“Hey man, that’s real weird.” said Arouna, perplexed at el Monstruo’s changed appearence. He touched el Monstruo’s cheek and once again drew his hand back swiftly. “That’s real weird. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve seen weird stuff, but not anything like this.” The redness had spread from el Monstruo’s face, down his neck, and across his chest. He stopped wearing the mask; it was stifling with all the heat his head was throwing off. It was bothersome to wear a shirt now, as his torso had begun radiating the strange heat.

“I don’t know what to do, Arouna. I’ve tried salve and I’ve tried clortrimezole. I talked to the doctor at urgent care, but he was afraid to come near me. He threatened to call the CDC if I ever came back.” El Monstruo leaned heavily against the counter of the bar. He was happy that the Freeky Tiki was empty, except for Arouna and him. And Rita. Why does she stand by me? Is she just being a friend, or is there more? Or do I just want there to be more? El Monstruo studied Rita’s petite frame and imagined her staying with him, not only through this ordeal, but anything that would come in the future. She would fight for me to the end if she had to. She’s my best friend.

“You know, I don’t know if I ever saw someone turn red. I don’t know if anyone has ever seen it. But maybe it isn’t a bad thing. Maybe you’ll be able to get some kind of grant to go back to school and finish your education. How about that, huh? They say minorities always get money for school. How much more minor can you get than just one?” said Arouna with a smile. He placed a tiki mug on the bar and filled it with seltzer and a mix of juices. “There. It may not work, but it is the best I can do. It may not turn you white again, but it will freshen you up. Maybe help you think better.” Arouna’s smile and impromptu cocktail made el Monstruo smile, until he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His smile looked terrifying; a mass of sharp fangs jutted from his mouth from every direction. If the smile wasn’t enough, the pointed nubs of his horns were starting to push through his skin. His smiled swiftly bowed into a deep frown.

————————————————————————————-

That’s all I can write tonight. I’m getting tired and need to wake up early tomorrow. The rest should be up either tomorrow or over the weekend. We’ll see.

Here’s the conclusion to Minerva and August, Supernatural Investigators: The Little People Village.

————————————————————————————-

“I am the queen here.” she declared in a proud voice. The leaves of her dress rustled as she walked past Minerva and August. She smelled of dry leaves and  the cool autumn night. Her dark eyes met with August’s as she sat on the throne. Hewn from stone and bearing carved images of thousands of faeries intertwined with each other, the throne looked impossibly uncomfortable, but the queen seemed perfectly easeful. She traced the body of one of the faeries with her fingernail, bringing the carved being to life and letting it dance in her hand. Minerva watched; August was transfixed by the queen and her power. The tiny villagers began to dance around the throne, chanting.

“August.” whispered Minerva. The spell cast by the beautiful queen preoccupied August’s mind. His hand had gone for a scroll, but he made no move to unroll the parchment. Minerva weighed her options. She knew her powers were limited; she had placed the limits on them herself. She wouldn’t use the scroll; she couldn’t bring herself to cast a spell ever again. She felt herself slipping into the past, her mind wandering back to one night, seven years ago. Minerva forced herself back into the present; the queen was looking at her quizzically.

“What did you do, dear?” asked the queen in a motherly tone. Minerva had to decide what to do quickly, before she gave the queen a chance to learn anything she could use against her. The queen blew softy on the faerie in her hand and it turned to rose-scented dust. Minerva pulled at August’s arm and rushed at the startled queen. She crashed into the queen with all her weight and sent her hard into the throne’s back. August fell to the ground, dazed but free of the spell. He tried to stand, but his head was swimming. Pawing at the scroll, he tried to remember what he was doing here and why. Five tiny people rushed at him with pitch forks; each sting brought a wave of pain and rememberance. He brushed the people aside and unravelled the ten foot long scroll. The parchment bore an intricate painting of a labyrinth. Agust struggled to remember the words he needed to recite, his concentration breaking when he chanced to see Minerva trapped in a series of roots that flowed from the queen’s hands.

“The thousand eyes of Uggthac are on you,” he yelled, “the master of the maze calls you.” August repeated the words, louder and louder. He could feel the power swelling slowly from the scroll. He saw one of Minerva’s hands grab for a rock; in a moment, the rock crashed hard on the queen’s skull. The queen fell to the ground, pulling the root entangled Minerva with her. August continued his invocation, drowing out the little peoples’ attempt to counter his spell. The roots relaxed as the queen began to fade from reality. The tiny people screamed in anguish as he winked out of existence completely.

“What did you do?” they demanded, brandishing their tiny farming implements. August pulled a small parchment out of his coat and placed a drop of ink on it, smearing it into a magical symbol of rememberance. Minerva stood up, brushing herself off and combing the leaves from her hair.

“Remember who you are.” he said as the symbol began to glow. A scent of rosemary filled the air as a wave of energy pulsed from the symbol. Slowly, the little people remembered that once, they were not so little. Sadness filled their faces as they remembered lives long abandoned and forgotten. “She got into your minds and made you her subjects.” said August. The silent shame of the little people brought him his answer. Minerva rested her hand on August’s shoulder. He looked up to see sadness in her expressive blue eyes.

“You didn’t need to do that.” she said softly as they left the melancholy village.

“I did. They had a right to know.”

“But you can’t undo the spell she put on them, can you?”

“No, the magic is too old and powerful. I’d fall into a horrible debt calling on such strength.” August felt disappointed with himself. He looked at the scroll with the labyrinth and saw a tiny speck moving through its drawn corridors. “One hundred years isn’t enough for her.” he said finally. Minerva lost herself in thought. She knew why August did what he did; he had lost one friend to a monster in the past and wouldn’t let it happen again. However, she knew it didn’t have to end the way it did. If only I used the spell instead. I could have trapped her and freed August from her spell. I could have stopped him…

They sat in the station wagon and gloom blossomed. Neither of them spoke through the ride back to Woonsocket. When August shifted the car into park and turned the engine off, he sunk into his seat.

“I got carried away. This was supposed to be just an investigation, not a removal. It was supposed to be a fun escape and nothing else. “I go get myself entranced, then I start slinging curses and spells.”

“Don’t worry. I would have done the same thing if it came down to it.” said Minerva, “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I guess you’re right. I just feel so bad.”

“You were right; the people had a right to know. Maybe there was a kinder way to tell them. The queen was aggressive and you did what you know how to do. I’m the one that’s wrong. I should have cast that spell.” Minerva sighed and sunk into her seat. August studied the pensive expression on her’s face. He just didn’t know how to respond.

“You want some ice cream?” popped out of his mouth.

“Sure.” responded Minerva. August sat up and started the car again. He drove down the street to a small ice cream stand. Somehow, as they sat there eating their ice cream cones, everythng started to seem all right again.

“What should we do tomorrow?” asked August.

“Hopefully, we get a call. The electric bill’s going to be coming in.” said Minerva, punctuating her sentence with a bite of the crunchy ice cream cone.   

This is a story based on a real place in Connecticut. I thought I was going to have time to finish it all in one post, but unfortunately I need to get up early in the morning. I hope to post the rest before the end of the weekend.

————————————————————————————-

August stared at his laptop in disbelief. He closed the lid and swiveled his chair so he could face Minerva, who was sitting on the floor, surrounded by dusty books.

“Can you believe it? No e-mails. Not one.” August whined drearily. He had been in demand as an investigator of all things supernatural since 1999. Back then, he was an unsuspecting art student, but since then he abandoned his studies of the human form for the study of occult tomes. His specialty was binding and exorcising; Minerva was much more sensative to psychic vibrations than he was. She also was much more patient.

“I’m sure even Superman has his off days. Dr. Doom can’t trouble Gotham everyday.” Minerva smiled widely as aggravation spread across August’s face. He loved comic books almost as much as he loved hunting for ghosts; Minerva knew just how to provoke him.

“Superman doesn’t live in Gotham. Dr. Doom is not even in the same universe.” said August, exaspirated. “All I want is a case. Something to sink my teeth into. I can’t just sit here.”

“Then why don’t you dust the bookshelves. Some of these volumes of Tobin’s Spirit Guide are caked with dust.” Minerva ran a finger along the cover of volume two-hundred and twelve and showed August her dust laden finger.

“I don’t want to do something mundane. I want some action. I need to get out there and find something.” Minerva was tiring of August’s rantings and wished that he would find himself a girlfriend, or something; anything to get his mind off of work for a few hours. She pulled a copy of The Most Haunted Places in New England, a thin soft covered book of about two hundred pages, and tossed it at August’s feet.

“How about a field trip? Some hiking, fresh air, and all that.” August picked up the miniscule volume and leafed through it inattentively.

“Where are you thinking?” he asked.

“Connecticut. The Little People Village. Page one-seventeen. It’s a bit of a ride, but it might be worth it. Some weird stuff happened there. A guy built these tiny houses for the voices he heard in his head, and then he built a throne. After his death, a cult used the site for ritual murders. Place hasn’t been on the radar since 2000, when the current owners of the land destroyed the throne.” Minerva closed the copy of Marduk and Other Divinities Amongst Us and put it back on the shelf. She picked up the other books she had littered the office floor with and put them back on the shelf as well. August read the entry about the Little People Village and felt intrigued enough to undertake the hour and a half drive to get there.

Leaving their tiny office, which sat above a weiner shop on Woonsocket’s Main Street, the pair looked like an odd couple. Minerva was wearing a soft pink peacoat and her long, blonde hair was waving like a spider web in the wind. August was dressed in his usual work attire; a black kilt made out of thick cotton and a black duster. His dark hair was recently cropped into a curly mass atop his head. They walked down the street past several brick buildings with glass store fronts. Some were normal businesses; shops selling antiques, some small restaurants, and a karate studio. However, others were simply facades for less mundane enterprises…

They piled into August’s station wagon, in the back of which was a tangle of wires, books, camera equipment, scrolls, and a massive altar top from one of the city’s abandoned churches. As he started the car, Minerva’s cell phone exploded into the chorus of ABBA’s Dancing Queen. While Minerva talked unceasingly to her sister, August guided the automobile towards the highway. They headed Westward on thickly forested highways.

“Connecticut lasts forever.” said August when Minerva finally finished with her call. “It’s like Connecticut is a wormhole or something. You get so far, then suddenly you’re right where you started, or at least at a place that looks just like where you started.”

“It isn’t that bad. At least it’s nice and green. I bet it’s pretty in the fall around here.” Minerva contentedly watched the scenery pass by while August concentrated on the road ahead. Silence slowly filled the car. Neither was uncomfortable; they had been working together for nearly ten years now. They rode on in silence, listening only to the hum of the car’s engine because the radio died years before.

“Do you think we could have been something?” asked August, breaking the quiet. Minerva was surprised by the question. August, thinking he needed to clarify the question, said “I mean, do you think we could have been an item? If things were different?” Minerva took a moment to digest the question.

“Why?” she asked, evading the question.

“I just found myself thinking about it. What if? You know, those questions bug me. ’What if I never came to Woonsocket and saw the shuggoths?’ ‘What if I hadn’t met Ana? or Sarah?’ Sometimes, when I’m just sitting there, I think of these things. I don’t mean anything by it. I know you’re in a relationship and all, but I was just thinking how weird this would be if we were, you know, a couple.”

“Do you really think it would be weirder? We’ve seen some strange stuff over the years, and couple or not, I don’t think it would be weirder.” responded Minerva.

“Well, I just don’t know if I’d want to let you risk yourself going out like this if you were more than just a friend.” said August. His mind wandered back to the day that Sarah had saved him, throwing herself at that thing. 

“I don’t know if I should be offended by that.” remarked Minerva, trying to be playful. Seeing the grim expression on August’s face, she changed the conversation. “So, this village. Are you excited to see it?”

The smile returned to August’s face as he nodded his head. “Yes.” At the end of the long ride, August was himself again. They parked the car in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart. August took a sheaf of parchment from the rear of the station wagon, as well as his digital camera and a small, wooden writing set. They made their way on foot through the quaint town; locals looked at them suspiciously, half-knowing why they had come to visit. In the late afternoon, they arrived at the path that, according to The Most Haunted Places in New England, would wind into the woods and lead to the Little People Village. The path was hard to follow, but after fifteen minutes of wandering, Minerva spotted a tiny house. August took out his camera and took a picture of the knee high cottage.

“Windows. Tiny windows!” marvelled Minerva as she bent down to look at the exquisitely detailed house. It was carved from stone; intricate patterns of shingles covered the roof and when she looked in a window, she saw that Persian rugs were skillfully hewn on the floors. “How did he do this?” she asked out loud. August heard her, but could offer no answer. His eyes were drawn deeper into the forest, where a stone throne sat on a small hill, surrounded by a dozen detailed domiciles.

“I thought you said that was destroyed.” said August as he took steps away from the distant object. “Minnie, Do you think we should leave?”

Minerva took her attention from the tiny house and let her focus drift. Her vision slowly blurred and she felt herself expanding into a thin sheet of consciousness that canvassed the area. August quieted his thoughts and heard a squeaky voice.

“Greetings, friend.” said the voice. August stumbled forward, startled. Minerva’s focus fell to a tiny man, about the size of her thumb. Other tiny men and women started to swarm out from the houses. August held up his camera and snapped several pictures. He started to think about wards that he could use to keep the little people away, but none came to mind.

“Hello,” responded Minerva in a friendly tone.

“We don’t get many visitors here.” said the tiny man, “except for the Queen.”

“Queen?” asked August.

“Yes. She comes at night and takes her place upon the throne. She is our Queen and Goddess.” explained the man, “She is our Great Mother.” The other little people began to chant ‘Great Mother’.

“Who is this Queen of yours?” asked Minerva, hoping for a less general answer. 

“She called us here and had this town built for us.”

“And that is her throne.” said August, pointing at the hill.

“Yes,” replied the tiny man.

“Yes.” said a voice from behind August and Minerva. They turned to see a tall woman with green, bark splotched skin and root like hair. She wore a dress crafted from leaves and a crown of antlers…         

El Monstruo let himself sink deeply into the warm bath water, but not so deep as to get his mask wet.  When he asked if he could use Rita’s bath tub, she insisted that he take the mask off. Despite himself, he told her that he would take it off. While he didn’t feel right about taking the mask off, he was starting to feel itchy; sometimes, it felt like the mask was crawling on his face. He tugged at the laces and pulled the mask off. How long has it been? Two months all ready. I wonder… El Monstruo pulled himself from the tub; dripping water, he walked to the mirror. Apprehensively, he looked at himself in the mirror.

Rita was sitting on the porch watching the tide coming in. She was proud that she stayed ‘just friends’ with el Monstruo. He was beautiful in his own way. He was tender and caring with children, and he had grown to be extremely gregarious since starting his job at the Freeky Tiki. Arouna had confided in Rita that he wasn’t sure if the burly man was the right fit for the restaurant. However, el Monstruo’s presence warded off any chances of drunken patrons starting a brawl and soon he found himself working in the kitchen. Rita was quite happy with the man that el Monstruo was becoming; Grant was meek and mousy, while el Monstruo was quite the opposite. Her quiet satisfaction was interrupted when she heard el Monstruo yell out.

Rita rushed into the seaside condo and rapped on the bathroom door urgently.

“What’s wrong!” she asked, praying that there was nothing wrong at all. El Monstruo didn’t answer. “El-Mo, what’s wrong? I heard you yell.” She put her ear to the door and could hear sobbing. Her imagination painted the picture of a suicide; in her mind’s eye, Rita imagined el Monstruo laying in her tub with his wrists cut deeply. She couldn’t bear the idea of him giving up when everything was going so well. She started to open the door and el Monstruo slammed it shut, dropping his weight against it. Rita pounded on the door desperately.

“You can’t see!” said el Monstruo pleadingly, “I need to put my mask back on.” El Monstruo grabbed his mask and slid it over his head once more. He wrapped a towel around himself and opened the bathroom door to see Rita with tears in her eyes. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed. He folded his arms around her waist and held her close.

“I was so worried about you.” she said while weeping. “I thought you killed yourself. I was so worried!”

“I’m sorry,” replied el Monstruo, “I just took my mask off.” El Monstruo’s voice trailed off as he lost himself in Rita’s embrace. She smelled nice, like she was kissed by the sun and massaged by the sea breeze. She took her arms from around his neck and took a step away. To el Monstruo, it seemed like she had suddenly became wary and frightened. In truth, she felt his hardening manhood pushing at her from beneath the towel and realized what she was doing. When he saw her turn away, el Monstruo apologized even though he was unsure what he was apologizing for.

“No, you don’t need to apologize. It isn’t your fault. It’s my fault. I just…” Rita’s voice faltered and she felt herself starting to panic. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. The pair stood silently for a minute or more, searching for the right thing to say.

“This is awkward. I just don’t know what to say.” said Rita weakly.

“I’m sorry” responded el Monstruo, frustrating Rita. He turned to go back into the bathroom and Rita took a couple steps forward, and then she noticed that the mask was not tied. In the gaps between the laces, she saw that el Monstruo had black, curly hair and that his neck looked red in color. She stepped back, slightly shocked. El Monstruo shut the door and started to towel himself off. Rita tried to convince herself that el Monstruo’s skin wasn’t actually red under the mask. It’s just my imagination. He just Grant under that mask. But Grant didn’t have black hair.She was still thinking when el Monstruo came back out of the bathroom dressed in white linen shirt and pants.

“Thank you.” he said without much feeling. He tried to stride towards the door, but Rita stood in his way.

“What made you scream?” she asked him directly. Perhaps not the most tactful approach, but I need to know. I need to know what’s under that mask.

“Please don’t be afraid, and please, don’t tell anyone.” El Monstruo questioned his reasoning. He would show her what he saw, and hopefully she would still talk to him. Hopefully she will keep it secret. El Monstruo took off his mask, and Rita felt her knees buckle.

“What happened to you?” she asked as she studied el Monstruo’s face. It was deep red and his awkward smile exhibited a mouth filled with jagged fangs. A wiry beard was growing on his chin and his hair was matted. She could see tiny lumps emerging on his forehead.

“I don’t know.” said el Monstruo truthfully. Rita extended a hand to touch his face; her touch excited el Monstruo’s emotions. He hadn’t felt a woman’s hand on his face in so very long, however she withdrew her hand swiftly.

“Your face is scalding hot!” she exclaimed, trying to cool her hand by waving it about. El Monstruo’s head tipped downward and he felt something growing in his stomach. It was despair, hate, anger, and love all at once. He had truly become a monster; although he didn’t know how he became a monster, he knew how beautiful women usually treat monsters. He also knew how most stories about monsters normally ended. Rita considered what she should do next. She felt the urge to run from el Monstruo, but she also felt the need to help him. He looked at her sheepishly and simply said that he was sorry.  

Aaron sat by the fire and honed the blade of his flamberge. Hugo was intently polishing his armor and humming quietly to himself, losing himself in the simple task. Aaron thought back over the last year that he had been traveling with Hugo. Hugo had saved him from a trio of knights that had been told that Aaron was a rapist. While Aaron had done no such crime, the three knights seemed not to care. They waited until Aaron was in his cups and then swooped down on him like a thunderstorm across the prairie. The first nearly cracked Aaron’s skull with a heavy cudgel; Aaron swayed out of the way of the blow and pulled at the knight’s over extended arm and pulled him from the saddle. A second rushed in on foot brandishing a long sword and screaming for revenge on the behalf of some woman that Aaron had never heard of. Aaron tumbled drunkenly and rolled to his feet, meeting the third knight as he was drawing a short sword. Aaron’s head crashed against the third knight’s unprotected skull. The first was getting to his feet as the long sword grazed Aaron’s ribs.

Hugo, dressed in his best white surcoat and red, silk tunic saw the knights pummeling a drunkard and demanded an explanation. The three knights continued their assault against Aaron, who was beginning to regret having left his weapon at the inn. He tried to wrench the long sword away when a plated boot landed square in his crotch. Falling to the ground, he could see the cudgel swinging down. Sucking in what should have been his last breath, Aaron winced. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the knight backing away, the head of his cudgel sundered off. Hugo engaged the sword wielding knights with an impressive display of defensive swordsmanship.

“Why do you beat this man so?” he demanded. “No one deserves to die in the street like this!”

“He’s a rapist and a thief!” called back the knight with the short sword as the leaf-bladed weapon clashed against the side of Hugo’s broadsword. Hugo changed his stance and let the blade of his sword slide up to the short sword’s hand guard; the cross-bar wasn’t thick enough to bear Hugo’s blade as he pushed forward with his entire weight. The cross-bar spiraled off the hilt and the sword fell to the ground, along with two fingers. The knight with the long sword charged at Hugo in his blind spot, but Hugo was experienced enough to anticipate the attack and met it with the side of his blade.

“Stop now, and we will talk of this as knights should.” offered Hugo, but pride flared up inside of his opponent, who slashed wildly at Hugo’s head. Hugo stepped away, letting the knight spend his energy. Once he saw an opportunity, Hugo launched his sword forward. The wide blade bit into the knight’s groin and blood poured from the wound. The knight fell, crying out loudly. Soon, the cries of pain subsided into a wailing, tear-filled cry.

“Save me!” the knight begged. His comrades had run away long before, and it wasn’t to bring help back. Aaron approached the fallen man and smiled at him drunkenly. He pulled at the man’s surcoat and tore off a long strip of fabric. Hugo knelt beside Aaron; he pushed the armor’s tassets out of the way and unbuckled the cuisses. He tossed the broken armor away and studied the shattered rings of the chausses.

“That was some hit.” complemented Aaron as he pulled broken pieces of mail from the wound. “He’s going to die no matter what we do.” Despite his comment, Aaron spat on the wound several times and bound it tightly. The fallen knight’s skin was as white as milk and he was coated in a veil of sweat. Hugo called for a healer, but there was little her herbs and poultices could do for the grievous wound. Aaron sobered quickly when he had realized the totality of what had transpired. He sat next to Hugo, who was praying quietly.

“I’m sorry.” said Aaron. Hugo wanted to stay stoic and ignore the interruption, but he wanted answers as much as he wanted guidance. Not moving, he asked Aaron his name, and he also asked why the knights were trying to kill him.

“They said I raped some woman from the bar.”

“Was there truth in it?” asked Hugo softly but sternly.

“None. They were just looking for a fight, I guess.” replied Aaron, drinking some fresh water and trying to clear his head. “Then again, maybe they were just looking for a reason to fight me.” Aaron never thought that he would actually tell someone his story. The town was so small that everyone knew it, and visitors seldom paid a disgraced knight any attention. “I made too many mistakes in my life to have many friends. So instead of friends, I have enemies.”

“Why?” inquired Hugo, trying to keep Aaron at ease. He was taking his measure of the man, trying to understand him. He was also trying to rationalize killing someone in order to save him.

“I was knighted five years ago. My lord sent me to tournaments, but I was a poor jouster. He decided to send me on other business; he wanted me to be his killer. I didn’t want to, but I was a knight…”

“And a knight does as his lord asks.” said Hugo with sympathy.

“One day, my lord sent me to dispatch of his son’s mistress. She bore him a son, and my lord did not wish his son’s bastard to be able to grow up to challenge him, or a rightful heir, for his seat. I went, and I did what I was told. But then I left my armor behind, as well as my knighthood.”

“Why did you do it if you were going to leave your lord?”

“Because if it wasn’t me, it would have been another knight. One that wouldn’t have done his job so swiftly; perhaps one who would have taken pleasure from the killings, and maybe more.” Aaron sat, reflecting on Hugo. This knight was everything he had wanted to be when he had become a page. Hugo seemed like he was made of valor wrapped around honor. Aaron looked at himself and saw a drunkard that probably deserved to be beaten to death. “Friend, today has opened my eyes. I don’t want to be what I am any longer. I want to be something more. Something better than I was. I want to be like you.” Hugo turned and glared at Aaron.

“You don’t want to be like me.” said Hugo without passion, as though it were irrevocable truth. Aaron didn’t understand what Hugo meant, but he learned over the year. Now, as he set his flamberge aside and started to mend his armor, he knew what Hugo meant. However, he still wanted to be like Hugo, or at least he wanted to be like he thought Hugo was. Hugo continued silently polishing his armor, thinking about his own path, wondering where he was going and trying not to think about where he had been.

“We’ll find the King of Dragons, Hugo. Soon enough, you’ll be rid of me and this quest.” said Aaron with a smile, “You’ll be able to marry Miranda, and you’ll have a dozen kids. Hey! Why don’t you name one after me?” Hugo simply looked up at his friend and shook his head, smiling. The road often seemed unending and lonesome, but it helped to have someone to be lonesome with…

Every now and then, I like to look back at work from the past. This little poem/children’s story was based on the idea that when people grow up, they tend to forget about the magic the world once had when they were younger. I wrote it back in October of 2000 as part of a brief explosion of poetry. That was around my one year anniversary of going out with my soon to be wife, Sarah. Without further ado, here’s a poem for the whole family:

Dragon in My Underpants

In a small house
Outside of Saddleton Falls,
There sounds a scream
Which echoes through all the halls

“There’s a dragon in my underpants!”
Robert Cliffrose exclaimed,
But of course his mother
Doubted the absurd claim.

Mother Cliffrose
Has heard it all.
From a unicorn on Robert’s Nose
To a demon that stole pantyhose.

She’s heard Robert speak of angels
And talking pebbles.
He has spoken of Water Sprites and their confrontations
With cranky Southern Rebels.

But something was different!
This day was far from plain,
As evidenced when Robert
Came downstairs to explain.

Half naked and frightened,
The little youth bellowed,
as he told his story
of why his socks are now yellowed.

“Through my window it came!”
He said with a shudder.
“How did it fit?”(Mother asked rather politely)
“He used a stick of butter!”(Robert replied, not lying even slightly.)

“Robert, though I have to cook,
I will take a moment of my time,
Let the oatmeal simmer
And go take a look.”

Up the stairs,
Mother and son trotted,
As Mother Cliffrose wondered
What her son had plotted.

“Did he break a window?
No! I’d have heard the glass…
Maybe he he’ll get through this phase?
I hope this all will pass!”

Of course Mother Cliffrose spoke only to herself,
knowing fully well that there was no dragon,
nor beast, NOT EVEN AN ELF!
These things do not exist, she convinced herself.

To the door,
Where Robert’s bed is kept,
The Mother and son slowly,
Slowly crept.

With a squeak of the hinges,
there was a brief silence,
one that was not
a prelude to violence.

Nothing was there,
Not even the bed.
Not a ball glove or ball bat
Or stuffed animal head.

A stretched out pair of underwear,
Was all that was there.
A sight which brought Mother and son
Naught but dispair.

Robert Cliffrose looked up,
And smiled at his mother.
He never lied before,
And this was not another.

From that day hence,
Mother Cliffrose believed
The stories told by her son.
Regretting ever doubting any single one.

Hugo gingerly squeezed his legs and his horse took a few wary steps forward. His full plate armor glistened in the early morning sun as he poked his spear at the knight sleeping under the gently waving tendrils of the willow tree.

“Wake up Aaron!” he called, gently poking his comrade on the side. Aaron woke, startled and nearly tripping over his legs. His hand reached for his flamberge, a blade nearly as tall as him, which jutted out of the ground. Naked and filthy, he slapped the spear away with a wave of the hefty sword. His long, matted blonde hair tumbled near his waist and swayed like a field of wheat as he launched himself forward, tugging at the horse’s bridle. Swiftly, he pulled himself up so he could look Hugo in the eye.

“Don’t wake me with a spear, or that damned thing will find its way into your heart!” threatened Aaron. Hugo resisted belting his friend with an armored fist, but instead calmly explained that he had all ready tried the most gentle of measures of awakening his traveling companion and needed to resort to more drastic measures. “Bah!” dismissed Aaron as he leapt from the horse. “What’s the rush anyways? The dragon isn’t going anywhere. Bastard’s been asleep ten years, and he’ll probably be asleep tomorrow and next week, and for many months to come. Another morning won’t make much of a difference.” Despite his grievances, Aaron started to dress for battle in his suit of boiled leather and chain mail. Tucking his open-faced helm under his arm and slinging his sword onto his shoulder, he walked slowly beside Hugo.

Hugo looked down on Aaron and smiled at the bull headed knight. Aaron never rode war horses; he always had a love for swift animals and prided himself on his acrobatic prowess. In truth, Aaron was less of a knight than Hugo, but he certainly was a better fighter. Hugo never underestimated his friend’s skills; while Aaron may never had jousted in a tournament, he had proven himself again and again. Despite his laziness, he made for a good traveling companion. He had good eyes and knew his way around a battlefield. Aaron loved Hugo as a brother, and had an equal respect for the accomplished knight’s skill.

“So the dragon will know. I’ve heard that too many times. ‘The dragon is old, the dragon is wise,’ Bah! The dragons are a blight on the earth and an affront to the gods. A snake with feet and wings; liars and thieves the lot of them.” complained Aaron as he walked through the thickly wooded forest. The trees shaded them from the sun and kept them cool as the day became warmer.

“Just another mile and we’ll find out where the truth of the matter is. There’s good and bad in all things; I saw a giant save a child from a well and I’ve watched a serpent-man lay his life down for his human comrades. Villagers always say these things are evil, but they never truly know, do they?” Hugo said softly.

“Bah, I say! Bah! I never heard any of those stories from anyone but you. You’re young and full of ideals that just don’t hold up in the real world. A giant may save a life, but how many will he take in a month? Anytime he’s hungry, that’s one less kid in the world and one more pile of dung. I say track ‘em and kill ‘em.”

“I hope you aren’t thinking of talking to the dragon like that.” said Hugo, trying to make the phrase ring as a warning to his friend’s ears. Aaron responded with silence; they were getting closer to the creature’s lair and he was starting to get on edge. Hugo strapped his shield to his arm; the leather straps groaned as he fastened the stag emblazoned shield’s buckles tightly. He said a quiet prayer, hoping that his God would bless him with the power to overcome the dragon peacefully. Aaron’s mind simply focused on his task. He would not pray to his gods, because he didn’t want to owe them any favors. He sneaked through the woods towards a giant cave that expelled a sulphurous and skunk-like stink. A purring sound rumbled out of the cave; the sleeping dragon simply stayed inert, oblivious to the possible dangers that lurked near it. Aaron entered the cave first, followed by the mounted Hugo.

“Awake, Thule! Awake and listen to me!” called Hugo, masking the sound of Aaron’s steps as he picked his way through a heap of gold strewn on the floor of the dragon’s lair. The dragon stirred in the darkness and opened its cat-like eyes. Sleepily, the dragon considered the mounted knight.

“What do you want!” boomed the dragon’s voice, “I’m tired and need rest. Why did you wake me?” Hugo felt the hot, rancid breath of the dragon wash over him. He slid his spear into its sheathe on the saddle and produced a small sack of gold. The dragon’s eyes flooded with greed as the bag flew through the air and crashed heavily to the ground. The dragon pulled at the bag’s drawstrings with its immense claws and let the coins spill out.

“Ask, then, if it is a question you want to ask.”

“I want to know where the father of dragons is.”

The dragon chortled deeply, not knowing that Aaron was in the shadows, readying his sword. “He is deep within the earth, at its core, far from the sun. Seek him at your peril. Why do you ask?”

“My reasons are my own.” responded Hugo, his hand on his spear.

“Keep your secret; your gold is good.”

“How do I get to the lair of the father of dragons?” asked Hugo. The dragon’s eyes narrowed evilly.

“What do you want with him!” demanded the dragon, whose ire was rising. Aaron tumbled out of the way as one of the dragon’s feet crashed into the ground near him. Aaron wanted to plunge his sword hilt deep into the creature, but he knew that Hugo would chastise him severely. Instead, he waited.

“He has something that is mine, and I wish to reclaim it.” responded Hugo. Tension rose as the dragon crawled forward slowly. Stalking Hugo, like a cat stalks a ball of yarn, the dragon licked its lips. Hugo began to worry when he saw the drool dripping from corners of the dragon’s mouth. Hugo pulled his spear from the saddle sheathe and drove his spurs into his horse. The dragon roared, blowing a stream of fire at Hugo. The thrust of the flame drove Hugo from his saddle with a force greater than any jousting lance could. The shield absorbed the heat from the flame, and glowed brightly. The dragon snapped its jaws at the prone knight, but whirled its scaly head about as Aaron plunged his sword into the dragon’s belly.

The dragon shrieked and rolled as Aaron held onto the sword with two hands, pushing and pulling the sword back and forth, aggravating the grievous wound. Hugo found his footing and launched his spear at the dragon. It found its mark deep in the dragon’s skull. The creature shrieked again weakly and then stopped stirring. Battered but uninjured, Aaron tugged his flamberge from the dragon’s carcass.

“Where do we go now?” asked Aaron wearily.

“North, to find another dragon. One will know where the father of dragons is; one will be able to tell me how to get back my soul.”

The wind flooded over el Monstruo’s body. Sitting on a rocky over hang, he watched the swirl and rush of the incoming tide. He kept his baggy white linen pants clean by balling up his shirt and using it as a cushion. His muscles were relaxed, yet his mind was stirring as wildly as the ocean. Without a job, he wouldn’t be able to stay in Little Arkham much longer. If he couldn’t pay his rent, he would have to move back in with his mother. El Monstruo began to feel like he was a failure, just like Julie said he was. El Monstruo thought back to when he was Grant, to when he had goals and a future.

He wanted to be a physical therapist; he wanted to help people like a doctor would, but he didn’t want to see too much blood too regularly. He wanted to see people overcome their problems through his help. Julie liked that; she liked just about everything about him. His head dropped into his hands as tears welled up in his eyes. She had always been there for him, and he had always been there for her, but yet that wasn’t enough. Their dates would turn slowly into debates and their debates would quickly become arguments. Most nights together involved at least a little yelling. There was love in their relationship, but it was insignificant compared to the animosity that always dwelled just under the skin. He was uncertain why he asked her to marry him.

Was it because I thought it would let us overcome the widening gulf between us? Was it because I truly thought that love would conquer all? Or was it just because I knew that she was the only woman that would ever dare love me

? The cool breeze washed over his sun warmed skin. I can’t stay here much longer, or I’ll get a sunburn. A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see Rita silhouetted by the sun.

“Hey there, hero. What’s good?” she asked flippantly as she sat next to him. She was a contrast to his bulky form: short and nearly skeletal, except for a tiny bulging belly. Her hair was short and she smelled like the sun. Her smile brought a smile to el Monstruo’s face.

“I’m not much of a hero, and there’s not much good going on. I’m gonna need to leave soon.”

“Why soon?” asked Rita with concern.

“Because I have only two-thousand dollars left in the bank. It’s enough for a couple months, but then I’d be broke. I can’t get another job at the shops, and unless I finish classes when the fall hits, I’m heading down bum road.” Rita wanted to hug her friend, to pull him close and tell him everything was going to be fine. However, she also wanted to keep her distance from him; while she cared for him, she didn’t want to suddenly become his rebound girl.

“You could always get a job at one of the bars. I heard Arouna talking about your fight at the four S, and was wondering if you’d come in and be a bouncer for him. You know how it gets down at his place.” said Rita with a smile. She didn’t know if it was the best suggestion, but she felt compelled to make it. El Monstruo considered her suggestion with his thumb and index finger rubbing his chin. Rita watched him closely. She wasn’t sure what the whole mask business was about, but she knew it had something to do with his break-up with Julie. He didn’t seem like he went insane, but she wondered just the same. The wondered if he was even safe to be around.

“I’ll go talk to him about it.” said el Monstruo at last. He looked into Rita’s honey-brown eyes and saw love there, or at least concern. He stood up and grabbed his shirt from the ground and slid his arms into it. He looked at Rita’s thin, long legs as they took in the sun’s rays. He furtively studied her small breasts until her eyes again met his. “I might as well get going now, right?”

“Right, I guess.” answered Rita, still smiling. He saw him looking at her and felt equally awkward and flattered. He seemed to like what he saw, but it was hard to tell with the mask. She abruptly stopped her thoughts from wandering down that path. She didn’t want to be the rebound girl, and she didn’t want to be the girl going out with the guy in the mask. She watched as he left, his shirt still unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze.

El Monstruo walked the mile and a half to the piers. He looked at the myriad of restaurants and tourist shops. It wasn’t terribly unlike the street of shops he had worked on before, though it was a younger crowd at the piers. He made his way through the jungle of tourists and found Arouna’s bar and grill, The Freeky Tiki. He looked at the ramshackle place that was frequented only by tourists and let out a sigh; the decor was tacky and outdated, but the drinks were cheap and the food was serviceable. The dimly lit dining area was empty, while the bar featured a couple of guys who seemed far too young to be drinking downing shot after shot of a clear liquor. He assumed it was Zima.

“Hey! Look who it is! The Monster himself. How are you big guy?” Arouna’s smile was wide and yellowy and his African accented words spilled together musically. The tall barman gave el Monstruo a pat on the back and a shake of the hand, guiding him to a table in the corner. A busty statue of a hula girl stared down at the pair as Arouna laid out the terms of employment. “You come in around five, sit down, watch the TV and look like a mean man. Then, if anyone starts shit, you stop it. I don’t care if you bust their heads, just don’t damage any of the decor. This stuff’s not cheap you know?” El Monstruo stared in disbelief at the last statement, his mouth nearly dropping open in shock.

“The pay is all right. Eight-seventy usually, more now because of the tourists and the trouble they bring. There’s a room for you if you need it, and you get anything on the menu at half price, just no drinks.” It was well known that while Arouna served the cheapest liquor in town, he never drank it. He also expected that none of his workers would either. Arouna leaned back and folded his hands behind his head as he reclined. “Sound good, big guy?” asked Arouna.

“I need a job, so yeah.” replied el Monstruo unenthusiastically. Concern flashed across Arouna’s face.

“You aren’t happy to be working here?” he asked.

“I just don’t know what I want.” replied el Monstruo truthfully.

“Well, God says that if you don’t know what to do, don’t do anything. Think on it, big guy. If it’s for you, then you’ll see that soon enough.”

“Yeah, but I need the job now.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” said el Monstruo, all ready eyeing the young drunks at the bar. His fists balled tightly and veins began to bulge on the back of his hands.

“You only start at five,” reminded Arouna, “and you only stop what people start. Got it?” El Monstruo’s fists relaxed as he stood up.

“Maybe you should card those guys at the bar?” suggested el Monstruo.

“I all ready did.” assured Arouna. “Their I.D.’s were fine enough.”

EL Monstruo leered at the guys at the bar with contempt. He asked where his room was and Arouna showed it to him. Might as well save a few bucks and stay here. The room was small, with a bed, a closet, a bathroom, and a television. It wasn’t much, but it would be home.

Richard’s hands clasped each other tightly. Sitting at his desk, he studied Grant. His office seemed filled with Grant’s presence. A tiny fan oscillated in the corner, fighting against the summer heat. Joyce had come home quaking with fear earlier in the week. She felt like Grant was intimidating her, and she left it to Richard to address the problem. The pudgy, round man wringed his hands nervously. The stared at the eyes behind the mask; that seemed to be all that was left of the Grant that he hired four years ago.

“Grant,” started Richard. The masked man winced when he heard the name. His large hands clasped the arms of the chair he was seated on. The color seeped out of Richard’s face as he watched the man he knew as Grant stand up, nearly hitting his head on the low ceiling.

“I don’t use that name any more. I am now el Monstruo.” said el Monstruo in a gravelly voice. He felt his anger rising and worked to suppress it. “I see nothing wrong with the way I have been acting. I’m sorry if you think I did something wrong.” Richard smiled and bobbed his head like a horse. Richard was at a loss for words. Fear raced up and down his spine as he looked at el Monstruo’s arms; the shirt’s seams strained to contain the muscle bound frame of the man. The intensity of the moment shattered when both men heard Martha yell for help. El Monstruo crashed out of the office door to see a young man dressed in a polo shirt and a plastic Zorro mask tugging at the cash register’s open drawer.

Crime was not commonplace in the small seaside town of Little Arkham, though it was not terribly unusual for a trust fund punk to try a ’smash and grab’ robbery. Typically, the perpetrator would make off with twenty dollars and might end up getting a talking to by the police. However, the would-be robber that decided to thieve from Joyce and Richard’s Sea Side Shell Shop got much more than he bargained for. El Monstruo vaulted over the counter, kicking the thief in the jaw as he flew through the air. The thief recoiled as he heard the sound of his nose breaking as el Monstruo closed in on him with a right hook and an elbow. The young man threw a punch at el Monstruo, who dodged the punch and grabbed the thief by the forearm. Pulling the thief’s arm, everyone heard a sickening pop; el Monstruo let go of the arm and it dangled lifelessly at the thief’s side.

“Stop Grant!” yelled Richard. Tears dropped from Martha’s face as el Monstruo pulled at the collar of the thief’s shirt and tripped him, dropping him to the ground. El Monstruo buried his knee in his victim’s back and hooked an arm around his neck. El Monstruo pulled back with all his might, bowing the young man’s back unnaturally. Richard ran from the room and back to his office. He’d have to get the police to arrive quickly. When they did arrive, the young man was unconscious on the floor. El Monstruo had belted him hard across the back of his head and sent him into a dark, dreamless slumber. The officer worried that the boy was dead and threatened to arrest el Monstruo.

That night, Richard spoke to el Monstruo.

“I’m sorry, but even though it was a good thing, I can’t have you around. What if you killed him? You surely would have if the police didn’t show up. You’ll probably be charged with assault or something before this is all over. I’m sorry.” Richard waited in silence as el Monstruo’s fist clenched and un clenched.

“It was the right thing to do. What if he was armed, or worse?” replied el Monstruo.

“Nothing like that would happen around here.” insisted Richard.

“Not while I’m around.” interrupted el Monstruo. Richard watched as the man pulled off his green apron and tossed it onto the floor. El Monstruo left without another word or gesture. He walked out into the night, leaving the world he knew far behind.

This is a story I wrote about a year ago. It is meant to be a trilogy, though I only wrote one part. I thought it might be interested to post this and get myself back into it. We’ll see if that works

——————————————————————–

“Sylvia, are you worried?” asked Jack as laid next to her and lovingly caressed Sylvia’s bubble like belly. Sylvia had received some strange news earlier in the day; the ultrasound had presented her and Jack with an unexpected issue with the unexpected birth.

“How could I not be worried? There’s something really wrong with my baby.” Sylvia brushed her long blonde hair out of her face and looked deeply into Jack’s eyes. Since he learned about the pregnancy, he had grown up quite a bit. He managed to start working full-time at the toy store rather than spending hours looking at the action figures available there. She had also noticed that he looked very tired, worried, and as though all the life had been sucked out of him. She knew he had big plans; she also knew that the baby would spoil many of those plans. He would have to put off college until she could get back to work. Even then, they had a wedding to plan before he could start working on a career.

“Our baby should be fine. There’s just a couple of bumps on his head. Nothing to freak out about. Probably just some glitch with the machine or something anyways, right?” Jack tried to calm Sylvia down, but she could not help but fret about the life within her. Jack was afraid of being a father, but he knew that Sylvia would be a great mother. He loved her because of her caring personality; he also loved her because she was a responsible while he was not. He found himself wishing that she were more responsible, for if she were, they would not have a baby right now, and if they did not have a baby, he would not have his mother calling him on the phone everyday.

“What if they are horns, Jack? What if our baby really has horns? What is that going to do to him?” Tears began to stream down Sylvia’s cheeks while Jack put his arms around her. He did so because he knew it was what he was supposed to do. He loved her and he felt that he should comfort her even if he did not want to. Everything in him longed to leave, to extract himself from the misery in which he had found himself embroiled. However, he played the part of the caring lover. He was an actor, and this role was an easy one to play. He would hold her until she finished crying and then he could get away from her.

Sylvia could not get the image out of her mind. The ultrasound showed them as clearly as chalk on a blackboard: her baby had a pair of tiny horns protruding from its forehead. The doctor had tried to calm her, saying that it could be a minor glitch with the machine. However, the latest ultrasound still showed the discreet, tiny bulges on her baby’s forehead. The doctor changed his theory from it being a glitch to the baby having a deformity. Thinking of bringing her imperfect child into the world tore away at Sylvia; she repeatedly asked God why He made her child like this and was forcing her to bring a deformed creature into such an image conscious society. She believed it was unfair that an imperfect child would be her burden.

The phone rang which disturbed Sylvia even further. She knew who it was on the line; it was Jack’s mother Bea, and Bea had a new reason to condemn their relationship. Not only were they unmarried and having a child, that child had horns, and Bea knew that, that meant the child was the Anti-Christ.

“Don’t let the machine pick-up. I don’t want to hear her voice,” said Sylvia quietly.

“Do you think I want to talk to her anymore than you want to hear her? Just let the machine pick up; she’ll leave a message and that’s it.”

“I don’t want to hear her, Jack! I’m sick of her judgments and I’m tired of her protests! It is hard enough living like this without that witch’s voice!”

The answering machine picked up while Jack gave Sylvia a disgusted look. Sliding out of the bed and walking into the kitchen space, he slowly made his way to the telephone. His mother’s voice radiated from the answering machine, spreading its malicious message throughout the tiny studio apartment.

“I know you are there! You hussy! You bringer of ruin! Johnny showed me the picture! You have lain with the Devil and you have brought damnation upon us all!” shouted the sharp and nasal voice through the speaker. Jack picked up the phone and his mother’s continuing tirade greeted him.

“Calm down mom. I know, I know.” were the only words he spoke. Sylvia listened as Jack absorbed the abuse meant for her. She would have felt good about his valiant act if it were not for the fact that he never refuted any of his mother’s points. “Yes, mom, you are right mom.” were the only words she heard coming from across the room. She watched as Jack listened to his mother and felt her anger growing within her. Sylvia knew that the conversation’s topic was Bea’s desire for the baby’s death. Sylvia knew that Bea wanted nothing more than to have Jack back under her roof and Sylvia far, far away.

When Jack finished the call, he switched off the phone and tossed himself onto a beanbag chair. Sylvia got out of bed and waddled towards Jack, taking a seat in the couch across from him. The apartment was tiny and filled with an eclectic mix furniture and decorated with Jack’s action figures. Sylvia looked at the apartment with disgust and then looked at Jack with disdain.

“Why don’t you disagree with her?” asked Sylvia.

“Why bother? I won’t be able to change her mind. You know I want to stay with you and the baby, right? I mean, I work, keep you fed, clean the house when you can’t. Do you think I don’t love you?” responded Jack with venom in his voice.

“This isn’t about love, Jack; this is about you and your mother. I don’t want you to change her mind; I want you to tell her that you want to stay with the baby and me!”

“Didn’t I just say I wanted to stay, weren’t you listening?”

“I was listening; it is you who wasn’t listening. Why won’t you tell her?” Sylvia was becoming angry with Jack and watched as he smiled softly.

“I’m sorry honey. I know I should tell her, but I just can’t. She’s old, and I’d rather be able to remain on speaking terms with her in these late years of her life. I just let her let out everything she needs to, that’s all. She doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, she just wants me to hear what she has to say.”

“Well then, maybe she needs to wake up.” said Sylvia as she stood up and waddled towards the phone. Jack watched as she took hold of the phone and began to dial.

“Who are you calling?” he asked as he stood up, grabbing for the phone. Sylvia pulled the phone from Jack’s reaching fingers and continued dialing. She would call Bea and confront her. She’d tell her what she needed to hear.

“Don’t call her, Sylvia, please. It won’t do any good. Just put the phone down. I’ll call her tomorrow, and we’ll talk. I’ll tell her everything but I guarantee that she won’t care,” begged Jack as Sylvia hesitated dialing the final digit of the number.

“And if you don’t call?” demanded Sylvia.

“I promise I will,” said Jack as Sylvia switched off the phone. He wrapped his arms around Sylvia and embraced her tightly. He knew that he loved Sylvia, but he was so unsure of the situation in which they had found themselves. Both of them were young, and neither felt prepared to be a parent. The repetitive calls did nothing to assure Jack of his choice to stay with Sylvia. As he held her in his arms, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. He knew he would not call his mother; she would call as she always did and he would tolerate her harping until she hung up the telephone.

That night, awake and sitting by the window, Jack contemplated his fate. He could run away from everything and maybe have a chance to make his dreams come true. However, he wondered if his dreams should not change. He was to have a son now, and horns or no horns, he would want to be in his son’s life. Maybe he could talk with his mother and convince her that the child was not the demon seed she believed he was. If she did not listen to reason, perhaps he would just cut her out of his life and the life of his family. It would be better to be without her than to receive those daily calls.

As he thought, the night wore on. He contemplated what he could do in order to afford the operation his son would have to go through in order to remove the horns. He resolved that he would do whatever it took to assure a good life for his son. As dawn approached, Sylvia walked to the refrigerator and saw that Jack had fallen asleep at the table. She smiled at him and felt blessed to have him in her life. She believed that while times were trying now, they would get better soon.

“Jack.” she whispered softly in his ear.

“Wha?” muttered Jack incoherently. He stood up from the table and wandered towards the bedroom.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” said Sylvia, “I was rude and you were tired.”

“Not now. Sleep.” murmured Jack as he flopped onto the bed.

The next day, Jack fulfilled his promise and called his mother. Talking for over an hour, he said the words that Sylvia long wished he would say to his mother, “I love Sylvia.”

“Love or not, that is the Devil’s baby and you know it!” yelled Bea into the receiver. She had quite enough of her boy’s ramblings and sought a swift ending to the conversation, though Jack would not let her have it.

“It isn’t the Devil’s baby, mother. It is my baby boy,” said Jack.

“How are you so sure? Horns don’t run in my family, you know.”

“Mother, do I need to tell you how the baby was conceived? I was there, you know, and I remember it quite well.”

“Even if you were there Johnny, you don’t know what that girl has been doing?” said Bea viciously.

“And how do you know what she’s been doing? I don’t see you around here often. You haven’t even come to visit since we moved over a year ago. All you do is call and nag about this or that. You have been nothing but a burden since I moved out, and I’m through!” yelled Jack as he pressed the phone’s off button, hanging up on his mother.

“Jack, are you okay?” asked Sylvia.

“I just hung up on my mother. I just hung up on her and it felt good,” said Jack with a smile. He felt free and happy; with his mother’s rants out of his life, he felt happiness for the first time since he found out about the pregnancy. “I feel like I’m starting over again,” he said with relief.

“That’s because you are. I know that this wasn’t your plan, but maybe we can make a new plan?” asked Sylvia.

“I think that a new plan is in order. First, we’ll need a name.”

“For the plan?” joked Sylvia.

“No, for the baby.” said Jack with a wide smile on his face.

“I’ve all ready thought of a name: Adrian.”

“I like it,” responded Jack, “This is my son Adrian.”