Tales From the Ashes

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...COME...SIT DOWN BESIDE ME...

...HERE BY THE CAMPFIRE...

...LET ME TELL YOU ONE...ONE OF MY...

"TALES FROM THE ASHES"

Volume One...Issue Thirteen...March 6, 2001

Published by "The Wizard of Odd"

-In STEPHEN KING'S latest non-fiction treatise "ON WRITING", he challenges the budding reader/writer to compose a short story. He sets the characters, offers some basic criteria, and sets the mood for the story. He predicts the story will "write itself". He had that right on the money. I offer for your amusement, my answer to his challenge.-

(-All items are the sole property of Wayne Brown. Use of my properties without my express written consent, is against the law!-)

"NAVIGATION BUTTONS"

2ND STORY.....GAMES.....SPONSORS.....COPYRIGHT INDICIA

"FUN WITH DICK AND JANE"

by Wayne Brown January 2001

A young, attractive woman named Jane, is married to a young, attractive man named Dick. She is extremely possessive and intensely paranoid. Some might call her a "control freak". Others would call her a "psycho-path".

Dick is a loving, caring husband who didn't know this at first.

They share a precocious 3 year-old child named Nell.

Until recently, that is...

Before they were married, Jane and Dick seemed the ideal couple. They were always arm in arm, kissing and hugging each other with wide bubbly smiles and effervescent eyes.

They were both healthy and athletic. They first met in a gym. Pumping iron and crunching abs. Running, skiing, climbing, and sexual acrobatics. He with his "six-pack" abs, and she with her "perky" breasts. No drugs here. No smoking! Maybe a glass, or two of Chardoney...

They loved the same music. POP stuff, like Barry Manilow, Air Supply, Lionel Ritchie and The Carpenters.

(Perhaps this was the root of their problem! - Author)

They dressed alike. Same color combos, pastel shades, of course. Matching jackets, sweaters, sweat-shirts, t-shirts and pajamas (...when they wore them!).

They were cute...Oh, soooo cute. A cute couple with a world just waiting to embrace their ultimate perfection. Barbie and Ken with a ready made Skipper. A world at their feet, complete with HIS and HER towels.

Then came marriage...

The first clue came after the wedding. During the reception, large and opulent, Jane became enraged when her maid of honor kissed Dick with a little more than sisterly affection. Dick acted appropriatly, and passed the slightly tipsy maiden off to his friend and co-worker Bob. He then calmed his new wife with grace, convincing her to leave early on their honeymoon cruise. Needless to say, their honeymoon wasn't.

Jane became an unmitigated asshole. She was obsessed with Dick and his time spent away from home. She insisted she went everywhere with him. If Dick sat on the couch, she sat there, too. If Dick went to the john, she went there, too. Despite her obsessive-compulsive behaviors, Dick tried desperately to keep their marriage online.

Jane promised to get some help, but nothing seemed to work. She constantly bothered Dick at the office, sometimes calling him 10-12 times a day. She rifled his briefcase when he was sleeping. She listened in on his phone calls. (Eventually, Dick removed all of the extensions in their home.) She often ransacked their bedroom, looking for evidence of an imagined tryst with various neighbors, co-workers, and relatives.

She left Nell alone in a locked car, while tailing Dick from one of his luncheons with a major investor from Taiwan. She hunted Dick from tee-to-tee during a golf game at "The Bend Of The River" Golf Resort, once again leaving the baby unattended.

While attending a convention, clear across the nation in San Diego, Dick was shocked to find Jane had arrived at his hotel, before him. He asked about Nell, and when Jane looked at him dumbfounded, he lost his cool and caused a scene...

Jane immediately became defensive, berailing him for "talking back". He eventually found that she had left the child with neighbors' she hardly knew. Fortunately, they were rational people, and were cognizant of Dick and Jane's problems.

Dick finally gave up, and sued for divorce. He gained custody of Nell, and Jane was allowed only supervised visits. She was also ordered to seek Psychiatric Counseling. She was very angry about this, and began to harass, and stalk them.

Jane was relentless with her assaults. The answering machine recorded 20-30 virulent messages a day. Dick's car had been broken into, painted with obscene graffitti, and had all four tires punctured. The mailbox was filled with human excrement. The house had been burgled, and one particular night, fourteen pizza delivery boys arrived just in time to feed the entire Fire Department, Emergency Squad, and Police force summoned by 911. She had gotten into the house that time. That was particularly bothersome.

Finally, Dick was forced to take legal action. He consulted an Attorney, and eventually got a restraining order. However, this did little to keep the obsessive Jane from harassing him.

While shopping at the mall, Jane attacked Dick from behind. She had hastily purchased a golf club at a pro shop, a nine-iron by the way, and struck him repeatedly, across his kneecaps, butt, and spinal cord, before a startled sales clerk and another female patron could wrest the weapon from her determined hands.

Dick remembered little, save her shrill, harridan screams as he lapsed into unconsciousness. Mall security had never met anyone quite like her.

Jane managed to cripple him with her ferocity. She was indicted and sentenced to four years in a state mental health facility. Dick was sentenced to life in a wheel chair.

Initially, Dick had grave problems adapting to his new lifestyle. The physicians gave him little hope of recovering the use of his legs. But he still held out. He threw himself confidantly into his daily physical therapy sessions. What the hell, Doctors had been wrong before.

Two years passed, and still Dick is confined to the chair. His bravado has been replaced with disappointment and depression. He keeps a smile for his daughter Nell, but often this simple act is forced and wanting.

Dick, now makes his living working from home, processing Medical transcripts on his PC, and writing technical reviews over the Internet. His old job as Management Consultant has managed to dry-up. The former employers' had to let him go. The wife, you know. Plus, he simply couldn't hack it anymore.

The home they now lived in, once belonged to his in-laws. Now mercifully deceased. If they had seen Jane the way she was now, it would have killed them.

One wintry, snow filled day, Dick dropped Nell off at a friend's for a welcome customary respite. He was looking forward to some personal time. He loved Nell dearly, but she could be a handful. Dick had been leaving her with his friend Eunice, for two and three day "vacations", whenever he was behind in his work, or "feeling down".

Eunice had two youngsters of her own, and seemed to enjoy playing Nell's step mother. She was so good at it, Dick had thought seriously about making it a more permanent relationship. He knew Eunice was willing, but he felt himself to be only "half-a-man", and unable to commit himself to a full relationship.

After a short "how-de-do" with Eunice, Dick wheeled himself onto the automatic hydraulic lift on the side of his customized van, and managed himself back into the vehicle. Once inside, he turned the chair to the driver's side, clamped the wheels, and drew the straps.

Turning the key, the van roared to life, stretching it's steel, aluminnum, and rubber extremities. The vehicle's radio also came to life, with desperate news...

"...three patients escaped from the Willowbrook Institution earlier today. During a routine fire drill, three unidentified residents, managed to overpower their warders and escape in the confusion. They killed one of the orderlies, and stole street clothes. Two of the inmates were immediately recaptured, but one is still on the loose..."

He immediately sensed that Jane was the successful escapee. His mind blocked out the rest. He was glad Nell was safe with Eunice.

The roads were treacherous. One of New England's notorious "Nor' Easters" had settled in for a cold winter's night. Freezing rain, black ice, sleet, all conspired to make this normally short jaunt, a long, tense potential death march.

He managed the drive with luck and caution, and finally managed to get the van into his driveway. The remote control garage door opener wouldn't work. Probably dead AAA's. The rabbit needed energizing.

Managing the wheelchair through ice and slush was a pain in the ass, but he had done it before. The wheels actually gave better traction than a pair of boots.

"Well, nobody's gonna do it for me...!" Dick turned off the van and manuevered himself to the lift. He lowered himself and with extreme difficulty made his way up the icy ramp and to the front door. After fumbling with his keys, cold fingers found and unlocked the door.

He noticed footprints in the snow. This gave him pause; finally he decided they were the mailman's.

Upon arriving home, his sense of foreboding had escalated. Immediately after entering the house, he had smelled something, but could't quite put his finger on it. Something familiar. Something...possibly dangerous.

He removed his winter clothes, and brushed the snow from the chair.

After a cursory search, wheeling himself from room to room, he decided his mind was playing tricks on him.

After the divorce from Jane, he had moved Nell downstairs into the spare room, and closed off the second floor. The den was now his bedroom and office. The now unreachable upstairs was designated to guests and storage.

Restructuring his home was nearly as complicated as revising his lifestyle. Ramps were built, of course, and doorways had to be re-framed to accommodate a fully motorized wheel chair. The doors themselves were removed in favor of curtains. They would supply some privacy, while still allowing for quick, easy egress. The bathroom required substantial changes, including heavy arm rails and "grabs", and a special seat to serve him while bathing.

He decided to make a cup of coffee. While the water boiled, he wheeled himself into the living room and tried to watch the television. A movie "Wait Until Dark" with Richard Crenna and Audrey Hepburn was advertised for a later viewing time. He had seen the film. He made a mental note to watch it again. Finding little else of interest, he set the channel for the local news. There was a teaser to the story he had first heard in the van, but nothing more. He would have to wait. A bell went off, inside his head, there was still something...

The steam kettle screamed, catching him unawares. He hurriedly wheeled himself back into the kitchen. He removed the noisy contrivance, and turned off the burner. He grabbed his extra-large, tan mug with "THE WORLD'S GREATEST DADDY", silk-screened on the side in bright red letters, and spooned two heaps of sugar and a generous dollop of Folger's Instant, into it's waiting maw.

He then grabbed the tea kettle now whispering softly on the gas range. Pouring the steaming water, he suddenly thought he heard something fall upstairs. He put the kettle down and wheeled himself to the foot of the stairwell.

He heard the noise again. Like a fallen shoe tossed from tired, aching feet.

"HELLO!?!?...Is anybody there?..." And finally..."JANE? Is that you?"

No answer. Just silence. He thought about crawling up the steps to investigate the noise. But then thought better of it. He'd be of little use slithering across carpeted floors.

He decided he'd better call someone. He wasn't quite ready for the police, but he definitely wanted to talk to someone. He wheeled himself to the front room which served as his office/study/bedroom. He reached for the phone cradled by his bed.

The line was dead. He tried again, and again. He suddenly knew she had cut the line. Damn! He knew he should have gotten that cell phone!

Dick's blood pressure was in overdrive. Adrenalin pumped furiously through his veins. He whirled the chair around the room looking for help.

He now knew Jane was upstairs and she'd be coming down soon. Coming for him, but this time he was determined to be ready.

He had never been one for guns. Having any kind of weapon in the house with Jane would have been suicide. And of course, there was Nell. Guns and children just didn't mix. Now he wished he had joined the NRA, and stocked his office with ordinance.

He ran the bottom floor layout through his furtive mind, and decided the kitchen was the most defensible.

He heard the noise again. Louder this time. It's timbre seemed deafening.

He wheeled himself to the kitchen, his mind racing with ideas. Knives, of course, but what if she had a gun? The orderly was killed, but how? Damn! If he only knew! A knife would be useless if he couldn't get close enough to use it. His mind raced with horrifying possibilities. He had to do something...

He began to fill kettles with water and setting them on "HIGH" burners.

He poured noxious cleaning fluids in strategically placed buckets and pans.

He set out his biggest knives, and inspected their useability.

He had two large cast-iron skillets which he felt might crush a skull if leveraged properly.

He spread cooking oil over the entire floor.

With a broom, he smashed all of the overhead flourescent bulbs, leaving shards of glass and darkness in the windowless kitchen.

The kitchen lights now extinguished, the two entryways were illuminated to his advantage.

Armed and ready, he heard the sound again. And from the living room he could hear the television.

"This just in...The third escapee from the Willowbrook Institution was apprehended a few moments ago in a convenience store on Broadway and Trent Avenue. He surrendered peaceably to Policewoman Janet Cole. The convenience store clerk became suspicious when the suspect began stuffing himself with ice cream bars. She immediately called the Police, who responded minutes later. The escapee cried and asked to be driven home."

Dick looked at the kitchen, and his handiwork. He dropped the broomstick to the messy floor and cried.

The noise never returned. And for that matter, neither did Jane.

(ALTERNATE ENDING)

The noise never returned, but Jane on the other hand...would always be there.

-The End-

(I have made some minor grammatical changes to the original MS. -Wayne Brown)

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" THE PACKAGE"

by Wayne Brown...December 1984

He opened the package with expectant fingers, ripping visciously through red and green, snowflake adorned filigree and cellophane, until his eyes decoded the customary Thom McCahn shoebox.

"Damn! What's the matter with her!?! She knows I'm out of work! Yet still she sends me shoes! Shoes that don't fit. Shoes that are out of style. Shoes that even a pimp wouldn't wear. I've got a closet full already. Why couldn't she send me a bottle, or cigarettes, or better yet...cash!"

He was tempted to just heave the box across the room, but desperation had the better of him. Instead his frustrated hands raked through his long red hair.

He lifted the lid from the box and stared with amazement. Within the tissue papered interior lay three life-like dolls. He tore the tissue paper from the box, hoping vainly for a hidden check. Nothing, just three apparently handmade dolls. Although, even he had to admit that their detail was remarkable. Especially the female.

"What the...!?!" He was aghast. Shoes were bad enough, but dolls! He couldn't possibly imagine what could have possessed his Mother to send him dolls for Christmas.

She knew the boat he was in. He hadn't worked in weeks. Up the creek without the proverbial paddle. The landlord hounded him daily. The phone had been disconnected, and the electric was soon to follow.

Yet she sends him dolls! His Mother who was worth probably in excess of a million bucks, and who constantly refused to help her unlucky loser of a son to a better path, had created the ultimate insult to his ego by sending him dolls for Christmas! What the hell was he supposed to do with a little girl's playthings?

He threw the offending box across the room, where it dislodged a precariously perched porcelin mermaid from a bookcase, sending it tumbling to the floor. The treasured mermaid shattered, but the dolls remained intact, though scattered from the gift box.

"DAMN!!!" He jumped up from his easy chair and rushed to the shattered figurine. It was a favored piece. A girlfriend whom he still deeply loved had given it to him on his twenty-fifth birthday.

He clutched desperately to the shattered pieces in vain hope, that some magic, some minor miracle, would make it whole again (...and so, too the relationship with his ex). A tear welled in his eye, as he realised the futility of his action, much like his continued efforts at restructuring his life.

As he knelt by the carnage, his tear-filled eyes glanced towards the fallen dolls, eventually settling on the female. She was exquisite, and she bore a remarkable resemblance to his ex-lover.

Her tiny dress was ascue and he perceived that the doll was anatomically correct. Cute.

At a closer inspection, he decided she was a dancer. He gently picked her up and stared into her lifeless eyes. There was a certain special something there. A twinkle. A sparkle, and a glow. Strange to be sure.

He then looked to the other dolls. The tallest of the three was a military man, with a chest full of medals. He was similiar to the Hasbro "G.I.Joe" figures, he had played with as a child. But that wasn't quite right. This figure was a bit too tall, and it's limbs were rigid, and lacking the articulation of the 1960's "Joe".

He sported greying hair, cut short like a Marine's, and he had deep, brown eyes. His moustaches were neatly trimmed, and his mouth slightly opened, displayed a full set of teethe, with a gold tooth thrown in for dramatic effect.

The other male doll was plump, very dark, and seemed to represent the stereotypical street life of urban America in the mid-seventies. He was gaudily attired with a purple cape, a plumed hat, and buckled shoes. He looked like a pimp.

He looked again to the female doll, and was amazed at her detail. Whomever had crafted these toys was incredibly gifted. The detail was extraordinary. The black man had an unshaven face, and his "girlfriend" displayed erect nipples, and a beauty mark on her left cheek.

As he sat admiring them, it occurred to him that such wonderfully hand-crafted playthings, would probably fetch a decent dollar at Steiner's Pawn Shop. Old man Steiner was a tough nut, but he was sure to give him something for these.

He gathered the tissue paper, re-wrapped the dolls, and placed them carefully back into the shoebox. He then took a whisk broom and cleaned up the scattered refuse from the unfortunate mermaid.

Seven-year old Cynthia McAddams eyed the beautifully wrapped package with expectant glee. Her's was a poor family, and Christmas had always been a modest affair. Macaroni and cheese with ground beef and peas, and an extra share of powdered milk had made their holiday dinner, and she and her four brothers sat in their shared bedroom listening, to her Mother and her latest boyfriend Derek, fighting over a six-pack of beer.

It never really felt like Christmas in the McAddams household, even though all around them, they could see red and green flashing lights, and expensive decorations adorning the streets and yards of their well-to-do neighbors.

From north to south, and east to west, Cynthia could see plywood Santa's and crystalline Angels adorning the porches and roofs of middle-class America. The chimes of church bells extolled the holiday of giving and glee. Salvation Army Santas' rang hand-bells vigorously, tempting the purses of guilt-ridden shoppers.

Santa Claus was everywhere, adorning shop windows, restaurants, and even parking lots. Sometimes his trusty reindeer, led by the ever vigilant "Rudolph" would be seen atop chimnied roofs. Other times he would be seen in large well-groomed front yards, frozen in time, awaiting his annual midnight tour of duty.

The water in the McAddams bathroom had frozen and the children had dirty faces and hands. Cynthia could smell her eldest brother's smell, as they huddled together for warmth, while the battle ensued in the next room. She felt safety when shielded by her brothers.

Her four brothers treasured little Cynthia, and often protected her from the likes of Derek, and the cruel children at school. They weren't up to protecting their Mother, feeling instead that she brought on a lot of what she got. She could hear her Mother scream when drunken Derek slapped her, loud enough to ring in little ears.

They couldn't afford a tree, or garish lights and tinsel, and there weren't any presents. So they were delightfully surprised when the knock came at their door. Of course, they initially thought it was just the neighbors complaining again about Derek.

When the Santa Claus person had entered the front door, Cynthia knew right away that it was someone in disguise. This person wasn't fat, didn't smoke a pipe and reminded her vaguely of Mrs. Brown from the Welfare Office. She was however, very nice and after apologizing for the lateness of the hour, and saying "Ho-Ho-Ho!" an inordinate amount of times, she gave everyone a colorfully wrapped package, and said "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!"

Derek and her Mother had calmed somewhat with the rap at the door. The red mark across Mother's cheek was explained away as an unfortunate accident with a cupboard door. Of course their cupboards were bare and the children found the excuse ironic.

The "mock-Santa" seemed a tad suspicious, but his/her real duty on this eve was to bring a modicum of joy to a needy family. Investigation into abuse would wait until Monday. At least the children seemed alright despite their poverty. Investigation into Society's neglect would wait forever.

After Santa left, the family decided to cherish each gift slowly, and open them one at a time. Seven-year old eyes waited impatiently as her brothers' opened their respective gifts. A dark blue turtleneck sweater, a copy of "David Copperfield", a Timex wrist watch, and a sketch pad and pencils. The boys were grateful and marveled at the personal attention paid to their respective wants and needs.

Finally at a nod from her Mother, and a now reluctantly sober Derek, Cynthia finally got to open her gift. The four brothers huddled around her, sharing the joy of their beloved sister. There was love in this house, but it didn't come from the parentel figures.

Opening the wondrous package, she found four dolls. One handsome soldier, one African Prince (...or so she took him to be), one lovely ballerina, and a sad, tear-filled red-headed boy. The boy became her favorite, because he reminded her so much of herself.

-The End-

(I have made some minor grammatical changes to the original MS. -Wayne Brown)

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NEXT ISSUE:

-Such a comfort in one's lonely, elder days-
"PETS: THE CARE AND FEEDING THEREOF (PART I)"
and
" "
- -

"BE SEEING YOU!!!"

"THE ARCHIVES"

"Volume No. 1...Issue 1 September 1999"

THE TAX COLLECTOR & THAT'LL BE $3.50, MAC!

"Volume No. 1...Issue 2 November 1999"

THE CRYSTAL BALLERINA & CHRIST DIED FOR HIS SINS

"Volume No. 1...Issue 3 March 2000"