Backwater Publishing LLC

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Thank you for visiting Backwater Publishing.com: the site for children’s short stories. These are good,  thought provoking stories that will stir the imagination of children, teens and adults alike.  They present a slice of life.  Clem’s philosophy:  Hey!  It could happen:  it probably did and you just wasn’t paying attention.  Here are stories for all ages. The purpose of this site is to share with you stories and nevelettes written for children, teens and adults by Clem Mason; author, singer/songwriter. 

THIS WEB-SITE IS STILL UNDER CONSTRUCTION.  MAJOR EDITING IS STILL ON GOING.   PLEASE SELECT A STORY FROM THE LIST ON THE LEFT AND FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS AT THE END.

Epilogue: And life did go on for all of the Finklestein family. They all gathered to honor April. Afterwards, John offered his brother a partnership in his graphics design operation. Since, Steven and his wife has moved to Elizabeth and he now supervises the new printing shop they added to the business. Bob? He’s a great grandpa now. The addition to his family is a healthy baby boy; Robert Finklestein Frantz.

THE END.

THE PAPERBOY

by

Clem Mason

(age-6-10)

(wc-750)

Tony Constantine has been delivering the evening newspaper in the project for a long time now. It isn’t a much sought after job and the company has gone through many carriers before fifteen year old Tony came along. But for some strange reason, nobody bothers him even though he is a tall, skinny white kid. His hair is jet black, curly and quite greasy looking. He has dark skin and he always looks in need of a bath. His clothes are ragged, worn and dirty. Many say he looks like a Gipsy because he has deep set, dark eyes and a narrow, pointed face. He almost never talks to anyone.

How the stories got started, nobody knows, but the young ‘bros’ leave him be because they think he has the dark power to cause bad things to happen to anyone who crosses him. The little ones think he can summon certain undesirable creatures to visit their bedrooms in the dark of night.

However, when a bicycle or skateboard disappears, most think Tony took a liking to it and carted it away. However, not one confronts him about it and the toys continue to vanish. But that doesn’t stop the grumbling amongst the youth and the resentment for him is strong.

Most watch him with suspicion as he makes his way between the buildings delivering his newspapers.

One evening, Malcolm Smith was gazing out the front window, watching a large group of children at play. They were all between six and ten years old. They gathered around an older boy who throwing something down on the sidewalk and then everybody would jump back and holler when it hit. They seemed to be having a good time. Just then, Tony walked up, took one look and walked over and held out his hand. He must have told the boy to give up what they were playing with and he took it and put it in his pocket. The children grumbled in protest as Tony walked away.

Malcolm was furious. He jumped out of his chair and ran out the door. He couldn’t close the distance between them fast enough. He grabbed Tony when he caught up to him and spun him around, spilling his papers all over the ground.

Malcolm stood gasping from the short sprint. He was pointing his finger at Tony’s face. “You miserable little, snot nosed, pimply faced piece of slime,” he hissed.

Ray stood motionless, not sure if he should run or face up to this rather large, enraged Negro.

Malcolm’s face twisted in obvious hatred. He was so angry he spat several times before he could speak again. He tilted his head back. looking down his nose at the scared paperboy.

“You took something from those kids, didn’t you, you miserable little punk?”

Tony shifted nervously and nodded.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’d better hand it over right now before I lose my temper and beat the snot right outa you.” He nodded. “Right now,” he yelled.

Tony reached into his pocket and handed over a somewhat battered .44 magnum cartridge and stepped back.

Malcolm stood and looked at it a long time. “This is it? This is what you took from those kids?” he asked

Tony nodded his head. “They was trying to make it go off, so I took it.”

Humiliation began to overwhelm the big black man. This boy: this unassuming, quiet paperboy had probably just saved the life one of the projects poor little black children and he asks for no reward. Malcolm had just called him everything but a white man and now he stands there and takes like the real man that he is. If that shell had gone off… And the sad thing about it is, not one would grieve outside the project; nor care or even bat an eye. Just one less nigger they would say. But Tony cared and the child wasn’t even one of his own.

From that moment on, Malcolm did not judge a person by how they looked; or by what they wore; or by the color of their skin. He made it known throughout the project that if anybody had a problem with Tony, they was going to have to answer to Malcolm Smith.

THE END.

If you liked this story and you feel the poor, old author deserves compensation in his retirement for this creation, please feel free to send $1.00 to Clem Mason, c/o Backwater Publishing.

66021-0213.

Please tell your friends where you found this web site.

Questions and comments are welcome. Thank you for your honesty and integrity.

TERRORIST

by

Clem Mason

(Some mild language)

(16+)

(wc 2450)

Ahmed Mupasi was a baggage handler for American Airlines in Washington D.C.’s Ronald Reagan National airport on that fateful day: 9-11. He had arrived in the United States ten years prior; his papers were all in order. He was liked by his fellow workers and was above suspicion. When asked what he thought of the tragedy at the World Trade Center, he expressed great anger at those who perpetrated the dastardly deed and openly cursed them. Like any politician however; he would say exactly what ‘they‘ wanted to hear. Deep down in his heart, he was rejoicing at the victory. But he did not dare reveal his true feelings for fear of bringing attention to himself. All he knew was that soon, he would be given a mission of great importance.

Trey Jefferson liked the Iranian right from the start and helped him become Americanized as quickly as possible. He sat with him at lunch everyday and joked with him constantly. He even invited him over to his house to eat and drink with his family; though Ahmed couldn’t drink liquor. It’s against his religion.

Then it happened. Ahmed received his assignment via a note passed under the door of his hotel room. He was to fashion a bomb and place it aboard American Airlines, flight 157; that was to depart in one week; terminus Toronto, Canada. The Vice President and his staff was to attend the World Peace Conference along with many other high ranking dignitaries. It would be another great victory against the infidels.

To him, it didn’t allow much time to assemble a bomb. It had been many years since his formal training in that aspect and he had doubts; but he would do as best he could. None-the-less, he acquired the necessary components from the local Radio Shack. The C-4 would be more difficult to obtain. He succeeded in fashioning a crude bomb. It was to be set to go off as the plane passed over New York City. The timer calculations were sent along with the note. The bombing of the airplane that carried the Committee on World Peace would be as devastating to the United States as the toppling of the World Trade Center itself; with fiery debris raining down on all those infidels.

As soon as Ahmed learned of his mission, he asked for time off so he would be on another flight, going the opposite direction. He would be headed to Los Angeles when his bomb would explode: precisely at 1:35 P.M. on the 4th of July, 2007. It was fool proof. Nobody would ever suspect him. Not even his black American friend; the infidel, Trey Jefferson.

Ahmed hid his bomb in a small, pink suit case and, being a baggage handler, had no problem placing the bag onto the conveyor belt for flight A.A, 157. He looked around to make sure nobody was watching him. Satisfied, he went to gate 23 to wait for his own departure. He had no more sat down when Trey came to join him.

Ahmed looked puzzled.

Trey smiled. “Ahmed, my main man.” He gave him a high five and set back, “So, headin’ for L.A., huh?”

Ahmed nodded. “I visit family there.”

Treys eyebrows raised. “So, you have family there? You never speak of them, Ahmed.” He shrugged. “Distant cousins. You know cousins!”

Trey studied him a long time. So long that Ahmed was becoming uncomfortable. Suddenly, the Negro stood and extended his hand. “Take care of your self, good buddy.”

Ahmed shook his hand without rising. “I will…good buddy.” He smiled and nodded.

On the airplane, Ahmed was nervous. He kept checking his watch; watching the count down. Precisely at 1:25; ten minutes before detonation, his cell phone startled him. He fumbled for it. “Hello?”

“Ahmed, my main man. How’s it goin’?”

Ahmed was irritated. “Trey? What do you want?”

“I’m just concerned about my buddy. What else?”
“Suppose you tell me,” Ahmed growled.

“Well, I’ll put it this way. I got some good news and I got some bad news. Which do you want first?”

Ahmed rolled his eyes. “I will play your stupid game. Give me the bad news first.”

“Your suit case is pink, man.”
Ahmed frowned. “So?”

Trey laughed. Hell man, no…man ever carries a pink suit case.”

Ahmed snorted. “And what’s the good news?”
“I saw you accidently put your bag on the wrong conveyor, so I switched it. It’s there on your plane right now. You’ll have something to wear when to get to L.A.”
A surge of absolute fear and panic swept over him. He tried to swallow and couldn’t. He broke out in a sweat as he looked at his watch: 1:30. Five minutes to…what is it the Americans say?: ’til lift off.’

“Hey, Ahmed. You have a blast, man. Okay? Be seein’ ya.” Trey hung up.

Ahmed slumped down in his seat. “Have a blast,” he muttered to himself. He wondered how such things could come to happen to him. Suddenly, his mouth was dry and he had great fear of his emanate doom. He couldn’t take his eyes off his watch. He couldn’t breathe he was so afraid of dying. He was totally numb as he watched the numbers count down to zero. He closed his eyes and waited. Nothing happened. He set up, wondering what went wrong. The timer must be off a little. Any second now, he thought. Nothing happened. It was the most agonizing moment in Ahmed’s life.

He had a two hour lay over in Dallas, so he pondered what he should do. He decided to retrieve his bomb and try something else. He went to the ticket counter and told them of his change in plans; that he needed to get his bag. They directed him to the baggage handling area where they would help him. They pulled his pink suit case off the connecting flight and gave it to him.

In the stall, in the restroom, Ahmed opened the case. He examined the bomb very carefully and soon discovered a wire had pulled away from the C-4. “Stupid baggage handlers. If they don’t steal it, they destroy it.”

“Amen on that, brother,” came the response from the next stall.

A shaking finger dialed the telephone and it rang the required three times before answering.

Ashmed: “Hello?”
Ahmed: “Oh great one. My brother. I have failed.”

Ashmed: “You will die a thousands deaths. Your name will never again be spoken aloud. You will not have a thousand virgins in your next life,” he shouted. Then he calmly asked, “Tell me, Ahmed, what did you do?”

Ahmed: “How did you know it was me?”
Ashmed: “Caller I.D, you moron.”
Ahmed: “Oh great one. The bomb to bring down the peace committee airplane did not detonate as planned.”
Ashmed: “How do you know that?”
Ahmed: “Because the bomb ended up on my flight instead. A friend put the bomb on my flight. However, it did not go off as intended and it sits right beside me as we speak”

Ashmed: “Some friend!”

Ahmed: “He didn’t know it was a bomb.”

Ashmed: “I’ll bet you were sweatin’ that when zero rolled up, huh?” Ashmed laughed.

Ahmed: “I will be honored to die for the cause.”
Ashmed: “Well, you still don’t get a thousand virgins.”
Ahmed: “Oh great one…”
Ashmed: “Oh, stop sucking up. Do this instead. Repair the bomb if you can and set it to go off in ten minutes. Find a large gethering of infidels and place the bomb amongst them.”

Ahmed: “And then what?”

Ashmed: “What? Are you stupid? Do you want to die for nothing? Walk away.”

Ahmed: “It will be done, oh great one.”
Ashmed: “Whatever!”

Ahmed returned to the stall in the restroom and re-set his watch and the timer on the bomb for ten minutes. He walked out and hurried along until he found a large throng, waiting for the flight to Los Angeles to on load. He set the suit case directly in the middle of them and left. He found a restaurant a safe distance away; sat down at an empty table and waited.

A tinge of excitement filled him as the time grew near. With twenty seconds to go, a skinny little man, carrying a pink suit case, appeared at the end of the counter. He stopped to look around and spotted Ahmed sitting alone. He came directly towards him, smiling.

“Hey, buddy. You walked off and forgot your suit case,” the stranger said, holding it up.

Ahmed glanced and watched the numbers roll to zero, so he dove under the table. But nothing happened. The little man set the case on the floor beside him. “I can understand why you’d leave it behind; it bein’ pink and all.”
Ahmed set up. “Again, it didn’t go off.”
“What?” the man asked.

Ahmed got up and sat in a chair. “Did you ever have one of those days when nothing goes right?”
The stranger shrugged. “All the time. Why?”

“I am having one right now.”

“Too bad buddy. I’d say it was because of the pink suit case if you asked me.”

Ahmed exploded. “What is it with the pink suit case?”
“Well,” he said. “It just goes to prove my theory.”

Ahmed frowned. “Theory?”
“Yeah! That all you A-rabs are nothing but a bunch of…queer ducks.” He walked away.

To Ahmed, it was quite disheartening. Twice he had tried to bring glory to his people and twice he had failed. But what is it the infidels say?: three times lucky?

Outside, he hailed a taxi. The driver looked at the pink suit case when Ahmed got in and he shrugged it off. “Where to, buddy.”

“Please take me to the bus station,” Ahmed said. “And hurry.”
The cabbie frowned at his rear view mirror. “Why is everybody in such a big gall-dern hurry these days,” he complained.

“Well, I have important matters to take care of. I have a mission,” Ahmed said.

“We have a mission too. It’s in San Antonio, Pal,” the cabbie said.

Ahmed looked at the cabbies eyes in the mirror. “A mission in San Antonio?”

“Yeah! You ain’t from around here, are you? The infamous Alamo, man.”
Ahmed thought about it. Sure. He would place his bomb in the…Alamo. What better plan could there be than to blow up a famous American shrine?

Ahmed was beside himself with excitement as he bought the bus ticket to San Antonio. His mission was clear now. However, the bus wouldn’t arrive until 8:30 P.M. So he checked into a motel 8 to spend the night and he would plant the bomb on the morrow.

Safe in his room, he opened the case to inspect the bomb and found nothing wrong. He cursed under his breath. He didn’t sleep well at all and he woke up in a bad mood. He set his watch and the timer to detonate at high noon. Being low on money, he fashioned a sign with large block letters that read: L.A. He’d have to hitch hike after he placed the bomb. Besides, who wouldn’t be glad to pick up an Iranian along the road in this day and age? He grabbed the bomb and went out to hail a taxi with his last few bucks and a pink suit case in tow.

The Alamo was impressive and Ahmed actually read the information about how the few brave Texans stood against the five to six thousand Mexicans and lost. He felt a kinship with them. It seemed the odds were against him and he couldn’t win either. He looked around and placed the bomb behind a potted palm in the lobby and left.

He was standing out by the curb, holding up his sign when a car with a young man stopped in front of him and he leaned over to speak. “Hey! Goin’ to L.A., are ya?”
Ahmed smiled at his good luck. “Yes I am…partner.” He got in.

The man was silent for a long time. When they got out into the desert, he smiled at Ahmed and extended his hand. “I’m Jack. I can take you as far as El Paso and then you’re on your own from there.”

Ahmed shook his hand. “I am…Jose.”

Jack frowned. “You don’t look Mexican to me.

Ahmed nodded. “Si. Distant cousin.”

Jacks eyebrows raised and he shrugged. “Coulda’ fooled me. So tell me…Jose, what line of work are you in?”

Ahmed cleared his throat. “You might say I am in demolition.”

Jack was impressed. “Yeah? I’ll bet that’s exciting.”

Ahmed thought about his recent run of bad luck. “It could be. What do you do?”
Jack grinned broadly. “Me? I’m an opportunist.”

Ahmed frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I take advantage of situations when they come up.” Glancing over, Jack could tell his hitch hiker still didn’t understand. “I seize opportunity.” He reached into the back seat and brought up a pink suit case. “Take this for instance.”
Ahmed screamed in anguish. “Where did you get that?”

“Back there at the Alamo, man. It was hid behind a palm tree. I figure it’s a drug drop or something and it could be worth thousands of dollars.” Jack smiled. “What say we split the profits, you and me?”

Ahmed looked at his watch and he had just 30 seconds left. “How can this be? Allah, now I know you hate me. That is not a drug drop, you infidel. That is a bomb.”

Jack frowned. “How do you know it’s a bomb?”
“Because I am the one who put it there.”

“Damn! You Mexicans didn’t get enough kickin’ our ass the first time, did you. No! You gotta come back and try to kick our ass again.” Jack slammed on the brakes; steering to the side of the road. “Get out and take you bomb with you, Jose.”

Ahmed opened the door and got out, setting the suit case on the ground. As soon as it was clear, Jack sped away with squealing tires.

Ahmed looked at his watch just as it reached zero.

Just then, Jack looked in his rear view mirror and saw a huge orange ball of flame billow into the sky. In a moment, he heard the report of a very loud explosion. He smiled to himself. “Damn Mexicans.”

The end.

by

Clem Mason

(age 11-15)

(wc 2800)

Anthony (Tony) Curtis, (No, not the old movie star.) was sitting in his office when the intercom interrupted his thoughts. It startled him. Frowning, he pushed the talk button.

“Yes, Mildred?”

“Mr. Curtis? There’s a Mr. Thomas Mull here to see you.”

“Does he have an appointment?”
“Yes sir. It should be right there on your calender,” she said.

He looked and there is was. “Send him in please.”
“Yes sir.”

Mildred opened the door and a squat, round little man stepped in, removing his hat. He reminded Tony of a mole. His eyes were black and set close together. He looked to be in his sixties or seventies. He waited for instructions from the young lawyer.

Tony waved towards a chair. “Sit down Mr….Mull. What can I do for you today?”
He sat, but wasn’t sure what he should do with his hat. He eventually placed it on the other chair next to him. He shifted nervously. “Please call me Tom, Mr. Curtis. I’ll get right to the point.” He cleared his throat. “I’m dying of cancer and I have about three months to live. It’s in-operable” He didn’t even bat an eye. It was like he was quoting the box score from the Bulls basketball game. He offered a few sheets of paper. “Here are the names of the people that owe me…and my wife. Twenty four thousand dollars to be exact. They borrowed it ten years ago and haven’t bothered to pay it back. Their signature is on the other sheet there.” He shrugged. “So much for loaning friends money. I know it isn’t much but I would like to have my…widow get what is rightfully hers.”
Tony sat back. “Why don’t you sue them for it?”
A smirk visited his lips. “She…, Dotty, doesn’t believe in suing friends. Or anybody for that matter. What I want you to do is, when you learn of my passing, you are to file suit against these people without her knowing a thing about it and place the money in her bank account. She’ll think I had some kind of secret life insurance policy or something to explain the deposit. That is all the money she’ll have to live on; what’s in our account.” He pointed. “All the information is on that sheet there. Account numbers; everything.”

Tony glanced over the paper and laid it down. He frowned. “Mr. Mull, I can do as you wish but I wish you’d have come to me sooner. We could have taken these people to court…”
He was shaking his head. “No! I will pay you now for the cost of your services so no money will come out of the twenty four thousand. Is that understood?”
Tony thought about it a moment. “Shouldn’t there be ten years of interest accumulating here? They…”

Again, he was shaking his head. “Twenty four thousand is what it is,” he said flatly.

Tony came forward to lean on his desk. “So…, Mr. Mull. Let me get this straight in my mind. After you pass…away, you want me to sue these people for what they owe you, completely without the knowledge of your wife. Is that correct?”
He nodded.

“And you want me to quietly place the money into her bank account and she won’t know where it came from! Is that correct?”

Again he nodded.

A thought came to Tony at that moment. If this man’s wife doesn’t know anything about a law suit and will have no knowledge of a deposit,…then she would never miss it. It would be the easiest twenty four thousand dollars he’d ever made in his life. This man was handing him twenty four thousand dollars on a silver platter. He looked up and Mr. Mull was looking right at him with unblinking eyes. He was shaking his head and waving his finger.

“You shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like that Mr. Curtis.”

Tony swallowed hard. Surely this man couldn’t be reading his mind. “What thought is that, Mr. Mull? …Tom.”

He smiled slightly. “You know.”

Tony pretended innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tom leaned forward to stress his point. “Mr, Curtis. If you so much as take one dollar of my wife’s money, I will come back and haunt you.”
Tony burst out laughing in disbelief. He threw himself back in his chair, pointing his finger. “Come back and haunt me!” He couldn’t stop laughing. “That’s a good one. Really!”

Tom reached over to pick up a family portrait from the young lawyer’s desk. He nodded towards it and smiled. “Now, what’s your wife’s name?”

Without thinking, Tony blurted out her name and was instantly sorry he did. “Abby.”

“And your little girl?”

Tony was getting nervous. He pointed. “That’s an old picture. She’s only three there. I need to get a more recent photo.”

Tom carefully returned the picture. “She’s six now. Right? Anna is six?”
Tony’s mind went into a panic mode. Red flags were flying and sirens were sounding. “It seems you done some research, Mr. Mull.”

He shrugged. “No need.” Then he focused with unblinking eyes and Tony felt his was drawn into a hypnotic state. He couldn’t force his eyes away from the squat, little man. “On the day of my passing, Anna will bring home a picture from school. She will have colored a portrait your family. In the background will be a dark man with no face. And when you ask her who he is, she will not know.”

Tony scoffed. “That’s a bunch of crap.”
“And that night, you will have a dream of me and Anna will wake you up. And then I will ask you, ‘what were you dreaming about.’ ”

Taking his hat, Tom stood to leave. “I will go now, Mr. Curtis. Think about what I said.” He pulled the door closed and Tony never saw him again.

But he was very frightened. Very frightened indeed.

That’s all Tony could think about from that day forward. It seemed every word; each prediction was haunting every waking moment. He couldn’t concentrate on his work. He often found himself waking up in a cold sweat. How could this man be capable of doing such a thing. This is impossible. He tried to laugh it off but couldn’t shake it from his mind. It possessed his every thought. Those eyes! Those unblinking eyes. They visited his every dream.

One day, Abby asked him what was the matter with him and Tony started whimpering; tears running down his face. She was shocked and rushed to comfort him. He grabbed her in a firm hug and cried openly. They clung to each other a long time. Tony found much comfort in her arms. She was the strong one and would understand his dilemma. He released her and cleared his throat.

“This man came in the office about two months ago.”

“Yes?” she said. She looked worried.

“He’s dying of cancer.”
She moaned. “Oh, that’s so sad.”

He held up his hand. “Don’t…feel sorry for him yet.” He swallowed, trying to control his emotions. “I think he may be…the devil.”
Abby couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing. It irritated Tony.

“Yeah! Make light of it. Just you wait ’til you hear the whole story.”

She folded her arms and waited, smiling; nodding her head.

“He wants me to perform a service after he…passes on.”
Abby cleared her throat. “Are you sure you should be telling me this? What about client-attorney relationship?” She blinked. “Ten years and you…never say one word about your work,” she scolded. “And now…”
“This is different.”

“How?” she asked.

“Because this involves…family.”

She tossed her head back. “Family? Our family?”
“Anna!”

That got her attention. “What about Anna?”
Tony realized he was stepping on very thin ice right then. He had to proceed with great caution. “I hate myself for getting in this mess. I can’t sleep nights. My work is falling off.”

“What about Anna?” she asked, sternly.

He studied her a moment. There was genuine concern on her face.

“He wants me to sue for money owed without the knowledge of his wife and then place the proceeds into her bank account; again without her knowledge.”
Her eyebrows raised. “So! Sounds like a standard request; a dying man trying to look out for his widow.”

Tony nodded. “Yes.” He squirmed a little. “Sue without knowledge. Deposit without knowledge!”

“So? What’s the problem?” she asked.

“Here is where it gets weird.” He gestured wildly. Really…weird.”

Her patience was wearing out. She shook her head while tapping her foot.

“You’re not going to like this…but I thought how easy it would be to…just keep the money for myself. For us” He dropped his head in shame. “Nobody would ever know.”

Abby exploded. “Holy mother of God. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

Tony grabbed her arms. “He knew!”

She frowned, pulling away. “He knew…what?”
“He knew what I was thinking. He waved his finger at me and told me not to think that or else.”
Abby was shaking her head. “Or else what?”

“Or else he was going to come back and haunt me. No! Not me. Anna.”
Abby stood in stunned silence a long time. Then her face turned a bright red and she doubled over with laughter. She staggered around and finally sat down, holding her stomach. “Oh! Ow! That hurts.” She couldn’t stop laughing, flopping back on the sofa.

Tony didn’t appreciate her response; none what-so-ever, so he decided to drop the whole matter and hope it would go away and be forgotten. He went into the kitchen to get a beer from the refrigerator. He went out to sit on the patio. It was but two minutes before Abby found him. She was still giggling but maintained her composure. “So? What about…Anna?”

“Nothing!” He turned away.

Abby sat down opposite him. “No. Come on. You said he was going to…what was it?

Haunt Anna?”

Tony looked her straight in the eye. “Nothing. Drop it. Forget about it. You had a good laugh now let’s just drop the matter and be done with it.

She shrugged. “It’s done.” She went to make supper.

The office intercom barked to life and it startled him. “Mr. Curtis?”
“Yes Mildred. What is it?”
“I’m suppose to relay to you that Mr. Mull died this morning.”

A surge of fear swept through his body and he suddenly felt doom was descending. Fear and dread filled the remainder of his day and he hid from the world. He was afraid to go home for fear of what he would find. He had to force himself to drive to his country estate. He sat in the car after his arrival, thinking. It wouldn’t go away; the dread; the fear.

He went in and called for Abby. She stepped from the kitchen with a look of concern on her face. Tony pointed and told her to sit down. “I want you to be a witness to this.” She sat. He called up stairs. “Anna, darling. Do you have anything from school you want me to see?”
She yelled down. “I have a picture I drew all by myself. I’ll bring it down.”
Tony turned to Abby. “It’s a picture of us.”
She frowned. “Us?”

“The three of us,” he snapped. “And in the back, there will be a dark man with no face.” Tony almost started crying from utter dread. He shuttered. “Anna won’t know who it is when I ask her.”

“What are you talking about.”

Tony slammed his fist on the table and she jumped. “Listen to me,” he hissed. “Thomas Mull is the man that told me all this was going to happen.”
“The…the dying man?” she asked quietly.

He nodded. Just then, Anna came running into the dinning room, waving her picture.

“Give it to me,” Tony ordered.

Anna’s countenance fell and she handed him the paper. “I wanted to show you.”

Tony placed the picture face down in front of Abby. He prayed inwardly that what he most feared would not be there and he could have a real good laugh at himself. He turned it over. There were the three stick people: Mommy, Daddy and Anna. And there in the back was a dark man who had no face. Abby turned white. “Anna,” she asked softly, pointing to the man. “Who is this?”
Anna shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Tony lost it. He exploded in anger. “Then why did you put it in your picture,” he yelled.

Anna started crying.

He knelt down, hugging her. “Anna. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m sorry.”

“Did I do something wrong?”
Tony thought a moment and looked at Abby when he said; “No. I did.”

Anna’s eyes lit up and she put her hands on his face as she always does when she wants his full attention. “That’s okay daddy. I’ve decided to name him Tom.”

Tony frowned. “Who?”

Anna pointed. “The dark man.

Tony and Abby looked at each other with utter dread; their faces a ghostly white.

Tony was afraid to go to sleep. He finished all the coffee and watched the late news, trying to stay awake. At two in the morning, Abby came down.

“Honey, it’s two o’clock. You should come to bed.”

“I can’t.”
She hugged him. “Why not?”

“Because I’m suppose to dream of him and I don’t want to. I just want this to go away.”
“But you can’t stay awake forever.”
She grabbed her arms. Abby? Now do you believe me?”
She shook her head and started crying. He held her tenderly.

“One more thing,” he said.

Abby whimpered. “Please, no more.”

“Anna will come wake me up and…Tom will ask me what I dreamt about.’
Abby cried uncontrollably.

He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. It was pitch black in there; his dream. There was no sound. Tony knew something was near by; lurking in the shadows. He could feel an evil presence as he looked about. Then it started raining and the lightening danced and the thunder rolled. He knew he should run but his legs wouldn’t move. He was knee deep in mud and the shadow came towards him. In a sliver of light, he saw the black, unblinking eyes of Thomas Mull. He felt a cold hand on his face. When he opened his eyes, a white, ghostly form was standing by his bed and he screamed out in terror, flinging his arms in defense; waking everybody.

Anna cried out. “Daddy, you were moaning in your sleep. You scared me.”

Abby turned on the light and put her hand on his chest. “Did you dream?”

“Yes…I did,” he said. “He was there.” His voice quivered.

Anna sat on the bed and put her hands on his face and looked at him with dark eyes. “What did you dream about?” she asked in a strange voice.

Tony grabbed her and he started crying. Anna hugged him hard. “No!” he cried out. “God no. Don’t harm her. This was my doing. In Jesus name, let all evil pass from this child.”

Just then, Anna let loose and fell limp in his arms. Her face was aspen and her eyes rolled up in her head. She wasn’t breathing. Tony shook her gently. Abby started screaming for him to do something. He shook her again, harder, calling her name. “Anna. It’s me. Daddy wants you to come home. Anna!” He yelled.

Anna’s eyes popped wide open and she sat up, smiling brightly. She put her hands on his face again. “Daddy, what’s the matter?”

He patted her hands. “You…you fainted away there a moment and it scared us.”

She looked out the top of her eyes, smiling. “No I didn’t, Daddy. You silly Dad.”

Tony went to visit the fresh grave of Thomas Mull. He brought flowers. Looking around so as not to be embarrassed, he got down on one knee.

“Tom? It’s me. I just want you to know that I am doing exactly what you intended. The case is on the docket and should be settled in about two days. By the way, I’m going to ask the judge to charge them interest on the debt owed. I hope that’s okay. Can I trust that..we won’t be seeing anymore of you?” He listened and all he heard were the birds singing. He shrugged. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He went home with a happy heart.

The end.

THE UNWANTED INTRUDER

by

Clem Mason

(age 6-10)

(wc-1410)

My name is Lisa Miller and I’m six and a half. I’m afraid I’m going to lose my house key at school and have to wait outside until momma gets home from work. I don’t want her scolding me for losing the key. I won’t lose it on purpose, you know. If it’s raining, I’d get wet and she would really get mad at me because I’m not…healthy. She would scold me and then feel bad and say she was sorry. She worries a lot about me being here alone.

My daddy was killed in Iraq when I was only two so I don’t remember him at all. I’m sorry I don’t. I know I wish he was here because momma remembers him and she cries a lot. That was four years ago when he was killed.

Because we don’t have much money, we move a lot and every time, I have to go to a new school. I sure would like to stay here because I like this school a lot because it is only two blocks away and I can walk. Momma don’t like me to walk because of strangers. So I have rules. I have to come straight home and stay inside and never answer the door for any reason. She has been thinking about getting a dog but he would have to stay outside all day and momma says that would be mean. I hope we can get one.

She told me to make sure I have the key ready and make sure there isn’t anybody lurking around. I’m to unlock the door and come in and lock the door as fast as I can. I never thought about what would happen if someone or something was already in the house when I got home. I just never thought about it. I always felt safe once the door was locked. So, when I saw it, I screamed my head off and ran outside. I was sooo scared. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t suppose to go outside. We have no phone where I can call momma. If we did have a phone, I’d have to go back in to use it and I’m not going in there, I don’t care how much trouble I get into.

Then the old man that lives next to us sees me out in the front yard with no coat on. He stood up and came to the edge of his yard. “Is something wrong,? he asked me.

I didn’t say anything because I’m not suppose to talk to strangers. I just stood there, shivering. Well, he just stood there too and wouldn’t leave me alone. I can’t go back in and I can’t talk to the old man. I started to cry. I really hate when that happens. I cry real easy.

“Can I help you,” he asked.

I swallowed hard. “There’s a snake in the house,” I said.

He stood tall and smiled. “Is it a big snake,” he asked.

I thought about it and I thought it was. I just shrugged.

“Do you want me to get it out of the house for you?”
I wasn’t suppose to open the door. I must never invite anyone in. I didn’t know what to do. “I am so afraid of snakes but momma don’t want you in our house.. I can’t let you come in and I can’t stay out here.” I started crying harder. “I wish momma would come home.” He didn’t laugh at me and that make me feel good.

“Suppose you wait outside while I go get it and bring it out. Don’t you go in until I come back out. Is that a good idea?”

I shrugged again. “Okay.”

He took off his coat and put it over my shoulders. It sure was warm. “By the way. My name is Ernest. Where did you see the snake,” he asked”

“My named is Lisa and I saw it in the kitchen,” I told him.

He goes in the house and he tells me everything he does. “I’m going in the kitchen now Lisa, but I don’t see it right away,” he hollered. Then I heard him grown. “I’m getting down on my hands and knees now and looking under the water heater. Oh, I see it now.” I heard him mumble something and then he hollered again. “I got it.”

I was so relieved. I hope it didn’t bite him and he would swell up and die. I didn’t want that to happen. He did seem like a nice man.

He came out with his hands cupped together. “Do you want to see it,?” he asked.

I’m sure I gave him a look because he laughed real hard then.

“I’m going to go turn it loose in my garden out back.”

I couldn’t believe it. “You’re not going to kill it?”

He got a surprised look on his face. “No, Lisa! He eats bugs and other garden pests. I couldn’t kill it with just cause.”

“Well, I could kill it because it’s just a yucky old slimy thing,” I said.

He laughed and nodded. He went to the back of his house and disappeared. I didn’t see him again until I came home from school the next day. He was sitting on his porch and just waved. He didn’t speak.

Then he came over after momma got home to introduced himself. I could tell momma didn’t want to let him in. She stood behind the screen door. He apologized for being a bad neighbor and not coming over earlier. Then he let the cat out of the bag and told momma he had come in and got the snake out of the house. I’m not sure she liked the idea of the stranger coming in the house.

“Well, I have you thank you for that, Mr. Parsons,” momma said. “Lisa is so afraid of snakes. That was very kind. I’m Yvonne Miller”

“Please call me Ernest.”

She unlocked the screen door then and asked him to come in.

“Thank you,” he said. He took off his hat and nodded his head a lot.

“Please sit down Ernest. I have to apologize. I’m not too friendly here lately”

I saw him frown. “And why is that?”
I saw tears come to her eyes then and I knew what she was going to tell him. “My husband was killed four years ago in Iraq and I haven’t gotten used to it yet.”

Ernest squirmed some then. “I lost my wife five years ago to cancer and you don’t get used to it. There were tears in both their eyes and then tears came to my eyes too,

“I know you don’t know who I am. I just came over just now to introduce myself and all that. But I would like to be your friend and a good neighbor. I get real lonely over there and I look forward to seeing Lisa come home from school even if it is only for a few seconds until she comes in the house. I would like your blessing to…to guard her until you come home.”

Momma looked at him. “Guard her?”
“Look out for her.” He turned to talk me me then. “Lisa, Would you like to help me in my garden? I can teach you all about plants and flowers, bugs and snakes and how they all exist together. We’ll even have a corner where we can grow some flowers for your mother.”

“I guess so.”

“Only if you want to. If either of you are one bite uncomfortable around me, then I will understand and mind my own business. I hope you will accept me as a friend.”

“I can’t asked you to do that Ernest and I can’t pay you,” momma said.

Ernest nodded. “The only pay I want is your trust in me; you and Lisa’.”

Now I come home from school and me and Ernest spend all out time around the garden; either pulling weeds or him showing me how to care for plants. I know momma feels a lot better now that Ernest is our friend. He is a good teacher and a prefect gentleman. I have even invited friends to come over after school and we all have a good time. It’s fun. So far, I haven’t seen that yucky snake.

THE END.

If you liked this story and you feel the poor, old author deserves compensation in his retirement for this creation, please feel free to send $1.00 to Clem Mason, c/o Backwater Publishing.

66021-0213.

Please tell your friends where you found this web site.

Questions and comments are welcome. Thank you for your honesty and integrity.

THE CEMETERY

by

Clem Mason

(age 11-15)

(wc-550)

Along with their dog Ruff, Tom and Mary walked along at a leisurely pace, laying out there plans as they went. Then the saw the stones of the cemetery cast in an eerie glow in the moonlight. They planned to lurk in the shadows of the cemetery and jump out and scare any would be trick-or-treaters who happened along. After crouching behind the two large pillars of the front gate; one on either side, they giggled at the wickedness of their scheme.

“This is going to be so much fun,” Tom whispered. He dared laugh.

“Yeah,” Mary whispered back. “Those kids are going to wet their pants before we get done with them,” she giggled.

Just then, Ruff whimpered and looked back into the dark depths of the cemetery; his fur ruffled. He began barking.

“What is it, boy?” Mary asked the nervous dog.

“Hey! Keep him quiet or he’s going to give us away,” Tom complained bitterly.

Just as Mary reached for him, Ruff snarled, nipping her hand and then he bolted into the blackness. They listened to the little dog stir the dry leaves as he ran into the blackness, fearfully yelping. Suddenly, he let a sharp cry and then there was nothing but silence. The only sound was the wind moaning in the bare trees.

“I wonder what that was all about?” Tom asked.

“He bite me,”Mary said, rubbing her hand. “Something back there really scared him, Tom. Come on, I’m scared too. Let’s go home.”

“Hey!” Tom said. “We’re the scare’ers, not the scare’ees.”

At that moment, they heard the leaves rustle behind them and Mary let out a loud shriek. In the dim moonlight, Tom saw her suddenly fly up and back, disappearing into the night.

“Oh,God,” she screamed. At was a loud, hideous scream. Then it was quiet. Much too quiet.

“Mary?” Tom asked. “Mary, what the hell is going on?” There was no answer. “Hey! You’re suppose to be scaring the kids, not me,” Tom protested.

He stood up and peered into the blackness and suddenly, two large serpentine red eyes came to hover above him, glaring down. He was frozen in absolute terror. Just as he turned to run, it grabbed him. It’s powerful grip nearly crushing his chest, it’s claws digging deep into his flesh. He screamed out in excruciating pain. The last thing Tom was conscious of as the beast ripped off his arms and legs was the rancid stench of this vile creature.

The next morning, the cemetery caretaker found the severed head of a little dog, lying in the road. It’s eyes open wide with fright. “What a sick Halloween prank that is,” he said, kicking it aside. Just inside the gate of the cemetery, he noticed a mound of dirt, resembling a fresh grave. He laughed, scratching his chin. No harm done he thought, but the kids who done this went to a lot of work for nothing. He chose not to disturb it as it was the day after Halloween. Little did he know that below that mound of dirt were the remains of two teenage kids that a certain beast had dismembered and was sure to return after darkness to feast upon them at its leasure.

THE END.

OR IS IT?

CONDEMED

by

Clem Mason

(age 16+)

(wc-1600)

Just after sunrise, the shiny, vintage Cadillac, filled with boxes, entered the small Nebraska town. There, it pulled into a roadside diner. Slowly, the tired, rather plump driver, drew himself out, stretching and yawning wide. The handsome, middle aged man, dressed in a cheap three piece suit was obviously a traveling salesman.

“‘Mornin’,” someone greeted him.

He looked around and found a young man about twenty five years old, sitting on the bench in front of the cafe.

“Good morning to you, Sir. Tell me, my good man, is the coffee any good here?” the salesman asked.

The young man with a straw hanging out of his mouth, shrugged. “It’s only the best place in town because it’s the only place in town,” he quipped.

“Then by all means, I would be glad to treat you to some of that fine coffee if you so desire.”

The young man shrugged again. “Sounds good to me,” he said.

The salesman stepped up and extended his hand, “Richard Younger. My friends call me Rich. And you are…?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting.

They shook hands. “Johnny.”

He noticed Johnny’s eyes were small and void of emotion; like a snake. “Well, Johnny, it’s nice to meet you.” Richard said.

“Likewise,” Johnny said.

They went in and settled into a booth near the front. When their eyes met, they nodded. Richard suddenly felt a red flag waving, but as usual, paid it no heed. He chuckled.

“Tell me, Johnny, what do you do around this quaint little town?”

“Tell me, …Rich. Are you rich?”

The salesman chuckled nervously.

“I couldn’t help notice that fine automobile you drove up in,” Johnny said with a flat tone. “Nice!”

Richard puffed up with pride. “That’s the love of my life; 1979 Caddy. No, I don’t want one of those new fangled, over priced pieces of junk they’re putting out now. No Sir. Not old Rich. “It’s paid for and it keeps the costs down, if you know what I mean.”

Johnny nodded out the window. “What would something like that bring on the market?”

Richard twisted around to look fondly at the Cadillac. “If you find the right buyer, you could easily come away with four or five grand.”

Really?” Johnny said with a glint in his eyes.

Just then, a fine looking, young girl stepped into the cafe and they both looked to take in the welcome sight. She looked around with apprehension. When she glanced at the men in the booth, she nodded and flicked a smile at them. Her dark blue eyes looked brooding; troubled. She settled onto a stool right across from them. Her auburn hair hung down over shoulders. She had a small waist and her tight Levis didn’t sag over the edge of the stool. She appeared to be in her mid twenties.

Richard’s eyebrows raised and nodded in her direction. “Fine looking woman,” he whispered.

Johnny looked at the girl disinterested. He shrugged. “Married!” he said softly.

Richard’s face flushed red; he smiled an evil smile, “That don’t mean they won’t play.”

Johnny leaned forward to speak quietly. “Her husband’s a truck driver, I think.

He’s away most of the time.” He sat back and stuck the weed back in his mouth. “That’s why she’s in here; He’s gone and she don’t like stayin’ out there all by herself.”

“Out there?” Rich questioned.

“On the farm,” Johnny explained.

Richard looked at the back of the redhead and had no trouble imagining what she looked with nothing on. He smiled to himself at the picture in his mind. Familiar urges began to stir inside him. “Out on the farm, you say?”

“‘Bout ten miles out east,” Johnny said nonchalant.

Richard turned and smiled brightly. “Well, it seems to me this fine vision needs to see some of my exquisite kitchen ware as soon as she gets back home. Now where did you say she lives?”

Richard followed the directions given to him by the young man in the cafe and sure enough, a half mile passed the water filled abandoned quarry stood the lone, ramshackle farmhouse. He pulled into the muddy drive and drove up to the single story house. When he got out, the red haired girl had come out onto the side porch. She stood with her arms folded.

“May I help you?” she called to him in a husky voice,

“I’m sorry to bother you, Ma’am. My name is Richard Younger and I just dropped by to show you some of my fine kitchen ware.” He held up his hands. “Now before you say no, just let me tell you that all my products are guaranteed.”

“I don’t think I need anything,” she admitted.

Richard stared at the exquisitely sweet young body, thinking: ‘You need something alright and old Rich is here to give it to you.’ “Please permit me to show you my pot and pan set that just happens to be on special this week.” Without allowing her to refuse, he leaned in the Caddy and pulled out a large box, holding it up for her to see. He smiled, “Looky here at this treasure, will you? Your husband will want you to have this, I’m sure.”

“He’s out back working right now and could be back any minute,” she answered.

Richard knew it was a lie, so he pushed open the gate and set the box on the rickety porch, “You should see this, little Missy.” He opened the box and lifted up a stack of shinny pans for her to see.

She looked disinterested.

“Aren’t these the best lookin’ pans you’ve ever seen? Now I’m not sayin’ you’re a bad cook, but your culinary expertise will vastly improve with these beauties and your man will be greatly pleased. Come over and look in here at all you get with this set.”

She looked around nervously. “Well, I guess it won’t hurt to look.” She came and squat down where Richard could see down her blouse. He couldn’t force his eyes from the display of cleavage in front of him. He swallowed hard.

“What else you got in there?” she asked.

“Why don’t we take this inside where I can lay it all out?” he said to her breasts.

She shrugged. “Okay!”

Richard set the box on the kitchen table and wiped his brow. “Have you something to drink? I’m terribly thirsty.” he said.

“I have some lemonade.”

“Lemonade would be fine, thank you.” He watched her move about the kitchen with keen interest. She poured the drink and handed it to him.

“Thank you, Missy” he said, eagerly drinking it down.

She nodded. “It’s Mrs.”

He watched her over the glass. “And what might your name be?” he asked.

“Stacy,” she said bluntly.

“Stacy is a pretty name.” He finished the drink and handed her the empty glass.

“More?”

“No. No thanks.”

“So, tell me, …Rich? How much are you askin’ for this here set of pans?”

“Stacy, I can give you a real good deal on these. I’m a flexible guy and I will consider any payment you wish to offer.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Any offer?”

Richard was sweating suddenly. “Any offer!”

A smile came to her face. “I don’t have much money,”

He swallowed hard. “It wasn’t money I was thinkin’ about.”

She blushed. “Okay. You have a deal.” She nodded towards the lone bedroom. “Go on in the bedroom. I’m going to lock the door so my husband won’t surprise us.”

When she came to the bedroom door, she leaned against it, her hands held behind her. Richard was already down to his boxers. She snickered. “Rich, you don’t waste time, do you?” she said.

He just smiled and motioned for her to come to him. She walked towards him, shyly; not showing her hands; twisting like a coy little girl. He reached for her and she suddenly drew the butcher knife high above her head and jabbed it deep into his chest with savage force.

A dark figure lurked behind a tree, watching the redhead row to the middle of the flooded quarry. There, she rolled the canvas wrapped body over the side of the boat. Weighted, it sank immediately. She rowed back to shore without ceremony. The observer was careful to stay out of sight of the unsuspecting girl. Pulling the heavy garden cart she used to haul the body, she would pass within a few feet of his hiding place. When she drew near, he jumped out and grabbed her arm.

“Gottcha!” he shouted.

She shrieked and jumped back. “Goddammit Johnny, you fuckin’ jerk. You’re lucky I didn’t have my gun.”

“Hey! That’s no way to talk to your husband,” he protested.

“You asshole. When are you ever gonna grow up?. You scared the livin’ shit outa me,” she admitted

He laughed. “You shoulda seen your face. How much money did he have on him?”

“There was three hundred in his wallet and seven hundred some in the car.” She fished in her pocket and handed him the car keys. “Ditch the pots and pans and we might get a thousand outa the car.”

“Yeah? Four maybe,” he assured her.

Her eyes brightened. “Really?”

He nodded. “I’ll tell Chuck to make up a fake title for it.”

“Don’t leave ’til after dark,” she warned.

“I know what I’m doin’. I’ve done this before, ya know,” he said.

Stacy patted his face and smiled sweetly. “I know.”

They kissed and went their separate ways.

THE END

If you liked this story and you feel the poor, old author deserves compensation in his retirement for this creation, please feel free to send $1.00 to Clem Mason c/o Backwater Publishing. 66021-0213.

Please tell your friends where you found this web site.

Questions and comments are welcome. Thank you for your honesty and integrity.

DESTINY

by

Clem Mason

(age 16+)

(wc 5355)

Jacob Dunn. (Jake), 18, is about to graduate high school with a C- average and yet he will become rich beyond his wildest dreams within a month of his graduation. This is his story.

Jake is the kid that lives in the trailer park on the other side of the railroad tracks. There’s at least one in every school. They’d steal your eye teeth if they had a chance. That’s not Jake. He’s different. He is very quiet, has no friends: he’s a loner. Not being athletic at all, only 5′8″, 153 lbs., he doesn’t participate in any sports. None!

He is the youngest of seven brothers and sisters: all of whom left home between the ages of 13-16 because of their home life; because of their abusive father, Will. Will is just downright mean. Not one of them graduated high school. So Jake’s only ambition in life was to achieve that milestone, if nothing else, much to the displeasure of his father.

His mother just up and disappeared that summer when Jake was five years old. She didn’t say a word to anyone or leave a note. She just vanished. That’s when Jake gave up on life being fair. He was sure it was because of him that she left. And Will seemed to blame him also and beat him routinely when he got drunk. Jake went to school many times with a black eye or welts and bruises on his arms and back. The local Social service people came around many times and Will, being a consummate and convincing liar, could easily explain it away. He would make Jake lie; that some bully in school beat him up. Nothing was ever done and the beatings went on. Jake was in the mind set that he deserved the thrashing because it was his fault his mother left them. Jake had absolutely no self esteem whatsoever.

Graduation night was one night Jake would never forget as long as he lived. His whole life would change then. Will wouldn’t attend his son’s graduation. He said he had more important things to do. Little did Jake know what it was that was so important. He would find out in just a few hours.

Jake rode his bicycle to school and hid it in the bushes by the auditorium. However, when the ceremonies concluded, Jake found his bicycle hanging from the flag pole, it’s wheels missing. A dirty trick. So, he started walking home with his diploma in hand. He didn’t notice the car parked by the curb on that dark street. The car belonged to Jeffery Johnston, who relished in making Jake’s life miserable simply because Jake was trailer trash and a whole lot smaller than he. As he was passing a large puddle of rain water, the car roared into motion and sped through the water, sending up a huge wave of dirty rain water to soak Jake to the bone. He heard the roar of laughter as the car sped away. Just one more dirty trick.

When Jake stepped up onto the dilapidated porch at his trailer home, still dripping wet, he saw all his worldly possessions piled by the railing. The trailer was dark. Jake tried the knob but the door was locked.

“Dad, open the door.” There was no answer. He pounded on it. “Dad, you can’t do this to your own son. Open the fargging door.” There was no answer. “I don’t have no place else to go,” he moaned. “Please, dad, you can’t do this to me.” Silence. This was the dirtiest trick of all.

He started crying, giving way to the fact that he no longer had a place to live.

He gathered a few essentials into his backpack and walked away in wet and filthy clothes.

The only place he could think of to stay that was safe and dry was the bus station. Shivering, he found a bench in the darkest corner and cried himself to sleep. He felt terrible; so alone in the world. He was awakened by a hand, rubbing his leg by his crotch. When he opened his eyes, he saw an unshaven, middle aged man was rubbing his thigh. He winked and smiled. “Hey kid. You want a blow job?”

Jake yelled and jumped up. “Get away from me you goddam faggot.” He was really scared. He grabbed his backpack and ran out into the pouring rain. He ran up the sidewalk to the end of the block and stopped to look back. He couldn’t prevent it. He vomited. It wrenched his body as he gagged and heaved his guts in repulse. He slumped down on the curb and cried; the cold rain compounding his misery.

Jake stumbled in the pitch blackness under the sixth street bridge. Groping, he made his way up between the girders where it would be dry. Then he stepped on someone and he jumped back, bumping his head. The man cursed and lit a flashlight. He focused on the intruder.

“Oh! I thought you was the cops,” he said, He studied his guest a moment. “Hell, you’re just a kid. What the hell are you doing here?”
Jake shrugged. “My dad kicked me out of the house,” he said to the man behind the flashlight.

“That’s too bad, kid. Man, you’re soak’en wet, ain’t ya?” The hobo turned the light to the rolled up blanket he was using for a pillow and handed it to Jake. “Here. This’ll keep ya warm.”

Jake took it and waited. “Thank you,” he said.

The man laid back down. “You’d do the same fer me,” he said. The light went out.

Jake sat down, leaning against the girder. It was a wool blanket and it was very warm indeed. He fell asleep sitting up.

The next morning, hunger woke him up. The hobo was gone. He had left his blanket and Jake was grateful. Jake rolled it up and stuffed it into his backpack as best he could, though it was sticking way out.

He was so hungry that he felt sick, so he hurried to the alley behind Mueller’s grocery store and searched in the dumpsters for something to eat. Obviously, the trash men come during the night for the bins were empty. And they reeked really bad. Just then, the back door opened and the store manager stepped out onto the dock, squinting against the sun. He saw a dirty, disheveled youth standing by the trash bins and he watched him suspiciously. Jake walked over to the dock and looked up. “If you will give me a couple of large trash bags, Sir, I’ll pick up trash for something to eat.”

The man thought about it a moment. “Okay. I’ll get a couple of bags and you just pound on the door when you’re done.”

Jake nodded. “Thank you, Sir.”

The manager returned with a couple of large trash bags and handed them down.

It took an hour to pick up all the trash; front and back and being near starved didn’t help none, but he finally finished. He pounded on the door and waited. No one came. He pounded on the door again. No answer. Another dirty trick.

Jake walked around to the front of the store and went in. He picked up a packaged sandwich, a bottle of chocolate milk and walked out without paying. He ate in the park, not feeling the lest bit guilty.

Unlike most other young kids, Jake now had to worry where his next meal was coming from. Most don’t even give it a thought. They just assume mom is going to have supper fixed and waiting on the table when it’s time. They’re thoughtless and thankless.

He wandered the streets, thinking what his next move should be when he neared a van from Haggerty’s plumbing and electrical. The repairman watched Jake approach. When he was about to pass by, he spoke.

“Hey kid. You want a job?”

Jake stopped to look at the pop-bellied, middle aged workman wearing cover-alls.

“Doin’ what,” he asked.

“Helping me.” He pointed. “Take this house for instance. It has a crawl space that I can’t get under there so good. You’re a small, skinny kid and I’ll tell you what to do once you’re in.”

Jake eyed him suspiciously. “What’s it pay?”

He flipped his head towards the van. “You won’t be workin’ for Haggerty. You’ll be workin’ for me. I’m paying you out of my own pocket, mind you.”

“So, what does that mean?”
He cleared his throat. “It means that you’ll be doin’ all the dirty little shit jobs that I don’t like. It looks you could use some money, right? What do ya say?”
“How much it pay?”
“$25 a day.”

“Done.”

He extended his hand. “Marvin Stoddard. And you are…”

“Jake. Jake Dunn” They shook hands.

Marvin dug in the van and brought out a pair of worn, bibbed over-alls and handed them to Jake. “These are too small for me, Jake.” He shrugged. “You can keep ‘em.”

“Thanks.”

It was a very nasty job. Jake had to crawl through dust and dirt and spider webs. Across boards with nails in them. Nasty! It took three hours to finish and Jake emerged absolutely filthy. Marvin handed the owner the bill and motioned Jake to get in the truck. “Brush yourself off there, boy,” he said.

Then they stopped for lunch. Marvin shared an apple and a small bag of chips from his lunch pail because Jake had no money to buy something to eat.

The next job wasn’t so bad because Jake was the go-fer. It was a clean job site and no crawl space. Jake stood around mostly as Marvin did all the work.

Driving to the next job, Marvin asked: “So, tell me Jake, why does a young lad like you…look like you?”

Jake glanced sideways. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you look like you ain’t had a bath in weeks and you look…homeless.”
He settled back. “Well, for your information, I was kicked out of the house last night by my old man and I slept under the sixth street bridge. I’ve been drenched with muddy water, pounded with driving rain; soaked and cold. Molested by a faggot, ripped off by a store manager and probably the biggest surprise of my day will be when you ditch me on the last job today just so you won’t have to pay me.”

Marvin turned to look at Jake a long time as they set at a stop light. “All that? I mean, all that happened…last night?”
“Look…Marvin. I may be homeless. I may be dirty and I might smell bad, but I got my high school diploma, the clothes on my back and my pride…and I don’t lie.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this young Mr. Dunn,” he said, as he set the truck into motion again. “If I said I am going to pay you twenty five bucks, then that is what you will get. I am a man of honor.” He bobbed his head for emphasis and glared at Jake with piercing eyes.

“The last job will be a snap, Jake my boy.”
“Why’s that?”

“Just gotta light a water heater.”

“Why didn’t you do that first?”
Marvin blinked. “Why?”
“Because those people have been without hot water all day.”

Marvin looked astonished. “So!”

“So, it seems to me that it would be common courtesy to get them hot water where those other jobs could have waited.”
Marvin snorted. “Can you believe this? The kid’s been a plumbers helper less than a day and he’s already tellin’ me how to do my job.” He mumbled something under his breath.

They stopped at a quaint, little bungalow and got out and Marvin opened the back doors. “Bring the tool bucket,” he said, pointing.

He knocked on the door and waited. An elderly woman came to the door. She opened it just a crack. “Yes?”
Marvin looked at the ticket. “Mary O’Grady?

“Yes.”
“We’re here to light your water heater.”

“Oh. Oh yes.” She opened the door. “Come in. It’s in the basement,” she said.

Marvin rolled his eyes.

Jake smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.”

In the cellar, Marvin showed Jake how to heat the thermocouple to light the pilot. They were back up stairs in less than five minutes.

Mrs. O’Grady acted surprised. “My, that didn’t take very long.”

“Yes ma’am,” Marvin said. “That’ll be $75, please.”

Both Jake and the old woman gasped in shock. She slumped down into a chair. “Oh my. I had no idea it would be so much,” she said.

“I don’t set the rates, ma’am. I just do the work and collect the money.”

Mrs. O’Grady sat in stunned silence.

Jake poked him with his elbow. “$75? Don’t you think that’s a little steep?”

Marvin ignored him.

“We were only down there five minutes. All we did was light the hot water heater and that’s all,” Jake said, getting angry.

Marvin glared at him. “It’s not a hot water heater. It’s a water heater. If the water was already hot… Oh, never mind,” he said, waving his hand. “A service call is $75 for the first hour and then half hours after that. I can show you the break down if you’re interested.”

“But you were down there only five minutes for God’s sake,” Jake complained.

Marvin was getting pissed. His face turned red. “I can accept cash or check. I don’t do plastic. You’ll have to come to the shop if you want to pay with a card.”

She looked up, defeated. “I don’t drive and I don’t have $75.”
Marvin snorted. “Well, that’s too bad. I can’t leave here without gettin’ paid.”

Jake took ahold of Marvin’s arm. “Look, …I’ll pay for it.”
Marvin scoffed. “You don’t have any money. How the hell are you going to pay for it?”

“You said you was paying me $25 a day, right? Take it out of that.”

Marvin smirked. “That doesn’t compute, Einstein. You’re $50 short.”

“I’ll work for nothing for three days you goddam Grinch,” Jake shouted.
Marvin fell back a step. “You mean to tell me…you’re going to work for me for three days for nothing…so you can pay for a woman you just met?” he asked.
Jake nodded sharply. “You damn right I am. Can’t you tell she can’t afford it?”

“Well, that’s not my problem. And it looks to me like you can’t afford it either, Bucko.”
Jake pointed. “Like I said, I’ll work it out.”
Marvin squinted. “That means I’m going to have to pay her ticket out of my own pocket until you work off two more days. And don’t think that I’m not going to hold you to it.”

Jake mocked him. “Out of my own pocket? Oh, boo hoo! And I didn’t think of notworking it off just for your information.”
“Your ass is mine for the next two days, boy” he said, poking Jake in the chest. He turned away.

“Done.”

Marvin wheeled back around. “You’d better show up at 8:00 o’clock sharp tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.” Then he frowned. “Where?”

Marvin’s eyes narrowed. “First and Garfield; middle of the block. Be there.”

“8:00 o’clock sharp!”

“Done,” Marvin said.
Mrs. O’Grady stood as they were leaving and took ahold of Jake’s arm. “Thank you.” Tear’s came to her eyes. “God bless you, son.” She tightened her grip. “Please, come back tonight and I’ll fix you something to eat.” She smiled. “And you can take a bath too.”

It embarrassed Jake. He nodded. “I’ll be back. Thank you.” He meant it.

She reached to take his hand. “God bless you.”
Jake patted her hand. “No harm will come to you. I swear.”
She nodded. “I know.”

Marvin drove back to the shop, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it,” he kept saying. “That is the damndest thing I have seen in my life. I can’t wait to tell this to the wife.”

Jake reached over to touch Marvin’s sleeve. “”You don’t have to tell her anything. I didn’t do that to impress you…or her. It’s just..the principal of the whole thing. It seems everybody is out to screw the poor and downtrodden. I’m sick of it.”
Marvin glanced over at him. “Well, you sure made points with me kid, I’ll tell you that.”
Jake snorted. “Do you actually think I care if I made…points with you? Do ya?”
When they pulled into the back of Haggerty Inc., a slim,young, black haired beauty came out the back door to meet them. She looked to be in her mid twenties. “Dammit Marvin, you’re runnin’ me late. You’re suppose to have your paperwork in the office before four.” She looked at Jake and frowned. “Holy mother of God. Where did you get this?” Her nose wrinkled up. “My God, you smell.”

Marvin laughed. “Jake, this is Phoebe. This is Jake. He’s workin’ for me.”

Her head turned away in repulse. “You do not come in my office,” she told Jake.

Marvin laughed. “Looks like you made a good first impression, my boy.”

Jake shrugged it off but remained outside.

Mrs. O’Grady had supper waiting for him. “You can wash your hands in the deep sink in the laundry room,” she told him, pointing. “We can wash your clothes later. I’ll bet you’re hungry.”

“Starved.”

Before he sat down, Jake thanked her. “You didn’t have to do this, Mrs. O’Grady.”

“Please, call me Mary. The least I could do was offer you something to eat.”

“No, you didn’t. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate it. And out of respect, I should call you Mrs. O’Grady.”

“Respect? A boy your age? What a treasure. It would please me if you called me Mary.”

“Done.”
They shared small talk during dinner. After, Mary allowed Jake to wash all his clothes. He took a long, hot bath and wore her late husband’s bath robe while his clothes dried.

“Jake, I insist that you stay the night. I don’t want you sleeping under a bridge any more. That’s no place for a young boy to be.”
“I don’t want to put you out none.”

“Nonsense. I won’t hear of it.”
“Done,” he said. “Thank you, Mary.”

It had been raining everyday for a month now. It was looking to be the wettest June in recorded history. The river was cresting; near touching the bottom of the sixth street bridge. Marvin drove across just to see the water. The traffic was moving slow as everybody was rubber-necking. Then they saw the house floating down the river. Marvin pulled onto the sidewalk and stopped. They got out to get a close up. It was going to pass right under them. Jake thought he saw something on the house,so he leaned over the railing to get a closer look. That’s when saw the small cat, perched on the peak of the roof. It was scared to death; it’s eyes wide with fear. Jake could see it’s mouth crying for help but it couldn’t be heard. He sprang into action. Before Marvin knew what was happening, Jake had retrieved a large nylon rope from the back of the truck and tied the end to the bridge railing. Marvin grabbed for him but Jake was moving too fast. In an instant, he was over the rail and sliding down the rope towards the approaching house. The friction made his gloves hot. Marvin was yelling and cursing up a storm. Jake paid him no mind. He clung to the rope just above the roof of the house and stepped onto the roof when it passed under him. Holding on with one hand, he ran along the ridge. He knew he had only one shot at catching the cat. One shot. He focused on it and grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and pulled it up to his chest. The cat cried out in fear. The roof ran out from under him almost before his was ready. He and the cat swung gently over the raging torrent below. By this time, dozens of people were leaning over the railing, calling to him. Jake looked up and yelled. “Marvin, pull me up.”

Marvin reached over and pulled on the rope. He couldn’t budge it. “You’re too heavy. I can’t do it. Climb up yourself,” he yelled back.

“I can’t climb with one hand. Pull harder.”

Marvin shook his head. “Drop the cat and climb up. Save yourself.”