The Tourist Attraction
“Get the hell out of here, you damn tourists, and leave me alone.”
I’m sick of it. Every day there’s a group of them tourists, standing by my fence watching us, pointing and whispering. I don’t know what started it, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna put up with it much longer. We’ve become some kind of tourist attraction or somethin’. They park the bus over at the Wal-Marts and then walk to my house to stare at us. I refuse to let them force me to stay inside, dammit! I’m gonna sit out here on the porch in my rocker jest like I been doin’ for as long as I can ’member.
It wasn’t always like this; we used to have two boys. I can still see them boys playin’ in the front yard, chasin’ each other ‘round. Me and the wife would sit here and watch them for hours, rockin’ and talkin’ ’bout how much energy they had. They’s always doin’ somethin’; if they weren’t movin’ then they was sleepin’. Hell, sometimes when I looked in on ’em at night, lying there in their beds, they’d be kickin’ their legs in their sleep, runnin’ in their dreams I s’pose. I surely do miss them boys. How long have they been gone? I don’t ’member.
Paula’d ’member. She could recall things from the past a normal person wouldn’t even have noticed, much less ’member. She could tell you the time, day, and year that we planted that tree in the front yard. Sometimes it was kinda spooky. I could always count on her to tell me anything I forgot about the past.
“Paula, what was the name of that fella that told us ’bout this house being for sale when we was jest married?”
She got that funny look on her face and I knew she was ’bout to spout out everythin’ that happened on that day, pert near thirty year ago, with that look in her eyes that I first seen on one of them robots at the state fair, over there in Des Moines.
“It was Harlan Monroe,” she said, “on January thirteenth, at five thirty-six, right before dinner. You were just getting home from work and had put your lunch box on the counter. You was telling me how old Mr. Hayworth was gonna give you a raise, now that you’re married and the adoption was final. Then there was a knock on the door. You said, ‘I wonder who’s comin’ round near supper time,’ and went and let Harlan in. ‘Wilbur,’ Harlan said, ‘there’s a house for sale out on the edge of town that you should go look at.’ You told him, ‘We can’t afford no house now, what with a couple a kids on the way,’ and he said, ‘You can’t afford to miss out on this house. It’d be perfect to raise a family.’ Do you want me to keep going?” Paula asked with her look that told me she could keep on going forever, telling me everything that ever happened right up to this moment.
“No, Paula, that’s fine.” Dagnabbit, there’s another busload of them tourists. Look at ’em, walkin’ up to the fence like they had every right in the world to stand there and stare at us. It’s like we don’t have any reason to complain ’bout being stared at. Damn tourists!
I knew that if I asked Paula, she’d tell me how long these tourists been comin’ round, but somethin’ told me that I didn’t want to ’member what started it. I surely do miss them boys; we didn’t have these damn tourists when they were here. Paula didn’t seem to mind being stared at. She never said anything at all ’bout them parading up to the fence every hour on the hour.
“Paula,” I said, knowin’ that I would regret it, but I couldn’t help myself, “when did we become part of this damn tour from hell?”
“What do you mean, Wilbur?” she asked, in that innocent way she had ’bout her.
“All these damn tourists marching up to our house to stare at us, when did it start?”
“Wilbur, you know I’m not supposed to talk about that. You made me promise not to remind you what happened that day. You don’t want me to break my promise do you?”
Deep in the back of my mind, buried in layers of pain and heartache, I ’member a gory scene. There was blood everywhere; small body parts scattered all over the yard. A truck is sittin’ out front with a sign on the side that says, ‘Roy’s Robot Repair.’ There’s two men takin’ Paula into the truck for some minor repairs. She’s got blood all over her.
I look at Paula sitting next to me with that look she gets on her face, and I knew she had every grisly detail of it in her head, ready to spit it out like the machine she is. “No,” I say, “I wouldn’t want you to break your promise.”
A Novel Murder
“I’m going to kill her today,” he said, “I’ve had her tied up in the basement for three days; it’s time to end it.”
I couldn’t believe the man sitting behind me was talking on the phone so casually about murder.
“No, I haven’t decided how yet, I’m going to do that now.”
When he got up to exit the bus, I decided to follow him. Maybe I could find a way to stop his horrible plan. I studied him carefully so I’d be able to give the police an accurate description. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties, grey hair, casually dressed in jeans and a blue sweatshirt, nothing extraordinary about him at all.
He walked into a pawnshop and I stood outside, looking through the window. As I watched, the clerk took a large machete out of the display case and handed it to him. Watching him swing the deadly weapon through the air, I could just imagine the poor woman in the basement having her head chopped off! He handed the machete back, apparently unsatisfied, and continued looking around the shop. He methodically checked an assortment of items: an ax, a sledgehammer, and a large pry bar, swinging them through the air, seemingly testing their weight. Next, he stood in front of a cabinet filled with knives and had the clerk hand him several of them. I watched in horror as he jabbed and sliced the invisible victim in front of him.
As I watched the scene inside the store, I thought about my options. I knew I would need more proof before the police would be able to help, but I decided to call them anyway.
“Siri, call the police,” I said nervously, as I watched the man who was now looking at guns.
“Calling police,” she responded. I detected a note of concern in her voice and probably shouldn’t have been surprised when she asked, “Is everything all right, Stud?”
“Yes, Siri, I’m fine.” The advances they were making with the voice recognition program were amazing.
“Twenty-third precinct,” said the bored voice of the desk sergeant.
“Yes, I would like to report a potential murder,” I said, and realizing how that sounded, I added, “I mean, you know, it’s going to happen.”
“I don’t understand,” the sergeant replied, seemingly less bored, “Are you planning on killing someone?”
“No, there’s a man in the pawn shop, testing weapons. I heard him talking on the phone. He has someone tied up in his basement, and he’s going to kill her.”
“Oh, I see, and what is the address of this future murder scene?” he asked, obviously amused by my call.
“I don’t know the address yet,” I said sarcastically. “I’ll do your job for you and keep following him.”
“Sir, I don’t recommend that you follow—” I heard him say before I quickly disconnected the call.
The man was leaving the pawnshop and I was relieved to see that he hadn’t purchased anything. I tried to appear focused on the display in the window, but I needn’t have bothered. He was apparently deep in thought and didn’t notice me as he walked by. I continued following him, and I could hear bits and pieces of his one-sided conversation as he talked to himself.
“Her screams are muffled by the gag … The terror in her eyes is sexually arousing … I’m covered in her blood …”
What kind of monster was this? I became more determined to stop this madness and help the poor woman gagged and tied in his basement. After walking several blocks, he arrived at his destination. I watched as he entered a small, nondescript house. Noting the address, I again called the police.
“Siri, call the police.”
“Again? Stud, you’re really starting to worry me,” my overprotective companion replied.
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“Twenty-third precinct,” said the familiar voice.
“I’ve got an address now,” I said quickly, “2210 Elm, send someone right away.”
“Oh, it’s you again. Sir, we need more evidence that a crime is being committed than just hearing a phone conversation. I recommend that you stop following this man and come down to the precinct and file a report.”
“File a report?” I screamed into the phone. “Don’t you understand? A woman is about to be murdered!”
“Sir, don’t hang up—”
“Damn police, never one around when you need them,” I muttered, placing the phone in my pocket.
I made my way to the back of the house and looked through a window into the kitchen. I caught a glimpse of the killer as he headed down the basement stairs. I had to act quickly; he could be preparing to kill her at this very moment. I went to the back door, found it unlocked, and without any hesitation I entered the killer’s home. Grabbing a large knife sitting on the counter, I made my way to the basement door.
I stood there a moment at the top of the stairs and listened. I couldn’t hear anything, so I slowly made my way down the wooden basement stairs as quietly as possible. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I looked around the nicely finished basement. I heard an evil laugh, coming from behind a closed door at the far end of the room.
Standing near the door, I heard the killer say, “It’s time for you to get what you deserve, you no good, cheating—”
Imagining the scene of a woman bound and gagged, about to be brutally murdered, I burst through the door, brandishing the knife and yelled, “Not if I can help it!”
To say the man was surprised would be an understatement. He literally fell to the floor screaming. I stood there dumbfounded as he got up from behind the desk where he had been sitting, working on his novel.
The Doctor’s Pet Fly
“Mrs. Gaylon, I’m afraid that I have some bad news for you.”
Does he know that there’s a fly on his glasses? It’s just sitting there, even when he moves his head around.
“The cancer has spread into the lymph nodes.”
Maybe it’s his pet. Why couldn’t you train a fly to sit on your glasses? I remember seeing trained fleas in a circus when I was a little girl. I wanted to have my own circus and tried to find some fleas to train, then I found out the truth. The ‘trainers’ would make a harness out of a thin gold wire and wrap it around the necks of the fleas and then attach them to props. The fleas used their strong legs to try and escape, moving the objects around.
“We need to be aggressive and stop it from spreading.”
Most fleas only live a few months. After spending their lives tied in a harness moving a cart around or kicking a ball, they die. I wonder if they got any satisfaction out of ‘performing,’ or would have preferred to live an ordinary life.
“It’s possible that with chemotherapy, we could slow the progression of the cancer.”
A fly only lives for about a month. It seems like a waste of time to train a fly and then have it die after only a month. Maybe he’s found a way to keep them alive longer. He is a doctor, after all. Now it’s on top of his bald head. That proves that it’s his pet; he has to feel it walking around up there.
“Worst case scenario, if you choose not to do anything, you’ll only have a few months to live.”
There are probably worse ways to waste your time. Like spending thirteen years in a bad marriage, telling yourself that it’s for the kids, or that things will eventually get better. But it’s really because you don’t deserve to be happy.
“I recommend that you take some time to think about it, talk to your husband, and then call the office and set up an appointment. We should begin the treatment as soon as possible. Do you have any questions for me?”
What other tricks can your pet fly do? Have you always had pet flies, or is this your first one? Have you ever tried training fleas? Will you be sad when it dies?
“I know that this is a lot to deal with, I want you to stay positive, there are support groups that will help you get through this.”
It flew away when he stood up. Maybe it’s not his pet. I need to get going; I’ve got a lot of things to do before the kids get out of school. Did I grab the grocery list off of the counter? Oh, there it is. Okay, I’ve got my keys, now where did I park? Did I drive the van here or the car? That’s right, Roger needed the van to pick up some plywood after work. I should call Susan and see if she will go to lunch with me today. We haven’t talked in a while; I need to see how her new job is going. I’ve wanted to try that new restaurant that opened last week. I’ve got so much to do. There’s never enough time.
The Show
“Hurry up, Rita, or we’ll miss the show.”
Sammy was so excited this morning that he’d woken up at sunrise and was in his sister’s room trying to get her up. They had a long walk into town and he wanted to get an early start.
“Sammy, the show isn’t until noon, we have all morning to get there,” Rita said as she pulled the covers over her head.
“But there’ll be a lot to see before the show starts. C’mon, everyone’s going to be there. I bet Ted will get there early.”
That woke her up. She’d been trying to get Ted’s attention since they started seventh grade.
“Well,” she said while getting out of bed, “I don’t care whether he’s there or not, but I guess it won’t hurt to get there a little early.”
Sammy might have been two years younger than his thirteen-year-old sister, but he knew how to get her to do what he wanted. Their father had told them last night that he would have to leave before sunrise to work on the show, so they would have to walk into town. Their father was a carpenter, and a fair amount of work was required for the show to be ready on time.
After a quick breakfast, the kids headed out the door and began their two-hour walk into town. It was going to be an amazing day. As they walked down the country lane, they could see other families starting their day. Soon, other children joined them. They were too excited to wait for their parents and were told to walk into town but to stay out of the way.
“My mother said that there hasn’t been a show in town since she was my age,” said a girl about ten. “She said she still remembers every detail about that day.”
Rita looked around at the fields and watched the corn as it gently swayed in the breeze, wanting to remember everything so that someday she would be able to tell her children. She watched as her brother stopped to pick up rocks to throw at the crows sitting along the tops of the fences and listened to the excited chatter of the group of kids as they walked into town.
“My father said that they’ll let us kids get right in front, so that we’re sure to see everything,” Sammy said as he just missed hitting a crow.
When they finally arrived in town, they were met with a carnival-like atmosphere. Children were running around chasing each other while their parents stood in groups, talking to neighbors they hadn’t seen in weeks. Rita spotted Ted with a group of boys watching her father and the other men as they finished building the stage. She walked over near the group of boys and said hi to her father, who smiled and waved back.
“Hi, Rita,” Ted said as the other boys poked him and snickered.
“Oh, hi, Ted. I didn’t see you standing there.”
“Are you excited about the show?” he asked as he walked over and stood next to her.
Excited about what show? she thought, as the excitement of having him stand so near made her dizzy. “Sure,” she said, regaining her composure, “It should be a lot of fun.”
Rita and Ted ended up spending the rest of the morning together, talking and walking around watching the ‘kids’ play. The day seemed magical to her; she didn’t want it to end.
Eventually it was time for the show to start, and as they found their way to the front of the stage, Rita was delighted when Ted held her hand. She looked around at the crowd of smiling, excited faces
, concentrating on every detail to commit it to memory; she didn’t want to forget any of it. She shouldn’t have worried; when she looked into the eyes of the man before they placed the hood over his head, and then put the rope around his neck, she would remember this for the rest of her life.
Carl and Tabitha
Carl hated his boss. Everything about him drove Carl crazy. Carl had just graduated from high school, and this was his first full-time job. He tried hard to be a good employee, but Mr. Harris was impossible to please and seemed to take every opportunity to make sure that Carl knew he was lucky to have a job. He seemed to make an example of Carl, complaining about the quality of his work and even making fun of Carl’s occasional stuttering, which always got worse when Mr. Harris was around.
Carl was determined to find a way to get even with Mr. Harris. The thought was the only thing that kept him going; it was on his mind day and night. He didn’t know much about Mr. Harris’s private life, except he was married and had a daughter about Carl’s age—he couldn’t imagine how miserable her life must be. He would have to find out more about her.
Tabitha hated her stepfather. Everything about him drove Tabitha crazy. Tabitha had just graduated from high school and was trying to find a full-time job. She tried hard to be a good daughter, but he was impossible to please and seemed to take every opportunity to make sure that Tabitha knew she was lucky to have a house to live in. He was always telling Tabitha that she was just like her mother and would never amount to anything. He even made fun of her occasional stuttering, which always got worse when he was around.
Tabitha was determined to find a way to get even with her stepfather. The thought was the only thing that kept her going; it was on her mind day and night. She didn’t know much about her stepfather’s work life, except that he owned a small printing business nearby and had an employee about her age—she couldn’t imagine how miserable his life must be. She would have to find out more about him.