The Tent

He bounced his chubby baby boy on his hip as he approached the door to his cheap apartment. The forty year old man's large glasses slid down his ebony nose and as he opened the door, his glasses fell off. His son let a cry and he comforted his child with a little bounce. "It's okay ... I just want to see who was knocking at the door." Holding his child tightly, the father bent down and picked up his glasses.

As his hands touched the plastic glasses, his skin felt a thick envelope that lay beneath his targeted item.

Quickly he slipped his glasses on and picked up a yellow envelope the size of a magazine. He took the item and his son into the apartment. The humbled chubby ebony man sat his son down on a blanket surrounded by toys. With curious eyes he opened the envelope. Inside was a sheet of paper written in almost perfect cursive and inked with a soft blue. Behind the letter was a single check, which slightly fell out with the letter as the man opened it.  On impulse, the man looked over the check.

There was no amount written on the check, just a signature at the bottom in the same handwriting and ink. The check was color sky blue with the name of the bank in the corner.

Since there was no information on the check, the man finally looked over the letter:

"Dearest John,

I do hope you remember me, but I do understand if you don't. It has been ten years since we last met, which was the only time we met.

Ten years ago, I sat in a broken car, barely starting when I needed it to. That car was my home and transportation. Yet, like most homes and vehicles, it finally died and the only thing I had was a home to rest in the twenty-four hour store parking lot I lived in. I had to walk or take the bus to work, but at least I had a place to stay in after a hard day's work.

The store manager of the store I lived in front of had my car removed one day I was at work. They took all my items from my car and threw them into a dumpster. Even though that was enough cruelty, they placed a restraining order on me.

Ten years ago to this day, I was walking on the side of the road. I felt I had lost my mind or that my soul was destroyed. I had no sense of direction and no hope. Homeless and hopeless, all I prayed for was death.

I guess I was so deep in my depressing thoughts, I did not see your truck's headlights heading my way.

There was a time I hated you for stopping that night. You could have just ended ky misery and the world's if you kept going. Thank you for not stopping, John.

I still remember when you offered me a ride, how your drunken bloodshot eyes stared at me with care. I hope you can share in my laughter when I think of how your breath smelt like a pure bottle of whiskey.

I still remember you mumbling, "I need someone to keep me straight on the road and you need a ride. Come on man."

You didn't know me and I didn't know you, but I think I had the most wonderful conversation with you than I have had in years ... In fact, will always remember our conversation that night.

You shared with me about your new wife's fit about you cheating and how she threw you out. You told me about your adventure camping out at the wilderness park that week.

I held my tongue that night, because I felt I should. You were offering me a ride and the least I could do was listen to your life's troubles.

I do not know what possessed you that night, John. At the time I didn't believe in God, so I did not know what compelled you to take me to your campsite. I don't know why you said, "Look man, if you need a place to stay, you can have this tent. The site is paid up until next weekend and I got a few cans of food in my trunk here. You can have it all because I am going home to get my woman."

I was worried for your life, I had lost my mother due to drunk driving. I tried to stop you, John, but you said something that has been a motto for the rest of my life. "You either die trying, or waste your entire life wishing you did."

I was ashamed to let you go, but you had a mission and a twiggy guy like I was could not fight off a giant like you were.

You left the cans and a pillow with me before rushing off. I slept in your tent and waited for you until I had to take the bus yo work. Luckily for me, the bus stop was close to the park you stayed in. Days passed and you never showed. I feared something happened to you. When the campsite lease came up, I packed your tent and left. For years, I felt as though I had stolen your tent, John.

So, every paycheck I received, I went back to the same tent spot, hoping you would return to get it. When the weather tore at it, I repaired it; when dirt gathered on it, I cleaned it. I love that tent, John, thank you. Working on it kept my sanity. I even drew some of my own designs to improve that tent and sent them into the manufacturer. Little did I know I would get a job designing tents ten years after I met you.

Whenever I could, I tried to look you up, John. It was not until the other day that my wife, a nurse, spoke about a woman she worked with. She told me the woman's troubles and how her husband, John Henrose, was trying to make ends met with his odd jobs. It was then when I heard of the possible future for you, your wife, ten year old son and your new baby boy.

John, you gave me home and gave me sanity. I want you to know, I have paid your rent and utilities for the next two months. I plan to do this as long as you need to stay there. The blank check you have right now is for your ten year old son, Henry. I would like you to start a college fund for him. Write out any amount you would like. The reason why I ask this is because I know you don't want your son to end like the two us, struggling or homeless.

John, if you feel the need to repay me, there is only one way. My family and I are camping this weekend, please say you and your family can join. I have the old tent set up.

Sincerely,

Mark Peltzer."

John wiped the tears from his eyes and reached into the envelope to find a road map, marking out the wilderness park the letter spoke of.

His tear filled eyes glanced to his baby boy, playing with his toys. "Want to go camping?"

Missing Count

He pulled into his reserved parking spot in his expensive black Mazda. The fortish man stepped out in snake skinned boots and adjusted his black slacks, talored fit for just him. The soft hands pulled out a suit jacket from the back of his car and he slipped it over his solid white shirt.

After grabbing his suit case and Starbucks coffee, Simon walked into the tall building made of glass.

He nodded his graying head to the security officer and stepped into the elevator that was already filled with three other people, dressed almost like him. He and the passengers landed on the fourth floor. He stepped off and entered his office across the maze of cubicals.

As he sipped his coffee and sat down in his large chair, his secretary, Mrs. Henderson, arrived with her notepad.

"Good morning sir." She said with a cheerful grin.

He smiled. "Good morning. What is on the agenda today?"

Henderson gave a shrug. "Nothing new, I suppose. You have a meeting today with the H.R person and I received an email about a new shipment."

He nodded. "Wonderful. I love talking to H.R. I guess I need to bring out the weapons for a fight." He laughed.

Henderson laughed at the man's joke and glanced to her notes. "Oh yes, an employee of our's, Jacob Mitchell hasn't showed for work for two days. No call ins or sick days."

He nodded. "Give me his number and I will call him."

Henderson's slender hands tore off a sheet of her notepad that already had a phone number written on it. "Thought of that already sir."

Simon took the piece of paper and read out the number as he dialed it on his office phone. The phone rang as he tapped his index finger on the glass desk in front of him. Finally, after four rings, a voice answered the phone.

"Hello?" Asked a shaky woman's voice.

"Yes, hello. I am trying to reach Jacob Mitchell." Simon said in a loud voice.

There was a sniff from the woman. "Who is this?"

"This is Simon Tucker, I am just wondering where he has been these last couple of days."

The woman sniffed again. "Simon Tucker? You mean, Old Ducky?"

Simon gave a confused look. "Well ... Yes. That was my nickname back in High School, but how did you know that?"

"Jake told me." The woman said, almost choking up. "I am his mother, Lisa Mitchell."

Simon glanced around the room for a moment and leaned back into his chair. "How did Jacob know my nickname? Did we go to school or something?"

The woman scoffed. "I remember you coming over to our house, Simon. You and Jacob were close friends, if I recall."

Simon rubbed his left temple with his free hand. "Jacob ... I don't remember ... Oh yes, I remember now." Simon said. "He is working here?"

Lisa choked again. "You didn't know?"

"Well, to be honest, I get a lot of people going in and out around here. It is kind of hard to keep up with the faces." Simon laughed.

"You two spent your entire life together in high school and his name never reminded you?" Lisa asked in surprise.

Simon gave a little fake laugh. "Well, I should be ashamed because I interviewed the man and never recognized him." He cleared his throat. "But, that isn't the reason why I called. He has missed a few days of work and I was wondering ..."

Lisa sniffed. "I guess it wouldn't matter to you, since you forgot all about him."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Ma'am, all I am trying to do is my job. Just have him call my office A.S.A.P. He is looking a termination notice if he doesn't."

"It doesn't matter anymore ... Jake is dead." Lisa said.

Silence fell between the two for a long moment. Simon stared through his glass door to the cubicals in shock.

"He died?" He said, in an almost whisper.

"Shot himself ... Two days ago." Lisa said near sobbing.

Simon stared down at his senior ring on his right hand. "Shot ... Himself?"

"Will that be all, Mr. Tucker?" Lisa interupted.

"Yes ... I am sorry for your loss." Simon said, but before he could finish his last word, a click was heard at the other end of the line.

Simon, shocked and speechless, leaned back into his chair and stared through the glass door at the cubicals. "Oh my God." He whispered.

Cat and Rat Chase

His scarred, second hand, boot slammed on the brake. His once very controlled mind slipped into a dream like state while driving on the busy road ways of Tyler Texas, and he did not realize that the car in front of him was slowing to a stop for a red light.

The twenty something year old man win arms covered in different tattoos, sighed and rubbed his close shaved head; his hand rolled down from the top of his head to the back of his tattooed neck. He swivled his head to give his stressed neck a small pop. As the crack of his neck was heard, he had yet another thought of the horrible day he had. 'Another day without finding a job. It's bad enough to have bills, but to have prison dues ... How could I let this happen?'

He knew very well the answer to that question, but the answer did not stop his wishing to reverse time and stop what he had done. All the trouble he had caused was finally crushing his life and there was no way out. In some way, life on the outside was more trouble than life inside an iron cage.

He had to distract his mind. He had to forget all the wishing and focus on the next goal. The calous hand turned on the radio. He hoped to find some comfortable rock music, but instead received a news report. He gave another sigh to disappointment as he listened to the radio report while rolling his eyes.

"News is circling around this supposed child murder. I think it is horrible, Jerry, that some sadistic nut out there is collecting children and doing the most horrible things to them."

"I know, Vic. You know that I have three daughters of my own and hearing this news about that Miller girl who was raped and mutelated, and she was only thirteen! I just can't bare the thought of getting a call from the police ... I just can't think about it."

The traffic light turned green, but the white van in front of the young man still sat in the exact same spot. He rolled his eyes and grunted. "Come on." He murmered to himself. His hand gently laid on the horn. "Come on!"

There was nothing surprising about the van; it was just a normal looking white service van with two back doors with light tinted back windows. The van bounced slightly as though the driver was moving around.

He sighed and waved his hand outside his already opened window while laying on the horn even harder. "Come on, man! We don't have all day!"

It was then that he caught some movement in the back of the van. A small, child-like, hand covered in blood slammed its palm on the window! Quickly, the face of a young girl appeared and leaned into the glass wall of the window! Her face was covered in blood and her blonde hair was soaked with either paint or motor oil!

He sat back into his seat with wide eyes; the sight caught him off guard. He stared at the girl as though she was a phantom vapor that appeared right in front of him.

She was crying and her dried lips mouthed out the words, "Help." She seemed weak, but was willing to fight to send out the message.

The man closed his eyes once and then opened them only a half second. Once he opened his eyes, the van was speeding along as though nothing happened. The face was gone, but the little girl's bloody hand print was still statined on the window.

The young man swallowed hard and shook his head. Cars honked loudly behind him and curse words flew through the air towards his open window. He threw his boot back down on the gas pedal and sped forward.

His mind searched for the right answer to all the questions that entered his mind. Was he crazy? If there was someone in the back of that van, what should he do? What is the first thing to do in a situation like this one?

The radio started to blare heavy rock music as struggled to pull his cheap cell phone from his pocket. While holding the cell phone, he placed his hand on the top of the steering wheel as he dialed the legendary numbers he thought, out of all people, would not dial. His thumb hit send and he quickly held the phone to his ear. A high pitched voice was heard on the other end of the line: "Hello, 911, what is your emergency?"

The young man kept his blue eyes on the back end of the van, which was only an inch away from his fender. "Yeah, there is this white van .... I think I just saw a kid in the back of it ... she is covered in blood and ... and ... I think she was abducted or something!" He stammered over his words, but he knew which ones to get out.

The high pitched voice on the other end started to whine in. "Sir, you need to calm down. What is your name?"

His first rule was going to be broken, don't tell your real name to the cops. "Ethan Blake. I'm on highway ..." He quickly turned his eyes to the street sign speeding past him. "... 64." His eyes darted to the lisences plate on the back end of the van. "The plate number is I V 5 0 8 Y ... I as in Ivan, V as in ... Van, 5 0 8, Y as in Yield!" He may have not have been the police officer that his parents always wanted him to be, but he knew what the police looked for and knew how to avoid all their tatics.

After reading off the plate numbers, his eyes darted to the stained window. The hand print sat there begging him to help.

The high pitched voice cut into his eardrum through his phone. "We are sending out some law enforcement. Please stay away from the vehicle." The line was then ended.

He pulled the phone away and looked at the screen. "Are you serious? You just hang up like that? Who the hell does that?"

He continued to drive behind the van, disobeying the high pitched voice. It could have been his past with the law, or it could have been his inner rebel, but Blake had little trust for police officers. "By the time they get out of a donut shop, this guy will be long gone." He knew what his next goal was: follow the van until he found a moment to stop it."

As he continued to follow the van, Blake decided to dial another number on his cell phone. He searched through the contacts to find a name, Bat. He selected the name and held the phone to his ear.

The phone rang a few times before the scratchy voice of deep voiced man was heard. "Rat? Is that you? When did you get out?"

"No time for that, Bat, I need your help. I'm trailing this guy and ..."

"Oh god, not another job. Dude, what did I tell you? I nearly got time for that last one."

"This isn't a job, you idiot, I think this guy in front of me kidnapped a kid ... she is covered in blood man!"

"Are you serious? Because you sound serious."

"I am very serious, Bat! I need your help!"

"If you are serious, then why don't you call the cops?"

"I did, and we all know how fast they work! I am currently right behind this guy and I know that I can stop him." He looked around the busy street with worried eyes. "I'm just waiting for a chance to do so."

"Well, what do you want me to do?"

"Look up his plate number and tell me something about this van."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

Blake sighed. "Look man, you owe me one! I took the fall for the entire team, so the least you can do is look up one little plate number."

"Alright! Alright, I'll do it." The sound of a key board filled the phone's speaker. "What is the number."

Blake repeated the number to the man named Bat.

The key board sounded again, like plastic chimes of aide. "Okay, the van is issued to a nursing home, New Hope Nursing to be exact. I am looking up the car insurance on the vehicle."

Blake widened his eyes on the window. "Hold on." He whispered to the little girl to give some sort of hope to either himself or her.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. Did you find anything?"

"The van's insurance only has three drivers issued to it. Grant Harris. Edward Lewis and Mathew Willard."

"Any OnStar accounts or anything on it that we could track?"

"None that I can see on the charts. This is serious isn't it?"

"Thanks Bat, I'll call you later." With ease, he hit the end call button and narrowed his vision on the van. The back of his head read out maps of the highways of the city and he knew very well that they soon were going to be out of town and into the country. He needed to do something and something quick.

His eyes lit up with an idea. His thumbs scrolled through the names on his cell phone to find another contact: Detective Robert Sharp.

He held the phone to his ear, now realizing that he must be crazy to call the very same detective that arrested him.

"Detective Sharp." Answered a very gruff voice.

"Sharp, this is Blake, I am in a sticky situation ..."

"Blake? Ethan Blake? Why are you calling my phone?"

"Listen you idiot! I am following a van that has a kid covered in blood in the back seat."

"Oh ... let me guess, you want me to track it down?" Sharp said in a sarcastic voice.

"Yeah!"

"While you take care of another job?"

"What?" He felt his heart beat harder in his chest with anger. "No!"

"Kinda like when you sent me and my team on a goose chase to find a mysterious black van while you were holding up the National Bank?"

"No! Sharp this is ..."

"Or the time you made a fake notion of a bomb threat in a school to buy time in that jewlery store?"

"Robert! I know I did those things, but I need you to listen to me now! This is serious!" His face twisted with rage.

"So, I take it that you were that caller earlier?"

"Yeah ... I was." He said, fearing what Sharp was about to say.

"Good to know. Thanks for calling." The line ended.

Even though the phone was silent, Blake held the phone to his ear with rage on his face. All of his crimes ... All of his lies were going to kill a little girl. Her only hope resided in the people that he once ran from and now they were not going to help her only because of his mis-leading past.

His mind began to drift, trying to search for a new answer. He was too busy searching for the right answers that he did not notice the van's stop lights light up. He did not sense the van slowing harshly to a stop! Without any chance to react, Blake's car slammed right into the rear end of the van! Blake flew forward, his cell phone flew out of his hands, his head smacked against the steering wheel! In the sudden rush, Blake's air bag deployed and slammed against his face! Dust flew from the deployed safety bag! He felt his collar bone shatter against the seat belt! The car spun out of control and slid into the parking lot of a bank!

After a moment of his daze and haze, Blake lifted his crashed head out of the safety bag and rolled around. He moaned as he tasted the blood running out of his broken nose. He was seeing double. Blake slowly turned to see the van's tires squeel. Smoke flew into the air behind the van as it spun away. As Blake saw the blurry van fly away, he saw one last glimps of the little girl's face in the back window. Just a white face covered in blood and filled with fear.

His hand felt for the car door handle and pulled on it. The door hestitantly opened. He unbuckled his seat belt and rolled out onto the concrete ground of the parking lot. He felt the sheering pain of his shattered collar bone. He groaned in pain as he laid on the ground. "Come on Rat! Come ... on." He encouraged himself. With great motivation, Blake pushed himself up to his staggering feet and leaned against his ruined car.

He looked around at the front doors of the bank. People stood in a daze, staring at him as though he were an alien. He tried to ask for their help, but all that came out of his mouth was murmmering. He turned and pointed to the van, which was now turning into just a white blimish on the road. It was that sudden moment that Blake realized that time was running out. His hazy mind searched for an answer. It could have been the blow he recieved to his head, or it could have been the pressure of the ticking clock, but Blake's mind ran to the only thing he knew how to do ... the only thing he was good at.

He turned to the inside of his car and saw his cell phone laying on the floor board. His shaking hand grabbed the phone and he charged towards the front of the parking lot. His eyes spotted a red brand new Dodge Charger sitting in the reserved parking spot for the president of the bank. He ran over to the driver's side of the car. His hands quickly removed his belt. Using his belt like a whip, the experienced car thief slammed the belt buckle into the glass window of the car, causing the wall of glass to shatter. The car alarm buzzed loudly. He reached inside and unlocked the car doors while he threw the belt to the side.

Once inside the car, he looked up to the rear view mirror. There, sitting on the side, was the blue OnStar button that he once longed to never see. He immediatly jumped into the glass covered seat and went to work on the wires under the steering wheel. True, he had never stolen a Charger before, but to his mind, every car was the same.

He rubbed the two wires together; with a spark the car engine roared alive. He closed the car door and slammed the gear into reverse. He was slightly amazed that the same people that saw him crash were still watching him as he stole a car right in front of them.

He pushed the gear into drive and slammed his work boot onto the gas pedal. He zoomed in and out of traffic wildly trying to find the trail of the van. Finally, he saw the van turn off the highway loop and onto another highway leading out of town. Without signaling, Blake turned onto the road and sped up to meet the back end of the dented van. The hand print waved to him to return.

He pulled up his cell phone with a slight grin. His fingers searched the contacts to find the sarcastic detective's number. He hit send as he sped up to ninety miles. He held the phone to his ear.

"Detective Sharp."

"Hey Sharp."

"Blake? Is that you again? What do you want this time?"

"I just stole a Dodge Charger with OnStar plugged in. It is the National Bank president's car. Maybe I am lying, and maybe ... just maybe I am telling the truth for once in my life. Either way, I can garuntee that if you trace this OnStar account, you will find that the car is indeed stolen and you can find it."

"Jesus, Blake. What the hell are you talking about?"

Blake drove into the second lane beside the van and sped faster, pushing the car to full speed. "I know you and I have been playing this cat and mouse game for years and I have pulled some major shit in my day, but out of all I have done ... Out of all things I stole, there is one rule I do not take for granted ..."

He sped past the van, giving himself and the van five miles apart. Once he saw this space, Blake quickly turned the car to face the van. He slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.

The van's driver swerved to miss him, but Blake swerved to get back in front of him. Back and forth the two vehicles danced.

"... The one thing I would never do is harm an innocent life. You and I both know that. Track the car. We are on highway 110. You might want to get here as soon as possible and bring some medical aid ..." His conversation was cut off as the two vehicles collided into a whirlwind of glass, metal and smoke! Blake slammed his head against the steering wheel as the car's rear lifted into the air! All went black.

The smell of medical drugs and alcohol made Blake open his blury eyes. He could not move his head or neck due to a neck brace. He looked up to the ceiling of an ambulance van. He licked his blood covered lips and looked out of the corner of his eye to see an ambulance medic sitting beside him, checking on the I.V drip that was hooking into his right tattooed arm.

He slowly turned his attention to the other side of him. There, laying on another gurney like his was a thirteen year old girl. Her mouth and nose was covered by a plastic breathing mask and her arms were wrapped in gause. Her blonde hair was still covered in some sort of black liquid. She was looking at him with weak blue eyes. Even though there was fog covering the mask from her breath, Blake could see a faint smile on her face.

He gave a weak corner grin. "What ... What is you name?"

She said something, but Blake could not hear.

"What?" He asked.

She slowly lifted her left wrapped arm and removed the mask. She was truly a beautiful girl. Her skin was fair and even though her lips were white and dry, Blake could see that they were full. "Catylin. My name is Catylin." She said in a sweet weak voice.

I Can't Read Your Mind!

"This is a government project." Stated an elderly gent dressed in a black suit that was covered with a white lab coat. His short, stocky build walked gracefully back and forth as he spoke with a gruff voice. "So, I don't have to express how serious it is to keep silent about it." He removed his round glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "This is the reason why we haven't given our names and why we do not know yours." He replaced his glasses and flashed a grin before returning to a scowl. "You may call me, Dr. Suess. That is, of course, a code name."

Sitting before him, in the solid white tiled room, was a long white table. Behind the table were three young men; all of the age range between twenty and twenty-nine. They sat dressed in solid white pajamas and on each one's shirt was a large blue letter of the alphabet.

Dr. Suess pointed to the man with the large blue "A" on his chest. This young man was black with a rough shaved head. His calm, gentle face held a well trimmed beard and his build was very thin.

"Your code name is Cat in the hat." Dr. Suess said before moving to the man with the letter "B" on his chest.

This young man was short and plump with a large round head. Even though his eyes were a bright blue and seemed very gentle, they were shrank back and small. His blond eyebrows sat over his eyes like a scowl and his long blond hair sat on his large shoulders.

"The Grinch." Dr. Suess said, trying to hold back a smile.

Finally, Dr. Suess stopped his short finger at the last young man who had his head shaved and around the bald head was a fresh tattoo of a dragon. His snubbed nose held piercings and his ears were stretched by the large lobe earrings he had. His eyes were dark and almost frightening.

"Thing One." The tired doctor said.

Thing One smirked. "Wasn't there two?"

"What?" Dr. Suess asked.

The other two young men leaned forward to listen to Thing One.

Thing One sighed. "There was Thing One and Thing Two in Cat in the Hat."

Dr. Suess waved his hand and reached into his left lab coat pocket. "I never read children's books." He pulled out three very small plastic boxes colored green. "Okay, now. These are the tablets. Chew them slowly and we can move on."

As Dr. Suess sat down each box in front of the contestants, Thing One looked at his box and curled his upper lip.

"What is it?" He asked.

Dr. Suess stood infront of Cat in the Hat and shoved his hands into his pockets after sitting down the last box. "Well, they are a ... Well, I guess I should put them in lame man's terms, correct?"

The Grinch nodded. "Yeah, that would be great. I couldn't understand that pamplet you gave us earlier."

Dr. Suess started to pace slowly in front of the table. "They are a drug, designed to open a new path way into the communication portion of your brain. It will give you extra sensory perception and could cause you to ... Well, to read minds."

Cat in the Hat nodded. "Okay, but ... What are the side effects?"

Dr. Suess shrugged and gave a frown. "That is what we are here to find out."

Thing One opened his box and saw a small round pink chewable tablet. He paused for a moment and slid it out of the box into his right hand.

Dr. Suess held up a finger to the young man. "Not yet, Thing One. I have to verify that everyone is here on their own free will."

Thing One smirked. "I thought that was that booklet of papers we had to sign to get into here?"

Dr. Suess nodded and then pointed his thumb to his back, towards a large camera hanging across another camera; each hung from a stand in the corner of the ceiling.

"Yes, but the camera hasn't seen the booklet, as you call it." He cleared his throat. "Please state for the camera that you are here of your own free will and that you will keep your discretion of this project."

The three agreed. Dr. Suess nodded.

"Go ahead and chew your pills. Good luck and God speed, gentlemen." Dr. Suess said as he used the door at the back end of the room as an exit.

Thing One chewed on his pill. "Whatever gets me paid."

The Grinch gave a snicker as the pill dissolved in his mouth.

Cat in the Hat licked his lips as he finished his pill. "I hope this shit doesn't make your dick fall off."

The Grinch darted a beady eye glare at the Cat. "What did you say?"

The Cat in the Hat looked at The Grinch in confusion. "I didn't say anything."

"You said that you hope this doesn't make your dick fall off. Is ... Is that going to happen?" The Grinch asked with fear on his round face.

The Cat in the Hat widened his eyes at The Grinch. "I was thinking it, but I didn't say it." He shifted his chair around to face The Grinch. "Okay, I want to try something. I am going to close my lips and think of something. You tell me word for word what I am saying." The Cat closed his mouth and stared into the small eyes of The Grinch. "You are a fat bastard."

The Grinch smirked. "You just called me a fat bastard."

The Cat in the Hat shook his head and gave a confused smile. "No I didn't, I was thinking of that line from Clerks."

"You heard that?" Thing One asked.

The Grinch and The Cat in the Hat darted a quick look to Thing One, who was shocked.

"I didn't think it would work, so I thought it." Thing One stammered.

The Cat in the Hat jumped out of his chair and pulled his seat across the room. "Come on, let's put our chairs were we can look at each other and try this out."

The other two agreed and suddenly the three were sitting in a triangle, facing each other. Each with lips tight and eyes wide.

"If this works, I bet I can get laid all the time." Thought The Grinch.

Both The Cat in the Hat and Thing One leaned back into their chairs with wide eyes.

"Whoa!" Exclaimed a thought from one.

"Damn!" Shouted another thought of another.

"This beats texting." Thought The Cat in the Hat.

Before long, the three were thinking thoughts like, "Dude," and "This is amazing."

"We kick the shit out of Carrie right now!" The Cat in the Hat thought while laughing.

Thing One smirked. "She had telekinisis, not telepathic powers." "Stupid nigger."

The Grinch looked at Thing One with small shocked eyes. "Did he say ... Think what I thought I just heard?"

"He certainly did, stupid ass racist white boy!" The Cat in the Hat thought with anger on his face.

Thing One held up his hands. "Whoa! Calm down. It just slipped out."

"And I am pretty sure you used that same excuse explaining to your dad why you fucked your mother." "Redneck white trash." Said and thought by The Cat in the Hat.

"Damn." The Grinch thought when he saw the angry glare in Thing One's eyes.

"Why you getting all bent out of shape over one word?" Thing One asked in his mind.

"You thought it...Which means that is what you were thinking about when we first met." Thought The Cat in the Hat. "You started out with calling fatso fat bastard."

The Grinch pouted. "Don't bring me into this."

"Sorry man, that just ..."

"Slipped out?" Thing One asked.

"No one is talking to you, racist." The Cat in the Hat growled.

"Oh, okay. So I can't think nigger, but you can call someone fat? It is still offensive." Thing One shouted.

As the fight between Thing One and The Cat in the Hat, inside a control room just on the other side of the white tiled room, Dr. Suess and a young woman in a fellow lab coat sat in front of three televsion monitors. The screens held the images of the three yelling at each other.

Dr. Suess cleaned his glasses with a white cloth. He sniffed. "And that is why it is not ready for public use."

The woman chewed on her pen. "I don't get it ... The rats took to it well."

Dr. Suess replaced his glasses and sighed. "Ah yes, but man is all together a different creature."

"I wonder if she is wearing that black thong I saw yesterday?"

The woman darted her glare at Dr. Suess. "What?"

The Hunt

My legs were tired of running. I had to stop. My lungs felt like they were covered in ice. I could not help the pain that was growing in my stomach. I reached out for the tree and leaned my body weight forward, but I missed the target and my face landed into a patch of leaves.

I knew I should have kept running; I should have kept moving, but instead, I just laid in the pile of leaves. I am uncertain what my mind was thinking at the moment. I think, at least what I think, my mind was telling me that I should just lay in the pile of leaves and wait for Them to come. Perhaps, my mind wanted us to be caught at the other end of that double barrel shot gun. Maybe it was a form of poetic justice or something.

I heard the howl of the hound dogs and felt my limbs gain strength again. I pushed myself back onto my feet and I darted further into the forest. Even though I have spent many years walking this forest, I had no sense of direction. I was like a wild animal, being hunted for my hide. As I kept running, I felt as though the trees were turning against me. These trees, my old childhood friends, gave me protection at one time, but now they were clawing at my naked human flesh with their crooked branches.

The horses hooves were louder and I knew they were getting closer. The faster I ran, the closer they came. Part of my mind wanted to forget about all the wide eyed nightmares of what They would do to me. It did not want to think of Them sending their dogs on me only to drag me back to their work house to cut off my head and stuff it. Yet, the other part of my mind wanted to hold onto that nightmare as fuel for my body to push onward into the night. These portions of my mind fought over themselves trying to dominate over another, but would seize the battle all together once the sound of the hooves got closer.

I stumbled over a rock and fell into a cold pond. They were sure to find me now; the splash of my body against the water cause and echo through the woods. Damn the woods for giving away my position. I could not allow my damnation to stop me. I swung my arms and legs to swim through the small mass of water to reach the other side of the bank. As I reached the other side of the muddy soil, I heard the sniffing of the dogs. They were hot on my trail!

My ears twitched to the horn that sounded throughout the dark, wooden abyss like the horn of an archangel from the book of Revelation. Death was approaching, chasing me with guns, dogs and horns. That very same sound forced my bare feet to run into a clearing lit up by the pale full moon that hung over head. I stumbled for only a moment, but gained my footing to continue my journey.

As I neared the middle of the clearing, I heard the shot and felt the awful pain in my left leg. I fell hard onto the grassy ground. I groaned as I held my leg and felt the warm blood leak through my fingers. Without food in my stomach and fright already in my throat, shock quickly set in and my body went cold. My vision went static and a loud ringing was all I heard.

I did not hear the hooves nearing my location ...

I did not hear the growling of the hound dogs ...

I did not hear the sound of heavy leather boots landing next to my head ...

All I could do was stare up at my hunters with wild eyes.

He stared down at me, his nocturnal eyes glistened at me. His long nose twitched and his red furry tale fluttered at my presence. The red hunting jacket blended well with his red fur and the white riding pants were stained with mud. His slim black paws held the long double barreled shot gun at my torso. Then ... He fired another shot.

My throat gurgled with blood and spit. My mouth tasted like battery acid. My eyes rolled as I tried to keep my sanity. I felt a thick rope was tied around my ankles. Before I was hoisted up onto the horse, I went blank. My mind went black.

Now?

Now, I rest on the mantle ... A stuffed head of a human among many in a Fox's trophy room.

The Right Thing

The Right Thing.

It was late in the evening when the four stroke the first ball into the pocket of the expensive looking billard table.

"Anyone ready for mid-terms?" Asked Marcus, a young man with long brunett hair, styled like the male models he had seen in the magazines. His grey V-neck t-shirt was stretched tight across his thick chest.

Willy, the young nerd of the group snickered and adjusted his name brand, perscription glasses. "I know you guys aren't."

Jake, dressed in his usual button up black shirt and slacks that ran down to his flip-flops, ran his hand over his close shaved head. "I've got some guys working on my paper as we speak."

The Asian American, Steve, gave a smirk as he adjusted his overly large gold watch. "Seems like cheating to me."

Willy smacked a solid red ball into a corner pocket. "It isn't cheating, if you pay for their services."

Jake sipped from his bottle neck beer bottle. "The point is, I am ready for mid-terms."

As Steve gave a scoff, a loud bang was heard down stairs. The four looked at each other in confusion.

"What was that?" Marcus asked.

Jake shrugged. "I dunno, maybe something fell."

Willy nodded. "And we are going to just stand here like we didn't hear it?"

Jake gave a grin to Willy. "It might be that stupid maid we have."

Steve shook his head. "I didn't see her stumbling around earlier."

Jake gave a sigh and sat his beer down on the edge of the billard table. "I'll take a look." He grunted as his flip-flops flapped against his feet and left the large game room through the wooden swinging door.

Marcus looked down at the table. "Whose shot is it?"

Steve raised his left hand and readied his cue stick. "Mine."

As Steve aimed his stanze and stick towards his targeted ball, another loud banging sound was heard followed by a loud grunt.

Steve let his arm fly in and the tip of the stick missed the ball. "What the hell was that?"

Marcus looked at the swinging door and slowly walked over to it on his bare feet. "Jake! Man, you okay?!"

There was no answer. The three took turns looking at each other in both confusion and slight fear before a loud scream was heard from a male's vocal cords.

Marcus jumped back from the door with wide eyes. "What the...?"

Willy dropped his pull cue as his glasses slid down his nose. "Jake?!"

Steve, cue stick in hand, charged passed the frozen Marcus and pushed through the swinging door.

The next room was very large and tall. The door lead into the sitting room designed to look like it came from some British manor, only the appliances were modern along with four different game systems and an overly large flat panel television. This room was dark and the only light was from the half moon that gave light through the windows on the other side of the room.

Steve looked around the dark room, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. "Jake?!"

The lights in the room flickered on and Willy walked up behind Steve with a worried look on his face. "You're brave, stumbling into the darkness for your friend."

"Shut up man." Steve said, trying to listen for any other sounds.

Willy walked passed Steve to a large stair case that led downstairs. "Maybe he is down here? Jake!" As Willy called out, he turned on the lights that hung over the small hallway that followed the stairs.

The lights beamed down on the well polished stairs. Yet, as the lights exposed the stairs leading down into another dark room, Willy's eyes caught sight of large puddles of dark red liquid.

Steve soon joined behind Willy and followed his friend's gaze downward to the shimmering liquid. "Blood?"

Willy slowly shook his head, eyes still glued to the patches of red liquid. "No ... No way."

Careful not to step into the liquid, Steve and Willy walked down the stairs into a dark parlor that spread over the lower floor of the large house.

Steve frantically searched for a light switch on the wall next to him. Willy walked forward and pulled out his cell phone to shoot a dim blue light into the thick darkness surrounding them.

"Where are you going?" Steve asked, still searching for a light.

"Jake is just messing with us, man. Get over it." He forced a smile on his face. "We are not scared, Jacob!" He taunted. "Just jump out and get it over with."

The dark room lay still, like a tomb.

Willy swallowed hard. "Find that light switch yet?"

"I am trying."

As Willy flashed the light from his lit cell screen, he passed the dim blue beam over large antique looking furniture and well designed art pieces. He carefully walked over the large throw rug laying on the floor, trying to keep his steps quiet. Back and forth, Willy passed his dim light through the darkness until he stopped on a figure standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

The figure was short and small, like a ten year old boy. Covering the boy's torso was a large black hoodie and a pair of black skinny jeans sat on his thin legs. A pair of large, military like, boots sat on his feet. The boy's hands were held behind his back and he held his hood covered head down to a point that Willy could not see his face.

Willy stopped as he stared fearfully at the little figure. "Hell ... Hello?" He swallowed hard. "Shit." He whispered.

"What is it?!" Steve yelled.

"It's a ..." Willy started in a shaky voice.

As Willy tried to describe the boy in front of him, he stared in horror as the boy lifted his head and let out a shrill screetch! Willy opened his mouth wide and stumbled backwards. "Oh my God!"

Willy stumbled backwards and dropped his phone, his only source of light. He ran forward, but bumped right into an antique table. Quickly, Willy fell onto the dark floor, knocking his glasses off his face. The air ran out of his lungs as his stomach fell onto the floor with a loud thud.

Without warning, Willy felt someone jump onto his back! "No ... NO!" Willy screamed as a the sound of his shirt tearing filled the air!

Steve seized his search for the light and stared blankly into the darkness. "Willy?" He whispered as his friend screams sliced through the darkness. With fear beating his heart loudly, Steve stumbled up the stairs and into the lit sitting room. He passed through the room, his sneakers squeeked on the hard wood floor as he sped by. The young man slammed into the swinging door and landed on the floor.

"What the fuck is going on?" Marcus asked, standing in the corner of the room with a billard cue stick held over his chest for protection.

Steve struggled onto his thin legs. "I don't know ... I .. I ... Willy ..." Steve stammered and heaved.

Before the two could make any conclusion, the swinging door waved open only once and a round object flew through the air, slammed onto the floor and rolled next to Steve's feet.

Steve looked down at the object and leaped into the air. "Oh shit!"

It was the severed, bloody head of Jake, laying on the floor; blood ran out of the crudely cut neck and the dead man's face was twisted in horror among large scratches made into his flesh.

Marcus let out a cry as tears rolled down his cheeks. "What the fuck, man?!"

Steve leaned his back flat against the wall as his dark eyes stared down at the severed head of his friend. His lips quivered and sweat poured down his neck.

The lights began to flicker as the swinging door opened very slowly. Standing in the doorway was the little boy, head lowered, hands held behind his back and hood covering his head.

Marcus sniffed as drool ran down the corners of his mouth. "Go away!"

The boy slowly lifted his head and then ... The lights flickered off. The room was filled with nothing but total darkness. Steve and Marcus heaved and puffed.

Marcus sobbed. "Oh ... Shit."

A loud, screetch was sounded followed by the sound of flesh tearing and blood curdling screams! As swift as the terrible sounds occured, that stopped with the final gurgling coming from Steve's throat.

The lights flickered off and on once more.

Marcus was laying on a blood covered billard table. His face had been smashed in and his eyes were swollen out of his skull. His limp arms sat over the sides of the table and his own blood dripped from his finger tips.

Steve, half of his torso laid flat on the floor while the other half was missing. With his intestines dragging the floor and leaving a large trail of blood, Steve's upper half tried to crawl across the floor. Blood ran down the corners of his mouth as he coughed.

Standing before him was the little boy, arms folded behind him and head lowered. His head twitched quickly from side to side as Steve continued to crawl to his feet. He bent his knees and squatted down to look at Steve. His head continued to twitch and the sound of chirping escaped his hood covered face.

Steve looked up at the boy with rolling eyes. He tried to speak, but the only sound that came out was a clicking sound.

The boy twitched his head and reached into his hoodie front pocket. From the pocket, the boy pulled out a news paper clipping. The boy's hands were small, with long talons and covered with black feathers. The feathered hand held the paper clipping in front of Steve's rolling eyes.

The clipping held the black and white picture of a young girl, no older than sixteen. Beside her face were large bold letters: "Victim's Body Found Near River." Underneath were smaller bold printed letters: "Brother's Body Still Not Found."

The boy made a clicking sound as he twitched his head. "Sister." He said in a high pitch voice and made a chirping sound as he quickly shifted his head side to side. "Her last words were ... Do the right thing." He made a clicking sound and screetched. "She begged this of you ..."

The Crawling

The Crawling

There has always been something haunting me. Ever since I was a little girl, it has followed me; for twenty years I heard its claws tap on the floors, following close behind. I have never seen its true form, just always a dark shadow like figure. I know, or believe, that it crawls on all fours and has skinny legs. It moves like that of a cat, but if it walks slowly, I can see an image of a Geraff. I have never seen its head clearly, but I know it is small, smaller than any head I have seen before on a shadow like animal ... At least, I call it an animal. Its movements remind me of an animal, walking across the floor, but there is something about the strange shadow that reminds me of a human. Like a human child crawling across the floor, hiding from my vision.

I remember the first day I saw this ... Thing. I sat up in my bed, feeling protection from my pink pony nightlight that gave off a bright strong pink light. It sat, deep within my closet, amongst the darkness and clothing. I could see its frame, huddled down and staring at me with those strange blue orbs that were supposed to be its eyes. To this day, I am not certain if it was me or this thing, but one of us was breathing heavily. It might have been both. Perhaps, the creature and I were both scared of each other and did not know how to respond to one another.

I learned how to ignore it in my teen years, after spending so much time at a therapist's office. It was the constant threats of sending me away from my family and friends to a mental hospital that forced me to forget it. It wasn't hard; the creature only followed me and scampered away when I tried to look at it. There was no threat from the creature ... At least, not at that time.

When I left for college, the creature followed close behind. It was always there and its presence was getting stronger. I started to loose great amount of time, like my memory was erased or something, like I forgot something. There were times that I awoke in another portion of town without any logic as to how I ended up there. Then, items from my dorm started to go missing. At first, I thought it was prank caused by my dormmate, but when her own personal items went missing, I knew it was something else.

I did end up finding our things ... In my closet. They were hidden away in a box. Even though this was disturbing to me, what really disturbed me and I swore never to show anyone, was the other items I found in the box. Pictures ... Drawings, like how a child would draw, were found in the box. Each picture was of me and this little thing following me around.

For a long time, this thing started to haunt my sleep. It would sit beside my bed when my eyes would closed. I knew it was there, because I could hear the breathing and felt the cold presence of the creature. If it wasn't near my bedside, I could hear it crawling throughout the house. I can hear its claws tap on the floor now.

As far as help, I only did my own research about this thing. I never spoke of it around other people, because I knew it all sounded too crazy. I think there was a part of me that didn't want to think of it as reality. My only savior was my husband, who distracted me from the creature. I eventually told him of the thing and he gave his assurance that nothing was going to happen.

I guess the shadow didn't like him too much ... Bad things started to happen.

After that night, when he told me he would protect me from the creature, he started to get scratches across his face, then his back. These were not simple cat scratches, they were deeper and more demonic looking. This horrible thing happened to Thomas for about three months and then ... I was alone.

I awoke one morning after the three months and found that he wasn't laying beside me anymore. I called his work, but they said he was no where to be seen. His car was still left in the driveway and his clothes were still in the closet. Two days passed and I placed a missing person's report in to the police station.

Three years passed ...

During those three years, I never heard a peep out of the creature. There was no more scratching. No more stealing. No more missing time and there was no more crawling. A few weeks after Thomas disappeared, I found out that I was pregnant with his child. I faced the fear of raising a child ... Alone.

On the third year, I realized that Thomas was never going to return to hold his daughter. Everytime I look into her eyes, I think of him.

Last night, I watched my little golden haired child sleep in her bed. Her thumb was stuck halfway in her mouth and the pink pony night light that I use to own sat on her night stand next to her bed. I stood at her doorway, watching her sleep deeply.

My eyes slowly fell down to some movement under her bed ... And ... The blue orbs stared at me, watching me ... Waiting for me to leave.