corridor and had steps following close, so I thought one of the gang was there. When I turned around to invite them up beside me, no one was in sight. Creepy.

When the lights went down, I began to notice echoes. Everything we did was mirrored in sound. The thing that almost sent my courageous friends and me scurrying for the doors; when we were perfectly quiet and motionless, we could hear ourselves moving around engaged in novel conversations.

I wanted to go up in the attic; I mean, when would I ever have others to go with me? We climbed the corkscrew stairs up to the top floor. It was strange; there were barrels and boxes stacked everywhere. Some had food labels, and some had poison labels. The government seemed to have hijacked this space for disaster supplies. I did not like the idea of foodstuffs and weapons stockpiled so nearly together.

We started back downstairs with me near the rear. I noticed the guys had made a half-circle at the bottom. When I hit the floor, the one behind me pushed me forward, and all the rest made growling sounds and reached out for me. You may understand; I screamed and left the building like a Pomeranian with its ears on fire.

I almost drove home and left them there. I could have in good conscience. It would have served them right. I made them think so; I started the Cadillac and headed for the gated entrance. They were running to catch the car. I have half a heart that functions, so I unlocked the doors and let them in.

There is another mausoleum story, but I think it is for a later date.

Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Thoughts Amassed

Rathadorn’s Bane

It had come to this, finally, and the ending was near. Trenton, Samuel, and Zonal took significant damage and became disarmed. The paladin and cleric began to say prayers to their Maker. The fighter, thinking he lost enough blood, believed himself delusional.

He watched Ellen, the bard, closely. She set her harp and bow aside. Both were useless, nearly unrecognizable; the dragon’s talons had their way. Zonal could not believe or understand what he saw.

Ellen stood only yards from the cruel beast. She had a small black notebook in her left and what must be a ruby pen in her right hand. He could not imagine writing poetry or songs in this dread situation. He had marked the bard as a unique character, but she must recognize the danger to them all. What could she be thinking?

The gigantic dragon shifted its weight upon its priceless bed of treasure, which included golden coins that scattered and clinked. The dragon’s richly furnished hoard was collected over many lifetimes of humanity.

Ellen stood exposed, writing, glancing at the human-killer occasionally, probably checking that it remained relaxed. Zonal guessed she wrote more than one page. He was aware that a bard might be akin to a mage. There was no prior evidence of this in their adventuring.

As she wrote, the notebook covers began to give off an ebon glow, and the pages lit her face with a creamy shine. The dragon growled like nearby thunder and shifted its dinosaur-like head in the bard’s direction.

She made a few additional notations and put the ruby pen in a pocket. She straightened her robes and seemed to stand straighter. Her emerald eyes almost sparked as she entirely focused on the dragon, Raptadorn.

She began to speak in her clear melodious tones:

“I stand before you honored Raptadorn, a bard of lesser renown, Ellen Whitskiene. I have heard your exploits and famous legends of the many humans you have removed from living lands.

Now, if I may but bring your attention to the fact that you grow less ferocious and decline into age. It is not my place to force you, but I think you must agree; it is time you retired into a pleasant secluded place. There no one would disturb your restful peace.

My friends and I shall take command of your hoard of money and rare items, which you may sign over as our reward. We will then refrain from killing you. We will make sure all you leave we competently disburse, so you need to suffer no remorse or lingering regret.”

Zonal could not believe this wisp of a woman was a bard powerful enough to enchant the deadly dragon. He watched Rathadorn as Ellen spoke when he could draw his eyes from her. All during the speech, the beast grew smaller. The creature, reduced in size, had humanoid proportions. Her voice seemed a melody. Zonal could almost remember the tune, but it was the most beautiful ever. He decided incredible magic was in play but was it the book or the words she said?

Where did this notebook and ruby pen originate? He concluded Ellen was no rookie bard. How had she hidden herself and the truth away?

The dragon becomes an aged man with an ivory staff and walks confidently over to Ellen. She retrieved her pen, placed it in Rathadorn’s hand, and held the notebook for his signature. After the elegant script swirled onto the page, she looked into his golden eyes and said, “Go now in peace, Rathadorn, and trouble the world and humankind no more.”

Zonal, Samuel, and Trenton watched as what was once a fearsome and magnificent dragon turned into a pure gold mist then disappeared.

Ellen looked at her companions and said, “Well, we have to rid this place of all the signs of dragon lair and treasure hoard quickly. Our trucks stand by; we have maybe a half-hour before the androids discover what we have done.”

The three look at one another and, in unison, say, “What? What just happened?”

Sunday

It was Sunday again. She knew not because she could follow days, but because after feeding the chickens, Auntie insisted she take a bath.

It was a new thing, bathing herself alone; she was only a small girl.

Life was different now. Her Mama had gone away to someplace far, called Florida. Daddy said she would never be back.

Auntie had come to live in the little house because she was a widow- woman, alone. Sometimes she seemed strange with her black clothes and strict rules. She knew things like no one else did. People sent for her when someone was sick, or babies came, or people left this living.

She was mean at times, telling the little girl, “If you don’t behave, your Mama woman will come and take you away from here, and you will see your Daddy no more.” Tears and sobs would torment Hope because she loved her Daddy and Bubba more than all the things, including her one baby doll. She had night terrors of being snatched by the bad woman and taken away.

After she bathed in the tub of cold well water, Auntie pushed her dress, underwear, and shoes into her arms. She was careful in putting them on just right because Auntie was handy with a switch.

Soon Daddy, dressed in black, except his white shirt and the gray tie he wore, said it was time to begin the long walk to the church. It was dry now, so the road threw up little spurts of red dust as they strode along.

When they reached the bridge over the creek, Hope cried and wrapped herself, best she could around her Daddy’s legs; he could keep her safe from the harm of falling or being taken away.

Daddy reached down and effortlessly took her in his arms. Since the child could walk, she had been terribly afraid of falling through the cracks in the bridge. Now it was compounded by nightmares and his sister’s stories her mother might step out of the woods and steal her.

Auntie screeched, “You should put that child down and make her walk. You are spoiling her. She will turn out to be no good at all.”

Daddy looked at her, saying, “But she is only three, and she needs to learn love is a safe place, a safe person, she can trust when she is frightened. Hush up now; you are not the one supporting her weight. She is my precious Hope; she has lost a lot, it is okay that I carry her. Mind yourself, don’t be so cold-hearted.”

I rarely tell stories, this one is based on reality. The little girl is my Mom.

Spectacular Indifference

Sometimes Colleen wanted more than her quiet life, tucked away on the edge of reality. The music she loved, songs she sang led her to believe the world was full of love. Her experience of it had been ages ago.

Men looked through her, chasing more exotic women. Men consulted Colleen for advice but seldom noticed her. Deep need never disappeared, but she was not in the proper place or time.

Once or twice, a man engaged her in conversation; most never caught her availability because she failed to flaunt it. Other women beguiled those who missed seeing her vibrance.

I meant it to be a Drabble; it did not quite work out. I have stories that refuse to conform to one hundred words.

I wrote this in my journal. It shifted a bit, as most things transposed do. I suppose I should chase the story, maybe one day.

I hope you have enjoyed your visit to Haphazard Creative. The follow button is available, or you might come back when you have time. I hope the holiday season is bringing you cheer. After 2020 I think all of us need some sparkle and love.