#Fridayflash~ Thor's Hammer

THOR'S HAMMER


The three children floated on their raft in Diablo’s pond. Meaghan, usually boisterous, was quiet today. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and she stared into the murky water.
Luthor nudged her with his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugged in response.

“Holy crap! Did you see that trout jump?” Dickie shouted.

“Shut up, I’m talking to Megs,” Luthor shouted, swatting him with a rolled up horror magazine.

“Jeez, sor-ree!”

“We’re your friends, right?” Luthor continued. Meaghan stared ahead, nodding slightly. “Tell us. Maybe we can help.”

“It’s just…I’d really miss you guys if we moved.” she said.

“But you told us your mom wouldn’t move again until you finished school. That’s still four years away,” Dickie said.

“Yeah…,” Meaghan answered, tears tracked down her pale cheeks.

“…it’s really got to do with that man—“

“What man?” Luthor said.

“You’ve seen him around. That creepy, bald guy at the end of Cochrane Street?”

“I know him. He hardly ever goes out.”

“I’ve seen him too. He jogs every day. Just before dark,” Dickie added.

“Tell us…,” Luthor whispered.

“He’s talked rude to me. Dirty stuff. “He also touched me…,” she added, glancing at Luthor through reddened eyes.

Luthor grasped the edge of the raft, his knuckles white. “Did you tell your mom?”

“She wouldn’t do nothing. The same thing happened in Jersey three years ago.”

“What did she say then?” Dickie asked.

“She told me it was all a misunderstanding. A week later she had us packed and moved here.”

“I know you’re worried,” Luthor said. “But this is wrong and we’re going to fix it.” Dickie nodded in agreement.

“How?”

“Don’t you worry about it, Megs.”


* * * * *

photo courtesy of www.nenature.com/

The boys had found a large, moss-covered boulder on a hillside far from the path. Luthor’s grandpa called it an erratic and said they were scattered all over New Hampshire during the last ice age. For three days they removed dirt from beneath the rock, propping it up with long bits of wood wedged into the dark soil.

On the Friday evening before Labor Day, Luthor stayed in the woods while Dickie waited near the jogging trail. As the bald man neared, the boy, frantically waving his arms, jumped into his path.

“Please help, mister—my friend’s hurt!”

“What happened?”

“I think he broke his leg. Come quick!” Dickie said, and dashed through the trees. The man hesitated for a moment and then followed the boy. They ran far into the woods, eventually stopping at the boulder.

Dickie was breathless. “Down there, mister,” he said, pointing under the erratic.

The man bent over the moaning boy. “Are you hurt?”

Dickie snatched the hammer that lay against the base of the rock and struck the man in the temple. Luthor scampered from the hole as his friend swung again, sinking the claw into the base of the man’s skull. He screamed, clutching at the hammer as Dickie shoved him into the void.

Luthor grabbed a shovel and rammed the blade into the man’s throat, unleashing a gush of blood. “That’s for Meaghan, you perv!” he hissed.

The boys removed the wooden supports, causing the boulder to list forward. They shoveled the excess dirt around the edges of the rock and covered the soil with moss, leaves and branches.


* * * * *

Luthor watched the grey clouds from his office; the rain pelted the window and wound down the glass in sparkling tears.

The intercom voice startled him. “Dr. Guttormson, your patient is in exam two.”

Luthor strode down the sterile hall, rapped the door and entered the exam room. A thin, vaguely familiar woman sat on the bench. She smiled and offered her hand. “I’m Meaghan King. You probably don’t remember me, but my name was Murphy when we were in junior high.”

Luthor chuckled and squeezed her hand.” Of course I remember you, Megs. How did you end up in sunny Seattle?”

“I’m in computer sales and my work transferred me here. Dickie Stein said I should look you up.”

“Dickie? We haven’t talked in years. When did you see him?”

“Years ago, after we moved back to New Hampshire. He showed up at my door one day selling life insurance. What a grand chat we had.”

“That’s great,” Luthor said. He swallowed and leaned closer to Meaghan. “Didn’t you and your mom leave town because of that bald guy…on Cochrane Street?”

She thought for a moment and laughed. “Oh that! Mom got another job in Boston and moved us away. Practically overnight. What I told you guys was a huge pile of crap. He never touched me—he never even talked to me.”

* * * * *  

Forgive me readers, as I haven't submitted a #Fridayflash story in over 22 months! The days leading up to Halloween seemed like a good time to throw a horror story out there, so I dusted off this one from 2010. My story, Thor's Hammer, previously appeared in 52 Stitches-Horror Stories (vol. 2), edited by Aaron Polson and published by his Strange Publications. A scary little gem to pick up before Halloween. Aaron is a horror writer second-to-none and you can follow him at his blog.

Mushrooms and Fancy Hats

As with most conversations, I will start off by observing the weather...

We had a sub-tropical day yesterday with a high of about 20C (70F). It was mainly overcast so it didn't feel as warm as it could have. That's a far cry from the hint of snow that were observed on the rooftops of some parts of town on the weekend. I'm no weather man, nor do I play one on TV, but I believe that this spike has to do with the tropical storm Raphael headed in our direction. They are predicting it will pass us somewhere to the east so we won't be battered as we were by Leslie about three weeks ago.

The warm summer and comfortable fall have the grass growing like prairie wheat. I'm soon going to have to order ask bribe the boy to leave the cavernous depths of the basement to go out and mow the lawn.

Upon closer observation, I noticed a dark-coloured mushroom growing in the grass(ignore the weeds). This blackish (blue-ish?) nasty looking thing had me wondering if our front garden had been hijacked by  psilocybin (magic) mushrooms 'farmers' looking for a safe place to grow their crop. After a few minutes of internet research--Google images--I managed to find several photos of magic mushrooms.



photo courtesy of magic-mushroom.net

 The one pictured to the right certainly does NOT look like the fungus growing in the lawn. It's a good thing that I didn't add that to last night's pasta...whoa, just had a flash back to an old Cheech & Chong skit from the 70's...you remember that old shtick, don't you? I shall paraphrase...

"Looks like dog shit, smells like dog shit, feels like dog shit, tastes like dog shit. Must be dog shit. Good thing we didn't step in it!".

All that aside, supposing that it WAS psilocybin and I HAD added it to last nights linguine then perhaps I would have given up my trusty fez for some new head-gear. Something a little reminiscent of the old propeller beanies (see below). Were they from the 50's? Don't ask me...I wasn't around in those days. Perhaps, though, if I had some 'special' mushrooms I could be magically transported back...



"You want me to fly where...?"



Michael, Kerry and Dora

I started typing this blog post with the idea that it would be titled 'Thirty Days Hath September' because it reminded me of the promise I made to myself (weeks ago) that I would post at least once this month. Talk about getting in under the wire...

The three names in the post title seemed to be more topical to the last couple of weeks.

I have been on 'vacation' the past week. Partly because my sister, Kerry, was visiting from Edmonton and partly because it was my 50th birthday during the week (and Kerry flew in to help talk me off the ledge). She had a lovely visit with our parents up the shore and then she spent a few days here in town to catch up on current events with us and with old friends. Kerry enjoyed kayaking in Cape Broyle, hiking at Cape Spear and generally browsing the downtown shops.

It was on one of these walks that she stumbled upon the legendary Dora, who had obviously hit upon hard times (see photo below).

Dora is down on the mean streets of St. John's

Dora had dried leaves stuck in her hair, was clad only in a pink bikini, and was lying on the steps of what had once been a popular strip joint (or so I am told) on the east end of Duckworth Street.

Almost forgot...her feet had been chewed off as well...

The scene of the crime

Kerry documented the sad scene with a photo (no doubt to sell to the scandal mags) and we went on our way, trying to forget that this young tart woman had once been a legendary explorer who had won the hearts of young girls (and 10% of the boys) around the world. Two days later we again passed by the building and found that Dora had crawled down the side alley (left) of the same boarded up building. My sister, used to seeing other sad souls on the mean streets of Edmonton, was moved nearly to tears and felt that Dora needed a helping hand (and prosthetic feet also).

Dora became our travelling companion for the rest of the day. I tried several times to engage the young woman in conversation but sadly my Spanish is lacking. The only understandable thing she muttered was, "Ola Senor...you buy me rum, si?"  My sister insisted I pose with Dora to prove to my blogger friends that I had met a bona fide celebrity (below).

Am a bit embarrassed here because as I reached for Dora's arm I accidentally grabbed her left breast (not the reason I am smiling)

Kerry tried fruitfully to take several photos of Dora with scenes of the city in background. The young star had obviously 'gone Hollywood' and was very difficult to work with. The only usable photo (all the others had her showing 'too much skin' or flipping us the bird) I will display below.

Dora, with Cabot Tower in the background, did the splits (we had her readjust her bikini bottom in an attempt at modesty)

Kerry soon tired of the scene and was quickly over Dora. She posed for a photo with her new friend Schooner the Newfoundland dog on Signal Hill (below).



Kerry, her new BFF Schooner and the vast Atlantic beyond

 Also on the agenda this week was when V and myself got together with writing buddy Laurita Miller and met up with cyber-friend Michael Solender and his wife 'sweetie' in a downtown coffee shop. They had travelled from North Carolina to spend two weeks here at various locations on 'The Rock' and seemed to have had a lovely time. I think that it's great to finally meet writing buddies in person but sadly the opportunities are so few and far between (yeah, I know...tres cliche).

Michael Solender, Alan Davidson and Laurita Miller strike a pose for the paparazzi

Thanks all for dropping by...I shall post again...at an undisclosed time, on an undisclosed date.

Money for Consumables

When one I was younger, one of those products was very popular with me...

OK, maybe I'm getting a bit ahead of myself but my opening remark will make more sense by the end of this post. Honest.

Myself and V recently spent a few days in the Gros Morne area. A little getaway while the boy is attending sea cadet camp in Nova Scotia. We again vacationed  'in country'  this year because  a) it's way too expensive to get off of this island and  b) we are saving our money because we'd like to do some home renovations in the spring.

I will eventually get around to posting a few photos of the Northern and Baie Verte Peninsulas. However, I am at the mercy of my technical wizard who has not yet magically moved the photos from the camera/Playbook to the computer.

Our hotel in Cow Head (for some reason, a place name that always gets me thinking about "The Godfather") surprised us by giving us a room key to a cabin instead of a hotel room. This cabin, in fact, was a bungalow with five rooms. The front two rooms had unimpressive views of the gravel parking lot but the three rooms at the back had back doors that opened on to small decks with a fantastic view of Shallow Bay. We could throw a rock and hit the water. Nice.

We had to walk a couple of minutes to get to the hotel for meals and to attend the plays performed nightly in the theatre next door to the hotel. We also made several pilgrimages to the hotel for ice to keep our beverages cool. It was on one of these runs that I noticed all of the items for sale in the vending machine that shared the same alcove as the ice dispenser. Chocolate bars and chips aplenty. They even had the foresight to put in little bags with shaving stuff and toothpaste and other toiletries that may have been forgotten at home.

In the bottom left hand corner of the vending machine (behind the grubby, fingerprint-smeared glass) I spied two items that made me laugh. Let me clarify...it wasn't the items as much as their juxtaposition that was the source of amusement. To the right was a small packet of Fritos BBQ Hoops for $1.50 and to the left was a single Trojan condom in a shiny blue wrapper for $3.50.

Alan's disclaimer...I am not officially endorsing either of these products even though in my youth one of them was very popular with me.

While V hunched over the ice machine, coaxing out its semi-solid contents, I gazed at the two items in the dimly lit corner of the vending machine and wondered how many men over the years have laboured over the choice of which 'RING' to spend their limited vacation dollars on. Or how many kids have thought, "That's WAY too much money for a water balloon!"

Remember: get the one that gives you the most happiness.

Firsts

Upon closer examination, isn't life really a series of firsts?

The forming years...your first step, first day at school, first time riding a bike.

Your coming of age...your first date, first time driving a car, first time having sex (with someone else).

I have of course driven a car but have not ridden a motorcycle. I did ride on the back of one driven by a male college classmate of mine. High speed and a late spring snow storm made the two hour trip a special experience. I clutched him from behind in a most un-manly fashion. I hope that I didn't leave scars (either physical or psychological). The motorcycle fiasco was both a first and a last for me. Though one day I still hope to attend the Friday the 13th bike rally that occurs in Port Dover, Ontario. Every Friday the 13th, the population of that quiet, Lake Erie town of 6400 rises by tens of thousands.

The firsts continue in the adult years. The job, the first marriage (I say first because some people treat marriage as sport that should be indulged in with semi-regularity like mud wrestling or bowling) and the birth of the first child.

I experienced another first on Friday. I had booked the day off work as a technician was coming over to wire up the house with FibreOp that is now the new rage. V and I drove to the office of 'the competition' to return their cable box. The run around that we received from them only reinforced the notion that we had made the right decision in switching companies. Anyway...after that stop, V wanted to stop at a public park where she knew that a co-worker was getting married. This woman has only been with the them for three weeks so none of the staff were invited to the wedding. As we walked past the park the bride recognized V and waved her over and invited us to witness the ceremony.

I have driven past that park many times before and have never noticed the stand of pine trees in the north-west corner...past the public swimming pool and just east of the ball diamond. The trees formed a tight oval and the group of 30 or so family and other witnesses stood on top of the small, grassy mound within the stand of trees.

The wedding was the first that I have attended in my six years here in Newfoundland. The day was sunny and warm and the two women held hands as the vows were read and the marriage was made official and binding. The wording struck us as similar to our own wedding. Simple vows and one reading by a guest and the ceremony was done in about 15 minutes. The wedding was obviously a low-budget affair, yet its simplicity was charming and easily one of the nicest weddings that I've ever attended (and the first I attended that I was NOT invited to).

When I got up yesterday morning I didn't think that I would be 'crashing' my first gay wedding.

I should try that again some time. I wonder what tomorrow has in store...

Can-Am Holidays

It's that special time of year.

On The Rock we finally get warm weather AND a long week end. In fact, Canada Day passed three days ago and we had a short get-away at my parent's house 'up the shore' (thanks, Laurita, for the correct local terminology...).

Today is now the fourth of July and our one-time adversaries, our American  cousins, celebrate their Independence. It is also the 200th anniversary of the start of the War of 1812 (which ran until 1815) when our cousins dropped by, unannounced, for a visit. I don't profess to know anything about that war so I won't go any further on the topic, embarrassing myself on my lack of Canadian history. Honestly, I don't recall it being taught in school. Then again, school was decades a long time ago and maybe I just forgot. Or maybe I was sick that day.

The Canadian government commissioned the minting of a new coin commemorating the War of 1812. It is a handsome looking 'toonie' with the image (below) of the British frigate HMS Shannon on one side and the aged Queen on the other.

Speaking of war ships...the boy is ready to wage his own battle with his own bateau (Har! Get it?...bateau?) When we arrived at my parents house we discovered a row boat sitting in their driveway. It was a well-used craft belonging to the former home owner who figured that since Sean was a sea cadet, and a future sailor in the Royal Canadian Navy, he might appreciate the boat.

Now begins the task of stripping the hull of flaking paint, old caulking and sundry dried out sea vegetation and freshening it up with a layer of fibreglass and paint. Sean's Papa Davidson, a painter of 50 years, has already begun the tedious task of researching  how to start a good fire fibreglass the boat and the fine art of applying marine paint. I had suggested to the boy that he name the vessel after a girl in his life. We decided against that as the boat would obviously have to change name on a regular basis...

I have included photos below. Be sure to click on them to enlarge.

SO...to my American friends...have a great day! I hope that you booked a couple of extra days to extend the holiday into the week end. Have fun with those fireworks, but keep them over there.

And no hard feelings about that war business, eh?



At 13'-9" it's not the HMS Shannon, but one can be sure that it can still do some damage




"Y'think that this 1" crack is noticeable?"



Boy and boat are nearly christened by the mysterious wee dog

Pirate Girls and Adventure on the High Seas

I think that my lack of posting anything at all may stem from the fact that this blog was set up to talk about scandalous gossip writing projects. The fact that I have written virtually nothing for months, I think, has weighed heavy on me and I've developed this idea that if I'm not writing then I shouldn't be blogging either. I mean, there's only so many times that people want to visit here and listen to me rant about hockey riots or my back issues...or the fact that I'm too lazy busy to write anything (or can't think of interesting stuff to write about).

I was driving somewhere the weekend and a car in front of me had a bumper sticker that made me smile...

The sticker, of course got me thinking about the incomparable Jodi MacArthur and her "Wicked Woman's Booty" episodes published at Pulp Metal Magazine. Then that led me to thinking about other writer's whose blogs I used to follow but have recently been ignoring. My apologies to all for not being a very good on-line friend. Not even a very good casual acquaintance...

I visited my own blog today and was surprised to find that the visitor count is nearing 30,000. Wow, I guess people have been dropping by in my absense (thanks mum)...I image they visit less to see if I've written anything new and more to see how long I'd go in silence. Perhaps the visit to see if I would let the blog go fallow for a whole season, or maybe to see if I'd give up the entire crop for good. I can't promise anything in the way of productivity. I may post again in two days or perhaps it will be two weeks or even another two months will slip by before I let my thoughts coalesce and the words fly from my finger tips (or something like that). I was also surprised to discover that since I last visited here there have been visitors from five more countries...Gambia, Jersey, Botswana, Uganda and El Salvador. It's nice to see that my lack of writing productivity has even garnered interest in the African countries. I'm not sure, though, why Jersey is showing up all of a sudden. I mean, my on-line buddy Anthony Venutolo is a Jersey boy and has dropped by here many times before...I thought his presence would have showed up on that site meter eons ago...and WHEN did Jersey get it's own flag...probably had something to do with that Tony Soprano fella...

We had a fine Father's Day here on The Rock yesterday. We finally had a 'warmish' day and the Finch-Davidson-Stansbury families again gathered for the boiling of the lobsters. I won't bore you with yet another tale about a crustacean feeding frenzy or scandalous stories about the horrific dining habits of certain family members. The curious can see the pics from my 2010 post...or perhaps the year before...

The day ended for us by driving Sean down to the harbour downtown where he jumped on a fishing boat and was whisked off to sea...I kid you not. We're very proud of the boy as he has had a dream of working on a boat and set out to accomplish that goal. I mean, yeah, it's just for a couple of days. But he got acquainted with a fisherman (the father of another sea cadet) and set out to bug the shit out of him  convince him of his deserving to be there by loading up crab pots on another boat (for free, I might add and for helping off load crab from his boat two weekends running. This is sort of a try-out for the boy as his real goal is to get to go out for turbot fishing for 9 or 10 days about 150 miles off our coast in the Atlantic (I suppose I mean ON TOP OF the Atlantic...)

Below are a couple of photos from last night. The first is Sean waiting at the dock for Cap'n Rodney to arrive. I won't name the boat (to protect the innocent) but if you get a magnifying glass you might be able to make out the name. V took the second photo from Signal Hill looking down into the Narrows where the fishing boat was passing through headed out into the Atlantic.

"Yes Cap'n...you wants TWO sugars in your coffee?"

The Sweet and the Sad

The boy's Easter break has finally come to an end. He spent three days visiting my parents up the shore. Apparently, two of those days were spent helping guys on a fishing boat load crab pots and rope. I was very pleased to hear that Sean put in many hard hours work and (finally) got a taste of the working world.

'V' spent Friday night with the girls from work at the boss' house learning how to make tasty treats called 'cake pops'. One apparently takes a cake, squishes it up with icing, forms it into a roundish shape, dips the result into coloured icing, decorates then...voila! I've included three pics from the evening. Apologies if they seem a bit grainy as she took them on her Playbook so she could email them to me. Apparently, the more alcohol consumed the greater the creativity.

Aliens, Frogs and Dogs (oh my!)

Sheep...in various stages of undress



Dogs and a sheep and a pig

 As you can see, you're pretty much free to create what you're imagination can whip up (keep it clean, though, if it's for a kid's party). I bet these bad boys would be really popular at party for five year olds. I'd highly recommend that you hand them out as they are leaving your house as you gotta know that many of those pretty decorations are going to end up on your carpet, or sofa, or wherever. I say pass them out with the goodie bags at the end of the party so they can shed their decorations while sitting in their little car seats in the back of their mother's Prius or Beemer or whathaveyou...

I took this past Friday off so we could run a couple of errands and to take Sean to the Canadian Forces recruiting office downtown. We figured it was about time for him to see somebody down there regarding career options in the military. We also figured that it wouldn't hurt to have somebody other than ourselves stress to him the importance of his sciences and math in school towards a getting a job (that he wants) in the navy. Hopefully some of that will sink in over the final two years of school.

Friday was also a sad day for our family. We finally made a tough decision that we had been putting off for some time. Our greyhound 'Jet' has been having pain in his neck since last November. We took him to the vet in February and he was sedated and X-rayed in March. No definitive cause could be given for his pain, but the vet suggested that Jet could be shipped off to the veterinary college in PEI for an MRI. Even with a diagnosis, there would be no guarantee that a surgery would be successful.



Jet (aka Sharp Shooter) in 2008

Jet was on pain killers for the past few weeks, but even they were doing little for him. We finally decided on Friday to schedule an appointment with the vet to take him in for 'the final visit'. Needless to say, the day ended on a sad note but we are convinced we did the right thing for him.

We had the rescue greyhound originally known as Sharp Shooter for four years. He was aloof by nature, much like your regular household cat. His normal day consisted of mooching during meal preperation and sleeping for about 16 hours a day. Jet did not fetch or cuddle on the sofa and was not a great conversationalist but we'll miss him just the same. Below he was captured in a rare moment of glee..

"Scratch my tummy and I'll bite you!"