Sarah Flanigan - Poetry Simply Put

The doorbell rings
and I find
scattered
rose
petals
scribbled with words.

copyright 2008

Tags: original poetry, secrets

Captured the mind?
that constantly
ticks and
scratches
with pulse and pen
a furtive eye
sanguine wit
reStless soul

The thought ejects itself
like a factory second
and explodes into
laughter
splattering against the wall

And then it plays
the tune again
a silly ditty
that repeats over
and over in my mind
until I’d rather hear
teeth grating tin foil
‘til I’d rather be herding
cats in a tornado

But above the roar it
plays
and plays some more
and I daren’t wonder
at its truth
or its eyes
and can only be
a-Mused
until the music ends (will it?)

copyright 2008

Tags: a mused, catching rain, original poetry

 (The following story is a joint effort by Sarah Flanigan and Jess Em. We hope you enjoy it.)

The mean summer sun burned a hole in the sky and glared down at me. Mocking and relentless. Grimacing, I turned the key in the ignition and heaved a breath of surrender.The journey to Monday morning dread had begun and I navigated the streets on autopilot.

The weekend was never long enough, nor the work week short enough. Dread was my only friend and confidant there and it whispered in my ear, “Turn back. Go home.” I turned the music up louder. I still heard my dread whimper and whine but pretended to sing along.

My office building loomed over the tiny, surrounding shops and mimicked an architectural flip off. Or maybe it was just my attitude that colored it that way. Nothing like going to a job where you are feared and hated to get the bitter taste of resentment going and the stomach acid brewing.

The slowest elevator in the world is in my building, like the largely old world neighborhood in which it resides, it lumbers and groans with each effort to move forward.

Odd. An empty lobby at 8:58 a.m. A first. I glanced toward the street, through the open door, was there any traffic? “Dah-ding!” the elevator announced, and I moved inside like the good soldier. Each floor announced with a smaller, less significant ding. Top floor, end of the line. The doors opened like a pair of ancient elephants parting company.

The empty hallway smelled of grit and old ashtrays and people who were anti-deodorant. I reached for my keys but the door was already open. No doubt, one of my employees was trying to prove something or angling for a pay raise.

I pushed the door wide, my hand flat against the cool surface. “Morning,” I murmured but there was no one there. I ambled further into the belly of the beast. The staff kitchen was surely atwitter with discussions of dates, diets and bad television shows.

But in my approach, I heard no voices, smelled no coffee, felt no energy. “Why are all the lights off back here?” I groused when my knee hit the door jamb. A flick of the wrist and there was light but nothing else.

“Damned cleaning crew,” I muttered, realizing they’d left the door open. I checked the safe and the cash drawer but everything was as I’d left it the night before.

Urgent and shrill the phone rang and jolted me into the corner of my desk. “Crap!” I dove for the phone. “Good morning, Dr. Black’s office, may I help you?” The screech of a fax scratched at my eardrums and I slammed the phone down.

Where the hell was everybody? Why was it so quiet? I could almost believe I was the only person in the building.

Shrugging it off, I started a pot of coffee and poured a cup when it finished brewing. Astounded by my luck, I found some real half and half and watched the swirls it made in the hot, aromatic brew.

9:15 a.m. Still, no one had arrived. No one had called. Where were they? I turned on the radio while I prepared for the onslaught of patients that would pour through the door any minute. Helen Reddy sang, You and Me Against the World. Irony, I love it. I sang along while I executed the mundane chores of turning off voice mail, checking for messages - none? Printing off the appointments for the day.

Whoosh, the door opened. “Finally,” I said, craning my neck through the cashier’s window. “I was beginning to think . . . ” My words were sucked into a vacuum. No one there. Just an open door. I went through the adjoining door to the waiting room and crossed to the door to close it but felt compelled to look out into the hallway. No one. I stepped out. All the other doors were open but the offices were empty. The creepy-crawly feeling that hurried up my spine put my feet in motion and I retreated into the office. I locked the door behind me. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Stop it. Just call them. They are all late and that’s all that’s going on.” I lectured myself as I fumbled through my Rolodex for phone numbers. First I dialed the doctor. A recording said the number was disconnected. I dialed again. Same recording.

My chest tightened and I pushed down the panic that was trying to snake its way up my throat. “Calm down, will you?” I told myself. I dialed the next number. And the next. And the next. All of them were disconnected. What are the odds that every number I had written down was wrong? I dialed information. What else could I do? Oh come on, that number was disconnected too?

I gave up on the phone and regarded it suspiciously. “Am I being punked?” I looked around, smiling. “Okay, you can all come out now. Very funny. Come on! I’m onto you, no point in keeping up the charade.” I smiled and grinned. Of course, I was on Candid Camera or something. They were playing a joke on me and were watching all of it from a video van on the street.

I poured myself another cup of coffee and went back to my desk. They’d wander in shortly, thinking they had done something funny. “Screw them,” I said and turned on my computer. I clicked on my email but nothing came up. Strange. No email, again? “Servers must be down.” I clicked on my homepage, again nothing came up. Not even an error page. Nothing. As though there was no Internet.

I eyed the clock - 10 a.m., still no one. Still, the utter quiet. I’d had enough. I didn’t know what was going on but I was leaving. Maybe it was a holiday or they’d gone to a party without me but I was damned if I was going to sit there all day by myself. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. My hand closed on the doorknob but it wouldn’t turn. Thud, went my heart. Oh right, I’d locked it. I released the deadbolt. Still, the handle wouldn’t turn. “What the hell?” I twisted at the knob, banged my fists on the door. “Hey, let me out! Hey, is anybody out there? Hello? Hey!”

But no one was and now I was trapped inside. My brain buzzed. I was suddenly hot and felt sweat trickle down my back and under my arms. My pulse raised and panic nagged at my insides. I made myself breathe. The door was just stuck or something. There was no diabolical plot in play. I let out a breath, counted to ten and tried the door again, but slowly. It turned. I pulled it open. No one there. No one in the hallway. I locked the door behind me and headed for the stairs.

As I descended each flight of stairs, I tried to rationalize everything. Where the hell could they all be? Why was no one in the building? Why hadn’t I seen one person since my arrival?

I reached the parking level to the staff lot and pushed through the door. The lot was empty. Empty! There really wasn’t anyone there but me. I had to duck under the barricade at the driveway to get through because, surprise, that wasn’t working either. I felt relieved that I’d parked on the street. I don’t know why I decided to, I just did. Lucky for me, I thought.

I walked and it was just me and the birds. There was not one car on the road. Not one. Not one person on the street but me. The panic started screaming in my head again, and it was screaming for me to run. Run!

My feet flew and I was at my car panting and looking around as though the boogie man would jump out and snatch me away to the dark planet. I unlocked the door and got inside, turned the ignition and pulled away. The streets were like the building, eerily empty. As though all the life had been sucked out of the area. Every light I hit was green. There was no traffic. For twenty minutes I drove, apparently the only car in the entire city, traveling.

Finally, I pulled into my drive. I was home and my panic fell away. I knew if I just could get inside the house, all the nonsense would disappear. I got out of the car on rubbery legs. The key turned the lock and I opened the door. Cool air rushed at me from the dark cavern within.

“Sparky?” I called my dog. She hadn’t come running to the door to welcome me. I walked into the livingroom. I whistled. “Here, girl!” I went to the patio door and looked out to the yard. Empty. Just green grass and the Mimosa tree, swaying in the hot breeze.

There was no point in looking further. The house was empty, even I didn’t seem to occupy the space. I was alone. I was completely alone. In my house. Maybe in the world. What cruel trick was God playing on me?

Breathe. In, out, in out. Bring air into my body, think, breathe out. Don’t panic. Think. That is what I told myself. It worked for a moment. Try the home phone, try my cell phone, turn on the television - see if anything works.

No phone, no cell. A vortex of empty sound buzzed across the phone lines. The silence screamed. This couldn’t be real. Unless . . . it was them.

I went into the kitchen for a glass of water, and I heard it - the light tapping at the back door. Incessantly tap, tap, tap, tap, tap-rhythmically, never stopping, tapping lightly in tune with the breeze. But there was no breeze. The air was thick beyond anything I had ever known. No life, no wind, no sound. What happened to all the sound? Nothing except the tapping at the back door.

I knew what it was. I’d heard it only once before, in a time and place that still haunted my dreams, my worst nightmares. The tapping meant they had come. They found me, they knew me, and they were waiting.

I went out the back door, pulled down the line spliced between the roofing tiles, and disconnected it from the lintel at the back door. They would know, soon. But it didn’t matter anymore.

Panic skittered up my spine, my fingers shaking; I went into my bedroom and pulled up the floorboard, for inside was the small box I knew they wanted. The box! If I destroyed the box, the air would come back. The people would come back. Everything would be okay again, nothing lost. “Remember - if this comes into the wrong hands all is lost. There are many who would destroy that which we protect for what is inside this small rectangular container. Never, never let it go to them.”

Fire, air. Together they would eradicate the life inside the box. The life that was destroying the very essence of everything. They wanted it, for it would give them the power. I had to let the others know, but didn’t know how. Except - if I died, they’d know why.

Fire, air. Pure air. I needed pure air. I could make fire, but pure air, without the taint of exhaust and pollutants, no residue. I had a plant, a small umbrella tree, but it would work.

Voices -outside my house, my little home where I felt safe. Where I should have been safe. Sweat beaded on my back, my heart pounded so hard I was sure they could hear it. How did they find me? Were there any others still alive? Time stopped in this farce, this fevered moment in which I questioned my sanity, my being. I heard the voices. And I knew they had come for me.

I took the box, and the matches to the plant, and hurried to strike the match and set the box aflame. I heard them, the voices coming louder and louder from inside the box, and outside the house, and I knew they were close - too close. I had to stop them, destroy it, before they destroyed all.

As the air sucked into the fire, it grew hotter and hotter, crackling away the edges of the box, the plant, the table, and the curtains. The flames licked up the walls of my house, and I knew I should leave, run, but it was my debt to see the box destroyed. To make sure it died - completely destroyed. I felt the fire growing hotter, larger, coming closer, and I had won. As the smoke thickened, my eyes blurred, I lay down to my last moments on earth, and savored my victory over them. And I heard them scream. I had won. The darkness closed around me and, I smiled. The box was destroyed.

I slipped into the blackness.

copyright Sarah Flanigan & Jess Em 2007

“I am but a lonely hunter; searching true for what is mine. I do not desist in my quest because I cannot. Forward, I am impelled, not by desire but by fate. Not by yearning but instinct. Do you hear me? Does my voice reach the inner chambers of your mind?” Maggie looked up from her paperback and scanned the crowded bus with her eyes. No one looked in her direction or met her gaze, yet she was certain someone had spoken to her.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and exhaled deeply as if it would cool her off. She looked down at her chubby arms and protruding stomache with dismay. “It’s the weight,” she thought to herself. “If I weren’t so damned fat I wouldn’t sweat so much.”

The man next to her gave her a sidelong glance and moved further against the window and away from her.

Had she said the words out loud? Or was he as repulsed by her body as she was?

“I am a lonely hunter,” the voice said again.

She looked around sharply, certain this time someone was playing a cruel joke. As people had done all her life. Speaking when she wasn’t looking. Making derisive comments when they thought she couldn’t hear. But she did hear, all of them, every time they were uttered. But on this bus, there didn’t seem to be the least interest in her from anyone. She craned her neck to see and found herself staring into frosty grey eyes. “What are you looking at?” the teen-aged girl asked.

“I thought you said something to me,” Maggie mumbled.

“Why would I say anything to you? I don’t talk to fat pigs,” the girl snorted, causing the earring in her nose to nearly climb her nostril.

Maggie turned away, red-faced and fighting tears.

The bus driver called out her stop and she rose as gracefully as she could though she knew she looked like a pregnant cow and everyone was looking at the fat lady trying to keep her balance as the bus came to a halting stop.

Sweat popped out on her forehead and under her nose, beneath her blouse she could feel it running down her sides from her armpits.

With as much grace as she could muster, she waddled up the aisle to the exit, smiled briefly at the bus driver and got off the bus.

The sky was bright with afternoon sunshine and though she squinted against the light it raised her morale. She made the two-block walk home slow and easy. She smiled at the little children she passed, as they played and giggled. She stopped at a small flower shop and bought herself a bouquet of flowers. She was tempted to stop and get a quart of her favorite ice cream, but instead bought a big bag of fresh fruit. She told herself she would have a fruit salad for dinner and go for a walk afterward. Though she knew she would probably only go as far as the corner market and get the ice cream anyway.

“You are my fate, my destiny…” the voice resounded in her mind.

She shook her head, chasing the voice from her consciousness. She took out her keys and entered her apartment. It cheered her every time she saw it. She had decorated it herself and it was to her, the most beautiful place on Earth.

She turned on some music, went to the kitchen, took out a bowl, a knife and a cutting board and began to slice up her fruit for her salad.

She hummed along to the music and her heart was light for a moment.

“Maggie, do not reject me,” the voice whispered in her ear.

She startled on the sound, causing the apple she was slicing to slide off the cutting board onto the floor. She turned and saw she was alone.

“It must be the heat,” she told herself. “I need a shower. I’m hot and tired.”

She put her salad in the refrigerator to chill and went into the bathroom. She turned on the shower and stepped under the cool water. She closed her eyes and imagined herself, slim and beautiful, being washed slowly and sensually by her lover. His golden skin against hers, his hands caressing her with water and lather. She could smell him, feel his breath against her neck, his erection against her buttocks, she nearly swooned from the magic of the moment.

The water became suddenly cold, her eyes popped open and she found herself alone and shivering. She stepped carefully out of the shower, she was shaking so she was afraid she would slip and fall.

She towelled off, her back to the mirror, ashamed of her body of lax flesh and cellulite. “You are so beautiful,” the voice was like liquor reaching into her nervous system and soothing her. She pretended not to hear him, not feel his presence. She told herself it was the depression speaking, that she must get her mood elevator prescription renewed.

“Open your eyes,” the voice was right behind her, the breath warm and sweet. “Look into the mirror,” he coaxed her.

She gave in and turned, afraid but determined. She would look into the mirror, eyes opened wide and defy her ghosts. She stood upright, threw back her shoulders and dared the reflection to make her afraid. A gasp escaped her lips when she took in the reflection that looked back. She was thin, beautiful, sensual; she saw herself as she really was, inside.

But most shocking was that she was not alone; the man of her fantasies stood behind her, glorious in his nakedness. He smiled at her.

“Who are you?” she stammered.

“I am yours,” he responded his breath so near it seemed to come out of her.

“No,” she shook her head, “I’m imagining this. You aren’t real.”

“Then turn around, Maggie, and see that I am real,” he had a hypnotic effect on her.

She obeyed his command without thinking. He told the truth, he was still there, not just a reflection of the mirror or her mind. She reached out her hand and it met with flesh, young and sinewy, warm and carnal. “I can feel you,” she whimpered.

“And I can feel you,” he caressed her cheek. “We are not lost any more, we are found, we are, as we should be, one.”

She fell into his embrace and wept. “I have waited so long for you to come back,” she whispered. “Where have you been? Why have you waited so long to return to me?”

He did not speak. His lips sought hers, his fingertips caressed her back, found their way to her buttocks and thighs. You could think of nothing but giving herself over to his passion and control. “Yes,” she murmured as his lips moved down her body, and brought her to ecstacy. Better than her dreams, her fantasies, he answered her.

***

“All done here,” the M.E. said to the EMT.

The EMT nodded and zipped up the body bag. He paused and looked back to the M.E. “Hey Doc, what do you think killed her?”

The M.E. shrugged. “Heart attack?”

“But she died with a smile on her face.”

The M.E. scratched at his stubble. “Maybe she was so happy it stopped her heart.”

copyright 2006

She stared at the computer screen. It glared and burned holes in her eyes. On her desk were numerous reference books describing methods of murder, mayhem, body disposal and real-life accounts of atrocities most people are better off not knowing, but upon which she thrived. She was a mystery writer. Murder mysteries, of course. Samantha Smith.

Sam crushed out a cigarette in the overflowing ashtray and pondered whether one could really do damage with a dashboard cigarette lighter. Sam flirted with the idea while her killer paced and screamed from her monitor. “Hey! What the fuck I’m gonna do? Torture her with the lighter in my car or do I get a Zippo? A real man’s weapon?”

“Hey, will you snap out of it?” a voice from the real world yanked her head in another direction.

Sam’s heart braked. She focused on Erica, her best friend. “Jesus Christ, Erica! “Don’t do that! How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me?” Sam raked her hands through her fine, blond hair.

Erica wore the expression of a cat who has found the fish tank unattended. “I didn’t sneak up on you, darling. I simply walked in. Is it my fault that you’re so absorbed in whatever murder you’re plotting that you’ve gone deaf?”

“All right,” Sam smiled, “I guess I’m happy for the distraction.” Her villain’s carping, a tiny voice in her head now. She lit another cigarette and looked around for the cup of coffee she’d brought into her office hours before. “Are we having lunch or something? Did I forget again?”

Erica shook her head and thumbed through one of Sam’s reference books. “Mmmm, The Poison Cookbook. That should make for some interesting recipes.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Just dropped in to say, hello.” Erica purred.

Sam took the book away from Erica and put it aside. She admired Erica’s long, red fingernails and pictured her at home in a novel about murder and deceit. She’d make a perfect murderess; beautiful, intelligent and manipulative. Sam let the idea dance in her head. A definite possibility for her next female villain. Sam smiled in that writer way as the wheels turned. Click, click.

Erica tensed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Sam asked.

“Like you’re wondering if I have a gun in my garter belt,” Erica snapped.

“Am I, darling? I’m sorry. Really I was just thinking . . . about my story. You know how preoccupied I can get.”

When Sam looked at her that way, Erica felt Sam could read her thoughts. It pissed her off. She fidgeted with the clasp on her designer handbag. “Don’t lie to me, I know you were thinking something.”

Sam laughed. “You’re right. I was thinking . . . I was thinking what a good murderess you would make.” Erica went white. “Don’t get upset, I don’t mean literally . . . I mean for one of my stories, you know?” Erica’s eyes went icy. Sam hurried to explain. “As a model, I mean. That you would make a good model for one of my villains . . . in a story . . . Oh come on, it’s a compliment really.” Sam found one, little spot in the ashtray to crush her cigarette.

Erica pulled herself together and smiled. “Oh,” she laughed. “Yes, I see. Well, thank you, I think.”

But Sam wasn’t listening, she routed around her desk for something. “Do you have a cigarette?” she asked. “I can’t find mine anywhere.”

Erica frowned. “You can’t find them because you smoked all of them”

“Do you have a cigarette?” Sam grumped.

Erica dug through her bag. “So tell me, what kind of killer would I be?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably clever.” She sat back in her chair and pondered it. “I think one with panache.”

Erica was delighted. “Oooh, with panche. Really, you think?”

Sam nodded and grinned. “Yes, definitely. It would be clever and unexpected. Your victim would trust you and never believe you would do anything to harm them.”

Erica smiled. “I would? How intriguing. Why would I kill? Would I have a reason, or would it just be for kicks?”

Sam liked the game and gave it thought. “Good question. No, you wouldn’t do it for the hell of it. You’d have a reason. Jealousy probably.”

Erica shook her head. “I would not.”

“Oh please, Erica, you know how jealous you are. Don’t you remember last summer? You thought Jim and I were carrying on behind your back? It took us weeks to convince you that your were mistaken”

Erica’s face clouded and she nodded. “Yes, I remember. Of course, I remember.” She found a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Sam. “Here’s your cigarette, darling.”

Sam snatched the smoke, lit it and took a deep drag. “Thank God!” She coughed. “Jesus, these are strong! What are they?”

“Poison, darling,” Erica smiled. “Pure poison.”

“Please, don’t start with the lectures again. I get enough of that crap from my mother. Besides, you smoke too.”

“Yes,” Erica nodded, “but in moderation. It’s not an addiction for me.”

Sam felt dizzy and put the cigarette in the ashtray. “I don’t feel right.”

Erica stroked Sam’s hair and patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, darling, it won’t last long. I read it right here in your lovely book. They say the pain doesn’t last long.”

Sam tasted betrayal. “What book? What do you mean?”

“I told you I wouldn’t stand for you and Jim carrying on. You think because I’m beautiful that I must be stupid?” She waved a polaroid of Sam and Jim in Sam’s face. “I know what you did.” Tears welled up in her eyes but she fought them. “Well darling, it’s all over now.”

Sam knew she would be dead in minutes. The world faded out of focus. Her mind screamed questions and defenses but she couldn’t voice them. Equilibrium deserted her. She lunged for Erica but she fell out of her chair to the floor.

Erica bent down and checked for a pulse. She smiled. “Bye, bye, darling.” She put out the burning cigarette in the ashtray and put the stub in her pocket. “You’re right darling, I am a clever murderess, aren’t I? Do you think Jim will be surprised too?” Samantha’s dead eyes stared up at Erica in shock. Erica shrugged. “I guess the Surgeon General is right. Cigarette smoking can be hazardous to your health.”

copyright 2006

Danny shoveled cereal into his mouth until he could hardly chew. He gulped his juice and tapped his foot.

“In a hurry for something?” Nora chided.

“No Mom,” the words garbled in a sea of cornflakes. He swallowed. “Just hungry. Real hungry.”

After breakfast, they did the dishes. Then they made the beds, dusted, vacuumed, went to the store and bought groceries and flashlights. Hours had passed by the time they finished. Danny fretted that Buddy was gone. Back to wherever he lived when he wasn’t peering from a mirror into Danny’s world.

Before the car stopped, Danny threw his door open, desperate to get out of his seat belt. “Slow down. Help me with the groceries,” Nora said.

“Aw Mom, gimme a break! You’ve been working me like a slave all day!” Danny groaned.

“You don’t look right,” she peered into his face and felt his forehead. “Are you coming down with something?”

Danny evaded her mother radar. “I’m okay, Mom.”

“Go take a nap,” she instructed.

“A nap?” He made a face.

“Go on. Upstairs for a nap.”

“Jeez, what’s a guy got to do to get a little respect around here?” He went to his room and waited. She’d check on him and he couldn’t sneak up to the attic until she did. He lay on his bed, counting the cracks in the ceiling, watching them change shape and dimension, turning them into faces, people and things.

When he roused, the sun was streaks in the scarlet sky. He sprang out of bed. Carefully, he cracked the door and listened for Nora. She spoke quietly, but he was so desperate to see Buddy that he didn’t wonder who the visitor was.

He sneaked the few steps to the attic and stole up the stairs. The darkness made him itch to turn on a light but he feared discovery more than the shadows, so he groped across the room. “Buddy? Buddy, you here? Come on, don’t be mad. She made me do all this stuff and then she made me lay down. Buddy?”

Danny leaned against the mirror, hoping it would force Buddy out, but it didn’t. Tears rolled down his cheeks but he didn’t care. He looked harder into the mirror but saw only his own sad face. He pressed harder and willed himself through to the other side. Suddenly he was looking down a long, dark hallway. His brain told him he was only leaning against a mirror. There was no Buddy, no hallway or shadows that took the shape of boys his own age. Nor wind whistling through the hall, calling his name. It was better to believe it was his imagination than to believe Buddy had deserted him.

Buddy appeared and motioned Danny to come in. Danny blinked. Buddy remained. He reached out to Danny, fingertips almost touching. Danny’s heart somersaulted. He couldn’t swallow. “I won’t pull away,” he promised himself. “No matter what!”

Buddy disappeared and reappeared, each time a little closer. Danny bit his lip and stretched his arm as far as he could. It snaked out into the hallway as if looking to attach itself to a body. He could feel Buddy’s breath, warm and moist on his face. Danny’s head pushed through the mirror into the hallway. He was half-in and half-out hoping his will could get him all the way there. Buddy took his hand and yanked him further inside. Other boys, like Buddy, appeared and began to chant. “Ally, ally, in for free, in for free, in for free . . . ”

“No!!!” Danny screamed. Fear stopped him from taking the final step. He couldn’t leave Nora all alone. She needed him.

Buddy and the boys vanished. Only Danny’s reflection occupied the mirror.

He shot down the stairs. “Never going back there again,” he said. The sadness of never seeing Buddy again engulfed him for a moment. “Can’t go back. Mom needs me more than you, Buddy.”

He closed the attic door and leaned against it to catch his breath. The murmurs from down stairs caught in his ears. “Who is she talking to?”

Though the creaking stairs announced his approach, they didn’t hear him. “Who is it?” he wondered and stepped to the living room entrance.

“I can’t,” Nora said. “I just can’t!”

Was she crying?

“But I want you to be safe,” said a man. A man? What man?

Danny peered into the room. Nora stood by the fireplace in the arms of a man Danny didn’t know. They kissed. Danny cringed.

“I know you love me,” he said.

“I do love you, David,” she cried. “I have to think of Danny. If Frank ever knew . . . he’d kill you!”

Danny burst into the room and ran at the stranger, David. “Leave her alone!” He punched at David. “Get your hands off my mother!”

Nora pulled Danny away. “Danny! It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”

Danny stopped and looked at her and then him. “Who is he?”

“His name is David,” she explained.

Danny made the connection. The fight. The departure. This house. He was sick with anger. “Is that why we came here?” he asked.

Nora touched Danny’s face. “No, Danny. That’s not why. We came here to be safe.”

“You said it was just you and me. Not him! Not anybody but us!” Danny wondered what other lies she’d told. “You lied! You’re a liar!”

“Danny . . . ”

“No!!!” He ran up the stairs, two at a time. Away from the footsteps behind him. “No, no, no!!!” He slammed his door and locked it

She rapped on his door urgently. “Danny!”

David, must have come because their voices whispered and didn’t come under his door. Danny waited and listened. The whispers stopped, footsteps moved away, the stairs creaked, silence.

Danny huddled on his bed and rocked himself. He chanted. “liar, liar, pants on fire…she’s a liar . . . ”

“That’s what I been trying to tell you,” Buddy said.

Danny raised his head. Hope came back to him.

“Stop pretending,” Buddy said, “you know where I am.”

Danny tiptoed to the bureau but paused just before he looked into the mirror.

“What’s the matter, you a scaredy cat?”

“No, I’m not!” Danny said and stepped before the mirror.

Buddy grinned back at him.

“How’d you do that? Don’t you live in the other mirror?” Danny asked.

“I live all kinds of places,” Buddy winked.

Danny nodded, ready to believe.

“No parents. No grownups. Nobody tells us what to do. Nobody chases us. Or lies to us.”

Danny narrowed his eyes at Buddy. “Truth?”

“Truth!” Buddy reached out his hand. “Come on. You don’t want to stay here anymore, do you?”

Danny didn’t but he still wasn’t sure. “What if I want to come back?”

“You won’t ever want to come back.” Buddy reached out his hand again. “I promise.”

Nora rapped at his door again. “Danny! Danny, open the door . . . honey? I can explain . . . ”

The betrayal renewed itself. Danny swallowed hard and reached for Buddy’s hand. The instant contact made him feel faraway and untouchable.

“Danny, do you hear me?” Her voice barely there.

Danny’s arm and shoulder were through and part of his other arm. The boys smiled and reached out for him.

“I’m coming in,” Nora said but he knew she’d never reach him.

He was in! Buddy and the boys gathered around, laughing, cheering, singing. “Danny’s here, Danny’s here. No more fear, Danny’s here!” His fears fell away and he was happy.

Nora turned the key in the lock and stepped into the room only to find a shattered mirror lying in shards on the floor. “Danny?” She searched under the bed, in the closet, even looked out the window to see if he hid on the ledge. “Where are you?”

Danny’s eyes appeared in one shard of glass, but she didn’t see. She thought she heard the sound of children laughing but couldn’t be sure.

“Where have you been?” Nora asked. Danny wondered how she was also able to appear at will.

Danny gasped. “Gee Mom, can’t a guy put on his pajamas in private?”

Nora smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t know you . . . minded.”

Danny buttoned his pajama shirt to the top button though it was too tight. “I do, Mom. I really do.” He climbed into bed. “I’m not a baby any more.”

She pulled the blankets up to his chin. “Does that mean I can’t tuck you in?” Her smile was a cocoon that made him feel safe. He wondered why his mother could be so good and his father so bad.

Danny touched Nora’s coffee-colored hair that hung past her shoulders. He blurted out the question that hovered between them. “Mom, are we getting a divorce?” He watched Nora’s face for a change of expression. Dread gnawed at him when none appeared.

Nora kissed him goodnight and moved to the door. “Don’t worry so much, son. Everything will be fine.” She closed the door behind her. Danny listened to her footsteps move away from the room and him.

_____________

Danny awoke with a stiff back and cold feet. Though the sun shined in his eyes, his body shivered. He reached for blankets that weren’t there. He sat up and leaned against the wall.Why was he in the attic? The cobwebs of his dreams dissolved and the real world came into focus. “What . . . ?”

“Bad dream, huh?” the mirror boy asked.

Danny averted his eyes. “I’m still dreaming.”

“Nope.”

Danny padded barefoot, across the cold, plank floor to the dingy mirror and studied the boy. “Who are you?”

“Buddy’s the name, fun’s the game.”

“Why are you here? Danny scowled. “This is a rotten place. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to.”

“Can’t help where you live.” Buddy lost his grin. “Been here a long time.”

“You’re a gho…you know a…are you?”

“Don’t know. Maybe. Never asked.” Buddy’s amber eyes lost their shine. “Want to be friends?”

Danny moved in closer and put his hand out but when Buddy reached back Danny jerked his hand away. Both jumped, then laughed.

“You scaredy cat,” Buddy teased.

I’m not scared,” Danny contended.”Surprised me, is all.”

“Want to come in?” Buddy reached again.

“In?”

“Come on! You’ll like it!” The mirror shifted and moved, becoming almost liquid. Buddy’s hand transformed into a mutant claw as it extended through the tarnished glass. Danny balked.

“Danny?” Nora called from the second floor.

“Up here, Mom,” Danny answered. His eyes remained on Buddy, afraid he might change if he looked away.

“Breakfast.” Her voice sounded wrong. He felt shadows over his shoulder but pushed them away.

“Coming.” He whispered to buddy. “Be back later. Wait for me?”

Buddy grinned. “Uh-huh. I can wait . . . for a while.”

copyright 2006 (to be continued…)

Like ghostly eyes, headlights emerged out of the fog, briefly blinding Danny before rushing by. Shivering, he pulled his parka around him.

“Are you cold, honey?” Nora, his mother asked.

In the sparse light of the dashboard, Danny saw the bruise that spread across her cheek, a final, painful gift from his father. He closed his eyes and images assaulted; Grownups screaming, a lamp smashed to the floor, angry engine revving as his mother called his name so urgently that walls seemed to shake. His father’s face flushed and pressed against the car window. Echo of tires squealing, brakes screeching. Then dark. Then nothing.

“You’re sure he won’t find us?”

“I’m sure.” Nora lowered her voice to keep it steady.

He touched his arm and remembered his own aching memento under his coat. “You don’t sound sure. What if you’re wrong?” Danny asked.

“I’m not wrong. He doesn’t want to find us.” Nora shifted her gaze from the road to Danny for a moment. “We’re safe, honey.”

Danny folded into his own world and pictured things that made him feel safe. Riding his bike through the early morning streets. A triple-scooped cone of rocky road. The way his mother’s nose crinkled when she laughed.

The car rolled to a stop. “This is it,” Nora murmured.

Through the window, Danny stared into the fog. A beach house, weathered and gray, emerged like an angry phantom bent on revenge. It looked more to be made of shadows and secrets than wood and mortar. Warily, Danny opened his door and stepped into the wet air.

The house was colder than his father’s smile. He remembered again, the angry, red face, screaming obscenities and vowing revenge. How those screams were swallowed by the sound of fists banging. The nausea he felt when the car careened out of the parking structure to the safety of the highway.

“Well?” Nora prodded. “You going to help me or not?” She pulled the sheets off the furniture.

Danny stepped into the room gingerly as if it was a monster that would swallow him up. He forced himself through the motions with Nora and felt better once they’d finished.

Nora made dinner. The aroma of meatloaf tickled Danny’s senses and issued a primal command to his brain to relax. He laughed when the gravy spoon upturned and splattered him with savory brown goo.

________

As Danny wandered the house, its creaks and moans renewed his anxiety. Yet, something else calmed him.

He discovered the attic door. The light switch worked. The steps squeaked like tortured mice in bad traps.

The smell of old clothes, rotting wood and salt air punished his nose.

“Hey! Who let you up here?” another boy’s voice complained.

Danny flinched. He was alone in the room. Completely alone.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you understand English?” the boy asked.

Danny’s heart thumped. A mirror, ancient and scratched, glowed in the corner. Something moved. “Oh God, oh God . . . ” Danny thought he would wet himself.

“Why you whispering?” the boy complained. “Nobody but me and you, here. And nobody’s listening to us.”

“Mirrors don’t talk! Where is he?” Danny thought.

“Here!” he answered Danny’s thoughts. “Over here!”

Danny followed the voice and stopped. A boy grinned at him from the mirror.

“Something wrong?” The boy was Danny’s age, but taller and gangly. His wordly expression contradicted his impish face. A child with an old man’s eyes. Shaggy red hair framed a heart-shaped face. When he grinned, Danny felt an odd kinship to him. Like finding a lost twin brother.

Danny approached the image that blocked his own reflection. “It’s a trick, right?” He craned his neck. “Where are you?”

“Right here! You’re looking at me,” the boy giggled.

Danny ignored the fist in his stomach. “Nobody can be in a mirror.”

“I can!” the boy teased.

“This is too weird, for me.” Danny turned from the mirror and made straight for the stairs.

“No! Don’t go! Talk to me,” the boy called out.

Danny hustled down the rickety stairs. Squeak, squeak went the stairs. Thump, thump went his heart. (to be continued…)

copyright 2006

It was an ordinary night for me. I drove home from work, it was late, and I was tired. For a moment, I looked away from the road to push in the cigarette lighter. I was alone on the road and I knew nothing would happen if I looked away for a moment. The flash of movement that glanced my peripheral vision was so slight it could have been a hair falling in my eye. But instead, it was a little boy on a bike, who darted out in front of me. I jumped on the brakes with both feet and prayed the car would stop. I heard the thud of metal and body meeting, despite prayers.Unable to move because of my dread and overload of adreline I could hear all of the infintesimal noises of the night; distant traffic, muffled television sets, crickets, people arguing as if there were no neighbors for miles. Suddenly, I stood in the middle of the street without having any recollection of getting there.I managed to move around to the front of the car, while the voice in my head screamed, “hurry, hurry, hurry…he could still be alive…” but I knew he wasn’t. He lay dead, under the wheels of my car, of this I was certain. Braving a look I saw…nothing. Sure my hysteria had blinded me to reality, I kept looking for the dead person that had to be there. But  didn’t find him because there was no one there, except me. “Good Nancy, you’re running over ghosts on bicycles now. I’m definately, really, absolutely going to make an appointment with the eye doctor tomorrow.”“Who are we talking to?” a policeman wanted to know. I hadn’t seen him coming, hadn’t noticed the patrol car or the lights. Another shot of adrenaline shot through my system and I jumped like an old puppet, poorly manuevered.I smiled. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m stopped in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night, talking to my car?”He shined his flashlight in my face to see if I was drunk. “I guess I am.”