CONTACT
Author
Cliff PopkeyAka Chris Keys
Words by Cliff Popkey
Words by Cliff Popkey
To order an autographed edition simply send me an email including your name, address, and which book or books you'd like.
Authorcpwriteit@live.com
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Here is my paypal site link.
https://www.paypal.com/us/verified/pal=
Authorchriskeys%40live%2ecom
Be sure to look for me on Facebook, Blogger, Wordpress and occasionally Twitter,
My books can be found at:
Creatspace/Amazon for paperback books
Smashwords for Ebooks in most applications and Kindle
Authorcpwriteit@live.com
I'll send you back my address to which you can mail me a check or money order. Upon clearance, I'll mail you your book(s).
Or you can go to the Paypal site and once you've sent the money through Paypal, I'll send out your book(s) Its that simple.
Here is my paypal site link.
https://www.paypal.com/us/verified/pal=
Authorchriskeys%40live%2ecom
Be sure to look for me on Facebook, Blogger, Wordpress and occasionally Twitter,
My books can be found at:
Creatspace/Amazon for paperback books
Smashwords for Ebooks in most applications and Kindle
STORIES IN DEVELOPMENT
Reprisal! The Eagles Wraith
Reprisal! The Eagle Soars
Sliver Lining-A John Carpelli Adventure
Deadly Deceit-a Nate Nevwas Adventure
The Good Samaritan-No Good Deed Goes Unpunished-A Nate Nevwas Adventure
The Meek
The Worlds Championship Eating Contest
With A Whoosh of Air Condityioned Air
Imminate Danger
The Cayman Run
Paradyme
Short Stories:
The Encounter
What? No Second Date
With A Whoosh Of Air Conditioned Air
The Viking Graveyard
The Motor Home
Non-fiction:
The lawn Mower
Inspirational Quotes
A Persistant Life
The Motor Home--God Does Work In Mysterious Ways
Reprisal! The Eagles Wraith
Reprisal! The Eagle Soars
Sliver Lining-A John Carpelli Adventure
Deadly Deceit-a Nate Nevwas Adventure
The Good Samaritan-No Good Deed Goes Unpunished-A Nate Nevwas Adventure
The Meek
The Worlds Championship Eating Contest
With A Whoosh of Air Condityioned Air
Imminate Danger
The Cayman Run
Paradyme
Short Stories:
The Encounter
What? No Second Date
With A Whoosh Of Air Conditioned Air
The Viking Graveyard
The Motor Home
Non-fiction:
The lawn Mower
Inspirational Quotes
A Persistant Life
The Motor Home--God Does Work In Mysterious Ways
Sample chapter from One by One
by Cliff Popkey
CHAPTER ONE
Amy Grant’s voice filled the old Bonneville’s interior with the sweet sounds of gospel, indicating just how old he was. Amy Grant had been a force in gospel when he was a kid. His mother listened to her night and day, and hearing it once again gave him a strange feeling of comfort. He had stuck the tape in the cassette player as he drove out of the parking lot at Saint Thomas’s Catholic Church in the heart of downtown Manchester. He was headed for the west side of town. He had been parked looking out over the river for the last hour, pondering if it was truly God telling him today was the day, to return to the old neighborhood.
He had spent most of his morning inside the church praying. Well, it was more like debating with God, than praying to God. The debate was about the choices he had made in life and the troubles he had experienced. He couldn’t help but wonder what lesson God had intended for him to learn from those experiences, because so far, all he had managed to take away from them was that life sucked and then you died. He had hoped for a somewhat clearer answer to his questions but so far, God hadn’t chosen to provide them.
He had picked today to begin his new journey, because today was the anniversary of an event, twenty years ago, that had been the defining moment of his life, until now. Today he would begin the journey that would define the rest of his life and lead him either to Heaven or to Hell.
As he rounded the corner at Main Street and Junction Drive, he slowed way down to look closely at the homes that lined both sides of the street. They were all a story and a half, clapboard or brick-sided bungalows. Most were well maintained and painted either white or a light pastel color. The landscaping, for the most part, was neatly trimmed and attractive.
Though as landscaping went, there wasn’t much of it. Most of the homes had a few small bushes, maybe a small tree between the sidewalk and the street, and a few widely spaced flowers in beds up close to the house. This was a working class neighborhood, the neighborhood in which he had grown up.
The majority of the homes appeared to be buttoned up tight, with their shades drawn, doors locked and the dog, if they had one, was in the yard behind the driveway gate. Most of the dogs he saw, were just laying there in the shade next to their two best friends, their water and food bowls, waiting for their masters to return.
If pressed, he would have guessed that the majority of the homeowners were currently at work or asleep after having worked the night shift. He knew for a fact, many of the homeowners in the neighborhood were either widows or single mothers. He felt it was a sad state of human affairs when most women had to work, just to keep food on the table. Somehow, America had slipped into a third world status. It had happened so gradually, many Americans hadn’t even noticed the change in their life styles until it was too late.
At the end of the block, he pulled into the parking area of a small neighborhood playground. He sat there, in silence for a several moments, just looking at the playground. He’d grown up playing in this playground and the sight of it, brought back many childhood memories. Most of which still haunted him today.
He left the car parked in plain sight next to the jungle gym, a few feet from the teeter totter. Every suspense novel he had ever read, had said it was best to hide in plain sight, so that was exactly what he was doing. He doubted that anyone would notice him or his car. No one would realize that this was the first day of his mission, his mission to pay back all the kindnesses he had received from the fine, upstanding Christian folk of the Junction Drive neighborhood.
His large size made him appear to wobble, as he made his way down the block. His wobbling bulk, lumbered passed the first several homes, which were all buttoned up against the daylight.
As he walked he counted the squares in the sidewalk, just as he had that night. When he reached the right number, he stopped. For the longest of time, he stood staring at the walkway that led to the house he’d been afraid of most of his life. It was the house right next door to his childhood home.
Home was meant to be the place of pleasant childhood memories, a place that each of us strives to return to for those comforting memories but not him. Coming home had meant fear and emptiness. It wasn’t a rational fear but something deep rooted and festering, that was left over from his childhood. It was seductive and overwhelming, raw and foreboding. Something evil was lurking just under his calm exterior.
The true source of his fear was the elderly woman who lived in the house next door. To say she was antisocial was an astronomical understatement. In his entire life the woman had never once passed out candy at Halloween, had never put up Christmas lights for the holidays or even waved hello to the neighbors.
As a child, if his ball bounced into her yard, his mother would get a call and the lady would proceed to scream insults over the phone at her. On several occasions this had caused his mother to breakdown in tears while she endured the verbal abuse. Though eventfully her skin had toughened and she gave as good as she got.
More than once, he had gotten his bottom tanned with a belt, for having caused his mother to endure a brow beating from the witch. That alone was more than enough to place her high on the list of the worlds most easy to hate. But the most heinous crime she had committed, as far as he was concerned, was committed the night he mistakenly ran up the wrong walkway, in a moment of desperation.
*********
by Cliff Popkey
CHAPTER ONE
Amy Grant’s voice filled the old Bonneville’s interior with the sweet sounds of gospel, indicating just how old he was. Amy Grant had been a force in gospel when he was a kid. His mother listened to her night and day, and hearing it once again gave him a strange feeling of comfort. He had stuck the tape in the cassette player as he drove out of the parking lot at Saint Thomas’s Catholic Church in the heart of downtown Manchester. He was headed for the west side of town. He had been parked looking out over the river for the last hour, pondering if it was truly God telling him today was the day, to return to the old neighborhood.
He had spent most of his morning inside the church praying. Well, it was more like debating with God, than praying to God. The debate was about the choices he had made in life and the troubles he had experienced. He couldn’t help but wonder what lesson God had intended for him to learn from those experiences, because so far, all he had managed to take away from them was that life sucked and then you died. He had hoped for a somewhat clearer answer to his questions but so far, God hadn’t chosen to provide them.
He had picked today to begin his new journey, because today was the anniversary of an event, twenty years ago, that had been the defining moment of his life, until now. Today he would begin the journey that would define the rest of his life and lead him either to Heaven or to Hell.
As he rounded the corner at Main Street and Junction Drive, he slowed way down to look closely at the homes that lined both sides of the street. They were all a story and a half, clapboard or brick-sided bungalows. Most were well maintained and painted either white or a light pastel color. The landscaping, for the most part, was neatly trimmed and attractive.
Though as landscaping went, there wasn’t much of it. Most of the homes had a few small bushes, maybe a small tree between the sidewalk and the street, and a few widely spaced flowers in beds up close to the house. This was a working class neighborhood, the neighborhood in which he had grown up.
The majority of the homes appeared to be buttoned up tight, with their shades drawn, doors locked and the dog, if they had one, was in the yard behind the driveway gate. Most of the dogs he saw, were just laying there in the shade next to their two best friends, their water and food bowls, waiting for their masters to return.
If pressed, he would have guessed that the majority of the homeowners were currently at work or asleep after having worked the night shift. He knew for a fact, many of the homeowners in the neighborhood were either widows or single mothers. He felt it was a sad state of human affairs when most women had to work, just to keep food on the table. Somehow, America had slipped into a third world status. It had happened so gradually, many Americans hadn’t even noticed the change in their life styles until it was too late.
At the end of the block, he pulled into the parking area of a small neighborhood playground. He sat there, in silence for a several moments, just looking at the playground. He’d grown up playing in this playground and the sight of it, brought back many childhood memories. Most of which still haunted him today.
He left the car parked in plain sight next to the jungle gym, a few feet from the teeter totter. Every suspense novel he had ever read, had said it was best to hide in plain sight, so that was exactly what he was doing. He doubted that anyone would notice him or his car. No one would realize that this was the first day of his mission, his mission to pay back all the kindnesses he had received from the fine, upstanding Christian folk of the Junction Drive neighborhood.
His large size made him appear to wobble, as he made his way down the block. His wobbling bulk, lumbered passed the first several homes, which were all buttoned up against the daylight.
As he walked he counted the squares in the sidewalk, just as he had that night. When he reached the right number, he stopped. For the longest of time, he stood staring at the walkway that led to the house he’d been afraid of most of his life. It was the house right next door to his childhood home.
Home was meant to be the place of pleasant childhood memories, a place that each of us strives to return to for those comforting memories but not him. Coming home had meant fear and emptiness. It wasn’t a rational fear but something deep rooted and festering, that was left over from his childhood. It was seductive and overwhelming, raw and foreboding. Something evil was lurking just under his calm exterior.
The true source of his fear was the elderly woman who lived in the house next door. To say she was antisocial was an astronomical understatement. In his entire life the woman had never once passed out candy at Halloween, had never put up Christmas lights for the holidays or even waved hello to the neighbors.
As a child, if his ball bounced into her yard, his mother would get a call and the lady would proceed to scream insults over the phone at her. On several occasions this had caused his mother to breakdown in tears while she endured the verbal abuse. Though eventfully her skin had toughened and she gave as good as she got.
More than once, he had gotten his bottom tanned with a belt, for having caused his mother to endure a brow beating from the witch. That alone was more than enough to place her high on the list of the worlds most easy to hate. But the most heinous crime she had committed, as far as he was concerned, was committed the night he mistakenly ran up the wrong walkway, in a moment of desperation.
*********
Samp[le Chapter from One Mistake
by Cliff Popkey
CHAPTER ONE
Tyler Stone had spent the whole day digging. It had to be perfect. It couldn’t be too shallow or too deep, it had to be just right. He had given the process of digging a hole a good deal of thought. He had weighed the advantages and disadvantages of this and other locations, deciding that this was the perfect location. What made this such a perfect location was the fact that it was close to his house, in his backyard actually. Plus the soil there was mostly sandy loam, easy to dig in and not at all like the hard packed gray clay that was so prevalent in the part of the county where he lived.
It was also perfect for that special addition he had planned for under the garage floor because it was right next to the spot he’d chosen. But what made the choice, a real no brainer, was that it was smack in the middle of what had been her garden. It had lots of flowers set out in near perfect rows with lots of recently disturbed top soil. It was perfect.
The secret addition he had planned was a side tunnel under the garage. Once he had dug the hole to the proper depth, he’d shovel out a side tunnel into which he would shove the pine box. Then he would fill the side tunnel in with a mixture of dirt, sand and concrete. The mixture was called concrete slurry and miners used it to fill voids in the face of the rock walls underground. It was designed to be as strong as rock after it dried and thus would not be penetrable by ground radar. After it rained a time or two, it would be one big solid rock with the body hidden inside.
He had read all kinds of crime novels over the last three years working up to this. He knew every mistake the criminals had made that led to their arrest in every story. In every novel the detectives always say, ‘Every murderer makes mistakes. It only takes one mistake to catch them and everyone makes at least one mistake’. At the end of every novel, each of the killers screwed up and somehow gave themselves away. Though occasionally, the murderer got away with it by framing some other guy or simply because of dumb luck. He read the books, studied the books was more like it, so he wouldn’t have to rely on dumb luck and he could avoid making that one mistake.
In most of the novels he read, whenever someone buried a body they did so with the hope of hiding it forever. But the police found it every time because of the disturbed soil or the site had been disturbed by animals or some passerby spotted a body part inexplicably sticking up through the soil. Far too many of the murders in the novels, as well as real life, simply dug a hole until they were tired of digging, then they stuffed the body in and filled it back in with dirt.
They never considered the amount of dirt they would have left over after placing the body in the hole. Most of them simply left the remaining dirt piled up next to the grave, when they should have spread it around the area. By not spreading the dirt out, it left the grave several inches higher than the ground around it but only until it rained. Then the soil in the grave would compact itself becoming several inches lower than the surrounding area.
To keep this from happening, he chose to bury his wife’s body in her own flower garden. The garden’s soil was always disturbed due to her constant planting and replanting, making it the perfect place to hide a grave. To ensure the animals wouldn’t dig up the body or the rain wouldn’t wash away the soil and expose the body, he dug the hole, ten feet deep.
But he couldn’t just dig a hole. He had to plan for the reclamation of the surface where the hole was to be dug as well, that way the garden would look exactly as it had prior to his excavations. If even a single flower was mangled the garden would look different than it had. So, he had to pain stakingly uproot all of the flowers and preserve them for replanting after he had refilled the hole. He used the stack of old potting trays that she had saved, to store them in while he worked. They didn’t fit into the trays anymore, since they were much larger, then when first planted, but it beat dumping the plants on the ground. For the different types soil he would encounter excavating, he laid out tarps on which to pile the different types so as not to alter the soils consistency when refilling the hole.
As he dug, his thoughts drifted and he found himself rehashing the train wreck of his marriage. He hated this garden, mostly because she loved it so much. She spent more time working in it than she spent with him. She had even joined a garden club and won a few awards for her flowers. She spent so much time working the garden he felt she loved the garden far more than him.
When she wasn’t out in the garden, she was shopping. He’d only recently discovered, the word, ‘shopping’ was code between her and her sister, for her being out with her new boyfriend. A guy, he had met at her work’s Christmas party last year. He and his wife were all but inseparable as they monopolized each other’s time. He should have intervened and stopped it, but he had drunk too much and had spent the night flirting with Janice, the babe in accounting.
It was his lack of attention, when it came to his wife that had put paid to their relationship. He’d been too busy doing other things, when he should have been paying attention to her. He had left the door wide open for her to walk out and that was exactly what she had done. It was his own fault but he couldn’t accept it, she’d had an affair.
When he had asked her why she had an affair, she used as her excuse, the long hours he worked and his meager salary. He had tried to justify the long hours by claiming it was required to keep up with current events. Though in reality, he stayed away from home because he wasn’t up to fighting with her anymore. Screaming and hollering had become the only way they communicated and he’d had enough.
He pushed those thoughts from his mind and focused on the task at hand. He hollowed out the side tunnel, making sure that he braced it using plywood and two by fours to shore up the walls and ceiling. It had to hold up for the next several hours and then, if everything worked right, it would all be filled within a few hours.
After the hole came the real challenge of committing the perfect murder, the alibi. He’d read somewhere that everything in life was timing, being in the right place at the right time. He had spent the last month making sure the timing today would work out to his advantage.
He had managed to access the computer time clock at work, altering its programming, allowing it to show he would be working today from around four in the afternoon until three in the morning.
Next he chose the perfect murder weapon. He’d chosen a fast acting poison which he purchased from a pharmacy in Singapore via the internet. He used the computers at the public library and a visa gift card to place his order. It was a gift card, the kind people give other people on their birthday or for Christmas. Once the money was spent, you simply through it away. It had been given to him by his soon to be ex-sister-in-law two Christmas’s ago and he had forgot he had it. He had chosen to use the card after doing some research. He found it was impossible to determine from the scant records kept, who had purchased the card. No one kept track of the cards number other than the manufacturer and the stores computer system when it was activated. There were no names assigned, no credit checked, no confirmation of who purchased it or why.
When it came to shipping that presented a problem, he couldn’t have it shipped to the house or to anywhere that required anyone to handle it or release it to him. He had to have complete anonymity. So, he rented a mail box at a package delivery store in a town fifty miles away. He paid cash for a six month rental, under a fake name. He had chosen that particular store, because they didn’t require ID, making him completely anonymous.
The poison itself was advertised as a wart and mole remover. In the fine print though, several pages into the website dealing with it; it was explained that it was not to be ingested as it could cause hallucinations and/or death, if taken in the ‘right amount’.
The site went on to explain what the right amounts were, before showing another disclaimer that stated it was for external use only. With further research, he’d discovered it had been used as a deadly poison by the ancient peoples of Southeast Asia and India.
The research claimed that the drug was odorless and tasteless, perfect for use in foods or drink. It had been the suspected poison of choice for many political assassinations in ancient India, carried out by the followers of Kali, the Goddess of Death.
He found it funny that the pharmacy guaranteed your money back, if it failed to kill your intended victim. In order to receive a full refund of the purchase price and the shipping costs, you had to provide a doctor’s note, attesting to the drugs failure.
He continued to hurry, the victim, his soon to be ex-wife was due to stop by in less than two hours. He planned on slipping her the drug in a glass of iced tea. After which, it should take less than ten minutes according to the internet to take full effect. Once she was dead, he’d carry her out to the garage and wrap her in plastic, then place her in the box and bury her in her beloved garden. He’d already brought her two favorite pieces of luggage out to the garage, filled with some of her clothes to bury with her. It was all part of the plan to make it appear as though she had taken a trip or left town.
For a brief moment he thought he shouldn’t do it. He knew it was wrong but still. She had broken his heart big time, and she needed to pay for that. He knew from friends, who had been through a divorce, if he got divorced he would be the one to pay, the laws were stacked against him. In light of the facts and her having cheated on him, for him, murder was his only option.
If pressed by the investigators, his story would be, she must have gone by the house and grabbed her clothes, while he was at work. He would claim he last spoke with her several weeks ago. And she informed him at that time, she wanted a divorce and she was leaving him. As far as where she was going, she had stated it was none of his business. He would also be sure to mention she had been seeing the Boss’s son and someone should ask him where she went.
It was simple and it was easy. Not too many details and it ended with her leaving, while she was still alive. He would drive her car downtown to the train station and park it there, as if she had taken a train to the airport, which was a common practice from the northern suburbs.
Parking was so much cheaper at the train station than the airport, everyone in town did it. He had already parked his backup car, an old Chevy Nova, a short distance from the train station, so he would be able to drop off her car at the station and still have a ride home.
After stuffing the last bit of bracing in place inside the side tunnel, he climbed out of the hole and stood looking down into it, admiring his work. He then stepped inside the garage, where he stripped out of his dirty work clothes, because he didn’t want to track any of the dirt into the house where someone might find it. Being able to wander about outside in your underwear or less, was one of the benefits, of living in a country setting.
Tyler’s house was located on the edge of town surrounded by heavy forest and his nearest neighbor was over three hundred yards away. So he felt there was little chance anyone would see him. It was the privacy of his homes location that afforded him the confidence he could commit the perfect murder.
*********
by Cliff Popkey
CHAPTER ONE
Tyler Stone had spent the whole day digging. It had to be perfect. It couldn’t be too shallow or too deep, it had to be just right. He had given the process of digging a hole a good deal of thought. He had weighed the advantages and disadvantages of this and other locations, deciding that this was the perfect location. What made this such a perfect location was the fact that it was close to his house, in his backyard actually. Plus the soil there was mostly sandy loam, easy to dig in and not at all like the hard packed gray clay that was so prevalent in the part of the county where he lived.
It was also perfect for that special addition he had planned for under the garage floor because it was right next to the spot he’d chosen. But what made the choice, a real no brainer, was that it was smack in the middle of what had been her garden. It had lots of flowers set out in near perfect rows with lots of recently disturbed top soil. It was perfect.
The secret addition he had planned was a side tunnel under the garage. Once he had dug the hole to the proper depth, he’d shovel out a side tunnel into which he would shove the pine box. Then he would fill the side tunnel in with a mixture of dirt, sand and concrete. The mixture was called concrete slurry and miners used it to fill voids in the face of the rock walls underground. It was designed to be as strong as rock after it dried and thus would not be penetrable by ground radar. After it rained a time or two, it would be one big solid rock with the body hidden inside.
He had read all kinds of crime novels over the last three years working up to this. He knew every mistake the criminals had made that led to their arrest in every story. In every novel the detectives always say, ‘Every murderer makes mistakes. It only takes one mistake to catch them and everyone makes at least one mistake’. At the end of every novel, each of the killers screwed up and somehow gave themselves away. Though occasionally, the murderer got away with it by framing some other guy or simply because of dumb luck. He read the books, studied the books was more like it, so he wouldn’t have to rely on dumb luck and he could avoid making that one mistake.
In most of the novels he read, whenever someone buried a body they did so with the hope of hiding it forever. But the police found it every time because of the disturbed soil or the site had been disturbed by animals or some passerby spotted a body part inexplicably sticking up through the soil. Far too many of the murders in the novels, as well as real life, simply dug a hole until they were tired of digging, then they stuffed the body in and filled it back in with dirt.
They never considered the amount of dirt they would have left over after placing the body in the hole. Most of them simply left the remaining dirt piled up next to the grave, when they should have spread it around the area. By not spreading the dirt out, it left the grave several inches higher than the ground around it but only until it rained. Then the soil in the grave would compact itself becoming several inches lower than the surrounding area.
To keep this from happening, he chose to bury his wife’s body in her own flower garden. The garden’s soil was always disturbed due to her constant planting and replanting, making it the perfect place to hide a grave. To ensure the animals wouldn’t dig up the body or the rain wouldn’t wash away the soil and expose the body, he dug the hole, ten feet deep.
But he couldn’t just dig a hole. He had to plan for the reclamation of the surface where the hole was to be dug as well, that way the garden would look exactly as it had prior to his excavations. If even a single flower was mangled the garden would look different than it had. So, he had to pain stakingly uproot all of the flowers and preserve them for replanting after he had refilled the hole. He used the stack of old potting trays that she had saved, to store them in while he worked. They didn’t fit into the trays anymore, since they were much larger, then when first planted, but it beat dumping the plants on the ground. For the different types soil he would encounter excavating, he laid out tarps on which to pile the different types so as not to alter the soils consistency when refilling the hole.
As he dug, his thoughts drifted and he found himself rehashing the train wreck of his marriage. He hated this garden, mostly because she loved it so much. She spent more time working in it than she spent with him. She had even joined a garden club and won a few awards for her flowers. She spent so much time working the garden he felt she loved the garden far more than him.
When she wasn’t out in the garden, she was shopping. He’d only recently discovered, the word, ‘shopping’ was code between her and her sister, for her being out with her new boyfriend. A guy, he had met at her work’s Christmas party last year. He and his wife were all but inseparable as they monopolized each other’s time. He should have intervened and stopped it, but he had drunk too much and had spent the night flirting with Janice, the babe in accounting.
It was his lack of attention, when it came to his wife that had put paid to their relationship. He’d been too busy doing other things, when he should have been paying attention to her. He had left the door wide open for her to walk out and that was exactly what she had done. It was his own fault but he couldn’t accept it, she’d had an affair.
When he had asked her why she had an affair, she used as her excuse, the long hours he worked and his meager salary. He had tried to justify the long hours by claiming it was required to keep up with current events. Though in reality, he stayed away from home because he wasn’t up to fighting with her anymore. Screaming and hollering had become the only way they communicated and he’d had enough.
He pushed those thoughts from his mind and focused on the task at hand. He hollowed out the side tunnel, making sure that he braced it using plywood and two by fours to shore up the walls and ceiling. It had to hold up for the next several hours and then, if everything worked right, it would all be filled within a few hours.
After the hole came the real challenge of committing the perfect murder, the alibi. He’d read somewhere that everything in life was timing, being in the right place at the right time. He had spent the last month making sure the timing today would work out to his advantage.
He had managed to access the computer time clock at work, altering its programming, allowing it to show he would be working today from around four in the afternoon until three in the morning.
Next he chose the perfect murder weapon. He’d chosen a fast acting poison which he purchased from a pharmacy in Singapore via the internet. He used the computers at the public library and a visa gift card to place his order. It was a gift card, the kind people give other people on their birthday or for Christmas. Once the money was spent, you simply through it away. It had been given to him by his soon to be ex-sister-in-law two Christmas’s ago and he had forgot he had it. He had chosen to use the card after doing some research. He found it was impossible to determine from the scant records kept, who had purchased the card. No one kept track of the cards number other than the manufacturer and the stores computer system when it was activated. There were no names assigned, no credit checked, no confirmation of who purchased it or why.
When it came to shipping that presented a problem, he couldn’t have it shipped to the house or to anywhere that required anyone to handle it or release it to him. He had to have complete anonymity. So, he rented a mail box at a package delivery store in a town fifty miles away. He paid cash for a six month rental, under a fake name. He had chosen that particular store, because they didn’t require ID, making him completely anonymous.
The poison itself was advertised as a wart and mole remover. In the fine print though, several pages into the website dealing with it; it was explained that it was not to be ingested as it could cause hallucinations and/or death, if taken in the ‘right amount’.
The site went on to explain what the right amounts were, before showing another disclaimer that stated it was for external use only. With further research, he’d discovered it had been used as a deadly poison by the ancient peoples of Southeast Asia and India.
The research claimed that the drug was odorless and tasteless, perfect for use in foods or drink. It had been the suspected poison of choice for many political assassinations in ancient India, carried out by the followers of Kali, the Goddess of Death.
He found it funny that the pharmacy guaranteed your money back, if it failed to kill your intended victim. In order to receive a full refund of the purchase price and the shipping costs, you had to provide a doctor’s note, attesting to the drugs failure.
He continued to hurry, the victim, his soon to be ex-wife was due to stop by in less than two hours. He planned on slipping her the drug in a glass of iced tea. After which, it should take less than ten minutes according to the internet to take full effect. Once she was dead, he’d carry her out to the garage and wrap her in plastic, then place her in the box and bury her in her beloved garden. He’d already brought her two favorite pieces of luggage out to the garage, filled with some of her clothes to bury with her. It was all part of the plan to make it appear as though she had taken a trip or left town.
For a brief moment he thought he shouldn’t do it. He knew it was wrong but still. She had broken his heart big time, and she needed to pay for that. He knew from friends, who had been through a divorce, if he got divorced he would be the one to pay, the laws were stacked against him. In light of the facts and her having cheated on him, for him, murder was his only option.
If pressed by the investigators, his story would be, she must have gone by the house and grabbed her clothes, while he was at work. He would claim he last spoke with her several weeks ago. And she informed him at that time, she wanted a divorce and she was leaving him. As far as where she was going, she had stated it was none of his business. He would also be sure to mention she had been seeing the Boss’s son and someone should ask him where she went.
It was simple and it was easy. Not too many details and it ended with her leaving, while she was still alive. He would drive her car downtown to the train station and park it there, as if she had taken a train to the airport, which was a common practice from the northern suburbs.
Parking was so much cheaper at the train station than the airport, everyone in town did it. He had already parked his backup car, an old Chevy Nova, a short distance from the train station, so he would be able to drop off her car at the station and still have a ride home.
After stuffing the last bit of bracing in place inside the side tunnel, he climbed out of the hole and stood looking down into it, admiring his work. He then stepped inside the garage, where he stripped out of his dirty work clothes, because he didn’t want to track any of the dirt into the house where someone might find it. Being able to wander about outside in your underwear or less, was one of the benefits, of living in a country setting.
Tyler’s house was located on the edge of town surrounded by heavy forest and his nearest neighbor was over three hundred yards away. So he felt there was little chance anyone would see him. It was the privacy of his homes location that afforded him the confidence he could commit the perfect murder.
*********
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SAMPLE CHAPTERS FROM
APOLLO ROAD SOON TO BE PUBLISHED BY SAGA BOOKS
BY CLIFF POPKEY
I put the car in gear and drove off. I made several turns before I realized I had no idea where I going and that I didn’t care. I glanced at my watch and discovered it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet, so I decided to cut my losses and head towards home. To keep driving around was inviting a DUI and there had to be something to watch on TV. Along the way, I passed the construction company, where I was supposed to start work next week and I flipped the place the bird. I knew then, I wouldn’t be working there for very long. I’d save my money and move back up north as soon as I could. I hated the heat here anyways. Then I remembered I really only had one friend left up north and he was busy with his family and his business. Everyone else, with whom I had been friends, were old friends with my soon to be ex. Most had already stopped taking my calls. It then occurred to me they had actually stopped talking to me or writing e-mails months ago. Damn. She’d been banging this guy for months and I just found out, though everyone else had known for months. Am I an idiot or what? I tell you, if I had a gun, I’d stuff it where the sun don’t shine and blow her brains out her ass. What a bitch!
“I want to move to Florida.” She had said those words probably a hundred times, but what she was really saying was; “I want to move to Florida without you.” All the warning signs were there, I was just too stupid to pay attention. She‘d told me several times while we argued about moving that she saw her future in Florida and it was up to me to decide if mine was there as well. Up to me, female code words for, “I don’t care if you come with me or not. If you do, it’ll save me the heavy lifting of moving, if not I’ll hire someone to do it.”
Taking another swig of my ole’ buddy “Jim Beam”, I noticed that I was passing that sign again, the one for Apollo Road. This time I jammed on the brakes and slid to a stop. Then, I checked to see if anyone was behind me. Luckily, the road behind me was empty. I threw the car in reverse and backed up, until I could turn down Apollo Rd.
It was a one lane road with trees and swamp on both sides giving the whole area a very scary quality. I hesitated for a moment, afraid I might get lost or stuck in the swamp, before I worked up the courage and drove down the road.
The roadside ditches were filled with water and a couple of times I could have sworn I saw a gator jump off the bank as I approached. Their big eyes glowing in the light of my headlamps, as I came down the road. Slowly the road twisted and turned, first left, then right and then back again, but I continued on, heading deeper into the swamp with every minute that passed. More than once I thought, I’d better just turn around and leave before I get in trouble, but I couldn’t find a place where the road was wide enough for me to pull a “U” turn, so I kept going.
After having gone two miles maybe three when I came across the first road sign. It was planted in the dead center of the road and it read, Dead End. It was bright yellow in my headlights and beyond it, was a whole lot of pitch black swamp. Staring into the darkness before me I could see that there were hundreds of small twinkling lights. There were so many it seemed like stars only they were at ground level. It was beautiful, until I realized that the twinkling red lights were the eyes of gators reflecting off my headlamps, shit.
I suddenly had to get the hell out of there. I looked around but all I could see was the pitch blackness of the night. I’d gotten myself stuck, just as I was afraid I would. There wasn’t anywhere to turn around. Damn, I had to be the stupidest person alive. What was I doing here? And then it hit me.
The road I was on was Apollo Road. The guy on the phone wanted to meet out here. There had to be a house around here somewhere. He said it was the only one on the road. I can use the driveway to turn around, I told myself. I slowly backed up several dozen yards and there it was. I wouldn’t call it a driveway, though. It was more like a goat path in the woods. There appeared to be just enough room to get my car in there and use it as a turn around. I pulled in and stopped.
The trees and bushes were overgrown with their branches hanging low over the driveway. They were so low that getting through them, would mean they would scrape across the top and sides of the car, not that I was worried they might scratch the paint or anything. The weeds had grown up in the middle of the tire ruts reminding me of my adventures as a young teenager walking all through the northern woods, spotting for game trails before hunting season. Hunting was past me now. I couldn’t deal with the walking. My back and legs wouldn’t allow me to hike through the woods for more than a few minutes. I’d be lucky to get from the car to cabin, let alone into the woods. Between the propensity to have blood clots in my legs and the possible diagnosis of MS, I was pretty much bound to a chair, other than for short walks around the house and yard. Now, when I really needed to get active, I couldn’t.
For the first time in my life, my health had stopped me. I wasn’t a quitter. I’d fought back from adversity several times in my life. I’d had to fight back after breaking most of my bones, as a kid. Lucky they were broken at different times and not all at once. I’d fought back after having my foot run over by a lawn mower. It was an accident involving a co-worker. It had happened while mowing lawns at a country club when I was eighteen. Of course, it was really my own fault. I wasn’t paying any attention. I was too busy watching a couple of girls in bikini’s that were real knockouts. Yeah, I was stupid even then. I can’t help it, I like women.
Breaking away from my musings, I wondered what this house looked like. After all it was setting in the middle of a swamp and this guy didn’t seem like he was the sharpest tool in the shed. Then I wondered if he would be here. He said he would be. Talk about a great place for a murder.
I remembered he also said I should pick up the rest of the money or he would be pissed and come looking for me. I decided it wouldn’t cause any harm if I took a quick look around. The alcohol was getting the better of me, but what the hay. Even if the guy killed me, I’d be better off, than I was right now. Maybe I had a death wish and this was my way of trying to commit suicide. I don’t know, but I drove through the low hanging branches, down the overgrown goat path, until I spotted a large dark apparition that had suddenly sprung from the darkness.
It was a large house that loomed over me and my car. There were no lights on and no cars in plain sight. The grass was at least three feet high, except for what appeared to be a well worn path leading to the front door and then, a second one that led around to the back of the house, appearing to be circumnavigating the garage on the way.
If I had been smart, I would have quickly turned around and left as quickly as I could, but I’m not that smart. I reached over to the glove box, opened it, reached in and grabbed the flash light. I’d always kept a flashlight in the glove box, since I was a kid. I’d put this one there, the day after I bought the car. I was thinking I would have it for times when I broke down on the road or something similar. I hadn’t ever imagined I would need it to peek in someone’s windows. If I hadn’t been such a Boy Scout, prepared for any emergency, I wouldn’t have had the light and I wouldn’t have gotten out of the car. Just my luck, I would do something right and it gets me killed. I took another large gulp of Jim Beam.
The chance to exhibit some sanity loomed before me but instead, I flipped the switch on the flashlight and it instantly illuminated the interior of the car. My luck was still holding. I tightened my grip on my buddy “Jim Beam” by grabbing his easy to carry bottle by the handle and slid from the car.
Slowly I walked up to the front door. I didn’t knock, I didn’t ring the bell. Instead I stepped off the beaten path and clawed my way through the bushes so that I could peek in the windows. Now, not only was I trespassing, I was a “Peeping Tom”. I would be lucky if they only arrested me for trespassing and not attempted burglary. I ran the scenarios through my alcohol filled head, knowing exactly how it would play out as the homeowner explained to the police why he shot me with his twelve gauge shotgun. He would explain how I had driven up, got out of the car and stumbled towards the front door; only I went to a window instead, like I was casing the joint. He would explain how I peeked in the windows and how I saw his wife putting on her night clothes in the living room. He would explain that I made my intensions clear when I shined my flashlight though the window which caused his wife to scream. Fearing their home was about to be invaded, he then grabbed his gun. He kept it handy, right next to his lazy boy, for just such occasions. By the time he reached the front door, I, in my drunken stupor, stumbled out of the buhes mumbling about how I thought no one was home. He would then explain how I was making menacing eye contact and when I raised my hand to take another drink, he mistook that motion as an effort by me to throw the bottle at him. His instinct for self preservation then kicked in. He quickly raised and aimed his gun. He yelled for me to stop, but I continued waving the bottle at him, until he thought he had no other choice. He was as shocked as the officers that the shotgun blast literally blew me in half. Why the whole top half of me just flew off into the swamp where the gators were enjoying it. His wife was extremely traumatized, as the inner fluids and bits of goo from my body had been splattered all over her prize winning begonias.
I was standing there in my drunken stupor imagining the worse, when suddenly an owl hooted and I almost shit my pants. I jumped back, fell over some half dead bush, landing in the overgrown lawn which caused three or four million mosquitoes, to go on the offensive and attack me. It had to of been quite a scene. Me rolling about, flailing my arms around trying to get the little blood suckers to back off. The million plus armada of bugs chased me back to my car where I hid behind the glass as the feeding frenzy subsided, except for the three or four dozen that managed to sneak into the car with me. But I handled them with ease by starting the car and turning up the air conditioner to the arctic setting.
I sat shivering for the longest time, before I realized I had no idea, where I was or what time it was. After pondering the situation for awhile, I remembered why I was here. I was to go inside and get some more money. That was why I was here, the money. It’s always about the money.
I checked my liquid courage and found I had drunk more than half the bottle of Jim Beam, while I had been waiting. I decided that I had better go in now before I finished it and lost the courage it was providing or just passed out.
I stumbled across the lawn again and tried to peek in the windows on the other side of the front door, but just like the big front window my flashlight just reflected off the glass causing me to see stars, while failing to illuminate the room.
I have to admit I was curious, now that I had found the Apollo Road house. I could almost hear the guy on the phone begging me to come and get the money and I needed the money. I needed the money real bad, so I did my best impression of a sober man and stumbled back over to the front door and twisted the doorknob. The doorknob creaked slightly and was a bit stiff but it turned. Slowly the door swung inward and my heart raced as if I’d touched a live electrical wire. Before me was a near pitch black room. I yelled, “Hello, hello, anybody here?” No answer. The house was open and there was no one here. All I had to do was walk inside and get the money.
Letting the flashlight lead the way, I slowly shoved the door open further and stepped through the doorway into a pitch black foyer and the wind quickly closed the door behind me causing me to literally jump sideways a few feet. I took a quick swig of my liquid courage, as I pondered how much money was waiting inside. God, I hoped it was a lot. It would suck to go through all this for a couple of grand. There had better be at least ten grand, twenty would be better.
I stepped further into the foyer and I immediately was hit square in the face by a pungent smell that was both sweet and sickening at the same time. I fought back the urge to puke and pushed onward into the house. I casted the beam of the flashlight about as if fly fishing and I found I was in a large foyer. I jumped yet again, when I saw my face in a mirror off to the right, but I quickly recovered when I realized it was me and hurriedly stepped further into the house. I stopped at a juncture of archways that led to the living room and the dining room. The living room to the left and the dining room to the right, both rooms were a mess.
The furniture was clearly old and all broken down. Dust webs hung everywhere and I was pretty sure a rat or two ran from the flashlight beam, as I swung it around taking in the sights.
In the living room, there was a fireplace with the required old painting hung above the mantle. It was either a picture of an old woman or an old horse in a hat, I couldn’t quite tell. It didn’t matter. Because when I stepped up close and took a good hard look, it turned into a poster for some bar at the beach with some cutie in a bikini advertising beer. The girl on the poster was leaning towards the camera showing off her cleavage with the beers name cleverly covering the highlights of her bosom. She wasn’t half bad, though the swimsuit looked to be maybe fifty years old. Then it struck me, it was a woman in a bikini, just like the lawnmower incident.
For a brief moment, I entertained the thought of leaving. The place was cursed, cursed by the dreaded women in bikini curse. But as I turned to leave, the thought of the money crossed my mind, so I went across the hall to the dining room. The dining room held no tantalizing art work. Its walls were bare and there was no furniture except for a large china cabinet on the far wall that had all its glass doors broken out. The glass was still laying about the thing, on the floor. The curtains were thick but full of holes that let in just a modest amount of moon light, giving the room an out of this world feeling. That was when the thought crossed my mind, was Lon Chaney home?
Leaving the spacious dining room, I stepped to the bottom of the stairs. Here the pungent odor was stronger and once again I fought back the urge to puke. Doing my best to ignore my abdominal distress, I pointed the flashlight up to landing at the top of the stairs. It was less than illuminating. All I could see were blank walls covered in yellowed, white paint and cobwebs. I felt a chill, run up my spine as I stood there staring at the landing, so I decided I had better check the rest of the main floor before I ventured upstairs. I took another large swing of my liquid courage hoping it would fortify me for the trip up the stairs, once I’d finished with the rest of the house.
The kitchen was in the back of the house. It was just as old and messy as the rest of the house. The cabinets were black and white, like they had been back in the nineteen fifties. The stove was like nothing I’d seen before, except in my great Aunt’s house when I was a small boy back in Michigan. It was the kind that required you to light the burners whenever you turned it on. It looked to be made of cast iron, which might explain why no one had stolen it, like they had the refrigerator, which was now just represented by an empty space. There wasn’t any table or chairs, but there was a Macdonald’s wrapper in the sink, a McTasty or something like that.
I noticed through the window that it had started to rain. When the lightning flashed, my eye was drawn to the swimming pool where the rain drops danced across the surface, which in this light looked to be clean. I thought it was odd but I didn’t dwell on it, I took another swig of “Jim Beam” and headed for the stairs without bothering to check the laundry room.
Once again, I stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs. I flashed the light on the wall above the landing and a shiver ran up my spine, once more. Every fiber of my body was telling me to leave, but the “Jim Beam” was telling me, I could take King Kong, if he dared make an appearance.
After a few short minutes of an internal argument, “Jim Beam” and his King Kong speech, were victorious over the lesser man, I was inside. Embracing the false bravado, courtesy of “Jim Beam”, I climbed the stairs hoping and praying that the rotted wood didn’t give way as I climbed. I also hoped I wasn’t about to get killed by a homicidal maniac who set me up with phone calls to a wrong number or what would be worse, he just maimed me then left me to die. My mind immediately conjured up scenes of hundreds of rats racing across the floor of the room to attack me. Then a truly morbid thought occurred to me, what difference did it make? There wasn’t anyone to mourn my passing. Hell, the soon to be ex-wife would jump for joy, as she collected the insurance money, playing the role for all the world of a grieving widow as she left to go ballroom dancing or paragliding or something stupid like that.
Reaching the landing, I stopped and listened to the wind and rain slapping against the outside of the house. I took a deep breath only to suck in a lung full of that sweet, yet sickening smell, which was even stronger here at the top of the stairs and once more, I fought to keep from puking.
But it wasn’t just the smell that was causing me distress. The carpet, which at one time, had run the length of the hallway had long since been eaten away by insects and mold, leaving just a few strands of backing here and there. Enhancing the sense of squalor were the dozen large holes in the walls and the sheets of peeling wallpaper everywhere. The second floor was trashed worse than the main floor was.
Unsure if I should move forward or just go back downstairs, after seeing the decay and destruction, I took yet another swig of “Jim Beam” to bolster my courage. As I waited to feel the warmth of the liquid courage flow thru my veins, I tried to remember what the psycho had said about where the money would be. One of the bedrooms, yeah that was it, but which one? Having drunk over three quarters of a bottle of whiskey, it was becoming clear that Jim Beam enhanced one’s courage and curiosity, while completely screwing with your memory.
Feeling encouraged by a fresh rush of alcohol, I went to the first room on the left, because it was closest to the stairs and it would allow me to make a quick exit, if I found myself overwhelmed by the urgent need to do so. As I cautiously moved forward my imagination started to run away with me. I just knew that the psycho was waiting somewhere in the house, waiting for the opportunity to knock me over the head and then drag me off into the basement where he would slowly peel away my skin and let the cockroaches slowly devour me. Then, I remembered that houses in Florida, don’t have basements and I relaxed again. The only person who would enjoy skinning me and letting the cockroaches have me, was the soon to be, ex-wife and she was too busy doing the horizontal mambo with her attorney just now, to care. But still, I looked around and found a discarded spindle from the stair railing, which I picked up to use as a weapon. Now I could handle King Kong, for sure.
Using the spindle, I shoved the door open to the room on the left and peered in. It was empty, not even curtains were left. The closet door was closed and I wasn’t too keen on opening it, so I stepped back and moved on to the next door on the left, which was the next closest door.
Once more, I used the spindle to push the door open and again the room was empty. Well not quite, there were a few empty beer bottles and a whole bunch of used condoms scattered across the floor and hung on the window ledge and even the closet door knob. What the hell is wrong with people? Like this is some place to bring a girl for sex. Then it occurred to me, that it could have been a bunch of gay guys and that creped me out even more, so I turned towards the room across the hall, the first one on the right. It was then that my pea brain kicked in its memory drive and reminded me of what the psycho caller had said. Shit. I didn’t have to even check those other rooms. What an idiot.
I beat myself up for minute or two, before I found the courage in another swig of “Jim Beam” and using the spindle once more, I shoved the door open. I was dumb struck at the sight. My arms and legs were frozen from shock and wouldn’t move. My heart skipped several beats and I almost passed out. Every instinct told me to run and run fast, but I was rooted to the floor. My liquid courage, my bottle of “Jim Beam” slipped from my hand and bounced on the floor a couple of times before it shattered. The shattering of the glass bottle was enough to snap me out my trance but just barely. I spun to my left and slouched with my back against the wall. My eyes darted from doorway to doorway, searching for anything out of place or anyone trying to sneak up on me. Seeing no one, I stepped back into the doorway and took another look. Before me was the most macabre site I could have ever imagined.
In the far right hand corner of the room was the source of the sweet yet sickening smell. Through the alcohol induced haze my brain shouted, “It smells like death, dumbass!” I stood staring at a partially decomposed naked body. I had to look hard to see that the body was that of a woman. The skin had sagged and some places it was even falling off in sheets like the wall paper in the hall. Where her breasts had been, there was only a flap of skin with dark spots where once there were nipples. Where her vagina should have been, was just a large hole. Her hair was dark brown, short and all frizzy. Her eye sockets were empty. My stomach did a flip and for a moment I almost lost my dinner of alcohol, but at the last second, I was able to hold it down.
Her hands and feet appeared to be tied and there was a wire wrapped around her neck and tied to a large hook in the ceiling. It had cut very deeply into her neck. Under the body was a large piece of Visqueen, plastic sheeting, caked with dried blood and who knows what other bodily fluids? There were rat droppings all over the Visqueen and on the floor under the body. As I stood mesmerized, a rat stuck its head through the hole that had once been her left breast. That was when I lost my dinner of alcohol.
Quickly turning my head, I managed to project it down the hall to the left, so I wouldn’t have to walk though it to leave. Once more I leaned against the wall. This time hunched over face first on my arms, gasping for air and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. As I leaned over my state of drunkenness seemed so much more intensified. My vision blurred, my head was spinning and I knew if it weren’t for the wall I’d be face down in my own vomit on the floor. That was when the memory portion of my brain kicked in again. It reminded me there was money here and psycho man had said I could have it, but I still wasn’t sober enough to remember where.
Gradually, the hallway came back into semi-focus and I forced myself to survey the rest of the room without looking at the body. There was a bed that looked to have fresh linen on it. The floor next to the bed was covered by what appeared to be a clean carpet remnant. There was a book on the night stand, “Mr. Murder” by Dean Knootz, how apropos, I thought. Next to the book was a small battery powered lamp and a couple of candy wrappers.
What was it that psycho man had said about the money? He owed the money to someone, who he mistakenly thought was me. He had said he expected me to come and get the money, even if I didn’t want to meet up with him. If I didn’t go get the money, he said he come back and hurt me. So where was the money?
I stood frozen in the doorway, hoping that something would pop into my head, because I sure as hell couldn’t remember what he had said. I was also wishing I still had my buddy “Jim Beam”. I could use a good stiff drink right about now.
A loud clap of thunder roared in the distance startling me and causing me to jump about three feet to the side of the door opening. I could feel myself trembling as I leaned once more against the wall, sure something bad was about to happen. Outside the wind picked up and the rain intensified. It sounded like a stampede of wild horses racing across the roof, not that I know what the difference in sound would be between wild and domesticated horses. Within seconds, I started hearing water dripping all around me in the hallway which made things all that more creepy.
Summing all my courage, I quickly crossed the room on the opposite side of the bed from the body and stood by the window. When the lightning flashed a moment later I thought I saw someone in the back yard and I dropped to my knees below the window sill.
“Shit, I knew it,” I mumbled out loud. That psycho is out there waiting for the chance to kill me. God, how could I be so stupid. I started to mumble a prayer hoping that God would intervene and save my sorry ass, but deep down I knew, that he was too busy laughing at me.
I snuck a peek over the window sill to see if I could see exactly where he was but it was far too dark to see anything. Then the lightning flashed and I was now blinded by the brief but intense flash. It was accompanied by the loudest thunder, I had ever heard. I swear my ears felt like someone had held a bullhorn to my head, turned the volume up and screamed. Tucked back down below the sill, I did my best to remain motionless. I was afraid to move, afraid to breathe. Slowly the fear subsided and I peeked once more through the window only to be greeted by the darkness once more. I played the flashlight around the room keeping it aimed at the floor, hoping it wouldn’t be too noticeable from outside. I saw nothing new until I came to the bed. My new angle had provided me with a better view underneath the bed.
The beam of the flash light played across the floor under the bed revealing what appeared to be a dark blanket with a solid white strip running the length of it. Curious, I lowered myself down onto the floor and shined the flash light directly on to the object. It wasn’t what I had expected.
There appeared to be a skeleton, bright white in the light of the flash light. One of the skeleton’s arms was draped over a large black canvas bag. Upon seeing the bag, I knew the money was in the bag. I even remembered him saying the money was under the bed.
Lying there on the floor, I looked at the bag and then at the skeleton, then at the bag and then back at the skeleton, back and forth, back and forth. All I had to do was reach under there and take the bag. That was it. But I didn’t reach out. I didn’t move. That skeleton was far too close for comfort. I didn’t want to touch it.
I started to back away only to stop and stare at the bag some more. I really needed the money, I was broke and being divorced. I was days from being homeless and from killing myself, unless I got the money.
I edged forward until I was right up under the dust ruffle. I didn’t hesitate this time I acted quickly and lunged out with my left hand, grabbing the handle of the canvas bag in one lunge. Not bad for having had my eyes closed. I tugged at the bag but it didn’t move. I tugged again, harder, and it still didn’t move. So, I yanked as hard as I could, and the bag, came flying out from under the bed with the skeleton’s arm still attached. I totally freaked out.
I danced around the room, flinging the bag this way and that way, trying to get the arm to fall off. Finally, I flung the bag to the end of the handle and snapped it back. The arm dislodged from the bag and flew across the room. It smacked in to the body hanging from the wire causing it to swing back and forth on the wire around the neck. On the third swing, a rat dropped out of the hole where the vagina had been. It circled the body twice before racing for the closet. I puked for the second time.
I took the stairs two at a time as I raced for the front door. I’d almost made it to the bottom of the stairs before I tripped over something and was sent sprawling on all fours. I slid across the foyer and slammed into the front door.
I lay sprawled on the floor letting the cobwebs settle when it occurred to me that I needed to keep going. Psycho man was outside waiting for me to open the door. As I forced myself to my knees, I felt the weight of the canvas bag and wondered just how much money was inside. It was heavier than I thought it would have been. Money didn’t weigh that much did it? I started to wonder if maybe I was being played and the bag really held bricks or something else heavy. Hell, it could be anything. The guy’s a psycho.
Using the wall for balance, I pulled myself to a standing position where I hung on for dear life as my head spun from the over load of alcohol. As I reached for the door, the lightening flashed again and I jumped thinking I saw a shadow cross the sidelight of the door. The mere possibility of there being someone outside convinced me that I had to find another way to get out. I turned and ran to the kitchen where the back door was. I twisted the knob and pulled but it wouldn’t open. I yanked again, nothing. My hands flew over the door looking for a lock I might have missed. Finding a small knob under the doorknob, I twisted it and the door popped open. I raced through it, catching myself at the last moment before I did a header into the pool. Seeing it close up clarified it was in the same condition as the rest of the house. The algae and mold were so thick it covered the pool as though it was a carpet. Of course the big dead rat floating in the middle along with the stench of the stagnant putrid water convinced me I didn’t want to take a swim just now. Once back on an even keel, I skirted the pool to the right. A few steps later I stumbled through the screen door, which had long ago lost its screen and ran for my life thru the pouring rain, with the money bag slung over my shoulder.
Dripping wet, I slipped behind the wheel of my car and took several deep breaths trying to calm my nerves. My hands were shaking so bad, I dropped the car keys and had to scramble around the floor board to find them. It took several tries to start the car and several more minutes after it finally started for me to stop shaking enough to drive. As I backed out of the drive, I strained to see through the rain for anyone standing in the shadows, but I didn’t see anyone. Even when the lightning flashed, I didn’t see anything that was threatening.
I remembered that I had to turn quickly at the road and managed to stay out the swamp on the other side of the road by just inches. I jammed the pedal to the metal and the old Chevy bucked as it chugged forward. Well it coughed, sputtered and belched smoke from the exhaust but it started moving.
When I hit the main drag, I gunned the car to over sixty before I realized that no one was following me and no one was on the road in any direction. I stopped at the first liquor store that I saw, taking the bag into the store with me, throwing it over my shoulder as I went inside and bought another fifth of “Jim Beam”, skipping the coke this time. A quarter of a bottle later, I found myself in the driveway back at my house. I still hadn’t opened the bag when I fell asleep.
*********
BY CLIFF POPKEY
I put the car in gear and drove off. I made several turns before I realized I had no idea where I going and that I didn’t care. I glanced at my watch and discovered it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet, so I decided to cut my losses and head towards home. To keep driving around was inviting a DUI and there had to be something to watch on TV. Along the way, I passed the construction company, where I was supposed to start work next week and I flipped the place the bird. I knew then, I wouldn’t be working there for very long. I’d save my money and move back up north as soon as I could. I hated the heat here anyways. Then I remembered I really only had one friend left up north and he was busy with his family and his business. Everyone else, with whom I had been friends, were old friends with my soon to be ex. Most had already stopped taking my calls. It then occurred to me they had actually stopped talking to me or writing e-mails months ago. Damn. She’d been banging this guy for months and I just found out, though everyone else had known for months. Am I an idiot or what? I tell you, if I had a gun, I’d stuff it where the sun don’t shine and blow her brains out her ass. What a bitch!
“I want to move to Florida.” She had said those words probably a hundred times, but what she was really saying was; “I want to move to Florida without you.” All the warning signs were there, I was just too stupid to pay attention. She‘d told me several times while we argued about moving that she saw her future in Florida and it was up to me to decide if mine was there as well. Up to me, female code words for, “I don’t care if you come with me or not. If you do, it’ll save me the heavy lifting of moving, if not I’ll hire someone to do it.”
Taking another swig of my ole’ buddy “Jim Beam”, I noticed that I was passing that sign again, the one for Apollo Road. This time I jammed on the brakes and slid to a stop. Then, I checked to see if anyone was behind me. Luckily, the road behind me was empty. I threw the car in reverse and backed up, until I could turn down Apollo Rd.
It was a one lane road with trees and swamp on both sides giving the whole area a very scary quality. I hesitated for a moment, afraid I might get lost or stuck in the swamp, before I worked up the courage and drove down the road.
The roadside ditches were filled with water and a couple of times I could have sworn I saw a gator jump off the bank as I approached. Their big eyes glowing in the light of my headlamps, as I came down the road. Slowly the road twisted and turned, first left, then right and then back again, but I continued on, heading deeper into the swamp with every minute that passed. More than once I thought, I’d better just turn around and leave before I get in trouble, but I couldn’t find a place where the road was wide enough for me to pull a “U” turn, so I kept going.
After having gone two miles maybe three when I came across the first road sign. It was planted in the dead center of the road and it read, Dead End. It was bright yellow in my headlights and beyond it, was a whole lot of pitch black swamp. Staring into the darkness before me I could see that there were hundreds of small twinkling lights. There were so many it seemed like stars only they were at ground level. It was beautiful, until I realized that the twinkling red lights were the eyes of gators reflecting off my headlamps, shit.
I suddenly had to get the hell out of there. I looked around but all I could see was the pitch blackness of the night. I’d gotten myself stuck, just as I was afraid I would. There wasn’t anywhere to turn around. Damn, I had to be the stupidest person alive. What was I doing here? And then it hit me.
The road I was on was Apollo Road. The guy on the phone wanted to meet out here. There had to be a house around here somewhere. He said it was the only one on the road. I can use the driveway to turn around, I told myself. I slowly backed up several dozen yards and there it was. I wouldn’t call it a driveway, though. It was more like a goat path in the woods. There appeared to be just enough room to get my car in there and use it as a turn around. I pulled in and stopped.
The trees and bushes were overgrown with their branches hanging low over the driveway. They were so low that getting through them, would mean they would scrape across the top and sides of the car, not that I was worried they might scratch the paint or anything. The weeds had grown up in the middle of the tire ruts reminding me of my adventures as a young teenager walking all through the northern woods, spotting for game trails before hunting season. Hunting was past me now. I couldn’t deal with the walking. My back and legs wouldn’t allow me to hike through the woods for more than a few minutes. I’d be lucky to get from the car to cabin, let alone into the woods. Between the propensity to have blood clots in my legs and the possible diagnosis of MS, I was pretty much bound to a chair, other than for short walks around the house and yard. Now, when I really needed to get active, I couldn’t.
For the first time in my life, my health had stopped me. I wasn’t a quitter. I’d fought back from adversity several times in my life. I’d had to fight back after breaking most of my bones, as a kid. Lucky they were broken at different times and not all at once. I’d fought back after having my foot run over by a lawn mower. It was an accident involving a co-worker. It had happened while mowing lawns at a country club when I was eighteen. Of course, it was really my own fault. I wasn’t paying any attention. I was too busy watching a couple of girls in bikini’s that were real knockouts. Yeah, I was stupid even then. I can’t help it, I like women.
Breaking away from my musings, I wondered what this house looked like. After all it was setting in the middle of a swamp and this guy didn’t seem like he was the sharpest tool in the shed. Then I wondered if he would be here. He said he would be. Talk about a great place for a murder.
I remembered he also said I should pick up the rest of the money or he would be pissed and come looking for me. I decided it wouldn’t cause any harm if I took a quick look around. The alcohol was getting the better of me, but what the hay. Even if the guy killed me, I’d be better off, than I was right now. Maybe I had a death wish and this was my way of trying to commit suicide. I don’t know, but I drove through the low hanging branches, down the overgrown goat path, until I spotted a large dark apparition that had suddenly sprung from the darkness.
It was a large house that loomed over me and my car. There were no lights on and no cars in plain sight. The grass was at least three feet high, except for what appeared to be a well worn path leading to the front door and then, a second one that led around to the back of the house, appearing to be circumnavigating the garage on the way.
If I had been smart, I would have quickly turned around and left as quickly as I could, but I’m not that smart. I reached over to the glove box, opened it, reached in and grabbed the flash light. I’d always kept a flashlight in the glove box, since I was a kid. I’d put this one there, the day after I bought the car. I was thinking I would have it for times when I broke down on the road or something similar. I hadn’t ever imagined I would need it to peek in someone’s windows. If I hadn’t been such a Boy Scout, prepared for any emergency, I wouldn’t have had the light and I wouldn’t have gotten out of the car. Just my luck, I would do something right and it gets me killed. I took another large gulp of Jim Beam.
The chance to exhibit some sanity loomed before me but instead, I flipped the switch on the flashlight and it instantly illuminated the interior of the car. My luck was still holding. I tightened my grip on my buddy “Jim Beam” by grabbing his easy to carry bottle by the handle and slid from the car.
Slowly I walked up to the front door. I didn’t knock, I didn’t ring the bell. Instead I stepped off the beaten path and clawed my way through the bushes so that I could peek in the windows. Now, not only was I trespassing, I was a “Peeping Tom”. I would be lucky if they only arrested me for trespassing and not attempted burglary. I ran the scenarios through my alcohol filled head, knowing exactly how it would play out as the homeowner explained to the police why he shot me with his twelve gauge shotgun. He would explain how I had driven up, got out of the car and stumbled towards the front door; only I went to a window instead, like I was casing the joint. He would explain how I peeked in the windows and how I saw his wife putting on her night clothes in the living room. He would explain that I made my intensions clear when I shined my flashlight though the window which caused his wife to scream. Fearing their home was about to be invaded, he then grabbed his gun. He kept it handy, right next to his lazy boy, for just such occasions. By the time he reached the front door, I, in my drunken stupor, stumbled out of the buhes mumbling about how I thought no one was home. He would then explain how I was making menacing eye contact and when I raised my hand to take another drink, he mistook that motion as an effort by me to throw the bottle at him. His instinct for self preservation then kicked in. He quickly raised and aimed his gun. He yelled for me to stop, but I continued waving the bottle at him, until he thought he had no other choice. He was as shocked as the officers that the shotgun blast literally blew me in half. Why the whole top half of me just flew off into the swamp where the gators were enjoying it. His wife was extremely traumatized, as the inner fluids and bits of goo from my body had been splattered all over her prize winning begonias.
I was standing there in my drunken stupor imagining the worse, when suddenly an owl hooted and I almost shit my pants. I jumped back, fell over some half dead bush, landing in the overgrown lawn which caused three or four million mosquitoes, to go on the offensive and attack me. It had to of been quite a scene. Me rolling about, flailing my arms around trying to get the little blood suckers to back off. The million plus armada of bugs chased me back to my car where I hid behind the glass as the feeding frenzy subsided, except for the three or four dozen that managed to sneak into the car with me. But I handled them with ease by starting the car and turning up the air conditioner to the arctic setting.
I sat shivering for the longest time, before I realized I had no idea, where I was or what time it was. After pondering the situation for awhile, I remembered why I was here. I was to go inside and get some more money. That was why I was here, the money. It’s always about the money.
I checked my liquid courage and found I had drunk more than half the bottle of Jim Beam, while I had been waiting. I decided that I had better go in now before I finished it and lost the courage it was providing or just passed out.
I stumbled across the lawn again and tried to peek in the windows on the other side of the front door, but just like the big front window my flashlight just reflected off the glass causing me to see stars, while failing to illuminate the room.
I have to admit I was curious, now that I had found the Apollo Road house. I could almost hear the guy on the phone begging me to come and get the money and I needed the money. I needed the money real bad, so I did my best impression of a sober man and stumbled back over to the front door and twisted the doorknob. The doorknob creaked slightly and was a bit stiff but it turned. Slowly the door swung inward and my heart raced as if I’d touched a live electrical wire. Before me was a near pitch black room. I yelled, “Hello, hello, anybody here?” No answer. The house was open and there was no one here. All I had to do was walk inside and get the money.
Letting the flashlight lead the way, I slowly shoved the door open further and stepped through the doorway into a pitch black foyer and the wind quickly closed the door behind me causing me to literally jump sideways a few feet. I took a quick swig of my liquid courage, as I pondered how much money was waiting inside. God, I hoped it was a lot. It would suck to go through all this for a couple of grand. There had better be at least ten grand, twenty would be better.
I stepped further into the foyer and I immediately was hit square in the face by a pungent smell that was both sweet and sickening at the same time. I fought back the urge to puke and pushed onward into the house. I casted the beam of the flashlight about as if fly fishing and I found I was in a large foyer. I jumped yet again, when I saw my face in a mirror off to the right, but I quickly recovered when I realized it was me and hurriedly stepped further into the house. I stopped at a juncture of archways that led to the living room and the dining room. The living room to the left and the dining room to the right, both rooms were a mess.
The furniture was clearly old and all broken down. Dust webs hung everywhere and I was pretty sure a rat or two ran from the flashlight beam, as I swung it around taking in the sights.
In the living room, there was a fireplace with the required old painting hung above the mantle. It was either a picture of an old woman or an old horse in a hat, I couldn’t quite tell. It didn’t matter. Because when I stepped up close and took a good hard look, it turned into a poster for some bar at the beach with some cutie in a bikini advertising beer. The girl on the poster was leaning towards the camera showing off her cleavage with the beers name cleverly covering the highlights of her bosom. She wasn’t half bad, though the swimsuit looked to be maybe fifty years old. Then it struck me, it was a woman in a bikini, just like the lawnmower incident.
For a brief moment, I entertained the thought of leaving. The place was cursed, cursed by the dreaded women in bikini curse. But as I turned to leave, the thought of the money crossed my mind, so I went across the hall to the dining room. The dining room held no tantalizing art work. Its walls were bare and there was no furniture except for a large china cabinet on the far wall that had all its glass doors broken out. The glass was still laying about the thing, on the floor. The curtains were thick but full of holes that let in just a modest amount of moon light, giving the room an out of this world feeling. That was when the thought crossed my mind, was Lon Chaney home?
Leaving the spacious dining room, I stepped to the bottom of the stairs. Here the pungent odor was stronger and once again I fought back the urge to puke. Doing my best to ignore my abdominal distress, I pointed the flashlight up to landing at the top of the stairs. It was less than illuminating. All I could see were blank walls covered in yellowed, white paint and cobwebs. I felt a chill, run up my spine as I stood there staring at the landing, so I decided I had better check the rest of the main floor before I ventured upstairs. I took another large swing of my liquid courage hoping it would fortify me for the trip up the stairs, once I’d finished with the rest of the house.
The kitchen was in the back of the house. It was just as old and messy as the rest of the house. The cabinets were black and white, like they had been back in the nineteen fifties. The stove was like nothing I’d seen before, except in my great Aunt’s house when I was a small boy back in Michigan. It was the kind that required you to light the burners whenever you turned it on. It looked to be made of cast iron, which might explain why no one had stolen it, like they had the refrigerator, which was now just represented by an empty space. There wasn’t any table or chairs, but there was a Macdonald’s wrapper in the sink, a McTasty or something like that.
I noticed through the window that it had started to rain. When the lightning flashed, my eye was drawn to the swimming pool where the rain drops danced across the surface, which in this light looked to be clean. I thought it was odd but I didn’t dwell on it, I took another swig of “Jim Beam” and headed for the stairs without bothering to check the laundry room.
Once again, I stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs. I flashed the light on the wall above the landing and a shiver ran up my spine, once more. Every fiber of my body was telling me to leave, but the “Jim Beam” was telling me, I could take King Kong, if he dared make an appearance.
After a few short minutes of an internal argument, “Jim Beam” and his King Kong speech, were victorious over the lesser man, I was inside. Embracing the false bravado, courtesy of “Jim Beam”, I climbed the stairs hoping and praying that the rotted wood didn’t give way as I climbed. I also hoped I wasn’t about to get killed by a homicidal maniac who set me up with phone calls to a wrong number or what would be worse, he just maimed me then left me to die. My mind immediately conjured up scenes of hundreds of rats racing across the floor of the room to attack me. Then a truly morbid thought occurred to me, what difference did it make? There wasn’t anyone to mourn my passing. Hell, the soon to be ex-wife would jump for joy, as she collected the insurance money, playing the role for all the world of a grieving widow as she left to go ballroom dancing or paragliding or something stupid like that.
Reaching the landing, I stopped and listened to the wind and rain slapping against the outside of the house. I took a deep breath only to suck in a lung full of that sweet, yet sickening smell, which was even stronger here at the top of the stairs and once more, I fought to keep from puking.
But it wasn’t just the smell that was causing me distress. The carpet, which at one time, had run the length of the hallway had long since been eaten away by insects and mold, leaving just a few strands of backing here and there. Enhancing the sense of squalor were the dozen large holes in the walls and the sheets of peeling wallpaper everywhere. The second floor was trashed worse than the main floor was.
Unsure if I should move forward or just go back downstairs, after seeing the decay and destruction, I took yet another swig of “Jim Beam” to bolster my courage. As I waited to feel the warmth of the liquid courage flow thru my veins, I tried to remember what the psycho had said about where the money would be. One of the bedrooms, yeah that was it, but which one? Having drunk over three quarters of a bottle of whiskey, it was becoming clear that Jim Beam enhanced one’s courage and curiosity, while completely screwing with your memory.
Feeling encouraged by a fresh rush of alcohol, I went to the first room on the left, because it was closest to the stairs and it would allow me to make a quick exit, if I found myself overwhelmed by the urgent need to do so. As I cautiously moved forward my imagination started to run away with me. I just knew that the psycho was waiting somewhere in the house, waiting for the opportunity to knock me over the head and then drag me off into the basement where he would slowly peel away my skin and let the cockroaches slowly devour me. Then, I remembered that houses in Florida, don’t have basements and I relaxed again. The only person who would enjoy skinning me and letting the cockroaches have me, was the soon to be, ex-wife and she was too busy doing the horizontal mambo with her attorney just now, to care. But still, I looked around and found a discarded spindle from the stair railing, which I picked up to use as a weapon. Now I could handle King Kong, for sure.
Using the spindle, I shoved the door open to the room on the left and peered in. It was empty, not even curtains were left. The closet door was closed and I wasn’t too keen on opening it, so I stepped back and moved on to the next door on the left, which was the next closest door.
Once more, I used the spindle to push the door open and again the room was empty. Well not quite, there were a few empty beer bottles and a whole bunch of used condoms scattered across the floor and hung on the window ledge and even the closet door knob. What the hell is wrong with people? Like this is some place to bring a girl for sex. Then it occurred to me, that it could have been a bunch of gay guys and that creped me out even more, so I turned towards the room across the hall, the first one on the right. It was then that my pea brain kicked in its memory drive and reminded me of what the psycho caller had said. Shit. I didn’t have to even check those other rooms. What an idiot.
I beat myself up for minute or two, before I found the courage in another swig of “Jim Beam” and using the spindle once more, I shoved the door open. I was dumb struck at the sight. My arms and legs were frozen from shock and wouldn’t move. My heart skipped several beats and I almost passed out. Every instinct told me to run and run fast, but I was rooted to the floor. My liquid courage, my bottle of “Jim Beam” slipped from my hand and bounced on the floor a couple of times before it shattered. The shattering of the glass bottle was enough to snap me out my trance but just barely. I spun to my left and slouched with my back against the wall. My eyes darted from doorway to doorway, searching for anything out of place or anyone trying to sneak up on me. Seeing no one, I stepped back into the doorway and took another look. Before me was the most macabre site I could have ever imagined.
In the far right hand corner of the room was the source of the sweet yet sickening smell. Through the alcohol induced haze my brain shouted, “It smells like death, dumbass!” I stood staring at a partially decomposed naked body. I had to look hard to see that the body was that of a woman. The skin had sagged and some places it was even falling off in sheets like the wall paper in the hall. Where her breasts had been, there was only a flap of skin with dark spots where once there were nipples. Where her vagina should have been, was just a large hole. Her hair was dark brown, short and all frizzy. Her eye sockets were empty. My stomach did a flip and for a moment I almost lost my dinner of alcohol, but at the last second, I was able to hold it down.
Her hands and feet appeared to be tied and there was a wire wrapped around her neck and tied to a large hook in the ceiling. It had cut very deeply into her neck. Under the body was a large piece of Visqueen, plastic sheeting, caked with dried blood and who knows what other bodily fluids? There were rat droppings all over the Visqueen and on the floor under the body. As I stood mesmerized, a rat stuck its head through the hole that had once been her left breast. That was when I lost my dinner of alcohol.
Quickly turning my head, I managed to project it down the hall to the left, so I wouldn’t have to walk though it to leave. Once more I leaned against the wall. This time hunched over face first on my arms, gasping for air and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. As I leaned over my state of drunkenness seemed so much more intensified. My vision blurred, my head was spinning and I knew if it weren’t for the wall I’d be face down in my own vomit on the floor. That was when the memory portion of my brain kicked in again. It reminded me there was money here and psycho man had said I could have it, but I still wasn’t sober enough to remember where.
Gradually, the hallway came back into semi-focus and I forced myself to survey the rest of the room without looking at the body. There was a bed that looked to have fresh linen on it. The floor next to the bed was covered by what appeared to be a clean carpet remnant. There was a book on the night stand, “Mr. Murder” by Dean Knootz, how apropos, I thought. Next to the book was a small battery powered lamp and a couple of candy wrappers.
What was it that psycho man had said about the money? He owed the money to someone, who he mistakenly thought was me. He had said he expected me to come and get the money, even if I didn’t want to meet up with him. If I didn’t go get the money, he said he come back and hurt me. So where was the money?
I stood frozen in the doorway, hoping that something would pop into my head, because I sure as hell couldn’t remember what he had said. I was also wishing I still had my buddy “Jim Beam”. I could use a good stiff drink right about now.
A loud clap of thunder roared in the distance startling me and causing me to jump about three feet to the side of the door opening. I could feel myself trembling as I leaned once more against the wall, sure something bad was about to happen. Outside the wind picked up and the rain intensified. It sounded like a stampede of wild horses racing across the roof, not that I know what the difference in sound would be between wild and domesticated horses. Within seconds, I started hearing water dripping all around me in the hallway which made things all that more creepy.
Summing all my courage, I quickly crossed the room on the opposite side of the bed from the body and stood by the window. When the lightning flashed a moment later I thought I saw someone in the back yard and I dropped to my knees below the window sill.
“Shit, I knew it,” I mumbled out loud. That psycho is out there waiting for the chance to kill me. God, how could I be so stupid. I started to mumble a prayer hoping that God would intervene and save my sorry ass, but deep down I knew, that he was too busy laughing at me.
I snuck a peek over the window sill to see if I could see exactly where he was but it was far too dark to see anything. Then the lightning flashed and I was now blinded by the brief but intense flash. It was accompanied by the loudest thunder, I had ever heard. I swear my ears felt like someone had held a bullhorn to my head, turned the volume up and screamed. Tucked back down below the sill, I did my best to remain motionless. I was afraid to move, afraid to breathe. Slowly the fear subsided and I peeked once more through the window only to be greeted by the darkness once more. I played the flashlight around the room keeping it aimed at the floor, hoping it wouldn’t be too noticeable from outside. I saw nothing new until I came to the bed. My new angle had provided me with a better view underneath the bed.
The beam of the flash light played across the floor under the bed revealing what appeared to be a dark blanket with a solid white strip running the length of it. Curious, I lowered myself down onto the floor and shined the flash light directly on to the object. It wasn’t what I had expected.
There appeared to be a skeleton, bright white in the light of the flash light. One of the skeleton’s arms was draped over a large black canvas bag. Upon seeing the bag, I knew the money was in the bag. I even remembered him saying the money was under the bed.
Lying there on the floor, I looked at the bag and then at the skeleton, then at the bag and then back at the skeleton, back and forth, back and forth. All I had to do was reach under there and take the bag. That was it. But I didn’t reach out. I didn’t move. That skeleton was far too close for comfort. I didn’t want to touch it.
I started to back away only to stop and stare at the bag some more. I really needed the money, I was broke and being divorced. I was days from being homeless and from killing myself, unless I got the money.
I edged forward until I was right up under the dust ruffle. I didn’t hesitate this time I acted quickly and lunged out with my left hand, grabbing the handle of the canvas bag in one lunge. Not bad for having had my eyes closed. I tugged at the bag but it didn’t move. I tugged again, harder, and it still didn’t move. So, I yanked as hard as I could, and the bag, came flying out from under the bed with the skeleton’s arm still attached. I totally freaked out.
I danced around the room, flinging the bag this way and that way, trying to get the arm to fall off. Finally, I flung the bag to the end of the handle and snapped it back. The arm dislodged from the bag and flew across the room. It smacked in to the body hanging from the wire causing it to swing back and forth on the wire around the neck. On the third swing, a rat dropped out of the hole where the vagina had been. It circled the body twice before racing for the closet. I puked for the second time.
I took the stairs two at a time as I raced for the front door. I’d almost made it to the bottom of the stairs before I tripped over something and was sent sprawling on all fours. I slid across the foyer and slammed into the front door.
I lay sprawled on the floor letting the cobwebs settle when it occurred to me that I needed to keep going. Psycho man was outside waiting for me to open the door. As I forced myself to my knees, I felt the weight of the canvas bag and wondered just how much money was inside. It was heavier than I thought it would have been. Money didn’t weigh that much did it? I started to wonder if maybe I was being played and the bag really held bricks or something else heavy. Hell, it could be anything. The guy’s a psycho.
Using the wall for balance, I pulled myself to a standing position where I hung on for dear life as my head spun from the over load of alcohol. As I reached for the door, the lightening flashed again and I jumped thinking I saw a shadow cross the sidelight of the door. The mere possibility of there being someone outside convinced me that I had to find another way to get out. I turned and ran to the kitchen where the back door was. I twisted the knob and pulled but it wouldn’t open. I yanked again, nothing. My hands flew over the door looking for a lock I might have missed. Finding a small knob under the doorknob, I twisted it and the door popped open. I raced through it, catching myself at the last moment before I did a header into the pool. Seeing it close up clarified it was in the same condition as the rest of the house. The algae and mold were so thick it covered the pool as though it was a carpet. Of course the big dead rat floating in the middle along with the stench of the stagnant putrid water convinced me I didn’t want to take a swim just now. Once back on an even keel, I skirted the pool to the right. A few steps later I stumbled through the screen door, which had long ago lost its screen and ran for my life thru the pouring rain, with the money bag slung over my shoulder.
Dripping wet, I slipped behind the wheel of my car and took several deep breaths trying to calm my nerves. My hands were shaking so bad, I dropped the car keys and had to scramble around the floor board to find them. It took several tries to start the car and several more minutes after it finally started for me to stop shaking enough to drive. As I backed out of the drive, I strained to see through the rain for anyone standing in the shadows, but I didn’t see anyone. Even when the lightning flashed, I didn’t see anything that was threatening.
I remembered that I had to turn quickly at the road and managed to stay out the swamp on the other side of the road by just inches. I jammed the pedal to the metal and the old Chevy bucked as it chugged forward. Well it coughed, sputtered and belched smoke from the exhaust but it started moving.
When I hit the main drag, I gunned the car to over sixty before I realized that no one was following me and no one was on the road in any direction. I stopped at the first liquor store that I saw, taking the bag into the store with me, throwing it over my shoulder as I went inside and bought another fifth of “Jim Beam”, skipping the coke this time. A quarter of a bottle later, I found myself in the driveway back at my house. I still hadn’t opened the bag when I fell asleep.
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