The Friendly Fort (Chapter Two)

Hello All:

"This is a very, special week at The Literary World of Tom Raimbault; for this is Halloween week! And like we do every year, new stories written just for the holiday are featured throughout the week. This year we roll out some brand-new Mapleview material in the form of a mini novella titled The Friendly Fort. Be sure to visit each day for a new chapter. The Friendly Fort will be featured from Sunday through Saturday."

***

VIEW PRELUDE AND CHAPTER ONE"

***

We actually put up our Halloween decorations late this year at our house. As my wife pointed out, our weekends have been loaded with plenty of activities in October. It wasn't until yesterday that we finally put them up. I'm so proud of my little cemetery that takes up a small portion of our front yard. And look! Donna the Unburied looms over some of the gravestones.

Surely you do something similar. If you love Halloween as much as I do, then you probably decorate your home with gravestones out in the front yard along with gruesome statues and hand-carved Jack-o-lanterns. The inside of your home probably has morbid pictures hung on the walls and plenty of skulls seated on tables with candles. Yes, Halloween is one of the greatest holidays of the year!

But you might occasionally receive backlash from people who aren't too fond of Halloween. These people attack our beautiful holiday that presents a certain eeriness in the air that we can harness and use during this time of year.

But what to do with those who attack our wonderful holiday? They tell you that it's evil. They tell you that it's the Devil's holiday or a witch's holiday. I guess only if you let it be as such. Really, it's only a fun holiday to celebrate in autumn. 

***

Today's featured writing in chapter two of The Friendly Fort--a Mapleview mini novella. Enjoy!

The Friendly Fort (Chapter Two)

Two mornings later, a Thursday, Spencer sat at the kitchen table and ate a bowl of cereal while looking out the window. It was a cloudy morning with occasional light drizzle. He had nowhere to go for the day, no conferences, and no reports to write on recent updates of land acquisition. One thing was for certain: there was plenty of downtime for Spencer.  In moments like this, he wondered why it was necessary to stay in Mapleview. He could have easily flown into town by commercial jet as needed to handle business.

Still, Spencer had to admit that the peace and quiet of the surrounding Mapleview wilderness was a nice change in comparison to the noisy hustle and bustle back at home. And if Spencer didn't know any better, the town and wilderness of Mapleview was beginning to grow on him.

Just then, there was a soft knock at the front door. At first, Spencer intended to ignore it; assuming that the knock was only a door-to-door salesperson, or some kid selling candy on behalf school activities. But then he remembered that he lived off a highway, not on a neighborhood street. For this matter, it might have been someone important.

Spencer quickly stood up and walked over to the door to answer it. But upon opening; it was no one important, just one of the strange Amish-appearing neighbors who lived next door; a woman who might have been in her late forties with shabby hair grossly parted down the middle and then pulled back into a pony tail. There was no makeup on her face, of course. As for her outdated, floor-length dress; it was dull black in color—almost dirty—with some sort of smock or apron on the lower portion.

Spencer almost appeared annoyed to see her.

"I'm sorry..." she apologized. "But have you been to the cemetery?" Her teeth were discolored, crooked and somewhat jagged.

"Excuse me?" asked Spencer.

"The old cemetery out in the forest." she explained. "The flat headstones have all been sunken into the ground, and are almost unnoticeable. And there is no writing on them. We've counted thirteen headstones, but wonder if there are more. I was just wondering if you knew who they belonged to."

Spencer shrugged his shoulders, "Your guess is as good as mine." he answered. "To be honest, I've never even bothered to walk back into the forest."

For a second, the conversation looked to have been over. But out of curiosity of his strange Amish-appearing neighbors, Spencer next asked, "So how do you like it, next door?"

"Oh, it's nice." the woman answered. "We should have you come over for a visit some time. I've got my garden on the other side of the house. The sunlight is there most of the day."

"A garden already?" asked Spencer with a note of surprise. It was the middle of summer, and his new neighbors only recently moved in.

"Well it's already July." the woman pointed out.

All Spencer could do was speculate that maybe they transplanted their garden from wherever they moved—as weird and unlikely as that might be. Feeling it was best to maintain friendliness, Spencer held out his hand to introduce himself. "I'm Spencer."

The woman daintily held her hand out with palm facing the ground and allowed Spencer to momentarily hold her fingers while shaking. It was very lady-like, not something a business woman would do. She even did a slight curtsy—so old fashioned. "I'm Lydia."

"Well it's nice to meet you Lydia." followed Spencer. And then he confessed, "Yeah, I was expecting to hear you speak Pennsylvania Dutch or have some unique accent."

"I beg your pardon. What do you mean?" asked Lydia.

"Pennsylvania Dutch..." said Spencer a second time. "You know, like the language that Amish people speak. Aren't you Amish?"

Smiling only a several seconds ago, Lydia now returned a queer and somewhat disturbed look. "No, we are not Amish. What makes you think that?"

"Well you people sure do dress differently."

Lydia apparently felt that it wasn't a very polite thing for Spencer to say. At a loss of words, she turned and walked away.

Spencer sighed and closed the door. "Nice move..." he said to himself. "I suppose I came off as being a real jerk."

Spencer sat down at the kitchen table and finished his bowl of cereal. "Gosh, I'm in need of a cup of coffee." he declared. "I need it more and more now that I'm living out here."

And he was talking to himself more and more since setting up residence in Mapleview as well.

A few minutes later, Spencer backed out of the driveway. He carefully checked the highway for any oncoming cars before continuing onto the road. Not more than halfway past the neighbors' house, he quickly jammed on the brakes and pulled over to the shoulder of the highway. Much to Spencer's confusion, the "For Sale" sign was in the front lawn!

"What the...? They just moved in!" Spencer could see that there was even a lock box on the front door.

"I've got to think of something... got to think of something..." Spencer desperately sought of a reason to go to the neighbors’ front door with information, and then casually mention the "For Sale" sign in hopes for an explanation. "Ah, the cemetery!" Spencer finally exclaimed while dashing out of the car. "I will tell Lydia that I'll stop at the library and do some research into the cemetery." But as Spencer stood on the front porch and rang the doorbell, there appeared to be no one home. Was everyone who lived in the house, out? Maybe Lydia was left home alone and she was now working, outside, in her garden.

Spencer walked across the front lawn and to the side of the house where Lydia described the garden to be. But it was only overgrown bushes mixed with weeds along with patches of landscaping stone. There was no garden.

Maybe Spencer didn't understand Lydia, correctly. Maybe the garden was more towards the back. He continued walking along the side of the house until reaching the backyard. He really expected to see Lydia; if not, at least the sign of a garden. But outside of overgrown landscaping and weeds, there was no garden.

Spencer continued walking the perimeter of the house. He made a complete circle and, again, saw no sign of a garden anywhere on the property. And the longer he investigated, the more he felt that the house had been vacant for a couple of years. Had Spencer not seen the new neighbors with his own two eyes, he would have believed that people hadn't recently moved in.

***

In contrast to the drizzly Thursday with ample downtime, Friday was a day in which Spencer met with representatives of the real estate company to go over the various appraisals for the properties he was interested in. Saturday and part of Sunday was spent driving throughout the Mapleview region to visit the properties of interest and photograph them.

So occupied with his work, Spencer mostly forgot about Thursday's encounter with his next door neighbor, Lydia. And beyond taking notice of the sudden appearance of the real estate sign in their front lawn—and how odd it was—Spencer would pay no further mind to it.

"But what about the missing garden?"—you might ask?

Again, Spencer was too busy to occupy himself with petty mysteries. He might have written it off as the neighbors being strange. Maybe Lydia was not right in the head and only believed that she had a garden.

On Sunday night, after his long and busy weekend of work, Spencer slept soundly in bed. Actually it was going on Monday morning, dawn only an hour and a half away The Moon was in its first quarter phase. It had been nearly a week since sleepwalking and partly dreaming of the strange neighbors having a bonfire in their backyard.

It was during this time when Spencer had another disturbing dream. In the dream, he stood before the bathroom mirror with the intention of shaving for the day. That's when the face of Lydia appeared in the mirror. Plain face without make-up, and her grossly parted hair that was pulled back into a pony tail; she forced a smile in a means to cover some sort of sadness.

"Oh, I forgot to give you this on Mother's Day." said Spencer while reaching over to the countertop for a pink carnation flower. He actually handed the flower to Lydia through the glass of the mirror.

Lydia gladly accepted the flower which brightened her smile to the point of no longer being sad.

"Happy Mother's Day." Spencer wished.

It was a strange act, indeed. You see, the pink carnation symbolizes the undying love that a mother has for her children. And Lydia certainly wasn't Spencer's mother! And as the seconds passed in the dream, Spencer received the feeling that Lydia was communicating her wish to be considered his mother.

"But they're coming!" warned Spencer to Lydia. "They're coming! I wish you'd listen to me and understand that they are horrible monsters!" Behind Lydia in the mirror, the scenery changed to that of a raging fire with the voices of countless people screaming in horror.

With that, Spencer quickly awoke.

He glanced over to the clock on his nightstand which read 4:02 AM. This was the second time that Spencer startled himself out of sleep from a bad dream in which bad people were coming. Never before had he experienced such dreams. What did it all mean? Spencer could only assume that living in the new environment required some adaptation. This might have been the reason behind the nightmares.

Spencer lay back down in bed and closed his eyes. He laid there for about ten minutes, but could not fall asleep. "I am not getting up for the day." he declared. Have you, the reader, ever woke up extra early and wondered if you were being given a head's up of important matters to take care of early in the day? It's like something is urging you to get up and get ready for the day because something unexpected is soon to take place. Well Spencer thought about this for quite some time. Maybe there would be a sudden conference call to take place in the early part of the day. Maybe he would receive a visit from one of the co-investors that morning who wished to see the portions of land that Spencer found ideal.

Still, Spencer wasn't going to get out of bed at four o'clock in the morning. He lay there and lay there until finally dozing off. But then, around 5:15 AM, he was startled awake by the sound of loud knocking at the door.

"What the...?" Spencer sat up in bed. "Come-on! Who comes to the door at five o'clock in the morning!" he complained.

As Spencer walked over to the door to answer, the knocking continued—louder and louder—like there was something urgent with the visit. He finally unlocked and opened it.

There stood Lydia with her plain, unmade face and shabby hair that was grossly parted down the middle. She wore the same dress as the last visit. "Good morning!" she greeted.

"Morning?" challenged Spencer. "It's dark outside. It's still night for me."

"But it's nearly half past five." pointed Lydia. The sun will be rising any minute." Then she raised her hand to her mouth. "Oh, no! Were you sleeping?"

Spencer nodded. "I was..."

"Oh I'm so sorry!" apologized Lydia. "You must have been doing some work after the first sleep, and didn't return to your second sleep until later. We do that sometimes."

Spencer hadn't a clue of what Lydia was talking about. "First sleep...? Second sleep...?" Then he asked, "Well, what is it that you want?"

"Oh, we were visiting the old cemetery and found a name on one of the headstones. You can't even read it during the daytime, probably because of the Sun and its glare. It isn't until dark when you hold a lantern near the stone that the name, Reverend Jensen, can barely be read."

Spencer stared at Lydia for a few seconds. "That's why you came here at not even 5:30 in the morning; to tell me about a name on the headstone of an old cemetery?"

"Well I thought you'd like to see it." suggested Lydia. "You said you would research the cemetery."

"I did?" asked Spencer.

"Yes, remember? And I thought you could use a name to help you in this research. So would you like to see the headstone before the sun rises?"

"Oh, I'm still in my pajamas." excused Spencer. "I don't have my glasses on, and I haven't even had my morning coffee."

"I don't mind pajamas." reassured Lydia. "There isn't much I haven't seen in the years of raising a family. Put your glasses on and come out. I have coffee. I'll pour you a cup and bring it outside."

Spencer shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I guess there's no reason not to join you. I'll meet you in your backyard."

A minute later, Spencer stood in the backyard of his neighbors’ house. Crickets chirped, and robins announced the coming of dawn. In the eastern horizon, the barely noticeable glow of sunlight began to manifest.

And then Lydia emerged with an eight ounce cup of coffee with saucer underneath in one hand, and a glowing oil lamp in the other. When finally in his hands, Spencer could see that the coffee cup was the fancy sort with elaborate flowers and trees painted on it. It looked to be hand painted. And the small saucer had matching artwork.

The coffee was strong, but very good. "Mmmm! Perfect!" exclaimed Spencer. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you like it." acknowledged Lydia. "Now we better get going before the sun rises." Immediately she walked through the backyard; past the half acre clearing of trees and to the edge of the property that joined with the forested wilderness. Spencer followed, but really couldn't see much beyond Lydia and the glowing oil lamp. He was completely dependent on the guidance of his neighbor lady.

The forested wilderness was even darker, still. None of the barely manifested glow of sunlight in the eastern horizon could be seen in this landscape. In the forest, it was still midnight. Lydia must have ventured some one hundred feet until reaching a creek. From there she followed it some distance until (in the midst of darkness) seemed to open as a wide brook. She followed it further before finally stopping. There she announced over the soft roar of the brook from a distance, "This is the cemetery."

A short distance away, Spencer could see the silhouette of a stone cross. It was the only thing he could see of the area. Naturally, he began to walk towards it.

Lydia held her hand out to stop him. "You're going to walk over the graves." she warned. "Besides, the headstone I want to show you is over here."

Now July, the ground of the forest was mostly tall vegetation—weeds and wild flowers that spring up through last autumn's fallen and decaying leaves. But portions of this area had been cleared by—assumedly—Lydia. She knelt down at one of these clearances and touched a stone. "This is the one." Lydia announced. She held the lantern near the stone. Sure enough, the barely recognizable name of Reverend Jensen could be seen. "Is this the person you are looking for?" she asked.

Spencer confessed, "Well, up until now I haven't done much research into this cemetery. But I'll definitely look this guy's name up. Maybe they have some old news clippings at the library."

Lydia nodded her head in acknowledgement.

Spencer was suddenly interested in the cemetery and asked, "Would you mind if I return here during the daylight hours, and cut through your backyard to access the forest?"

"Oh I wouldn't mind if you use my backyard as an easement to the forest." reassured Lydia. "Please feel free."

After a few minutes of additional conversation, and speculating that, perhaps, the cemetery belonged to a small settlement of pioneers that predated Mapleview; Spencer and Lydia began to walk back to their houses. It was then that Spencer casually brought up the "For Sale" sign in the front of Lydia's house.

"So I was driving past your house the other morning, and noticed the For Sale sign in your front lawn."

"You did?" asked Lydia with a note of surprise. "You saw a For Sale sign?"

"Yup!" answered Spencer. "So I assume you will be leaving?"

"No, we are here to stay." declared Lydia. "And I'm going to have to see this For Sale sign. I'm not sure why someone would have put in our front lawn."

"Spencer was confused for a few seconds. Then he suggested, "Maybe there was a mistake. It's probably gone by now."

"Probably..." agreed Lydia.

The remainder of the hike was mostly silent. By the time Spencer and Lydia returned, the sun was peaking over the horizon. This yielded Spencer a view of Lydia's garden at the side of her house. It was, exactly, where she had described it to be the last time she visited Spencer.

"Oh, there's your garden!" said Spencer with a note of surprise."

"Yes, come over and take a look." invited Lydia.

It was a large garden that extended some distance beyond the side perimeter of the house. It was the sort of garden that one would have if growing vegetables as a means to supply food throughout the winter months. There was corn, beans, tomatoes, peppers, asparagus, squash and eggplant along with herbs. Lydia and her family had no reason to visit the grocery store throughout the winter months for vegetables.

This, of course, baffled Spencer. As you recall, he hadn't seen evidence of a garden while perimetering Lydia's house last week.

"Would you mind showing me where you saw this For Sale sign?" requested Lydia as Spencer stared in awe at her garden.

"Oh yes." affirmed Spencer while walking to the front yard. "It was right there in the center of the lawn." Spencer lightly jogged over to the spot and stood where he saw it. "Right here... It was a big sign. Like I said, someone probably made a mistake and quickly pulled it out."

"Probably..." agreed Lydia. "But I'm glad to see that it's no longer there. Like I said before, we are not moving. We are here to stay!"

***

An hour later on that Monday morning—showered, groomed and dressed for the day—Spencer backed out of his driveway and checked the highway for oncoming vehicles before pulling onto the road. He was on his way into town for breakfast. But just like last week, he quickly applied the brakes in front of Lydia's house and pulled over to the shoulder.

"Son of a..." exclaimed Spencer before holding his tongue. "There it is, again!"

Right there in the middle of Lydia's front lawn was a "For Sale" sign; listed by Mapleview's, Jack Swieley Realty!

Spencer dashed out of his car and up to the front door of the house. He would warn Lydia of the sign's reappearance. And just like last week, there was even a lock box shackled to the door knob.

"KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!" Spencer anxiously pounded on the door. He even rang the doorbell. But there was no answer.

"Oh come-on!" complained Spencer. "Maybe she's out in the back." "Spencer rushed to the side of the house to where he and Lydia stood not more than an hour ago.

But what was this?

Lydia's large garden was no longer there! In its place was nothing more than the grass along with overgrown, uncared-for landscaping. In utter disbelief, Spencer jogged around the entire house while concluding that the house hadn't been lived in for over two years!

What happened????

To be continued...

The Friendly Fort (Prelude and Chapter One)

Hello All:
"This is a very, special week at The Literary World of Tom Raimbault; for this is Halloween week! And like we do every year, new stories written just for the holiday are featured throughout the week. This year we roll out some brand-new Mapleview material in the form of a mini novella titled The Friendly Fort. Be sure to visit each day for a new chapter. The Friendly Fort will be featured from Sunday through Saturday."
***

In case you are unfamiliar with Mapleview; it's a fictional town—the very setting of my Mapleview series of novels. And those who visit Mapleview all agree that it's the rural sort of town that one passes through while driving on vacation; the peaceful, historic sort of town that is typically surrounded by miles of forests, lakes, mountains and untouched wilderness. But despite its days-of-antiquity charm and God's country location, Mapleview and surrounding area is surprisingly a thriving community complete with every convenience and luxury one would expect to find in the city or suburbs.   

Downtown Mapleview has a population of some hundred thousand people. That should tell you as to how much this historic town, which was originally established in 1831, has grown. The center of town has a main road that runs north and south that is rightfully called, Mapleview Road. Continue traveling north, you soon enter a heavily wooded highway which marks what many refer to as the historic section. Homes that would have been built in the 1800s—such as the legendary, haunted Trivelli house—continue to stand on their heavily wooded properties of an acre or more. These private properties, in turn, are embedded within the neighboring wilderness.

Continue traveling north, Mapleview Road eventually curves and transitions east. If one remains traveling eastward, they will soon reach an intersecting road called Creek Highway. This marks the unofficial border of Mapleview and its neighboring town, Sillmac. It's a fuzzy region that doesn't quite belong to Mapleview or Sillmac. It's simply referred to as the Mapleview Township. And it's the location of one of Mapleview's most shameful chapters of history that would have occurred sometime in the 1800s.

The Friendly Fort (Chapter One)

This is the location where wind turbine investor, Spencer Doiler, had set up temporary residence during the summer of 1997. (Bear with me in these next few paragraphs as I disclose the boring details of his reason for setting up residence in Mapleview.) At the time, corporate and government planning was in the works to install a multi-billion dollar wind turbine infrastructure for the town of Mapleview and surrounding areas. But the plans were unsuccessful. To this very day, the region continues to receive power from a combination of fossilized fuel and nuclear energy. You see; at the time, residents and farmers throughout rural Mapleview and Sillmac had strongly opposed the installation of a wind turbine infrastructure. There was significant evidence that wind turbines were harmful to farm animals. The turbines, after all, would have been installed in open areas of land that would have been near farms. In addition, large portions of farmland and even private, residential properties were proposed to be acquired for this project through eminent domain. Needless to say, residents of Mapleview and surrounding areas were not happy with the intrusion of wind turbine power.

Investors, however, remained hopeful. They believed it would only require diligent lobbying along with significant donations to representatives to make the dream of wind turbine energy a reality. For that matter; co-investor of Winds of Change Energy, Spencer Doiler, had been deployed to the Mapleview region to begin the acquisition of land, as well as educate the public of how helpful wind turbines could be. With the assistance of a local Realtor, he would find a corporate rental home and set up temporary residence.

It was a rental property; a simple, three-bedroom, brick ranch built in 1947 that sat on two acres of mostly-wooded land right off Creek Highway. The two acres connected with the forested and mountainous back country of Mapleview.

Spencer believed he would only stay in that house for six months to a year. There was so much momentum behind the development and installation of wind turbine infrastructure that it was nearly a done deal. Often he would stand outside on the old, wooden deck—say—in the late afternoon and look out at the surrounding wilderness. He imagined monstrous wind turbines generating power for Mapleview and surrounding areas. As for the small house that he rented, it was old and would probably be plowed down along with neighboring houses to make room for the turbines.

Next door to Spencer's home was a two-story that looked to have been renovated and built-upon since its original construction. The surrounding property, however, was larger; about three and a half acres with a noteworthy half-acre clearing of trees some distance behind the house. Spencer speculated that at one time this mysterious clearing might have been a large garden. Personal farming was a way of life once-upon-a-time.

This home next door was vacant and for sale when Spencer originally moved in. It was like this for a few weeks until Spencer momentarily went out of town for the Fourth of July weekend, and then returned to Mapleview. His return was on a late, Sunday afternoon. Immediately, Spencer noticed that the "For Sale" sign had been removed from the front lawn, and there were now occupants living in the home. And they were such a peculiar bunch of people; about a dozen of them living under one roof and of various ages which suggested that perhaps a few generations of one family now resided there. And they dressed so strangely in old-style black clothing that appeared to be something that maybe Amish people might wear.

"Amish people?" Spencer softly asked out loud upon studying his new neighbors through the side window of his house. "I have Amish people living next door to me? Too bad the Realtor didn't warn them that all of this land will soon be acquisitioned for wind turbines."

The more Spencer thought about it, the more he speculated that perhaps his new neighbors were real estate savvy, and wished to cash in on the eminent domain advantage. Homeowners could get up to three times the appraised amount when losing property to government acquisition. But it just didn't seem like something that Amish people would do. Amish people were religious and Puritan-like, not aggressively seeking ways to make money. Still, there was just something odd about them. Spencer's new neighbors weren't right.

***

On Tuesday morning following the Fourth of July Weekend, Spencer sat at a desk in the front room of his rented home. The front room had been converted to a make-shift office, complete with business phone and PC on the desk. He was in the middle of a conference call and discussing the progress of acquiring land throughout different locations of America, including Mapleview.

Suddenly, Spencer had a flashback from the previous evening of what could possibly have been a session of sleepwalking. He had no memory of this throughout the early part of the morning, but now remembered it with such clarity.

He recalled lying in bed in a partial state of dreaming while desperately contemplating as to what phase the Moon was in. Was it a new, waxing-crescent, full, or waning-crescent? It was a peculiar thing for Spencer to be concerned about, for he usually cared less about the Moon.

An overwhelming urge caused Spencer to rise out of bed and over to his bedroom window. From his vantage point he could see no Moon in the sky. You see, the Moon was a waxing crescent on that particular evening which was about eight percent full. It would have been long under the western horizon shortly after twilight. But Spencer did see something quite alarming through the window. Across the yard and into the next door neighbors’—from the half-acre clearing of trees some distance behind their house—a large fire could be seen. Was there a forest fire? Or maybe the strange neighbors were having a late night bonfire?

Spencer's vision was blurry at that moment, and he couldn't make out the details. He staggered over to the bedside table for his glasses and happened to glance at the clock which read 2:12 am. Still in a half-sleep state, he returned to the window with glasses on. It was difficult to see, exactly, what was happening next door. You see, the half-acre clearing was partly blocked by trees. But from what Spencer could gauge, the large family of strange, Amish-looking people all stood around a large bonfire while gazing into it with blank faces.

"What the...? What are they doing?" Spencer asked out loud. "It's two o'clock in the morning!"

The light from the flames danced along their faces and contorted their expressions to appear grotesque. One of the women held a book in her hand and appeared to be reading out loud.

"That is just weird..." commented Spencer. "What kind of people moved in next door to me?"

And this is what Spencer recalled while listening in to the conference call the following morning. The phone was on speaker mode to allow Spencer to shuffle through documents or make adjustments to spreadsheets throughout the meeting. This freedom allowed him to momentarily stand up and quickly sneak over to the window to hopefully catch a daylight glimpse of the neighbor's half-acre clearing of trees. But the front room window did not yield enough view. He would have to wait until after the call to go to another window.

"Spencer, did you have anything to add?" asked the conference chairperson over the phone.

He rushed back over to the desk. "I've visited a few local real estate offices and had them do appraisals on the ideal regions of land that we need..."

Ten minutes later—the conference ended—Spencer returned to his bedroom and looked out the side window that he had gazed out of the previous evening. He had his contact lenses in and could see fairly well from a distance. But nothing outstanding or unusual could be seen at the half-acre clearing of trees; just some trash cans and a wheelbarrow full of old dirt.

Spencer just so happened to have in his possession a pair of binoculars to use when surveying prospective land to purchase. They were in his front room make-shift office. With a need to verify what he had seen last night, Spencer dashed into to the front room for them and returned to the bedroom window. But upon studying the area where the strange Amish-looking people had stood the previous evening, there was no evidence of a fire having been there. There were no burned logs or circle of ashes. Perhaps Spencer only dreamed and hallucinated while sleeping walking last night.

***

Later that night—nearly twenty four hours after sleeping walking and seeing the strange Amish-appearing people standing around a fire—Spencer tossed and turned in bed. He had been sleeping fairly well throughout the early part of the night. But now he was having a nightmare.

"Oh no..." called out Spencer in his sleep. "They're coming... We have to run and hide... I'll take Gwendolyn with me... No! They do horrible things when they catch us...! They're monsters...! We cannot stay...! Hurry...! Oh no, it's too late! There's too many of them!"

Spencer awoke upon jumping out of bed. His heart was racing, and he was covered in sweat. 

To be continued...

Jen's Butcher Radio

 Hello All:

Jen's Butcher Radio... What would be Jen's Butcher Radio... I know! It's a radio station that also has a sister television station. Together they broadcast the last day alive of a woman named Jen who will be savagely butchered to death by her killer.

And so I bring you a new short story, Jen's Butcher Radio.

Jen's Butcher Radio

It was Friday morning around quarter to seven as Jen lay in bed in a partial state of dreaming while listening to the annoying clock radio alarm. It was time to wake up; but as often done, she did so slowly.

Normally the radio was tuned to news talk radio. But someone had apparently moved the dial to another station. A chorus jingle briefly sounded before the morning radio show continued, "Jen's Butcher radio... What a radio... WOW!" The voice of a male DJ announced to the world, "And it looks like maybe Jen is beginning to show some signs of stirring awake for the day. The clock radio alarm has gone off and—so ironic—it’s tuned to this station. As you know—we've been announcing all morning—that today is the day that Jen will be brutally murdered. This radio station as well as its sister TV station and numerous other media sources are currently owned and operated by Jen's butcher. And by butcher, we don't mean the person who supplies meat! This is the sort of butcher who cuts and stabs a victim to death."

By now, Jen was certainly awake. Was she dreaming only seconds ago? Startled, she quickly sat up in bed and turned the radio up just to verify that she was hearing things correctly.

"And she's up!" the morning news anchor on the sister TV station, Jen’s Butcher TV, announced to the world.

Two doors down from Jen, neighbors Dave and Patricia watched TV from their kitchen while eating their morning bowls of Kashi cereal. The TV was tuned to the all new station, Jen's Butcher TV. Everyone watching it could see Jen sitting up in bed and rubbing her eyes in confusion while listening to the all new radio station.

"Ha ha!" the news anchor on Jen's Butcher TV laughed. "As you can see, she can now hear what's being said on our sister radio station, Jen's Butcher Radio. She's probably in disbelief at what's being heard. Yes, Jen's Butcher Media is definitely a freaky production. It's why so many people are tuned in. Never before has a killer disclosed to the world that he is going to murder by first creating radio and television stations that will broadcast the act of violence. Yes, Jen's Butcher Media is owned by the very man who will savagely slice and stab poor Jen to death."

"Yeah, that's certainly Jen down the street." commented Jen's neighbor, Patricia, to her husband before shoveling another spoon of cereal in her mouth.

"Oh, yeah! Look at that!" excitedly chimed in Dave. "And check out her sexy sleepwear!"

Patricia playfully slapped her husband in the arm. "You're not supposed to be looking at that!"

"But it's on TV." pointed David. Then he said, "I wonder if her husband, Marty, is watching all of this."

"Or maybe hearing it on the radio?" suggested Patricia.

"We're going to switch over to a commercial break really quick so that we can all watch the exciting moment of when Jen takes a shower. We don't want to miss that!

“Tonight on Jen's Butcher TV!" began the commercial. "See the moment the whole world has been waiting for! See the final moments of terror of when Jen is brutally murdered." The video for the commercial was nothing more than a large butcher knife being hand sharpened over a butcher block. "Her killer promises the murder to be a bloody mess. He promises plenty of screaming and multiple stab wounds..."

In the mean time, Jen quickly turned off the clock radio and hopped out of bed. She telephoned her husband, Marty, who was most likely driving to work.

"Hello?" Marty answered.

"Marty? Are you playing some kind of joke?" asked Jen.

"What are you talking about?" Marty asked while merging onto the highway.

"The clock radio." answered Jen. "It was tuned to some station about me."

"Oh, you mean Jen's Butcher Radio?" asked Marty. "Yeah, I found that this morning in my car. There’s also a TV station to go along with it. I've been listening to Jen’s Butcher Radio most of the ride into work. It's interesting."

"But Marty, it's about me." argued Jen.

"Oh, it's probably just someone out there playing a joke or doing some kind of sociology experiment." speculated Marty. "Look on the bright side of things. You are now the star of your own reality TV and radio station."

Jen sighed, "Yeah, I guess that's one way to look at."

"Well, I need to put the phone down. I'm about to enter a construction zone." informed Marty. "And I guess people are getting excited because you are about to take a shower."

"Oh jeez!" exclaimed Jen.

"We're back from our commercial break as Jen is about to take her morning shower." announced the news anchor on Jen's Butcher TV. "Now it should be mentioned that during the commercial break, Jen telephoned her husband to ask if he is playing a joke. She's probably still in disbelief that a media network has been created to broadcast her last day alive. Probably had to see if her husband was playing a joke. No, Jen, this is all very real."

The world watched as Jen entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

"Ha ha!" laughed the morning news anchor. "She actually thinks she needs to close the door for privacy! Sorry, Jen, but the world can still see everything. But maybe we don't want to see all of that... We'll move the cameras to check out the surroundings of Jen's bathroom while she does her morning business."

As narrated by the news anchor, the camera momentarily looked away from Jen so that she could sit down on the toilet and do her morning business in private. This gave the news anchor some moments to comment on Jen's bathroom. "As you can see, the bathroom would be the perfect place for Jen to be murdered. And we never know if her killer might surprise all of us and choose to do it this morning. Jen's husband is driving to work, and her kids are at school. People who commit murders prefer their victims to be alone. And Jen's all alone; the perfect scenario to be murdered."

The camera moved its attention back towards Jen once the sound of the toilet flushing could be heard. "She's glancing in the mirror at herself." commented the news anchor. "We all do that, right? And oh wow! Check out what she's got under that night shirt! Jen definitely has a nice pair of natural-shaped breasts, not to mention some beautiful nipples. That's right! Take it off, baby!"

Now fully naked, Jen turned on the water to the shower and adjusted the temperature. When satisfied that it was warm enough, she stepped inside.

"What a beautiful lady!" exclaimed the male news anchor.

"I know..." added the female co-anchor. "It's a shame that she's going to be murdered sometime today. I'm actually wishing that someone would act as the hero in all of this and save Jen."

"Now you bring up a good point." said the male news anchor. "Experts are saying that the audience is split between viewers who are eager to see some blood and guts—see Jen get savagely murdered—while the other group wishes that Jen will live to see another day."

"Well I'm one of those who hope that Jen gets saved." answered the female news anchor. "For now, let's just enjoy Jen in her private moment of taking her morning shower."

***

Forty-five minutes later, Jen drove to work with her car radio tuned to the new station, Jen's Butcher Radio. She was still in disbelief of the grand scheme that was unfolding, and the fact that the whole world could see and follow everything she did. Who was behind all of this? And why was this person doing such a thing?

"And Jen's driving to work right now." announced the male DJ. "I'm sure plenty of people are wondering if she has the radio tuned to the station that is dedicated to her."

"Yes, and we are getting some tweets and instant messages from listeners of this station." said the female DJ. "Many people are wondering if Jen is aware that this will be her last day at work. Some people are even asking why Jen would bother reporting to work on her last day alive."

"That's a good point." agreed the male DJ. "But you know, it's probably a good thing that she's going to work. You see, we don't know—exactly—when and where Jen is going to get murdered. The commercials say that tonight will be the grand finale. But a criminal mind just might go so far as to take the world by surprise and murder Jen at her place of work."

"So it's a good thing that she's going to work?" asked the female DJ.

"Absolutely!" affirmed the male DJ. "We want her to go about her normal, everyday life."

"You want her to get murdered, don't you???" accused the female DJ.

The male DJ laughed, "I can neither confirm nor deny those allegations!"

"Oh jeez!" exclaimed the female DJ. "Jen, if you are out there, I hope you know who is on your side."

"Let's get to some news." announced the male DJ. "The top story right now as far as murdering Jen is concerned: police have stepped up their investigation on the alleged murder that is about to take place of the suburban mother and housewife, Jen. They need to know who is behind the scheme, and are offering $100,000 to anyone who can lead to the arrest of this person. Now as you know, Jen's Butcher Media is owned and operated by her killer. But Jen's Butcher Media is currently under a trust company, so the identity of this person is obscured from the general public. There are state and federal laws which make it difficult for the police to get around this obstacle..."

"Oh come on!" interrupted the female DJ. "You mean they can't get a court order to obtain the necessary information and bust this guy?"

"Easy!" urged the male DJ. "This radio station is about Jen's murder. It's why we have a job. And to your point: it gets down to that split of viewers and listeners of Jen's Butcher Media who are hooked. Some people are eager to see Jen get murdered. Other people are hoping that someone steps in to save her. I suppose the police don't want to ruin a good show."

The female DJ suddenly announced, "And she's pulling into her place of work!"

"Oh, good!" exclaimed the male DJ. “Let's hurry up and switch over to a commercial break so we can follow her into work. We don't want to miss anything."

The chorus jingle briefly sounded before airing a commercial, "Jen's Butcher Radio... What a radio... Wow!"

Inside of Jen's office, coworkers sat in a conference room and stared at a large video conference screen that had Jen's Butcher TV on it. They watched as she pulled into the parking garage.

"A parking garage!" exclaimed the male news anchor. "Now these places are dangerous to victims of murder. A parking garage offers plenty of isolation for a murderer to do his business."

"That's right!" agreed the female news anchor. "Jen better be careful. She better not park next to another car. All it would take would be for her killer to step out of a nearby car and stab the butcher knife from behind. It would be all over for poor Jen."

"But do you really think that the killer would do it in the parking garage?" asked the male news anchor.

"Well, just like everywhere else, crews for Jens Butcher TV did install cameras in the parking garage of her work." pointed the female news anchor. "And it's as good as a place as any."

While the whole world watched, Jen cautiously exited her vehicle and walked through the lonely parking garage with the sound of her high heel shoes echoing. She was definitely spooked, and looked at every parked car before passing it. Then she reached the long hallway which lead to the side entrance to the building. Her heart raced as she anticipated someone jumping out on her.

"Look how careful she's being in that hallway." commented the male news anchor on Jen's Butcher TV. "This is evidence that Jen is aware of her planned murder."

"Well how can she not?" pointed the female news anchor. "The whole scheme is on radio and TV."

Once in the main lobby of the office building, Jen could hear that Jen's Butcher Radio was being broadcasted through the PA speakers. "And it looks like Jen didn't get murdered in the long, scary hallway. The suspense is killing us all."

"I know!" agreed the female DJ. "I really thought that was going to be the moment.”

There were three people—a business woman and two business men—standing at the elevator, waiting for the car to arrive. They immediately recognized Jen.

"Oh, you're Jen!" exclaimed the business woman. "You're the one on TV and radio."

Jen smiled and nodded. "Yes... I suppose I'm a celebrity now."

The car to the elevator arrived and the door opened. Jen and the other three people entered. And of course, Jen's Butcher Radio continued to play from the PA speaker within the elevator.

"And right Jen is to say that she is now a celebrity!" commented the male DJ.

"I suppose the elevator would be a good place to be murdered." suggested the female DJ on Jen's Butcher Radio.

"Her murderer could actually be one of those three people riding with her." further suggested the male DJ.

"I bet all of this makes you feel paranoid." said the business woman to Jen while smiling.

"Oh, yes!" answered Jen. "I've been watching my back all morning. I'm actually terrified to know what's around every corner."

"I bet!" answered the business woman. "Well you take care. And I'm rooting for you." The elevator car stopped and the door opened. The three other passengers exited which left Jen alone in the elevator car.

"I suppose it's possible for Jen's killer to suddenly jump out of the hatch in the ceiling and stab her to death while she rides the elevator up." suggested the male DJ of Jen's Butcher Radio over the PA speaker.

"Oh my gosh!" exclaimed Jen. "I can't take this anymore."

The elevator car finally reached Jen's office floor. Filled with anxiety and very paranoid, she cautiously walked the hallway to her office suite.

"Well there she is!" exclaimed the manager's secretary, Beverly, upon jumping out of her seat. She rushed over to Jen and gave her a hug. "So you're a star, now. I've been listening to your radio station all morning long."

"That's great." answered Jen. "So who are you rooting for?"

"Oh, well of course I'm hoping that they catch this guy who's after you." reassured Beverly. "I think it's awful that someone would go so far as to create a television and radio network just to broadcast your murder."

"Good morning Jen!" greeted the office manager. "We've got a short notice meeting in the conference room. Hurry on in and we can get started."

Nervously, Jen followed her boss into the conference room. Everyone continued to stare at the large video conference screen that had the morning news anchors of Jen's Butcher TV on it.

"She's here!" announced one of Jen's coworkers.

"Excellent!" exclaimed the news anchor. "Have her take a seat so we can get started."

Jen sighed and reluctantly sat down at the conference table.

"So, Jen, by now I'm sure you know that this station is dedicated to—and there's no way to soften this—your murder. What are your thoughts on that?" asked the news anchor.

Jen shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, "I'm still shocked and at a loss of what to say. I mean it's a horrible thing, but everyone seems to be really into it. And am I really interviewing on TV at this moment?"

"Yes you are." answered the news anchor. "Now, let me ask; when did you first learn about Jen's Butcher Media?"

"When I woke up this morning." answered Jen. Jen's Butcher Radio came in through my clock radio."

"Ah, I see." said the news anchor. "Really the station has only been in existence since about 2:30 this morning, Eastern time. So you didn't miss much while you were sleeping. But already we're #1, nationwide, in ratings! What do you think of that?"

"I'm wondering if I'll be able to split some of the money that Jen's Butcher Media network is making. I am the star, after all." reminded Jen.

"Jen, would you happen to know who your killer is?" asked the female news anchor. "Any leads?"

"No, I haven't any idea." answered Jen.

"Because if you know who your killer is, you might be able to turn this person into the police for that $100,000 reward." suggested the female news anchor while laughing.

"We're going to allow some viewers to call in and ask you some questions. Are you okay with that?" asked the male news anchor.

"Sure... why not..." answered Jen.

For nearly three hours, Jen spoke to curious people around the nation who wanted to know what it felt like to be the star victim of a televised murder. There were plenty of discussions about when the murder would actually take place, and if the killer would really use a large butcher knife as promised. Maybe she would be strangled with an extension cord and thrown into a tub full of acid a few people suggested. But these people were always reminded that the killer promised the murder to be a bloody, gruesome mess. A knife would be the only way to fulfill this.

After the exhausting three hours of being interviewed on live TV and radio, Jen's manager and coworkers had a surprise for her. "Well, Jen..." began the manager. "It looks like this will be our last meal with you. Being the case, we are treating you to a catered-in lunch: Italian beef, sausage, chicken and potato wedges. And we even have a cake specially made for you." It was a large, multi-layered butter cream cake with strawberry filling. The cake said the words, "Good Bye Jen!" A decorative plastic butcher knife stabbed right into the middle. Surrounding the "knife wound" was red-colored butter cream frosting to represent the bloody gruesome mess that the killer promised.

"Want to lick the knife?" offered the manager upon pulling the decorative butcher knife out of the cake. "It has blood all over it."

"Now that would be a twist." excitedly commented the afternoon news anchor of Jen's Butcher TV. “Maybe the killer is Jen's boss. Maybe when she licks the knife, he's going pull out a real butcher knife and stab her. Maybe it'll get all over the cake."

"But don't you think the cake is red enough?" asked the afternoon co-anchor while laughing.

***

Later that night, Jen sat at the kitchen table with her family and ate dinner. She was so tired of hearing about Jen's Butcher Media, and ordered that not one thing be mentioned about it for the remainder of the evening.

"One thing I find interesting:" began the evening news anchor of Jen's Butcher TV as the world watched the family eat dinner. "The husband doesn't seem too worried about his wife getting murdered. I wonder if that's because he's actually the killer."

"It's a possibility." answered the co-anchor. "But this whole scheme has been so surreal that maybe he doesn't believe it."

"I'm sure a lot of people are having difficulty understanding the fact that Jen's Butcher Media means business." answered the first news anchor. "But her killer is not playing games. This is not a joke. He will kill her by the end of today and have the gruesome scene broadcasted for the world to see."

An hour later, as Jen's husband and children sat in the family room and watched TV; Jen briefly entered and announced, "I'm going upstairs to take a nice, hot bath. It's been a long day."

"Okay, Honey." acknowledged Jen's husband, Marty. "You definitely deserve it my little celebrity wife." Once out of sight, Marty changed the channel to Jen's Butcher TV.

"Is that Mommy?" asked six-year old Kristy.

"Yes it is." affirmed Father. "Mommy has her own TV and radio station, now."

"Cool!" exclaimed nine-year-old Paul.

"Oh, kids, cover your eyes for a minute.” ordered Father. “I don't want you looking at your mother, naked, on TV."

Both kids did as ordered while Jen untied and removed her bathrobe. The warm water in the tub continued to fill as Jen stepped in. Oh, but so naughty of nine-year-old Paul; he spread open his finger just a crack to see his mother naked!

"Okay, she's in the tub, now." announced Father to Paul and Kristy. You can uncover your eyes.

"Now this might be an ideal moment when Jen's killer finally does as promised." announced one of the evening news anchors on Jen's Butcher TV. "Bathtubs are one of the least places where a woman wants to be stabbed." he further explained. "She's naked, wet and vulnerable. And she's... UH-OH! LOOK AT THAT! THERE’S THE KILLER! HE'S GOT HER!"

On TV, Jen let out a bloodcurdling scream from the bathtub as her killer jumped in with large butcher knife. The blade stabbed through her naked breasts and chest. Blood gushed out as Jen desperately fought for her life.

"AND HE JUST KEEPS STABBING HER AND STABBING HER! THIS GUY'S A MANIAC! SHE'S FIGHTING FOR HER LIFE AND TRYING TO USE HER ARMS, BUT HE JUST SLICES THEM OPEN WITH THAT LARGE BUTCHER KNIFE...!!!! OH MY GOSH!!! WHAT A GRUESOME, BLOODY MESS!!! HE DEFINITELY DELIVERED AS PROMISED!!!!”

Downstairs, Jen's husband and children watched her murder on TV.

"Is that man hurting Mommy?" asked Kristy.

"He's murdering her." answered Father.

"Will she be alright? asked Kristy.

"It doesn't look like it." answered Father. "But don't worry; it's only TV."

After a minute or so, Jen's killer hopped out of the bathtub. By now the water was dark red as Jen’s lifeless body floated with a frozen, horrified expression on her face.

And that was the exciting grand finale to Jen's Butcher TV.

The End!

Orb

Hello All:

Big news: The Tree Goddess (second book of the Mapleviewseries) has now been released by Creativia publishing! You can get your copy at Amazon Kindle. The paperback will be available in the near future. And check out the cover artwork! As mentioned before, we've decided to go with character-centric artwork. Who might the character be on the cover artwork of The Tree Goddess? I'll let your imagination decide that. DOWNLOAD NOW

***

I have a very interesting video to share with you. You see, over the weekend I attended my nephew's birthday party. Earlier that afternoon, my mother mentioned that my brother has been filming orbs in his house. You see, he installed a motion detector camera in the Florida room as an extra security measure. Apparently he has been capture orbs on the video footage.

"Orbs?" I asked. "Hmm... That's cool..." To be honest, I wasn't all that impressed at the moment. You see, I don't believe that orbs are anything beyond image and video artifacts. There is usually some scientific explanation behind them; whether it be dust on the camera lens, or dust particles that float through the air and reflect light.

Shortly after dark, my brother called me into the room that was next to the front room. He wanted to show me the incredible orb activity that was taking place in the Florida room. And I must admit there were plenty of them! But, again, I wasn't impressed...

...inititially, that is! I am now a true believer!

It wasn't until I studied the behavior of these orbs that I realized that they weren't simply dust particles that float through the air. The orbs would usually fly in through the door or the window, stop and change direction and even increase in size! They had volition and a seeming consciousness or awareness. And they followed people. And something else to discredit scientific debunking of these orbs: the only appear between the hours of 7:00pm to about 11:00pm. All other times of day, no orbs can be seen. Why do they choose 7:00pm to 11:00pm?

The orbs actually follow people who enter the room. I actually entered the room while my mother, brother and daughter watched on camera. According to their account, a group of them swarmed around me. At the time I felt a peculiar stillness that surrounded me.  All of us agree that the orbs aren't evil. They are actually friendly, and wish to only go about whatever business they do.

It wasn't until my daughter took her turn entering the room that I recorded the footage through my phone. Notice how the orbs fly about in the video. And notice how they seem to know that she is aware of something against the wall. One of the orbs follow her out of the Florida room. Let me know what you think.

 ***

Today's featured writing is a story from last Halloween week titled, Orb.

As for the Mapleview mini novella to be released this Halloween: I am just writing the ending. New short stories should appear in the near future once this project is complete.

Orb

Poor, little, four-year-old Brittany; she was having another bothersome encounter with the mean, old man who regularly tormented her and her older brother. The wicked, old man didn't have to do much to terrify her; only stare at Brittany with his fearsome face and eyes of hatred that—perhaps—exhibited a bit of delight that he was frightening her.

Brittany trembled and cried at the sight of the old man, who stood at the entrance of the family room.

"What? What is it?" asked my sister, Lina, who just so happens to be Brittany's mother.

Brittany only ran in the opposite direction of the old man, towards the sofa, where she buried her face in the pillow to hide from him.

My sister sat down on the sofa next to her crying daughter and rubbed her back to comfort her. "Brittany, Honey, what's bothering you?"

It was then that Brittany answered, "It's the old man. He's back, again. He won't leave me alone."

"What old man?" asked my sister.

Brittany pointed in the direction towards the entrance of the family room. "That man over there." Then she hid her face back in the pillow. But she wouldn't dare look at the old man while pointing her finger; for he would only return a face that would guarantee punishment some time later.

"Honey, I don't see a man standing over there. Are you just seeing spookies, again? Spookies are all in your head. They're not real."

"I see him!" declared Brittany's older brother, Nicholas; a nine-year-old boy who should certainly be past the age of imagining things. But unlike his younger sister, Nicholas is a bit bolder and actually approached the old man who returned a face of warning. "He's right there!" Nicholas shouted while pointing. "You bad man! Get out here!"

"Nicholas, stop it!" shouted my sister.

"You don't see him?" asked Nicholas.

"No!" she snapped. "And I wish you would stop encouraging your sister."

That's when Nicholas sat down on the sofa, next to his mother and little sister. It was time for the boy to have a talk with Mother. "Okay, do you remember when I was little and I was out in the swimming pool on my raft, and I fell under the water?"

"Yes..." answered Mother.

"Do you remember you had to jump in the pool and rescue me because for some reason I couldn't get up?"

"Yes, of course." affirmed Mother. "That was very scary."

"Well the reason I couldn't get up was because the old man walked around the pool and reached over to my raft. The he tipped the raft over and I fell under the water. And that's not all he did. He actually held me under the water and wouldn't let me up. He wanted to drown me."

Mother sighed and was growing increasingly frightened of these strange accounts of the old man. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Nicholas, are you lying?"

"No! I tried to tell you and Dad when it happened. But no one would listen to me. You just told me that no one was holding me under the water."

This was the account my sister gave me on the telephone one Thursday evening. She phoned me shortly after the incident of the old man tormenting my little niece which was followed by my nephew's report of being held under water by him some years ago. My brother-in-law works the night shift which means that my sister was alone with two children who swore there to be a mean, old man in the entryway of the family room. I suppose the moment might have been somewhat spooky, and she needed someone to talk to.

"Hmmm... That's very strange.” I answered as she concluded her report. “Do you suppose there might be a ghost in the house?"

"Oh, don't say that!" my sister begged me. "Mark doesn't come home from work for a few more hours which means I'll be alone until then."

"Well I'm just suggesting that a ghost is something to consider. And if you have one, you need to do what is necessary to get rid of it." Then I came up with a solution. "Do you have a camera nearby?"

"A camera?" she asked. "I have one on my phone. Why?"

"Well, sometimes paranormal investigators have success with photographing rooms where there is supposedly ghostly activity. When looking at the picture, mysterious things can be seen that might suggest the presence of a ghost. Why don't you try doing that, now?"

"Okay, hold on..." She was using the very phone that she spoke to me on to take her photo. There was the sound of my sister clicking open the camera app, and then taking the photo. "There... let's see..." I could hear my sister say. Then she resumed talking into the phone. "I'm looking at the picture, but can't see anything.

"Well maybe the ghost is gone." I suggested. "Ask the kids if they can still see the old man."

I could hear my sister calling out to my nephew and niece. "Nicholas? Brittany? Is the old man still there?”

"No!" they answered. "It looks like he went away for now." explained Nicholas.

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about the ghost while you're home alone." I said to my sister. "Tell you what; the next time the kids complain about seeing the old man, hurry up and take a picture in the area where they see it."

***

It was Saturday evening, two nights after my sister telephoned me to report the strange accounts of the mean, old man. My mother joined my sister and her husband for an evening out at the opera. Arrangements were made for the fifteen-year-old girl who lives next door from my sister to watch the children while the adults were out.

At some point in the evening, little Brittany was in her bedroom and sorting through some of her toys which were carefully placed in a bucket, soon to be carried out to the family room to play with. That's when the mean, old man quietly entered her room and sneaked up behind her.

Initially, Brittany was oblivious of the ugliness that stood behind her. But it didn't take long for the strange, spooky feeling to envelop Brittany which was soon accompanied by the strange sensation in her eyes that felt as-if another person could look through them. Then there was the chill in the air. Yes; the mean, old man was somewhere in the room.

Brittany looked behind her and was terribly startled to see him. His feet were just inches away from her. He cocked one foot back and gave her a swift kick to her leg while casting a mean face at her.

"Ouch!" yelled Brittany, and then quickly crawled over to the wall where she cowered. She started to cry because the kick hurt her.

Delighted; the mean, old man walked over to her and kicked her again.

"Stop!" yelled Brittany "That hurts!" She cried some more.

The mean, old man silently laughed as-if his mouth had a mute button. This muted effect made it necessary for him exaggerate behavior such as laughing. As the little girl cowered and cried against the wall, he spat at her to show even further disrespect.

"Brittany?" called out the babysitter while dashing up the stairs and towards the bedroom. "Are you okay? Why are you crying?" Now at the entryway, she could see little Brittany cowered against the wall and protecting herself from something unseen. "Brittany, are you alright?"

"It's the mean, old man." answered Brittany. "He keeps kicking me, and he won't go away."

The babysitter rushed over to the cowering child to see what was wrong. By now, Nicholas was at the entryway of the room and could see the problem.

"Yup! Uh-huh! He's in here!" affirmed Nicholas. Nicholas approached the old man and shouted, "You get out of here! And you leave my sister alone!"

That's when the mean, old man slapped the babysitter on the ass.

"Nicholas!" the babysitter shouted. "Stop that!"

"But that wasn't me!" argued Nicholas. "It was him."

"Alright... you kids are very strange." declared the babysitter while scooping up little Brittany and carrying her out of the room. Nicholas led and was the first out of the room.

Just to make sure that his presence was known; the mean, old man gave the babysitter another slap to her behind.

Now frightened and convinced of a mysterious presence in the home, she screamed and ran out into the hallway. Of course the babysitter didn't say one word about the evening’s strangeness. How could one report such an incident to parents who ask, "How did everything go?" Should she have answered, "Well... everything was fine until that imaginary man slapped my behind."? Instead, she reported that all was well. I suppose she promised herself to never babysit in that house, again.

It was late in the evening, and my mother was too tired to drive home. She opted to spend the night at my sister's place, and sleep on the family room sofa. At some point in the night, she woke up and felt an extreme chill in the air. Cold, my mother wrapped herself tighter in the blankets. And then she began to feel a peculiar sensation of fear. It was something she believed she could have pulled herself out of by standing up and going into the kitchen for a drink of water—wake up a bit before going back to sleep. But sitting up was impossible due to an alarming sensation of paralysis. She described it as-if someone held her down on the sofa.

Then my mother saw something that would certainly terrify anyone. As she described it; a brilliant, glowing orb started floating in her direction from the kitchen. It glided into the family room until reaching the sofa where it hovered over my mother. Along with feeling held down on the sofa, my poor mother had a difficult time breathing. This made it impossible to try and call out for help. The orb slowly descended—closer and closer to my petrified mother.

The entire family was awoken from the dead of night with the sound of my mother who finally let out a scream. "No! No! Please! Go away! For the love of God, please go away! Help me!" By the time everyone reached the family room, my mother was cowering in the corner by the television. Apparently she managed to break free from paralysis.

"I bet it was the old man!" suggested my nephew, Nicholas, upon my mother finally calming down and explaining what happened.

"Nicholas, stop it!" warned my sister. "Your grandmother was probably just having a bad dream."

"What old man?" asked my mother.

"Oh, the kids just have an overactive imagination..."

***

The following morning—Sunday—my mother had breakfast with the family and left. After she left, it was one of those lazy Sunday mornings in which everyone sits around, watches TV or—in the case of children—play with toys.

Brittany was playing with her dollhouse. But after an hour or so; my sister noticed that she would set up all of her toys in an area, play for a few seconds, then quickly pack up and move to a different area of the house.

"Brittany, what are you doing?" my sister finally asked.

"The mean, old man keeps bothering me."

"Bothering you? What's he doing?"

"He keeps coming up to me and kicking me. He wants me to leave."

"He kicks you?"

"Yeah... uh-uh... see, like last night. Look what he did to me." Brittany pulled her dress up just high enough to show a nasty bruise on her thigh."

My sister gasped. "The mean, old man did this to you?"

"Yeah..."

Initially, my sister wasn't buying it. Someone kicked her little daughter, and she would definitely get to the bottom of it. "Nicholas!" she called out.

"What?"

"Get in here!"

My nephew cautiously entered the room. "What?"

"Did you do this to Brittany?" my sister asked.

"No!"

"Are you sure it wasn't Nicholas?" my sister further probed while speaking to Brittany.

"No, it was the mean, old man." she answered.

"There he is!" exclaimed Nicholas while pointing.

Brittany turned towards the direction of where her brother was pointing, and then quickly looked away while covering her face. She began to cry.

"You see him?" my sister asked.

"Yup!" affirmed Nicholas. "He's right there, and he's making mean faces at me and Brittany.

Just then, my brother-in-law entered the room. "What's going on in here?"

"It's the ghost." answered my sister. "The kids say he's right over there and making mean faces. And look what he supposedly did to Brittany." She lifted my niece's dress up high enough to show the bruise to her husband.

My brother-in-law sighed. "Well, let's try the camera." He pulled the phone out of his pocket, and confirmed from Nicholas that the mean, old man was standing "over there". Then he snapped the picture—actually, a few of them.

The photos were uploaded to the family notebook computer. But before any of them could be opened, the computer suddenly locked up.

"What the...? Oh, come on! Why is this happening?" shouted my brother-in-law. It's one of the most frustrating occurrences that can happen to anyone; you are eager to view some document or look up some information, and the computer suddenly freezes. There are no buttons that can be pressed; the mouse doesn't work; and even control-alt-delete is useless. The machine is suspended in time with 100% of CPU resource being used.

The family huddled over the notebook and stared at it in an equally suspended state as the computer. It was just the opportunity that the mean, old man needed—everyone was in a catatonic state. Then, as the computer started to unfreeze, the face the old man burned through the LCD screen.

Everyone jumped back and screamed out of fright. It was a clear manifestation of a nearby ghost.

Poor, little Brittany cried and buried her face in her mother.

Nicholas exclaimed, "It's the old man!"

Ten minutes passed as the family settled down and mustered enough courage to try and open the pictures on the computer. When they were finally opened, each photo clearly contained an undeniable orb that hovered some six feet above ground. My brother-in-law was able to zoom in on the orb which revealed the makings of a face... the face of a mean, old man.

My sister immediately telephoned me with the finding. But, unfortunately, I was out and the battery of my cell phone went dead. It wasn't until later in the afternoon with my phone fully charged that I received her voicemail.

I called my sister and she immediately rattled off the excitement that had been occurring in her home for the past 24 hours. But then the connection began to fade in and out.

"Can you hear me...? Hello...? I can't hear anything but static... I'm going to call you back..." my sister said before hanging up.

Moments later, my phone rang. It was my sister with a much, better connection. It enabled her to report the details, along with texting me one of the photos of the orb which contained the face of the mean, old man.

"Oh, wow!" I exclaimed upon seeing it.

"Isn't it incredible?" my sister added.

Suddenly I had the peculiar feeling of a presence listening, attentively, to what my sister and I were discussing. "Is someone on the other line with you?" I asked my sister.

"No, I'm on my cell."

I tried to ignore the mysterious presence, but it remained somewhere on the telephone while continuing to stalk over the wireless medium... looking for a way in... seeking a weakness to infect with its poltergeist activity.

***

About a week passed, and I would occasionally sense the mysterious presence in my home. At first I tried to write it off as some residual feeling brought on by the telephone call from my sister. Her report of the events suggested there to be a considerable amount of trauma in her home. Surely it had carried over to me and possibly caused me some stress. It was the only explanation that I had.

But as time goes on, I continue to feel it. And I suppose in a means to sort through what is happening, I have turned to writing this very document. It is now a few minutes before midnight, and I've chosen this time to write as it enables me to be alone and think freely. It might be similar to what you, the reader, is doing—finding a time and place to be alone so you can read my account, undisturbed.

I can tell you, however, that it is not easy writing about all of this. I now realize that the ghost in my sister's house had traveled along the connection of that telephone call and infected my mind, only to lay dormant as a seed waiting to hatch. As I continue to type I can feel a strange feeling around my eyes, almost as-if someone or something else can see through them. And I cannot deny a peculiar, floating sensation, like I can be lifted out of my chair.

The ghost now observes in delight the words being typed. For you see; the ghost utilizes a viral effect, not only traveling along the medium of a telephone call, but traveling along the words of a story so that an unfortunate reader is infected. Perhaps you now notice a strange presence around you, or peculiar feelings signaling the dawn of paranormal activity in your home or office. Yes, the story is now about you: the reader!

But it's too late! The ghost has manifested itself in your physical place and has already spread itself. You can probably feel it standing over you, moving close to your face and seeking ways to spread its presence through the new medium, you.

Happy Halloween!

Elevator Music

Hello All:

School has been back in session for some weeks, now. And if your children are in band or orchestra, then surely you are about to attend one of the first concerts of the year. We attended concerts for both of my girls last night. With both girls in high school, and both highly-accomplished musicians (the same can be said for the other kids on stage), the concerts were phenomenal! I really enjoyed them. But I was a little shocked and somewhat irate at the lack of simple and common courtesy by some of the audience members. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to mention a few things about concert etiquette.

·        When the band or orchestra is in the middle of playing a song, don't stroll down the middle of the main aisle and search for a seat! Believe it or not, people are actually watching the performance and wish not to be interrupted by your body blocking their view. Wait until after the song has completed before entering the seating area. And if you wish to leave or use the restroom, couldn’t you wait until the song is completed?

·        NO TALKING WHEN THE BAND OR ORCHESTRA IS PLAYING! I cannot believe that intelligent grownups actually have difficulty following this rule. And I don't mean whispering; I mean normal level conversation! (Yes, I actually hear this when attending my kids’ concerts!) Believe it or not, people are actually enjoying the music. Why, some of them are actually recording the show and wish not for your conversations to be part of the music.

·        This one isn't something that most people think of. Those concert handouts that you receive upon entering the theater: Yes, they are nice to have as they inform you of the musical selections for the evening. But when the show starts, please set them down! The people around you do not want to hear you shuffling and flipping through the pages of a handout while the band or orchestra is performing.

·        It would be nice if you silenced your phone so that everyone doesn't have to hear your ringer during the middle of a performance as well.

I'm sure you can add some additional items and pet peeves to this list. But to cover anything else I might have missed, just consider that the kids who perform at these shows have worked very hard learning and practicing so that they can perform for you. Why not give them (and the people around you) some simple courtesy during the show.

***

Today's featured writing is a revisiting of the history of elevator music. The writing has appeared before on the blog, but it's one of my favorites.

Have a great weekend! And please be courteous during concerts and performances.
Elevator Music

True elevator music would have existed around the 1960s and throughout the 1970s. If ever visiting a department store, office, or even riding an elevator; this noteworthy music could often be heard, and was created to make your visit pleasant and relaxing. Listen to the You Tube recording below to fully appreciate the sound of true elevator music as it would have been heard in the old days.

I remember as a boy visiting the grocery stores and department stores with my mother and hearing this sort of music piped in through the speakers in the ceiling. As stated before, its purpose was to make a shopping experience relaxing enough so that buyers would stay longer and browse for their selections. As a boy, the music made me so sleepy and I couldn't wait to leave the store!

Here in Chicago there used to be a radio station called "FM 100" that played elevator music all day and night. Anyone old enough can remember, "Beautiful music... on FM 100..." My mother used to drive around in her green Chevy Vega with the radio tuned to FM 100. I hated it! One day I finally asked, "Mom, why do you listen to this?"

Her answer, "Because it makes me happy."

How was I supposed to argue with that?

It's very difficult to find the sort of music that was played in department stores throughout the 1980s and 1990s. This generation of elevator music was typically referred to as Muzak. Most people forget about it, and for good reason! Muzak back in those days was analogous to what pastel does to color. Popular rock, country and jazz songs would have been recreated with the use of synthesizers and deliberately made to strip the song of anything that was enjoyable. Let's use the song, Juke Box Hero from Foreigner, as our example. Dull and soft flute notes would have replaced the vocals, and there would have been some gay and obnoxious percussion for the beats--almost as exciting as softly tapping your foot on the ground and whistling. As for "that one guitar that blew him away"; there would have been no guitar in the deconstructed Muzak edit as that would have been too exciting. The end result was a reincarnated and extremely boring song that resembled Juke Box Hero.

In the early 1990s, Psychology Today did a report on Muzak and cited it as a helpful tool in brainwashing employees at the workplace. People hated Muzak and simply dealt with it for the eight hours that they were on the job. As the days and weeks passed, the monotonous and repeated Muzak would trigger a silent anger in the employee that he or she learned to keep it under control. This control actually served as a psychological acupuncture which forced the employee to become numb to external stressors at the workplace.

The "Muzak" phase of 1980s and 1990s department store seemed to have ended with the growing popularity of "smooth jazz". Smooth jazz is a step up from the maddening Muzak in that the jazz instruments can actually be used to add more color and excitement to the songs. It often mixes heavy urban type of beats with Motown classics. But after hearing the same 40 songs over and over again, it's soon referred to "pukey jazz". The songs make you sick, and they soon takes on a similar psychological effect of the classic 1980s/1990s Muzak. To make matters worse, smooth jazz found its way onto mainstream radio and is often hosted by celebrity DJs who insist that people wish to experience mood-altering and relaxing music. To them, smooth jazz is supposed to change your outlook on life and make you a better person. It’s just further brainwashing if you ask me.

Be thankful that when you visit the department stores, today, real songs are played with full lyrics and instruments as originally created. Elevator music has certainly evolved throughout the decades.

The Halloween Wish—children’s novella by Gayle Raimbault

Hello All:

October is here which means that Halloween is around the corner. And just in time for the holiday, Gayle Raimbault (my mother!) has published a children's novella titled, The Halloween Wish. If you've been searching for a cute book for your kids to add to their e-readers that is full of adventure, Halloween magick, and a touch of spookiness; then look no more!

The Halloween Wish takes place in Gayle's fictional town of Springview—located somewhere in the Midwest. It's an ordinary town except for one thing: Springview hides a secret! It has something to do with an off-beaten trail that runs through a cornfield and leads to an old farmhouse. And there are many legends surrounding this farmhouse. Why, some people even claim that a witch lives there!

Three children decide to set off on Halloween night to test the legends of this farmhouse. Wouldn't you like to join them? And they learn a valuable lesson along the way about making wishes.

The Halloween Wish is full of hand-drawn illustrations by Gayle and her granddaughter (my niece), Hannah. There are poems and songs to accompany the brilliant plot of this story. Need I come out and say that this book is awesome? I give it five stars! Your kids will love reading it, so do get a copy. But why should only children read it? Adults will love this adventurous and spooky tale as well.

As always, I never re-print material from other authors that I feature on this blog. I simply provide the link for you download, directly, from the author. Simply click the link that follows the synopsis.

The HalloweenWish—children’s novella by Gayle Raimbault Every Halloween a witch, with strange magical powers appears at the old deserted farmhouse. There are rumors of ghosts, creepy monsters, strange shadows roaming about the yard and screams coming from the barn. Jody, Pat, and Andy want to know if these tales are true and decide to go to the haunted farm on Halloween night. They are about to have the adventure of their lives. DOWNLOAD BOOK