Flash Fiction Friday: "Who's There?"

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"Interrupting cow."

"Interrupting --"

"MOOOO!!!"

The triumphant crow of my two-year-old in the back seat of the van would be adorable if I hadn't heard this joke a thousand times. ~ in the past hour alone.

"Knock, knock." She starts again. I sigh and glance at the dashboard clock. Just ten more minutes and we'll be home.

"Who's there?" Her brother, nowhere near as bored with this joke or his sister, answers with a grin.

"Interrupting --"

"MOOOO!!! Gotcha!" He beats her to the punch and they both giggle raucously. My head is pounding. Again.

"Knock, knock." I should really just be happy they're not picking on each other.

"Who's there?"

"Interrupting MOM!" I shout in annoyance and growl, "Knock it off. Both of you! No more knock, knock jokes!"

As I glance in the rearview mirror at them to see if they plan to obey me, I experience a twinge of guilt at the shock and hurt I see on their faces.

"I'm sorry," I backpedal. "Mommy has a headache. Can you please try to be quiet for the rest of the trip home?"

The excuse is worn out to them. Mommy always has a headache. It's a permanent part of my personality, just like the angry outbursts. Still, they try to comply.

I want so badly to tell them I'm wrong ~ and I do ~ often. But it changes nothing. Tomorrow will be the same. More pounding head and noisy children being yelled at.

I don't mean to. It comes out before I know what I'm saying, and I'm helpless to stop it. People think I'm awful.

I think I'm awful.

I pull into the driveway and unload my children. It's time for naps.

Finally, after minutes which seem like hours of screaming and crying ~ both them and me, we're snuggled in bed. Together. Because that's what we need.

And just as I'm drifting off to sleep, feeling like maybe the nap might stop the knocking in my skull for just a little, I hear it downstairs.

Knock, knock.

"Interrupting cow!" I mutter as I extricate myself from between my two snoring children.

And, just to taunt me, it's as repetitive as the banter in the car.

Knock, knock.

Flash Fiction Friday: "Shards"

"I would have said something, but I knew it wouldn't matter."

He looked at her, studied her face slowly, trying to figure out whether he agreed or disagreed. He raised his coffee to his lips, staring over the edge at her, buying time he knew they didn't have.

"Why?" It was a simple word, punctuated in frustration by the cup clunking on the counter.

"Because... I..." she shrugged and even her shoulders frowned. He understood that she didn't know why.

"We can find a way..." he tried to figure out if his voice even realized he wasn't coming along for the ride.

"You don't know how."

"No. I suppose I really don't." He stood, his eyes still searching for some reason.

"Shall I get your coat?"

"I guess." He watched her go, knowing that he should follow, not sure of exactly why.

He glanced around the kitchen, where the tea cups lined the top of the cupboards. He counted slowly.

One...

Two...

Three...

He didn't need to count, but it was what he did in times like this. He already knew there were seventeen... and a half. The broken one at the end was the last he'd given her.

She returned then, interrupting his count, holding his coat toward him limply. He couldn't read her expression. It seemed to be a mixture of resignation, frustration, and... sympathy? Did she really feel bad for this?

Shrugging into his jacket, he sighed.

"Can I have it?"

"Have what?" she asked and he gazed up behind her, waiting for her to turn around. "You want that?"

"Please?"

"Why? It's broken. I was going to throw it away."

"I know. I still want to fix it."

"Pieces are missing you know."

"Yes."

"What will you do with it?"

"I don't know, but I want to fix it somehow."

She nodded slowly and he knew that he wasn't the only one who had no idea what he was doing. Pulling a chair from the kitchen table, he climbed carefully up to the cupboard and reverently picked up the half of the cup that was there on the saucer. There were a few shards still there as well and he gathered them too.

"Do you have a paper bag?"

He looked down to see she was already holding one up to him. She always had known what he needed before he did. Packaging the pieces slowly, deliberately, and almost sacredly, he glanced yet again at the line along the shelves. Regardless what happened, he knew they would stay there. She wouldn't be able to part with them.

Neither of them said a word as he climbed back down carefully and returned the chair to its place at the table. It belonged, even if he didn't. There should always be five chairs at the table.

Turning at the door, he took one last look into her face. He felt he needed to say something.

"Make them butterscotch pancakes for breakfast. They deserve at least that much." It was hollow and they both knew it.

The door thudded softly and he shuffled through the leaves on the walk on his way to his car. The porch light went out as he slid behind the steering wheel and he realized he had nowhere to go.

He opened the bag and peered inside. Even if there were parts missing, she'd loved this once.

Even if she didn't think it mattered, he'd find a way to fix this.

Sleep Tight

About a month ago, my cousin and I, who frequently encourage one another to write, decided to experiment with co~writing a story. She wrote from one character's perspective and I wrote from the other. The following is the never before published prologue to the story published for Gloaming Gap, Sleep Tight.

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Prologue:

Dr. Frederick von Bedstein hid under his girl's bed, a silent tear running down his cheek. His girl knew he was real, but no one else believed in him. Her parents had long since killed their bed monsters and even her friends were skeptical. Bed monsters life spans were getting shorter and shorter. He sensed he would outlive many of her friends bed monsters, but it was hard to hear himself describe as “nothing.” Eventually he would be called nothing enough times that he would become nothing, but not as long as his girl still believed in him. He gave a gentle loving tug to her blanket. The blanket jerked back out of his hand, telling him his girl was still awake.

Emmi giggled nervously and jerked the blanket back. "Mumbly-Boo!" she whispered fiercely. This was the name she'd given to this creature when he first arrived. She was barely able to talk then, but she'd been fascinated by the chartreuse tail that he never quite seemed to pull out of sight in time. It had been like he actually wanted her to know he was there. She'd been mildly afraid of him in the early days, but her fascination and the fact that he never hurt her had earned a wary trust from her that gave way to familiarity. He was her oldest friend, even if he terrified her sometimes.

He could show her parents he was real... Frederick silently cursed himself for considering breaking the oath he took. The greatest law of all was to never harm your child and he was actually considering leaving a mark on her... It would be better to turn to nothing. He again cursed himself for the stray thought he'd allowed to penetrate his mind, and comforted himself in knowing she still believed in him. After all she was the only one that really counted.

Emmi's blonde pigtails brushed lightly on the floor as her head poked under the edge of the floor. All she could see in the dark was two glowing red eyes which could be mistaken fairly easily for her brothers evil cat if she didn't know better. "Hello, Mumbly... Whatcha doin'?" She tried to speak as softly as possible so that she wouldn't alert the rest of the household that she was awake. At 7 and a half, no one believed she could be "sociable" (whatever that meant) if she didn't go to sleep "at a decent hour." Seriously, sometimes grownups said the silliest things. At least Mumbly made sense.

Frederick smiled at his girl's nick name for him. He didn't know where the silly name had come from, but at least she didn't call him Boogie Man. His friends all thought it must suck to get a kid that talks to you and won't just go to sleep so you can leave and have some fun, but he loved his girl and wouldn't trade her for anyone. He flicked his tail out from under her bed and watched her eyes get big. When he was new to the job he wasn't always quick enough to hide his tail, but now that he was quicker he sometimes flicked it out just because he knew she liked it when he showed her his tail.

Emmi squealed delightedly at the sight of the familiar tail, and then quickly covered her mouth to stifle the sound from traveling outside her room. She tried uselessly to catch it before it disappeared but, as always, Mumbly was too fast for her. She pouted playfully and threw her head dejectedly back on her pillow. She sighed dramatically to begin the next part of the nightly ritual, "Come out Mumbly!" She tried to sound as whiny as she could without raising her volume, "Wanna see the rest of you!" She knew it was pointless, but she'd almost gotten to the point that she couldn't sleep without this. he never came out, but she'd never stop asking him to.

Frederick snorted at her request, and tried to sing the lullaby he'd heard her mother sing so many times. The words came out in a low grumble, but it didn't matter. He knew what he was telling her, and he could tell by the way her breath got slow and quiet that she recognized the tune.


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Read Sleep Tight at Gloaming Gap.

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The Resignation of the Succubus

February 14, 2009

Lamashtu Enterprises
613 Mara Lane, Suite 47
Gloaming Gap, PA 94823

Dear Ms. Lilith:

As you know I have been a trusted colleague and faithful employee here at Lamashtu Enterprises for most of my life. In that amount of time, I can say that I have found my employment here to be, on the whole, highly satisfying. I’m sure, however, that you are intimately acquainted with my increased frustration regarding my current assignment.

By nature of our work, I have come to view you as more than just my employer. I see you as a sister and a friend as well, and as such, would like to deviate from protocol slightly to offer you further specifics on this situation that has brought my decision to a climax. My hope is that you will, no doubt, realize that my reasons for resignation are through no particular fault of your own. I feel however, that over the course of time, specific changes in me have rendered me incapable of satisfactorily consummating my duties.

When you originally assigned me to our client, Mr. Andrew McClure, I entered into the contract with my usual levels of propriety and professionalism. Mr. McClure was no different than any of my previous clients, as oblivious to the true nature of our company as any of them are. He was, in fact, a fairly average young man, with nothing particularly note-worthy about him.

Because of this, I naturally assumed that it would be business as usual with him – I’d go in, turn the usual tricks, work out appropriate details on his long-range plans, and be back out in record time. I take pride in my work and, as I’m sure you have noted as well, my turnover time with clients has been steadily improving over the years.

It was only after our first meeting was over, and I found myself reviewing every detail of his demands, that I realized there was more to him than mortal eye can see. Unlike our usual clients, it seemed he was disappointed when our conference was over. I was, naturally concerned that I had erred in some way, that I had somehow improperly assessed his needs.

His tenacity for our business was a bit unsettling for me at first, but as I found him to be an endearing young man, I was willing to meet with him later that evening to continue with our projects. Perhaps I was hoping to prove to myself that I was doing all I could for him.

I found myself up against a wall on several occasions, very uncertain of which course to pursue with him, as he seemed to have far more “staying power” than most of our clients, continually discovering new situations for us to tackle, long after I thought I’d satisfied his queries. This left me more than frustrated as I found myself becoming more and more emotionally invested in the project and was unable to separate my personal feelings from my professional stress.

He reassured me time and time again that he was enamored with my work and found me to be one of his most competent partners. This confused me even further, of course, leaving me to wonder what was wrong with me that I seemed suddenly unable to provide any lingering satisfaction in our work together, if he were really telling me the truth.

The more involved we became with one another, the more I realized that the price that our company requires is far higher than I could ask him to pay. I found myself wishing there were a way that I could pay the bill for him – or better yet, merely comp. my services for him. He seemed to be holding up fairly well (more so than some of our clients with our exorbitant rates), but I noticed that he did eventually begin to show signs of fatigue in this department. As this occurred, the usual frequency and regularity, as well as the length of our appointments waned as one can expect to happen when the cost outweighs what one can afford to pay.

Frankly, the idea of our relationship coming to an end in this typical manner was far more painful to me than simply terminating the contract entirely. He was of course devastated to find that I would be walking away from my commitment to see this to the end, and was incredibly insistent that he did not understand my reasons (nor did he seem to care to hear them). However, I feel that it is better for all involved parties if I withdraw from the situation both where he is concerned, and where the company is concerned.

Rest assured, I have continued to maintain all confidentiality with Mr. McClure in regard to the true nature of our business. He is as yet unaware of the supernatural aspects of our association, thinking that he is nothing more than a jilted lover in a misguided office romance. This knowledge causes me pain, which I cannot begin to describe to you, but regardless of my desire to illuminate him with my true identity, I will remain utterly discrete and professional, regardless of my standing with the company. The true complication is, of course, that he and I were developing a strong attachment with one another like I had never experienced with any of my previous clients.

Regardless of his understanding of what happened, I will continue to monitor him. Please be assured, as long as I live and breathe – or at least as long as I continue to pretend to be a living, breathing creature — that the contract on his life will not be fulfilled. Do not take this as an empty threat. I hope to maintain continued friendship with you and the other members of the company. I will, however, protect Mr. McClure from the inevitable demise involved with any relationships with you and your associates.

Perhaps I should get back to the point of this letter. I just don’t feel that I’m contributing sufficiently to the overall direction and purpose of Lamashtu Enterprises, nor can I, in good conscience (yes, I’m aware of the irony of this particular term as it relates here), continue to promote the company’s methods, particularly in relation to specific targets or assignments as I have outlined above.

Therefore, it is with regret that I ask you to accept this as my resignation from Lamashtu Enterprises effective immediately.

Sincerely,

Karin Namath

cc: Inhuman Resources Department

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A Gloaming Gap Story
by Nean