I can write with a little help from my friends

Last night I asked my Facebook friends to help me write a story. They were to give me: a place, a name, an object, an animal and a weapon. They did not disappoint and their suggestions helped push my creativity. I gave myself the deadline of finishing it in one night. And I barely made it. But I did finish it and here it is for you all.

The suggestions:  A greenhouse, Victoria, Colonel Harland David Sanders, A holey sock, El Chupacabra and An atlatl.


She Called and It Came

By Bonnie Cox



Lungs burning.

Bump bump.

Legs aching.

Bump bump.

Air sucked greedily in, gulping down the frigid night air until the lungs burned again.

The cold, smooth glass found almost by accident on the moonless night.

Something is on it. It slips and slides. Cannot grasp the slick, wet surface. Must get inside. Must hide.


Victoria Winterbourne put one hand into the white, cotton stocking. There was a hole in the toe. Her dainty finger poked through the hole; her perfectly manicured brow furrowed. Mrs. Wicket had missed this. How was Victoria supposed to recover if she was always having to catch out the mistakes of the servants? Could not one of them perform their duties properly without giving her vexations? She wadded the stocking up tightly in her hand and stamped out of her bedroom in search of the negligent housekeeper.

Mrs. Wicket was easily found as she nearly collided with her mistress in the hallway while carrying a rather large load of freshly laundered linens, linens that had to be rewashed, dried and ironed for the second time that week.

“Wicket!” Victoria shrilled, “What is this?” She threw the balled-up stocking at Mrs. Wicket’s face, who nearly dropped her precious cargo.

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” she answered, taking a step back and shrinking as much as her large frame would allow to see what had been thrown. “I cannot tell what it is while holding the linens.”

“It. Is. My. Stocking. A rather grotesque and foul stocking full of holes that found its way into my personal lingerie.” Victoria pointed to the stocking now lying on the hallway floor. “Pick it up.”

“Mistress, the linens,” Mrs. Wicket protested.

Victoria let out a muffled scream from behind closed lips, exhaling a sharp, dragon’s breath through her nose and stamping her foot like a toddler who wants a treat at four o’clock in the afternoon after having no nap at all.

“Must I do EVERYTHING!” she shrieked, seizing the garment and pushing past her poor housekeeper, all but knocking her to the floor. She stopped a few feet away and turned back to say, “When you are finished with the linens, I want my tea things laid out for this afternoon. The Colonel is coming for a visit.” Dropping the stocking to the floor, she added, “And take care of this.”


Rachel stood by the open kitchen door enjoying the cross breeze that had come into the house. She found the momentary coolness of the air helped to quell her unsettled inner workings.

“Rachel, set out the mistress’s tea things, we’re having a guest this afternoon,” chirped Wicket, moving with the graceful steps of a heavyweight champ in his prime, across the kitchen, opening a locked drawer with a key she drew from her apron pocket. She withdrew a piece of paper and handed it to the delicate kitchen maid. Rachel looked over the paper trying to make sense of the black markings that covered it.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It’s a list of ingredients we still need for tonight,” Wicket answered, pulling an apple pie from the pantry, “Before you set the tea, give that to Michael for me. He knows what to do.”

Rachel slipped the paper into her pocket and eyed the pie on the counter. She’d never really noticed how intoxicating the smell of pie was before. If they were careful, they could share a piece of it that evening. She fingered a particularly crumbly looking corner of crust. Wicket took notice and smacked Rachel’s hand away from the inviting pastry.

“Who’s coming for tea?” Rachel questioned, nursing her smarting finger. Wicket stopped what she was doing and looked Rachel sternly in the face.

“The Colonel.”

“The Colonel?” Rachel’s eyes widened, “You don’t think he’s here to see…”

Wicket cut her off, “I do. And I better not hear you say it. If the mistress ever found out… Well, let’s just say she had better not find out.”

Rachel left the kitchen through the back door smiling and went searching for Michael by the horse stables. The Colonel was coming.


The late afternoon sun spilled through the Tiffany windows of the Rose Room, creating a shaft of light that perfectly illuminated Victoria’s corseted bosom, which she took every opportunity to draw attention to with her new, lace fan. She arched her back slightly, tilting back her head to expose her long, elegant neck, a move she’d perfected after having her stable hand, Michael, reposition her favorite chair again and again until she’d found the prime position in the room to display her assets.

“I’ll never get used to this Texas sun,” she said, fanning herself slowly and mostly for effect.

The Colonel turned away from the window where he’d been standing and admiring the view.

“Well, I’d say it’s done wonders for you,” he smiled, “I was saddened to hear you and your household had left New York so abruptly.” He sat in the chair opposite Victoria, stroking his honey colored mustache.

“Yes, well,” she sat upright again and absentmindedly stirred the cold tea in front of her, “I needed a change of atmosphere. Dr. Grey said New York was the reason my poor nerves were declining so and recommended the South and sun.”

She leaned back again, manipulating the fan, “I had no idea you would miss me so much, Harland, or I might have told you I was leaving.” She flitted her eyes downward and tried for a coquettish smile. He returned in kind and patted the hand she had resting on the table.

“You’re such a dear,” he remarked, “That’s why I hate to burden you so.”

“Burden? Why, my dear Colonel, what do you mean?”

He stood unexpectedly and began to pace about the stylish room. He stopped at the window once again and stared out at the horse stables in the distance.

“It’s just that I traveled down to see you in such a hurry that I have not yet secured suitable lodgings for myself,” he turned, a look of chagrin flashing across is tanned face, his blue eyes twinkling, “In fact, I wasn’t even able to bring along my valet.”

Victoria could only imagine how helpless she would be, were she forced to travel alone, without even one servant. If possible, in his hour of need, she felt even more tenderly toward the Colonel than she had before. Instantly, she knew she must help her cherished friend.

“Oh, Harland, do not say another word about it,” she stood, crossing the room to ring a small bell and summon Mrs. Wicket. The harried housekeeper arrived a moment later, smoothing her apron as she entered with a curtsy.

“Mrs. Wicket, the darling Colonel will be staying with us in the guest quarters until he has found suitable lodging here in Austin. Make sure he has whatever he needs. And send for Michael.”

Mrs. Wicket looked up for the first time since entering the room.

“You want me to send for Michael, Mistress?” she asked timorously.

“Are you losing your hearing, Mrs. Wicket?” Victoria scoffed, “Yes. He is to be valet to Colonel Sanders for the remainder of his stay with us.”

Mrs. Wicket tried to hide the relief that flooded her body. She curtsied her way out of the room and headed for the stables.


“Do we have everything that was on the list?”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

“Do you think we should be doing this tonight? While he’s here?”

“We don’t have any other choice. Tonight is the new moon. It will only work tonight.”



“We could wait for the next new moon, couldn’t we?”

“Rachel does not have a month to wait.”

“You’re right.”

“So tonight.”



The Colonel descended the stairs, adjusting his bowtie and smoothing his oil-treated coiffure. Michael followed behind, brushing bits of lint from the Colonel’s jacket shoulders. The Colonel turned to him at the base of the staircase, placing a hand on Michael’s shoulder.

“Thank you, for all your assistance, Michael,” he effused, taking Michael’s hand in his own, “You really are quite wonderful.”

Victoria appeared in evening gown at the top of the stairs, radiating excitement upon seeing her guest in his evening attire.

“What’s this?” she beamed, “Thinking of stealing my stable boy away to be your new valet, I see.”

“Yes,” he said, “I was just telling Michael what a wonderful valet he makes. Perhaps, I will rob you of him permanently. I may be in need of a new valet soon.”

Victoria glided down the stairs towards the pair, signaling Michael to take his leave before linking arms with the Colonel.

“Don’t think it will be that easy,” she teased, “I may let him go, but it will cost you.”

They walked arm and arm into the luxurious, candlelit dining room where four other dinner guests were already seated. Victoria gestured to the seat at the foot of the table and the Colonel took his place, while she sat herself at the head of the table.

“I hope you don’t mind, Colonel, but I took the liberty of inviting a few close friends to dinner. If you’re going to be staying with me here in Austin, you really must get acquainted with all the best people,” she said.

“Yes,” he nodded, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Colonel Harland Sanders, guest of this fine lady.”


Victoria threw back her head in laughter, playfully touching the Colonel’s arm.

“Oh, you have the most enthralling tales, my dear Colonel,” she gushed, “You’ve had us all enraptured this entire evening.”

Now seated in the parlor, Victoria’s other dinner guests sipped their after-dinner drinks, checked pocket watches or busied themselves with trinkets found around the room.

“Well, I have an excellent audience,” he said humbly, “But the evening is wearing away. I think I must say goodnight to you all.”

“No! You mustn’t leave us now!” Victoria grabbed hold of his arm as he stood to leave and tugged him back into his seat. “You owe me one more tale at least for being such a perfect hostess.”

An obliging, if tired smile spread over his face, “Alright. Which tale would you like to hear?”

“Hmm…” Victoria stroked his arm thoughtfully, “I know! Tell us all about your latest excursion into places unknown.”

“Well, as it is getting rather late,” he said, “I won’t keep you prisoner with a long tale of my adventures. But I did recently return from Central America and I happen to have the most amazing artifact here with me. Would you like to see it?”

Victoria answered for the room, “Nothing would bring us greater pleasure.”

A collective sigh went up from the other guests.


A smell woke it. The smell of the new moon. The air on the night of the new moon was different, invigorating. It opened its black eyes to the dark. The temperature of the air dropped.

No, it wasn’t the smell that had woken it. It was the voice.

It could hear her voice. She was calling to it.


The Colonel returned to the parlor moments later, a spear in one hand and a long, carved piece of wood with a kind of hook at one end in the other hand. Victoria gasped and clutched her at her chest.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed. “It’s incredible.”

“What is it?” asked Afton Enns, one of the now increasingly fatigued dinner guests.

“I’m glad you asked, Afton. In this hand I have just a regular spear. We’ve all seen one of these, now haven’t we,” the Colonel laughed.

“I suppose,” Afton feigned interest.

“And in this hand, I have what’s called an ‘atlatl’. I picked it up on my travels down in Central America recently. It’s an ancient tool used by primitive cultures to throw the spear with greater velocity.”

The Colonel held the atlatl in position and cradled the end of the spear in the hooked end, demonstrating what it should look like to an almost comatose room.

“It seems rather savage to me,” Afton’s wife, Beryl remarked while adjusting her broach yet again that evening.

“Yes, I say, why not just use a gun or a bow and arrow,” asked Everett Patterson, head resting in the palm of his hand.

“Well,” the Colonel explained, “the atlatl predates the gun and even the bow and arrow. Most tribes have moved on from it in favor of more modern weaponry.”

He leaned the spear and atlatl against the wall. Victoria could sense she was losing him again.

“How about a demonstration?” she asked, excitedly.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, my dear,” he politely refused. “I think we’ll just have to wait for morning.”

Victoria looked crestfallen. Her guests brightened.

“And, now, I really must say goodnight,” the Colonel said, giving a small bow.


The light bobbed through the garden, zig-zagging its way past rows of vegetables, stopping at the door to the small greenhouse. A hand reached out and pushed the door open.

“It’s Michael,” Rachel breathed.

“I can see it’s Michael,” Wicket said. “Do you have everything?”

Michael closed the greenhouse door behind him and set the lantern and basket he’d been carrying on the nearby workbench. The dim light of the single lantern on a moonless night did nothing to illuminate the faces of the three servants huddled together there. Wicket held the lantern close to the basket and pulled out the items Michael had brought one by one: a bit of hair, a used candle, herbs from the garden, a piece of chalk and a jar filled to the brim with a nectar, black as the moonless night.

Even in the dim light, Michael could see Rachel’s body jerk forward slightly every now and again. He tried to make out what she had in her hands. It was a rope. He followed the rope with his eyes and saw that a baby goat was tethered to the rope and seemed to be enjoying a nice salad of greens from the garden. The baby goat pulled hard on the rope and Rachel instinctively held a hand to her own belly.

Wicket reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. It was too dark for Michael to see what was written on it but he already knew. He reached out in the dark and clasped a gentle hand around her wrist.

“Cecile.” No one called her Cecile. “Is this really the right thing to do?”

Wicket laid the paper on the bench and took both of Michael’s hands in her own, and though she couldn’t make out his handsome features properly in the dark, she knew the look that would be on his face.

“Sweet boy,” she said in a motherly tone, “After tonight, all of our troubles will be over. We have the combination to the mistress’s safe. We will be long gone by morning and we will be free.”

A tear worked its way free from the corner of Michael’s eye, he pulled his hands away from Wicket and brushed it aside, steeling himself for what was to come.

“Will this take long?” he asked, steadying his nerves. “I’m acting as Harland’s valet while he’s here and I have to return before he goes to bed.”

Wicket smiled, or at least Michael thought it was a smile.

“You can go on back to the house now if you want to, Michael,” she said warmly, “Rachel and I can finish here.”

Michael left the greenhouse, leaving the lantern behind as well. He heard chanting and the bleat of the baby goat and ran, stumbling through the vegetable garden in the dark until he’d made it back to the house.


She called.

She called and it came.


Victoria couldn’t sleep. She put a silk robe on over her nightgown and slipped out into the hallway. Harland’s room was only a few doors down. Maybe he couldn’t sleep either. Maybe they could enjoy each other’s company a little longer.

She rapped on his door, whispering his name.

No answer.

She knocked again, louder this time.

“Harland, it’s Victoria,” she sang out.

Still no answer.

She opened the door to his room, but the room was empty.

Perhaps, he’d gone to the kitchen for a late-night drink.

She padded down the stairs and went into the kitchen. Rachel was there, scrubbing something in the sink.

“Rachel, have you seen Colonel Sanders tonight?” she asked, becoming short tempered.

Rachel, unaware that the mistress had entered the kitchen, quickly shoved the apron she’d been cleaning down further into the sink and attempted to wash her hands without the mistress seeing.

“I saw the Colonel earlier, Mistress, at dinner,” she answered shakily.

“Yes, of course, you saw him at dinner,” Victoria said impatiently. “Have you seen him now?”

“No, Mistress,” Rachel shook her head emphatically.

Just then a small bobbing light walking through the garden caught Victoria’s notice from the window.

“There he is,” she smirked at Rachel. “He’s simply out for a stroll in the garden. That’s his lantern there.”

She wrapped her robe tighter around herself to accentuate her figure and went through the back door, heading toward the vegetable garden.


“What was that?”

“It was nothing,” the Colonel said. He stood in the darkened parlor with his beloved, took his face into his hands and pressed his lips against his mouth.

“The Mistress might be walking about,” Michael said when the kiss had finished.

“Michael, we’re leaving this place together tomorrow. Let us finally be free to love each other. Your mistress be damned.”

The Colonel pulled Michael in and held him close.

“You’re the reason I came to this godforsaken place. You know that, don’t you?” he said.

“Yes,” Michael blushed. “I couldn’t believe it when I’d heard you had come. I thought…”

“That you were just a dalliance?”

“Well… yes.”

The Colonel pulled him close again and kissed him hard.

“You were never just a dalliance to me, Michael,” he said. “When I learned that Victoria had moved her household to Austin, I came at once. I won’t be separated from you again, my love.”

Michael pulled away, collapsing into a chair, breathing shakily and beginning to sob.

“You may want to be when you hear what I’ve done,” he cried.


Victoria weaved through the vegetable garden in the dark, heading for the bobbing lantern light. There was a tall figure holding the light, but she couldn’t make out its face.

“Oh Harland!” she waved. “It’s Victoria!”

The light seemed to extinguish itself suddenly. The tall figure disappeared into the darkness.

Victoria called out again, “Harland! Your light has gone out and I can’t see. Come and help me back to the house.”

She continued walking in the direction she thought she’d seen the figure. Something large ran past her in the dark.

“Harland?” She stopped and listened intently.

She heard the bleat of a goat nearby.


“Oh, Harland, I’m so ashamed,” Michael cried. The Colonel paced about the parlor thinking over what he’d just heard.

“And you say Rachel is pregnant?” he asked.

“Yes, by one of the horse groomers who didn’t come with us from New York,” he answered. “She’ll begin showing very soon.”

“And you felt you had no other choice but to summon this… thing, this creature?”

Michael put his head in his lap and sobbed.

“It was Wicket’s idea. We’re meant to rob her safe and leave before first light,” he got out between sobs. “My job was to procure certain items, but I didn’t do the spell to summon it. I swear.”

“And you say it’s coming here tonight?”


“What is it called again?”


Weeks Earlier…

Wicket unlocked the drawer in the kitchen. She pulled a carefully folded paper from the drawer, unfolded it and placed it on the kitchen block for Rachel and Michael to see. It was a drawing of a strange and wicked looking creature. Akin to something like a wild dog, with large fangs, claws and black eyes and a ridge running down its spine. Michael shuddered at the sight of it.

“It’s called ‘El Chupacabra’,” Wicket said.

“What is it?” Rachel grimaced.

“It’s our salvation.”


Something brushed past Victoria’s leg. It wasn’t the dark figure. It certainly wasn’t Harland. It came again, this time she could hear a sound like sniffing and almost make out the shape of an animal.

The animal began to growl in low, menacing tones.

Victoria screamed and ran.

The animal chased after her.

She was too far from the house now but there was a greenhouse nearby.

She wasn’t used to running. The night air was unseasonably cold. The black night made it difficult to see anything at all.

She kept running.

She could hear the beast behind her, closing in. Or was it closer than she thought? Was it toying with her? It didn’t matter. She just had to make it to the greenhouse where she could shut the animal out and wait for it to lose interest in her.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

She struggled for breath.


The Colonel finally stopped pacing. He’d made a decision.

“I’m going to help her, Michael.”


“Yes, I can’t let an innocent woman die, even if she is the most insufferable person I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing.”

“What can you do? El Chupacabra has already been summoned by Wicket. It does her bidding now.”

“Well, it’s alive, isn’t it? It’s some sort of creature?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Then it can be killed.”

The Colonel looked about the room and spotted the spear and atlatl still leaning against the wall. He picked them up. Just then they heard Victoria scream from the garden.


Victoria’s lungs burned from the cold night air. She’d reached the greenhouse door but there was something sticky and wet all over the glass. She pulled her hand away to see what it was. Blood. A shattered jar lay on the ground by her feet. Blood covered the ground and door and now Victoria as well.

El Chupacabra was closing in. She could hear the pound of his feet and the low tones of his snarl.

The door wouldn’t open. She peered through the blood and glass to try see why it wouldn’t open. It had been wedged shut. It looked like there was another animal inside. She heard the bleat of the goat.

El Chupacabra was almost there.

Harland ran through the kitchen door into the garden with the spear and the atlatl. Michael carried a lantern in his hand, holding it high so his lover could take aim.

Harland readied the spear and atlatl and aimed toward the charging beast as it lunged for Victoria who was pinned against the greenhouse door. He threw with all his might, piercing the air with a warrior cry that shook the night.

The spear found its mark, lodged firmly between the shoulder blades of the lunging beast. El Chupacabra whimpered then vanished into black smoke.

The spear remained, however, piercing the heart of Victoria Winterbourne.






The End.


Under The Eyepatch

Ok, so my short story based on your comments didn’t get accepted by the magazine I submitted it to.  Wah.


But it’s a win for you because now I get to post it here.  I had so much fun writing the story that I’ll probably write some more and keep submitting them for publication and see what happens.  Anyway, without any further ado… Under The Eyepatch:

(The words left in the comments by you are in all caps.)


Garret Randall Nehring lived and worked in a small clock repair shop on East Street, the shop being downstairs and the living space, up.  It was evening.  The moon had already risen in the black, cloudless sky and he made his usual rounds on the lower floor, checking the locks on the windows and doors.  Click, click, click.  Three turns each.  He quickly examined every bar over the windows and the long bar across the door frame, front door and back.  He was behind schedule tonight.  He rubbed his wrists nervously, worsening the rash he’d previously made by rubbing.

Why had that woman come in at closing? He walked through the show floor of the shop in a perfect circle, visually inspecting each clock on display as he did.  The moon is already out and I’m not finished.  It’s inexcusable.  Everything appeared to be in perfect order.  He quickly made his way upstairs.  Any moment now The Revelry would begin and he desperately needed to have his ear plugs in before.

In the bathroom, he brushed, brushed, brushed and flossed, flossed, flossed.  Three times each.  Always three.  He carefully inspected the eyepatch covering his left eye.  How often he had wished he had a second patch to cover his right.  Symmetry.  But that line of thinking often led to wondering why so many things came in twos instead of threes.  He was late tonight, however, and could not indulge himself in pointless contemplation.  He quickly wiped down the bathroom surfaces and shuffled off to his bedroom.  The Revelry hadn’t begun yet; he may still have time.

He reached into his bedside table and retrieved a new pair of ear plugs, wrapped tightly in plastic.  Elation.  He would make it.  He let himself feel a modicum of joy as he opened the plastic bag.  Small victories really do give one so much pleasure, he mused.  A tiny smile spread across his face.

Bang, bang, bang.

His smile disappeared.

Bang, bang, bang.

“Hello?”  It was definitely a female voice.  She sounded youngish.

“Hello?  I see your light on.  I need help.”  She was at the back door.

And this is why I should never let customers in at closing time, he thought to himself.

Bang, bang, bang.

“Please, The Revelry is going to start any second.  Please, open the door,” she called out loudly.

“I’m coming,” Nehring said with a sigh.  He threw the ear plugs into a nearby trash receptacle, fastened his robe securely and shuffled back downstairs.


Nehring stood a few feet away from the back door, located in his workshop.  Scowling, he attempted to peer through the bars over the window, trying to see who was banging so loudly.

“Hello?” the girl said.  She was young, just as he’d thought.  Fourteen?  Fifteen?  In the darkness her light blue eyes were almost all he could make out of her face.  Something about them…

“Are you going to let me in?”

Sirens.  The Revelry had begun.  The girl began to hyperventilate.

“That’s the siren,” she said between breaths, “Let me in. Let me in.”

“Aren’t you kind of young to be out this late at night?” was all Nehring said.

“I got lost on my way home and then it got dark and I realized The Revelry would be starting soon but I don’t know where I am or how to get home from here and then I saw your light on and I thought you could help me and please,” she said all in one breath.  Nehring tilted his head slightly, still trying to gain a view of the young lady outside the door.  Finally, with a heavy sigh, he gave up and crossed the last few feet to the door.  Click, click, click.  He turned the lock and unbarred the door.

“Come in, I suppose,” he offered weakly, pushing the door open.  And before he’d even realized what was happening, the young girl was swinging a shotgun up from her side, gripping it tightly and pointing it in his face.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said grinning.

“Wonderful,” Nehring muttered, raising his hands in the air.

“In,” she said gesturing with the gun, the smile disappearing from her face.  With a heavy sigh, Nehring turned around and began walking through his workshop toward the front of the building, more annoyed than frightened.  The girl quickly circled around, keeping the gun aimed directly at him.  She gestured and pointed until they arrived at the small kitchen.  She nodded toward a kitchen chair.


Nehring sat.  He let out another heavy sigh.  Surely she could sense his annoyance by now.  A moment later, two men appeared in the kitchen doorway, each carrying two empty duffle bags.  One man was tall and heavy set, he looked as though he could have been a boxer in another life.  The other was shorter and small, his clothes were too big for him and he seemed to be full of nervous energy.  The girl nodded to them.

“You got the ROPE?” she asked.  The small one produced a rope from the folds of an oversized coat.  He grinned from ear to ear as he tied Nehring tightly to the chair.

She eyed the large one, “Did you secure the door?”


“Excuse me,” Nehring broke in, “but who are you and what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” the large one sneered.

“Argh, MATEY.  We be PILLAGIN’ and PLUNDERIN’ yer shop,” said the small one, letting out a high pitched peal of laughter not unlike a six-year-old girl.

Nehring furrowed his brow, “You’re what?”

The small one looks something like a lizard, he thought, His face is pointy.  I’ll call him Lizard.

Lizard grinned and pointed at his eye, then at Nehring.

“I see. My eyepatch.  How clever.”

Lizard let out another peal of laughter.

He has as much intelligence as a lizard too.

The large one slapped Lizard on the back of the head to shut him up.  Lizard frowned and rubbed his sore skull but was none-the-less grinning again a moment later.

“You two know what to do,” the girl said, “Get to it.”

“C’mon, Squid,” the large one said and the two of them headed out into the shop.

Squid.  Well, I wasn’t too far off, was I? Nehring smiled at his own thoughts.  He was quite witty, if he did say so himself.

“Why are you smiling? Stop that,” said the girl, breaking into his thoughts.

Nehring frowned.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know smiling was against the rules.”


High pitched laughter.

“Squid! Quit messin’ around.”

The two men could be heard clearly from the kitchen and it seemed they were determined to break everything in the shop.  Nehring felt his heart go into palpitations and he tried to steady his breathing, knowing his perfectly ordered shop was being destroyed.

“Do they have to break everything?” he asked the girl.


“Do you plan to tell me what this is all about?”

“Shut up.”


The large one and Squid returned a little while later, duffle bags, presumably full of valuables, in each hand.

“We took all the good stuff but I gotta tell you, Norry, there wasn’t much.  I thought you said this place would pay off,” the large one said.  The girl made no answer.  She sat awkwardly on the edge of the kitchen table, staring off into space.




The girl snapped back from whatever dream world she had been in.

“Sorry, Tank.  What did you say?”

Tank, Nehring thought, How comically appropriate. He made sure not to smile this time.

“I said this place didn’t pay off like you said it would.  What’s wrong with you anyway,” Tank replied.

“Nothing.  I’m fine,” she said, “I guess I just got bad information.”  She jumped down from the kitchen table and walked over to the window, peering out into the dark night sky.

“It’s too dark to leave.  The Revelers will still be out.  We need to wait until dawn.”

Squid pulled a knife from somewhere inside his vast coat and began cleaning his fingernails enthusiastically.  “What are we going to do with this POPPET?” he said grinning again and gesturing to Nehring.

“Nothing,” the girl said.

“Nothing? He’s seen our faces,” Tank said, “He knows our names.”

“If it helps any, I could care less,” Nehring offered, “I just want my shop cleaned up.”

The girl pointed a finger at Nehring, “You, shut up.”  To Tank she said, “Nothing is happening to him right now because we can’t leave yet and I don’t want to stare at a BLOODY mess for the next few hours.”

Squid pocketed the knife and pulled out a bit of twine he had tucked away.  “It doesn’t have to be bloody, CUPCAKE.  I know how to be clean and quiet.”  For just a moment, Nehring was almost afraid.

“No,” she said, raising the shotgun again, this time aiming it at Squid and then Tank.  “Nothing happens to him until I decide.  It’s my call.  Understand?”  No one moved or made a sound.  “Good.  Now, each of you take a door and stand watch.  When it’s time to end this, I will end it.”  Still, no one moved.  The men eyed the gun and the girl, mulling over what she’d said.  Eventually, Tank picked up the duffle bags he’d carried in and headed out of the room towards the front door.  Squid shrugged, grinned and followed, leaving his duffle bags behind.  A moment later, he returned.

“You got anything to eat?”


“Anything else?”

“Yes,” Nehring said.  Squid smiled, raising his eyebrows in anticipation.

“More soup.”  His smile quickly faded.

“BANANAS,” Squid muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I. Don’t. Like. Soup.” he said through gritted teeth.  The knife made an unexpected return.  He jabbed it into the wall and dug a jagged trench through it as he walked out.

“Why did you let him do that?!?” Nehring screamed, “Oh, I’m gonna be sick.  I feel like I’m having a heart attack.”

“Would you shut up? It’s just a wall,” the girl said.

“Well, excuse me but I didn’t ask to be tied up and have my home destroyed, did I?  I’m dying.  I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.  It’s just a wall.  Shut up.”

“I am dying.  My heart is racing.  I’m going to throw up.  I’m dying.  I’m dying.  I’m dying.”

And that was when Nehring was gagged.


The girl stood by the kitchen window staring out into the darkness for almost two hours before abruptly saying, “Does the name ‘Tibby’ mean anything to you?”

Nehring said nothing.  He couldn’t.

“Oh, right, the gag.  Sorry.”  She crossed the room and removed the gag from his mouth.

A barely audible, “Water,” came from Nehring.  She opened several cabinet doors before finding a glass and filling it will tap water.

“What was the question?” he managed with a raspy voice after taking a drink.

“Does the name ‘Tibby’ mean anything to you?”

“More water, please,” he said, “And, yes, it does.”  After another drink he added, “She used to work for me.”

“That’s it?  She worked for you?  Nothing else?”

“We were close.”

“But she did more than just work for you, right?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“How long?”


“How long?  How long ago was it?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “I’d say 16 or 17 years now.  Why do you want to know?”

“I have my reasons.  What’s under your eyepatch?” she asked, changing the subject.

“An eye.  Why are you asking about Tibby?” he countered.

“I said I have my reasons.  Why are you wearing an eyepatch?”  Nehring could see this was going nowhere.

“Why did you choose the night of The Revelry to rob me?  There are much less dangerous nights, you know.”

“I have reasons for that too.”  Nehring sighed.  This had been a very trying night.  He cleared his throat.

“Can I have another drink of water?  I’ll tell you all about Tibby.”  The girl leaned down and gave him a drink, sizing him up.

“Tibby was my apprentice, of sorts,” he said, “But not in clock repair.  I started repairing clocks after…  Anyway, when she was my apprentice we grew very close.  I think that I… well, I know that I… loved her.  I don’t know if she loved me but I like to think she did.  Something happened.  I was injured.  I sustained a head injury, actually, and after that I… changed.  The change was too much for her.  She left and I haven’t seen her since.  And that was 17 years ago, or thereabouts.”


“Hmm?  That’s all you have to say?”

She stared out of the window again for a few minutes.

“What’s under your eyepatch?”

“Oh, for crying out –“ Nehring started to say but was interrupted by Tank entering the kitchen.

“There are Revelers out front.  Should I take care of them?” he said.

“No,” said the girl, “Just turn off as many lights as you can.  They’ll get bored and leave.”

Bang, bang, bang.

“That came from the back door,” Nehring said, “You idiots left all the lights on and now we’re surrounded by Revelers.  Did you at least relock and bar the doors?”

“Let us in!” a loud male voice yelled through the back door.  Drunken laughter erupted from the other Revelers.  A moment later Squid appeared in the kitchen doorway, knife in hand, picking his teeth.

“I don’t like this, Norry,” he said, “Stuck in this house all night, nothing to eat, and now Revelers banging down the door.  I don’t like this at all.”  He stuck the knife into the kitchen table, nearly giving Nehring a heart attack.

“I say we unlock the back door and go out the front,” Tank said, “The Revelers will come in here and take care of him for us.  Nice and neat, no mess.”

“I don’t know, Tank.  I was kinda looking forward to that part,” Squid said, pulling the knife out of the table.

The girl looked back and forth between Tank and Squid and then at Nehring.

She stared hard into his good eye, “What’s under your eyepatch?”

“Do you really think this is the best time to be asking that?!?” he yelled.

She searched his face again, “Nehring, we don’t have time for this.  What is under your eyepatch?”

“How do you know my name?  I never told you my name.”

Tank and Squid exchanged looks.  Something was going on.

“Tibby is my mother.  She had me 16 years ago.  I never met my father, until… Tell me what’s under your eyepatch!”

“Tibby’s your mother?”


“You’re 16?


Squid broke into the conversation, “Why does it matter if she’s 16 or not?”  He looked at the girl, “Norry, how do you know this guy?  What’s going on?”

The girl looked back and forth between Tank and Squid.

“Nehring, what’s under your eyepatch?!” she said, “I need to know. Now.”

“Exactly what you think is there.”

The girl wasted no time, she ducked behind Nehring, grabbing a chunk of his hair and pulling up the eyepatch as she did.  She aimed Nehring’s head first at Tank as a blinding flash of light burst forth from Nehring’s left eye socket, reducing Tank to a smoldering pile of ashes in a moment’s time.  Squid dropped the knife and tried to run but he was stopped by the light and joined his friend Tank on the floor.  She let go of Nehring’s hair and replaced the eyepatch before coming out from behind the chair.

“You’re real,” she said.

“I am,” he said, “I didn’t know about you.”

“I know.”

They stared silently at each other for a moment taking in all they had just learned and experienced.

Bang, bang, bang.

“Yoo-hoo?” the loud male voice called out again from the back door, “Let us in or we’re coming in!”

“Revelers,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied, “What is your name again?”

“Norry.  Well, really Norretta but everyone calls me Norry.”

“Norretta, I’m Garret Randall Nehring.  Pleased to meet you.  Do you think you could untie me?”

“Oh, yes, sorry.”  She grabbed the knife from the place where Squid had dropped it and cut the ropes away from the chair to which Nehring was tied.  He stood slowly, rubbing the places on his arms and torso where the rope had been.

“Right. Revelers.  I’ll take care of them,” he said.  He marched over to the back door in the workshop trying very hard to ignore the mess he saw all around him.  Once there, he placed a hand on either side of the door, closed his good eye, breathed in deeply and said in a loud, low voice, “Go. Away.”  A strange calm fell over the whole place.  Norry looked out the window and gasped as she witnessed all of the Revelers casually walk away from the building.

“That was amazing!” she beamed as they walked back to the kitchen.  They carefully avoided the two piles of ashes in the kitchen doorway and sat down at the table. Nehring positioned his chair so he couldn’t see the mess behind him.

“Yes, well, I probably should have done that when you came to the door, but I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Oh, right.  I’m sorry about all of that.  I didn’t really know anything about you except the few things Mom told me and they always sounded like fairy tales.  I figured I needed some strong back up if I was going to meet you.”

“Uh huh.  I think your planning skills need a little work, my dear.  How did you find those two morons, anyway?”

“Tank and Squid?  Oh, I’ve been working with them for a few months now doing jobs.”

“Jobs?  You mean you’ve done this sort of thing before?”

“Not by choice.  See, Mom went missing about 6 months ago.  It was on a night of Revelry.  She left work late and never came home.  I went to the police but they were no help.  Crimes that happen during Revelry can’t be prosecuted.  I ended up in a shelter and that’s where I met Tank and Squid.  They sort of took me under their wing, you know, protected me, but only in exchange for helping them rob and hurt people.  I didn’t like it.”

“So how did you end up at my doorstep?”

“Well, even without help from the police or really anyone, I kept trying to find out what happened to Mom.  I found out she’d been kidnapped by a group of Revelers who keep her locked up until the night of The Revelry each month.  They discovered her ‘abilities’ and now they bring her out each month to do magic for them like a performing monkey.  I’ve tried and tried to figure out where they keep her locked up but I can’t.  But I know where they make her perform each month.  The catch is, I’m not strong enough to rescue her myself.  And I remembered all the stories Mom had told me about you and…”

“I see.  So you want my help?  Why didn’t you just ask those two to help you?” he said, gesturing behind him.

“They’re terrified of Revelers.  Or, I guess they were, before I incinerated them with your eye.”

“Yes, that’s another thing we need to discuss.”

“Let’s save it for another time.  It’s going to be sunup soon and the Revelers will put Mom back wherever they put her for another month.  I know where she is right now. Will you help me?  Will you help me rescue my mom?”

Nehring looked hard into the face of the daughter he hadn’t known he had.  Her eyes were so much like her mother’s, light blue with a fire behind them.  He suddenly wondered why he hadn’t recognized her as Tibby’s daughter right away, she was practically the spitting image of her mother.

“Of course I’ll help you.  But afterwards you’re going to help me clean up this mess.”


New Song and Such

Wrote a song the other day.  Used my high tech phone gadget to record it.  I actually have an awesome computer for recording now, I just have to figure out how to do it.  Anyway, here is the link to the song:

Teach Me Holy Spirit

I’m kinda thinking I need to record more of my songs and post them.  I have almost 50 songs now and only a sprinkling of them are on here.

Also, for those of you who commented your “word” to me for my short story, the short story is finished.  It’s called “Under The Eyepatch” and I liked it so much I submitted it to a sci-fi/fantasy magazine.  They do online submissions so I’ll hear back very quickly whether or not they will accept it.  If they DO accept it, I will find a way to let you read it somehow but I won’t be able to post it on my blog because they will have first publishing rights.  If they reject the story, I will immediately post it on my blog for you to enjoy.  So honestly, it’s a win/win.  Or maybe even a win/win/win. (That obscure reference was for you, Kayla Martin.)

I love you all.  I also love kittens.  Kittens are the best.  I’ll leave you with a picture of my kitty for your viewing pleasure.



Let’s have some fun. 

I want something to write about but I want you to help me. I will write a short story about the first 7 things people write in the comments. 


  1. You may only comment once. 
  2. The comment must be one word only. 
  3. The comment must be rated PG. 
  4. You must think the comment in “pirate speak” before typing. 
  5. Pics count as a comment, as long as it’s only one pic, rated PG and you’re thinking about the pic the way a pirate would. 
  6. If you live near me and you comment, could you please high five me next time you see me? Actually, can you high five me even if you don’t comment. I don’t get enough high fives. (Ok, I do but I really like high fives.)

Ok, comment away! First 7! Let’s do this!