School's Out

 

photo by Christina Blust - https://www.flickr.com/photos/17010235@N06/4630590630, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10401676

 This story was for the Furious Fiction contest for February. The criteria are as follows:

• Each story had to be set in a SCHOOL.
• Each story had to begin with the word THREE.
• Each story had to include the adjectives: MAGNETIC, UNCOUTH, SUSPICIOUS, FLOWERY
• 55 hours and 500 words or fewer
  

 

School's Out

 

Three, I though I saw three kids go into the school. Nothing suspicious about that, except that school has been abandoned since the fifties. The other odd part was they were there by the door and then they weren’t.

I was here for some urban exploration but it looked like I’d been beaten inside today. I went up to the door, but it was chained shut with an old rusty padlock. So they hadn’t come in this way. Maybe they saw me and ducked around the corner. I began to walk the perimeter of the building looking for any way in. Everything seemed to be boarded up tight on the first floor, but I found a loose grate that lead to a basement door. The door was ajar and so I went in. I shined my flashlight around but saw no footprints in the dust except my own.

There was the usual hodgepodge of stuff you’d find in a basement, some rusted tools and lengths of pipe, nothing of much interest. I found my way to the stairs. The first floor was darker and mustier than the basement had been. There also seemed to be a chill in the air, odd since it was the middle of summer. I’d come out on a long hall that I assumed stretched the length of the building. My flashlight could only penetrate a short way in the gloom. Each side of the hall had doors at regular intervals. There was also a clock in the hall stopped at three twenty eight. When I was a kid the bell rang at three thirty to let us out. *Two more minutes and the bell would ring*, I thought, but this moment was frozen in time, just like all the classrooms that lined the hall.

I looked in the closest room. The ceiling was falling in, desks and chairs were piled up haphazardly in the corner. The teacher’s desk was overturned and empty drawers strewn about. Across one wall was some graffiti saying some very uncouth things about my mother. I moved on.

It was much the same in the next few rooms, I don’t know what I expected. One room still had writing on the black board. I’m not sure if it was original or had been done after it was closed up. It was a flowery poem about moon and June and that kind of nonsense.

It was strange, I hadn’t heard or seen those kids. Maybe I spooked them and they didn’t come in. As I peered in the final room, I saw them sitting at desks, they looked more like holograms than real kids. Their gaze was being drawn magnetically toward the clock on the wall. It was the same time as the one in the hall, but this one was ticking. I stood transfixed as the second hand made two complete revolutions and then the bell rang. My heart was racing. I shone the flashlight on the kids as they evaporated.

Wolves at dawn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It had been a long week for Ben. He’d been out checking his trap line and doing a bit of hunting, though not as much as he’d wanted to. It seems he left a full box of bullets on the table back at the house so now he was nearly out; in fact he was down to one bullet.

He’d made camp about two hours from home. He could have made two more hours but his horse need ed the rest. So one more night under the stars wouldn’t kill him. He’d found a nice boulder to make camp against, it would do double duty of breaking the wind and reflecting back the heat from his fire. After he’d unpacked the horse and tethered it nearby Ben settled down to some grub and then built the fire up and rolled over and went to sleep.

Nothing rouses a cowboy out of his sleep quicker that his horse getting spooked. It was nearly dawn and the fire was nothing but embers when he saw the first of them. There were four wolves headed in his direction, they had spread out so as to flank him but fortunately for Ben he had a large boulder at his back.

Ben instinctively grabbed his rifle when he heard his horse and knew he could make short work of four wolves and have some nice hides to trade in the bargain. As the wolves were standing around him snarling he realized he only had one bullet. He knew he couldn’t show fear, or he’d be dead for sure.

Ben summoned up all the bravado he had and shouted, “Today is a good day to die, which of you wants to be first?”

He knew they didn’t understand him, but the shouting had thrown them off. Ben was trying to figure out which one was the leader when he saw one start edging toward him as the others brought up the rear. Ben took aim at the lead wolf and shouted, “Last chance, get out of here, go on.”

To his surprise the wolf that was furthest back peeled off and started loping away. The odds were getting better. Just then the lead wolf made his move and Ben squeezed the trigger and caught him in the forehead. The wolf went down with a thud. The two remaining wolves charged and being out of ammo Ben began to use his rifle as a club. He swung and made contact with the first one’s head and knocked him back into the remains of the fire. The air was filled with howling and the smell of singed fur. That wolf had had enough and ran off.

The final wolf had backed Ben up against the rock wall and Ben had no room to swing his rifle. He was prodding at the wolf, trying to get some maneuvering room. The sun had just broken over the horizon and this had heartened Ben a bit. He knew that wolves tended to hunt at night and sleep in the day. Just as he thought his luck had changed, the forth wolf showed up. He was not as big as the other, but still two wolves against an essentially unarmed man were not good odds.

There was something odd about the last wolf but Ben didn’t have time to be pondering the peculiarities of different wolves. Still this wolf didn’t seem to be coming at him, he seemed more interested in the other wolf.

The wolf that had Ben pinned down made his move and lunged at Ben, at the same time the smaller wolf went for Ben’s attacker and sank his teeth into its rear haunch. It howled in pain and turned its head to go after its attacker. The was the opening that Ben had been praying for, with all his might he swung the rifle into the turned head of the wolf and he heard something snap. It could have been the wolf’s neck or it could have been the stock to his rifle because they were both laying there.

One last wolf, and the smallest of them all was all that stood between him and home. He raised what was left of the rifle over his head preparing to bash in a final skull. It was then Ben saw a glint of sunlight reflecting from something hanging on the wolf’s neck. Almost at the same instant the wolf laid down on its belly and was cowering.

Without thinking about it, Ben lowered his rifle and got down on one knee. He looked over at the cowering creature and said, “Come here boy, it’s OK.”

Ben got a tail wag for that and nothing more. It took about thirty minutes of coaxing and bits of jerky before he could get close enough to the dog, because it was surely a dog and not a wolf. Ben was certain if it had been a wolf that he would be dead now. When he finally got close enough to look, the shiny thing was an old ID tag hanging on the remains of a collar. Ben could barely make out the name Sam. How he had gotten here and how long he’d been running with the wolves nobody can say. Ben got packed up and said, “Come on Sam, we’re going home.”

The Legacy of the Jabberwock

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 I had been reading “M” is for Magic by Neil Gaiman and one of the stories was about a hard boiled detective who was in fact Little Jack Horner and he was investigating whether Humpty-Dumpty fell or was pushed. He had an informant (Cock Robin) that might have disclosed all if he hadn’t been killed. It went on and on weaving a plausible detective story from all of these nursery rhyme characters.

I thought that’s a good idea for a story, what fictional piece am I familiar enough with. The Jabberwocky jumped to mind as I had it memorized since third grade. So the Legacy of the Jabberwock was born. I worked on the premise of: What if the Jabberwock was still alive and someone had a vendetta against it. So I set about to fashion a pastiche in the present day.

 

 

The Legacy of the Jabberwock 

 

The old man was dying and he had this obsession. Since I was the eldest son it was up to me to see this thing to an end. It was that damned Jabberwock that he wanted dead. I’d only seen the thing twice in my fifty years. It was my job to hunt it down and kill it, if I could. The old man wanted its head. What could I do but try my best. The estate was vast, covering nearly a square mile. Most of it was wooded, some so thick that is seemed that daylight couldn’t penetrate it. That was the tulgey wood and that was where the old man had said I’d find it. I tried to talk sense into him and reason with him. Nobody had seen the beast in nearly twenty-five years.

“It must be dead,” I told him.

He was having none of that. With a great effort he raised a gnarled hand and pointed at the sword above the mantel.

“You’ll need that,” he said. “It was made for your great great uncle Roderick. It’s a vorpal sword. It’s the only thing that will slay the Jabberwock.”

I stood on a chair and hefted down the sword.

“This thing must weigh forty pounds. I can’t use this. I’m just as likely to cut off my leg as kill the Jabberwock.”

He gave me that fish-eyed stare that he used when I did something that displeased him.

“If you don’t use it, the Jabberwock will certainly kill you.” he said with a slight grin.”

“I’ll take it, but I’m also taking my service revolver.” I said.

So it was that I found myself in the tulgey wood with a forty pound sword, a service revolver and a column of sweat rolling down my back. I’d been out there since the break of day and now it was nearly two o’clock. There had been no sign of the Jabberwock, no tracks, no scat, no nothing. It must be dead like I told the old man, but if I didn’t bring him proof he would cut me out of the will with a few swipes of his pen. I found a spot of shade beneath a tumtum tree and had a drink from my canteen. I pondered my life without my father’s fortune. I daydreamed of lopping off the creature’s head and presenting it to the old man. I was lost in these thoughts when I heard a burbling noise. I spun around and there it was, the Jabberwock just as I remembered it. Its eyes of flame were fixed on my own. It didn’t charge at me, but just seem to take me in. Its gaze lingered on the vorpal sword as if it knew what it was. I raised the sword as high above my head as possible and charged at the monster. It likewise began to charge at me. Just as we were about to clash, I blacked out.

When I awoke I was amazed to still be alive. I was in the hospital and there was a man in safari gear sitting by my bed. My head was throbbing as if I’d been out drinking the night before. The safari-clad man asked me if there was anything he could do for me. I told him that a couple of aspirin and some water would be great. He went off and fetched me the aspirin and water. I took them and lay my head back down on the pillow and drifted off to sleep. I kept having nightmares about the Jabberwock and finally woke up with a start. He was still sitting there in his sand-colored fatigues and a pith helmet.

“I guess you are wondering what happened back there. By the way my name is Nigel.”

We shook hands and I nodded for him to go on.

“You see there is a group of us who work for the Nature Conservancy and we’ve been stalking the Jabberwock for years. It was last seen about twelve years ago on your family estate. We were on the hunt today. We saw the Jabberwock, and then you started to attack it. We couldn’t let that happen. We shot you and the beast with tranquilizer darts. It took seven darts to bring the Jabberwock down, but only one for you. That would account for your throbbing headache; it’s the after-effects of the drug. The Jabberwock is on the endangered species list. We think this is the last one of its kind. So you see we saved you a ton of grief by not letting you kill it.”

I nodded dumbly trying to take all of this in.

“Where is it now?” I asked.

“We have it locked up here on the compound in a makeshift cage until we can have something built for transport.”

So this was a field hospital, not a real one. Just then another thought came to me.

“Where’s my sword? It’s a family heirloom and my father would disinherit me if I lost it.”

“Not to worry.” said Nigel. “It is safely tucked under your bed.”

“When can I leave?”

“The medics say another couple of hours before the tranquilizers totally leave your system. Then we’ll arrange transport back for you.”

“Can I see the Jabberwock before I leave?” 

            Nigel paused for a moment then said, “I think that can be arranged, we are keeping it pretty well sedated but a quick look shouldn’t hurt anything.”

A couple of hours later I was in front of the makeshift cage. It was more of a garage with a roll up grate instead of a door. The inside walls had been reinforced with plywood and access to the beast was through a man-sized door on the side. I stood there and stared at my would-be foe. It raised its huge head a few inches from the floor and stared back at me. The flames in its eyes had nearly gone out. As I stared I began to hear a voice in my head. It was the voice of the Jabberwock.

“I wish that the steel of your sword had taken my life because I have been condemned to death by these do-gooders. They think they are saving me, but I cannot live in captivity. Please come back and fulfill your quest and put me out of my misery. I am old even by my standards. You would consider me ancient. There used to be more of us, but my mate died nearly a hundred years ago. I am the last of my generation, but there is hope for the next generation. You see Jabberwockies lay eggs somewhat like a turtle. They are thick and hardy and take a long time to hatch, at least in human years. I laid the last batch just after my mate died, so by my calculations the hatchlings should emerge in nine or ten years. I would have liked to be around to see that. Please come and finish your task, I will not resist. All I ask is that you keep these idiots in the dark about the hatchlings. We are peaceable creatures that have been judged unfairly throughout history.”

After I had gotten over the initial shock of the Jabberwock talking to me inside my head, I realized it was telepathy. Not knowing if I could communicate back, I just nodded my head and hoped it would understand.

Nigel drove me back to the estate. It was half past nine when I reported back to the old man. I told him of the day’s events. I told him everything, except the part about the Jabberwock talking to me. He would have thought I was mad. I explained that I’d been up since before daylight and I’d had a hard day and was going to bed. Before I did I mapped out a plan for the next evening and the old man concurred. Although he had originally wanted the head, I didn’t think it was possible to get it out without being caught. We compromised on a picture. He wanted a Polaroid, “none of them new fangled digital pictures that you can change every which way.” I argued that you can’t find a Polaroid camera anywhere much less the film.

“Look in the study in the bottom desk drawer. You’ll find a camera. In the cabinet behind the desk is a stock pile of film. Test it before you go.”

The next evening I left the house with the vorpal sword, a Polaroid camera and a pair of night vision goggles (Lord knows where he got them from). I had combat boots, a dark sweat suit, and wool cap. I’d blackened my face and wrapped the gleaming sword in a dark scarf. I drove to a spot that was about half a kilometer from the compound and parked the Land Rover on an overgrown lane off the road. I headed cross country toward the compound. Everything was shades of green through the goggles, but with the little bit of moonlight coming through the trees, I could see just fine.

It took nearly an hour to cross the distance from the Land Rover to the compound. By now it was close to midnight and everything was still. I made my way to the Jabberwock and it raised its head to acknowledge me. I crept in through the side door and there I was right next to the fearsome creature. I stood there and pity welled up inside of me. I was not a killer. I didn’t even like to go hunting. I thought maybe I could just set it free. The Jabberwock must have understood what I was thinking because I saw it shake its massive head. Then I heard in my own head.

“You must end it here. If you were to free me, they would continue to hunt me forever more. If I die here then ‘the last of the Jabberwock’ will be gone. They will stop looking for us and maybe we will pass into obscurity once more.”

The Jabberwock stretched out his long neck and rested his head on the floor as if to say do it now and be quick about it. I raised the sword, and my vision blurred from the tears that had formed. I wavered in my resolve. Then I heard a blast in my head.

“DO IT!”

The sword came down and sliced through its neck without the slightest hesitation. Then the strangest thing happened, the blade dissolved leaving me holding only the hilt. I pulled out the camera and took a picture of the hideous sight and then a second for good measure. I crept out of the cage and made my way back to the Land Rover.

It was one-thirty before I got back to the estate and burst into the old man’s room. Damn his sleep, he wanted this done. I flung the pictures at him and left. Whether the excitement was too much for him or it was just his time, I’ll never know. He died that evening in his sleep. The doctor said he had a peaceful smile when he found him in the morning.

I am now the master of the house. My children are grown and my grandchildren roam the grounds on their occasional visits. Sometimes the grandchildren come back from the tulgey woods with the most fantastic stories about playing with the Jabberwockies. Their parents just indulge them, but I hang on every word.

At the Crossroads

 

I’ve been coming to the crossroads diner for over twenty years now. It’s seen some changes over the years. When I first started coming it was your typical diner food, maybe a cut above, but no Michelin stars. It was sold a few years back, gentrified and turned into a coffee bar. Gone are the vinyl upholstered booths, the Rockola juke box players on every table and the smell of fried onions. Now there is seating for two or four at individual tables and plants everywhere, but I still go. Now I go because it’s close to the oncology center and I go to get a cup of tea after my chemo.

They know me by my first name, “Phil” and drink of preference, green tea. Other than today being my last day of chemo it was just another day. I ordered my tea and was about to pay for it when the cashier said, “It’s already paid for by that guy over there.”

He pointed to a table for two with a well dress man that looked to be in his thirties. As I looked over he raised his cup and I saw the wrist bracelet from the oncology unit I collected my tea and went over to thank him.

“Have a seat”, said the stranger.

I held out my hand and said, “My name is Phil, thanks for the tea.”

He shook my hand, “Don’t mention it, I’ve seen you at the center and saw you coming in behind me. So how many more treatments?”

“None, I come back in a week for them to see if the tumor is shrinking or continuing to grow. I’m hoping for the former, but preparing for the latter. How about you?”

He waved off the question like it was inconsequential.

Instead, he posed this to me, “What would you give to be absolutely cancer free?”

I thought about it for a minute, “Would that be cancer free with no chance of it returning?”

“If you wish, might as well go big.”

“I don’t know?”

“Would you give up all of your earthly possessions?”

“That’s not much, I rent an apartment and have a couple thousand dollars in the bank, I don’t think I get any takers for that.”

“Would you sacrifice a loved one, a daughter, a grandson?

“No, absolutely not.” I was getting ready to walk away from this conversation when he said one last thing.

“How about your soul?”

I looked him over, and he now had a sinister look about him.

“Who are you?”

“I’m sorry, my name is Lucifer. Here’s my card.”

He handed me an embossed ivory colored card with the name Lucifer on it.

I looked at it and laughed, ”Anyone can get these made up.”

“Have another look.”

As I looked at the card the letters began to change, they morphed through a litany of names for the Devil finally ending on Lucifer searing it’s way into the card with a puff of smoke.

I held the card for a moment and then with a wave of my hand I made it vanish, then I made it reappear.

“I used to perform magic back in the day, that trick with the names was good. Those cards must set you back a pretty penny. I won’t ask how it’s done, I understand professional secrets and all.”

Lucifer sat there flabbergasted, “I don’t think you grasp the gravity of the situation. With the snap of my fingers I could make your cancer disappear.”

“Oh, yeah, right. With the clap of my hands I can make the light come on at home. I’m not some rube that you can wow with a conjuring trick.”

“You really don’t know who you are dealing with here.”

“I am not dealing with anyone, I was having an interesting conversation but that seems to have come to an end,” I said as I got up to leave.

“Wait a moment, I’ll prove it to you. You have to come back in a week?”

“Yes, so?”

Lucifer snapped his fingers, “They will find no trace of cancer, it is completely gone. Meet me here next week and let me know the results, that’s all that I ask.”

I looked him over, “Suppose you are who you say you are, then you don’t just go around handing out cures to cancer. There has to be a catch, a string attached.”

“You’re a tough customer, it’s been centuries since someone hasn’t believed me. This is just a convincer, on the house, no strings attached. See you in a week.”

One Week Later

Lucifer was sitting at the same table as if he had never moved. I came over and he motioned me to sit down. “So how did your test results come out?”

I stared at him for a long moment, whether is shock, awe or amazement, I’m not sure. When I finally spoke I said, ”Just like you said, no trace of cancer. It was as if it had never been there.”

“Are you convinced now? Do you understand who you are dealing with?”

“You keep using the word ‘dealing’. I’ve not made any bargains with you despite the fact that we are at the crossroads. I have taken the opportunity over the past week to check up on you and how you operate.”

“Indeed, well please fill me in. This should be interesting.”

“Well normally somebody goes to the crossroads looking for you and not the other way around. I just came in here to get a cup of tea. Making a deal with the Devil was the furthest thing from my mind. I have also never found the Devil giving anything without something in return. All of this leads me to believe I am somehow special, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what it is.”

“I’d say your research is spot on. I don’t normally go out soliciting as it were, there are enough souls waiting for me at the end of their lives. Yes you are special, but I’ll explain that later after we have concluded our business.”

“We have no business to conclude, until today I didn’t actually believe you existed. Fallen angel and all that.” That last remark made him wince just a tiny bit.

“I can give you anything you desire, eternal youth, wealth, you name it. Of course, I will expect something in return.”

“Ah, now we come to it, you want me to bargain for my soul. When I was doing my research on you, I spoke with a priest, a rabbi and a lawyer. Sorry that sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. What I was able to glean from the clergy was the soul of man was created by God at the moment of conception and as such is associated with that physical body. At no time does that physical body own that soul. The lawyer told me that if you enter into a contract to sell something that you don’t own it’s considered fraud and the contract is not valid. So I cannot sell you my soul because it’s not mine to sell and if I did I’d be committing fraud and the contract wouldn’t be valid. You probably don’t want that information getting around. But mums the word for me, besides who would believe I was having a chat with the devil about the legality of his contracts.”

The Devil was visibly agitated. “Every man has his price, what’s yours?”

“I want nothing now that I’ve been cured of cancer.”

“Every man wants something.”

“There is one thing that would be nice to have.”

“What? Just name it and it’s yours in exchange for your soul.”

“I’d like world peace.”

The Devil sputtered out a mouthful of tea. “I can’t give you that, that would run counter to my entire being.”

“OK, thanks for the tea and the cure, but I must be going. You could tell me why you picked me, earlier you said I was special.”

“Oh, that, don’t be getting any ideas about being special, I just meant that you were chosen randomly for me to work my magic on. It was just a small wager between me and Gabriel. We still stay in touch and have small wagers from time to time. Up until now I have never lost.”

“Well, no offense, but I hope to never see you again.”

I walked out of the diner and across the street into the park. There was an old gentleman sitting on a bench feeding the pigeons. He had a wreath of white hair on his head and that way the sunlight hit it made it look like a halo, or maybe it just was one. I walked over and sat down.

Gabriel looked over at me and asked, “How did it go.?”

I gave him the rundown and he smiled appreciatively. He handed me an envelope and said,” Keep this safe, these are the winning lottery numbers. There is one per year, but I would use them judiciously otherwise you might come under undo scrutiny.”

I took the envelope and put it in my coat pocket and then asked, “And that other little thing?”

Gabriel winked, “Yes that is all taken care of, you will have excellent health for the next thirty years. You will get the occasional cold, but nothing serious. This is not immunity from serious accidents, you can be killed, so be careful.”

“May I ask what the wager was?”

“Oh, why not. Whoever lost the bet had to be the other one’s valet for a day.”

“All of this for a valet for a day, seems a bit much.”

“You forget that God created the Heavens and the Earth in six days, my day is a bit longer than twenty-four hours.”

With that he vanished, just leaving a bag of bird seed behind.