The Stairs, Part 7, Final (suspense/horror)

** HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE! **
HAVE A SAFE AND SPOOKY NIGHT!

(A story in honor of Halloween. As the days of October shorten, a young man descends with the sunset shadows down seven cellar stairs. If you're just joining us, you can go back to Part 1.)

On the Last Stair

Saturday.

oh god oh god oh god

Paulie's fingertips shook.

He stood at the edge of the black basement and listened. The odor in the air smelled sharper. More than just a ghost of crispy brown and dried up worms. The stench snaked into his pants, but also repelled him.

A match lit in the darkness.

Caught the sparkling glitter of eyes.

The flame fluttered down, then cupped under smoky glass. A shimmering red hiss transformed to chilly blue, then finally blazed white.

A woman sat on the edge of the table beside the lantern.

"Hi Mrs. Brennan," Paulie said.

She laughed and shook her head at the formality. He knew she liked it, though.

"Are you coming in?" she said. Her voice was slow. Mischievous.

Over her shoulder, one of the old shovels leaned in the middle of wall. The handle was dark where the old dust was smeared away. Paulie's eyes lingered on it as he spoke.

"I've been thinking a lot about last week," he said. "Actually, I can't get it out of my head."

"You can't?"

"No."

Her smile spread, showing teeth. "I like that."

He thought about telling her he visited the cottage every day of the week, but didn't want to look weak. Needy. Besides, she might be pissed about drawing attention to their secret place.

"You want to do the same thing again? I liked the kidnapping game," he said, looking down at the solid legs of the table. "I could handcuff you again. Tighter this time. I could do...more."

She eased off the table and approached him. It made him even more self-conscious. "Oh? Like what?"

Her hands dug into the muscles of his upper chest. Her weight pushed him back.

He swallowed, tried to speak, but no sound came out.

"I have something extra special planned," she said. "Something even better."

The decay was so much stronger, not nice like he remembered.

He glanced down to where the dirt floor was dug. Something curved up from the grey soil.

Deer bones?

She kissed his neck, and his heartbeat throbbed down in the center of his jeans.

"It makes me so hot just to think about it," she whispered. "I almost can't stand it."

With her lips, she traced a half circle around his neck. "It's amazing for guys. You see it in their faces."

"What?" he croaked.

She turned his shoulders. Away from the room and its lumpy floor.

Bits of his clothes were coming off. Mrs. Brennan threw them into a corner on top of others, stiff and old.

"Under the hickory tree," she said. "There's a stool."

He tensed.

"There's nothing like it. Nothing in the world."

She pressed him up the stairs into the new night. The tree towered black against the sky.

"Mrs. Brennan, I--"

A rope dangled from a crooked branch.

"Shhhh," she said. "Do it."

His bare skin stepped onto wood. The stool legs teetered.

The noose near his shoulders made no shadow on the stairs. All of the hickory's darkness plunged into the basement below.

His heart thundered.

"Don't worry, I'll let you down," she said. "I promise."

He saw the furnace heat in her eyes.

"Do it," she said.

He slipped the rope over his head.

look at me please look at me I'll do whatever you want so you never look away

His hands dropped, and she pounced.

i love you

Hair flying wild, she kicked the stool away.


Back to Part 6.

The Stairs, Part 6 (suspense/horror)

(A story in honor of Halloween. As the days of October shorten, a young man descends with the sunset shadows down seven cellar stairs. If you're just joining us, you can go back to Part 1.)

On the Sixth Stair

Paulie stood near the bottom.

One day away.

His hands splayed on the walls to steady his legs. Crumbly cinderblocks. And mold.

He waited, untouched for days. He felt gigantic. It was impossible to breathe.

Lightning boomed close. The sound snapped his body from his toes.

As his mind dangled, rain floated over a drenched world.

the smooth darkness

the prickly smooth darkness

tensing

push it down

grapple it

jaw teeth clenching

quiet again and smooth

soft pressure

spiraling

NO

thrown off

scratch is bleeding

chain jangling

jangling

metal cracks

across

head thrown back

SHIT

you'll pay

you'll pay

punch

pounding

hard enough to break

grunts of air

birds beating against

a hurricane eye wall

then laughing

laughing

laughing

Paulie climbed up to the ground. He closed the storm doors and laid his cheek on the wet, rusty metal.

He wanted every sensation needled into him and burned. Even the cold rain.

Burned right through his skin.

Muscle and spinal chord deep.


On to Part 7.
Back to Part 5.

The Stairs, Part 5 (suspense/horror)

(A story in honor of Halloween. As the days of October shorten, a young man descends with the sunset shadows down seven cellar stairs. If you're just joining us, you can go back to Part 1.)

On the Fifth Stair

Oh Mrs. Brennan you don't mind if I don't call you by your first name do you mis-sus mis-sus Brennan so many things they tell you that I ignored too so don't feel bad I don't blame you but it really makes things easy with stuff like not fixing the burned bulb in the lamppost and bushes too close to the door and the windows and getting lazy with lots of things like letting the dog out messing with your IPod while doggy picks at a dead cardinal and you looked pretty surprised to see me you really played that up nice and made me believe enough to want to stop but let's not get mad now because I brought the duct tape and you really can't kick on the back seat floor with the blanket over you but you can I guess a little if you want but you stop except when it gets nasty bumpy and I should slow down on the ruts and rocks but I have to get behind the old cottage quick and slam the door rough wrestling you over my shoulder kicking kicking and swaaaying but don't worry I got it and DAMN

Paulie looked down at the brown drips on the fifth stair where his nose bled.

The bruise from the knee hit was gone, but the lingering ache pissed him off.

The air was changing at the top of the stairs. Pressure surged and churned violent. Entire regions of weather shifted from the north, and it felt like the ground wanted to trade places with the sky.

Shadow branches from the hickory tree groped for Paulie's neck. The scissor patterns piled and scattered, piled and scattered with the surging wind.

It made him think of his heart pounding.

It made him think of bones tangled in mass graves.

And the hickory fingers pumped like arteries blown bare.


On to Part 6.
Back to Part 4.

The Stairs, Part 4 (suspense/horror)

(A story in honor of Halloween. As the days of October shorten, a young man descends with the sunset shadows down seven cellar stairs. If you're just joining us, you can go back to Part 1.)

On the Fourth Stair

Paulie loved Wednesdays. The half-way day. The breath between build up and plunge. He could taste the gorgeousness of Saturday coming. And the semi-dark that would trail its sunset.

A gust pushed the hickory tree toward the west, and red and yellow leaves whirled in devil tornadoes. When the gust died, they spun into the ground in the shade and the house's corners.

Paulie hopped down the stairs.

One, two.

Watching you.

Three, Four.

Watch some more.

On the fourth stair, Paulie hovered in the cut of light. Darkness spread itself below and wet its lips for him.

Gimme the keys just gimme the Goddamn keys asshole I hate your fat smirking smile like come on as if I like running for you in the van and not catching breaks when you're not looking or naps because I'm going to rip off my pants and twirl them in the wind out the window and get high and jack off on the dash board go ahead and shake your head about nothing getting through my thick skull and bouncing off like tennis balls but I pull out of the gate and barbed wire and the road gets going and I do laugh about what I could do and scream shit at other drivers then gun it and dust them with my pants still on thank you very much though I would jack off if I knew smirk face would drive the van and put his hands on the crispy spots but instead it all happened the other day when I was picking up or dropping off at the ShopRite whatever and I saw the car and the hood up and a pair of curved jeans making me look twice and holy crap if it wasn't you sending me way away across the parking lot and couldn't believe it since I hadn't seen you though I thought about you a lot after high school and still there you were poking at something on the engine while some buff guy came up and talked to you but then walked away because you didn't need him and pieces of my brain plinked like hundreds of pinballs as my hands got hot frozen and I don't even remember the arguments but there was anger at something not you but at all the stuff and crap and times I forgot to shave and getting my ass kicked and then I was driving again or part of me was driving straight for you like the other half was sitting by my side screaming and waving the other way and whoa hit the brakes oh fuck I'm screwed now because you saw me not recognized me but saw me and I got out and you stepped back and stood straight and I could see the creeped out look and my anger was stronger and I spoke someone's voice saying hi Mrs. Brennan I'm sure you don't remember me your student but you did remember right away and you smiled then not like you used to and it was like a sword stabbing all the way on the mountain again and the enemies were at my feet smiling in that love sort of way even though my sword split chests gushing red and the eyes were still like love and I helped you before you told me you didn't need help because you know all sorts of slap on the back things and you were mixing antifreeze from ShopRite with some French bottled water and filling your radiator and we laughed at that and you touched me when you laughed and touched my beard like ooh you're a big boy now no a man and you bitched about pain in the ass kids and how teaching sucked and how it was fun to know the laid back kids like me who knew what the important shit was and I skewered each of your pretty smiles on my blade but didn't draw them on paper since I don't draw and color anymore and I could believe you actually wanted to like cock your head and invite to me talk some more if it wouldn't get me in trouble since there was this café and the parking lot was smoking hot and nobody should stand so long and the sitting part of me gasped but the driver side knew how to smolder because he was the angry one who wanted to pay anger like money and get something way better and we

play

no no

don't listen

you really wanted me to

say.goodbye.croaking.stammering.looking at my shoes. hating.seeeeeething.but I won't leave.not while you

go into the café and it's amazing how much you like to laugh

at me.that guy pointing at my.acid tears.I roar.spit and spray.burrrrrrn.because.yeah.oh fucking yeah.point at the dork

and hear what I have to say and something's happening even though we won't say it and you ask me to

never come near you.but.I'm good.I'm so good.circling close.very close.I'll

come to your house to just hang you know just kick back and listen to some wicked mp3's and you know you don't have to explain it to me because I'm one of the laid back ones the cool ones and sure I understand hell yeah it's exciting are you kidding me I can be totally into it

whatever you want

On Saturday.


On to Part 5.
Back to Part 3.

Pennsylvania Autumn

On the wings of an autumn breeze, fly deep into Penn's mountains:

Twisting in and out of light.
A rainbow game of hide and seek with the aging sun.



Colors blush at the mirror mountain.



And nap when their play is done.



Bear's Head Tooth Mushroom (Hericium americanum) dripping
moonlit spores and netherworld scents into the day.



Ruffed grouse (Bonasa umbellus) regarding the changing world
with jittery, skyward toes.



Twin oaks aloft with green
watch over zigzag storms of yellow and red
each time the wind thinks to blow.

The Stairs, Part 3 (suspense/horror)

(A story in honor of Halloween. As the days of October shorten, a young man descends with the sunset shadows down seven cellar stairs. If you're just joining us, you can go back to Part 1.)

On the Third Stair

Six o'clock sun beamed on Paulie's back. After yesterday's rains, crystal blue sky bore down on the day with reading glass heat.

His feet swam in the shadow on the third stair.

Below, he could see into the darkness farther. Papers and boxes and flower pot littered the floor. Something was closer now. It dissolved in the cool cavern of air.

Sometimes I can taste it I think not like the corners warehouse where it's good but empty and of course the clocks ticks really loud and the second hand shakes like it's having a seizure but it's better than school and those fucking hard seats making my back ache but at least it's quieter in the bathroom no one cleans and the bowls in the stalls stink with pieces of moldy cardboard kicked to the corners I hate going in that sewage but no one usually goes back there and I can pull on my hair with the greasy streaks sticking for the never hot water and I can sneak a joint and pick my ass until I can clean the mouse traps because nobody else wants to and all the little droppings sprinkle like those black things you put on cakes and could put on cakes if anyone would know the difference.

Paulie coughed. The muted sound slap-back echoed.

I don't mind changing the bait even with the dropping because I think about the mice nibbling itty bitty nibbling they must love those poison blocks if only I could see their stomachs burst or their brains twist spit blood but I can only clear the boxes back to the corner where the smell is strong and I find whole piles of them hair falling and mixing and dried curled toes without eyes and I take my time bending down and brushing them into the dust pan so I can bring it up close to my face where no one can see my face unless someone is looking for me and hurry away hiding my pants when I walk it hurts because it's so hard but the bathroom smells like bleach white hot bleach and the bowls stink in the stalls and it's gone again even if I take the dust pan with me and it's no use I just flush and change the bait and wait.

The hickory shadow flowed down to the fourth stair like molasses.

Before he pulled away and climbed up to the ground, he leaned forward and breathed.

It wasn’t raw like the smells in the warehouse where he worked crappy hours. Mostly, it was mildew and age. Underneath, though, he caught a scent.

Clutching and pounding and fire tearing with his aching teeth.

The sweet ghost of decay.

On to Part 4.
Back to Part 2.

Wind in the Morning

Clouds slide
From the end of the world
Grey thoughts
Regaling their decay
The cold is like a fear forgotten
Without its blood
And your fingertips are warm
Where the rumpled covers lay

The Stairs, Part 2 (suspense/horror)

(A story in honor of Halloween. As the days of October shorten, a young man descends with the sunset shadows down seven cellar stairs. If you're just joining us, you can go back to Part 1.)

On the Second Stair

Spokes and tires rumbled up the dirt road overgrown. Paulie disappeared before a passing car saw him. Six o'clock was close.

Wind sizzled in the dried leaves, and autumn's moods were blowing. Back and forth. Unsettled.

Paulie reached for the storm doors. He stood and waited for the wind to change again.

It happened. Bits of red sun poked through the continents of clouds. Because the day was older than yesterday, the steep shadow from the Hickory tree now claimed the second stair.

He stepped down one.

He stepped down one more and went no farther.

He closed his eyes as the anxious sky smeared out the sun again.

Mornings loved the mornings smelling your hair when you passed and walking in that slow extra way sorry yes sorry I'm paying attention homework yes I mean no I mean I tried to do my homework but I okay I'll go to the board if you want I'll go and the smirking kid in front doesn't know you hand me the chalk and I touch my finger to your finger natural like and I and I can't make the numbers in my brain because your skin isn’t real I can see through it or sink into it and disappear I could disappear in the round smooth skin you want me you don't want me to see I can't you know I can't stop touching your neck slick and sliding neck is climbing your neck is faster your neck oooh and your neck is going it's going it's STOP YELLING I know it's dinner time Jesus I know I'm coming

6:02 p.m.

Paulie's breaths fluttered as he stumbled back up the two steps. If the sun were out, the shadow would have passed to the third stair.

The storm door banged closed, and fat, sticky raindrops splattered him from the charcoal sky.


On to Part 3.

Nice Matters Award

I'm dropping in for a rare weekend edition to thank Canterbury Soul for bestowing the "Nice Matters" Award on me.

I do think nice matters, by the way. I suppose folks have all sorts of reasons for being on the internet. Mine includes building some positive energy. Others enjoy stirring up trouble and controversy (no one on my blogroll!). I often wonder why. Are they ignored and marginalized in real life? Does being scrappy give them a power they don't otherwise have? Anyway, I digress. Thanks Canterbury Soul!!

I'd also like to thank Kaycie of Lost in the Bible Belt for bestowing the Thoughtful Blogger Award on me!

This award is another one I really like. The only thing better than having a place to share my thoughts and visions is having you all come read them. Thanks everyone!

Coming Attractions at The Clarity of Night: look for the next short fiction contest to begin in early November. Also, it has been a while since I've done a multimedia video project. I'll be turning my attention to at least one of those in the near future. Stay tuned!

Cemetery Symbolism--Celtic Interlace

Over and under in an endless circle, the end disappears into the beginning. Celtic interlace evokes limitless green and fog clinging to dawn-wakened islands.

Perhaps it's more than a pattern, more than a stone-carver's ornamentation. The world is intertwined. There is no here cut from the hereafter, no past burned from the world we see. Water weaves from our breath to the clouds, and tears drip from the oceans we keep.

(Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania)

The Stairs, Part 1 (suspense/horror)

(A story in honor of Halloween. As the days of October shorten, a young man descends with the sunset shadows down seven cellar stairs.)





Paulie's long shadow stretched toward the cottage. Abandoned windows tilted in frames, and dust clouded the glass like milk.

The day was fading. On the ground, Paulie's stilt legs merged with the shadow of the hickory tree behind him.

He checked his watch.

5:59 p.m.

He stepped forward toward the tired yellow wall as the 59 popped like little hungry mouths to 00. He opened the storm cellar doors. Rust flaked from salty smelling metal.

The dying sun hung on the last splinters of the first stair, then slid. The shadow of the hickory tree darkened it.

Tingling, he stepped down. Cool mustiness billowed up from the dark. He breathed, and it made his arms shiver.

Skies and lands and plains of humungousness walking with the light and Conan with his sword whips and whistles on science book covers stab stab stabs and the blood laughing in rivers tap fingers because I'm bored and no I don't know the answer you fuck my sword swish and spills intestines God warrior God warrior oh shut up I'm trying read when my face is red because I throw like a fag hiding in back I'll cut my hair when I use pieces of your bleached skull my eyes are just tired only tired and red Mrs. oh my Mrs.

The waterfall darkness from the hickory tree flowed onto the second stair, and Paulie's prism thoughts dimmed. His burned-in shoulders slumped on the cottage clapboards.

Before he lifted his old mountain bike from the weeds, he banged closed the storm doors.

He pedaled away on sagging tires. Before coming tomorrow, he would pump them nice and hard.

Ontario & Western Railroad

High over the roadway
Sliced into mountainside
We never knew it was there
Ticker-tack ties rumble
On washboard ground
Rusting rails screech
From blue jays
Lost in the trees

We drive
Our iron pace rolling
With spark bursts
In flame red maples
The gaze of another age
Sweeps across the valley
And puffs the sky full
Of coal smoke angels

(O&W Road, Buckingham Township, Wayne County, Pennsylvania. This road was once the rail bed of the Ontario & Western Railroad, Scranton Branch. When it was liquidated in the 1950's, the O&W's anachronistic operations earned it the nicknames "Old Woman" and "Old & Weary." It now enjoys a cult-like following.)

Head Gnomes (and a Reader Survey)

Have you ever become obsessed with a person's head?

I'm afraid I have.

He was several seats ahead of me (no pun intended). He was bald, and his skin fell into the most interesting folds. They formed...

...kind of a

...an almost

...well, your basic

Androgynous head gnome.



Yes folks, I sketched it. I pulled out my little leather journal and got busy.

But the funny part is (no, not the look on my train-neighbor's face), when the guy turned his head, the little gnome creature turned to look out the window.

It startled me so badly, I actually jumped.

Oh boy, I need more sleep.

At any rate, it's be a long, long time since I asked for reader input into The Clarity of Night. Would you mind doing a wee little survey? I'd love to hear what you have to say!

Scoring each category from 1 to 10 (with 10 being the most positive), how much do you enjoy each of the following kinds of Clarity of Night posts:

1. Fiction vignettes
2. Serial fiction
3. Poetry
4. Insights/philosophy
5. Thoughts on writing
6. Humor/personal
7. Cemetery

Is there something you wished I did? Something I should stop? Any other suggestions?

Thanks for the feedback!!

On a Hilltop

He stretched his legs in the grass as the sun leaned behind them. Below, the valleys twisted with mine-stained creeks. The water sparkles faded into the purple distance.

"My grandfather used to gather the household trash and burn it in an outside fireplace," he said. "Isn't that weird? I used to find cans in the ashes."

Her arms were stretched over her head. She shrugged by lifting her shoulders.

"When he was done, he spread the cinders in the vegetable garden. They were two mounds with this fence around them. The soil was gritty. It stained your hands black when you worked in it."

"My grandfather made fox urine," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"No, it's true."

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

"He trapped foxes and kept them in cages. He fed them nasty stuff. Road kill sometimes. He caught the urine in pans below the cages. After he bottled it, he sold it to trappers and hunters to mask their scent. It smelled horrible."

He sat up and crossed his legs. "Wow," he said. "I bet."

In the view over his knees, little rooftops lined the mountainside.

"Can you see your grandparents house from here?"

He squinted. "I'm not sure. I don't think so."

"Oh. Just wondering."

He caught the green of her eyes as she stared at the sky. It matched the sun-yellowed clover where she laid.

"You know, I used to sleep over there sometimes," he said. "At my grandparents' house, that is."

"How was it?"

"Well, they put me on the floor in the front bedroom. I could hear the Lawrence Welk show down the stairwell to the living room."

"At least you had something to put you to sleep."

"Yeah, tell me about it," he said. "There were double beds in there. I think my grandfather slept in one when I wasn't staying over. I slept along the wall under the front windows."

He remembered the orange glow of the streetlights cutting around the blinds.

"But the worst part was the attic door," he said.

She looked over at him.

"Yeah, the door to the attic was in that room. A big old wooden door at the top of some stairs. It used to scare the crap out of me."

She propped up on an elbow.

"I used to turn away and squeeze my eyes shut. I didn't want to see it, you know? I kept imagining it swinging open with its rusty hinges. I imagined something quiet and horrible slipping down from the attic."

"Scary."

"It was. Especially when I rolled over in my sleep," he said. "If something startled me, I'd open my eyes, and wham, there it was. That black door way up high near the ceiling."

She frowned. "I wish I could have been there to protect you," she said.

He smiled and looked down at his hands for a few moments. Then, he shook off his thoughts. "Hey, do want another soda or something?"

Early Autumn Dawn

Dew soaked windows
Slicing drip portals
To the grass leaning low
Mist whispers away
The tops of trees
As I touch the secrets
The world weeps