dare not dream

by bofa xesjum

the ancients knew things of which we dare not dream. what? the ancients knew things of which we dare not dream. i think you have said that before. well, i am saying it again. mr francis fuss and mr rutherford budge said many things to each other over and over again. they had lived together for many years after the great collapse, in the old granger place out beyond the outskirts of town, which the grangers had abandoned after old silas granger had been tarred and feathered and strung up by an angry mob, who had held him personally responsible for the great worldwide collapse. despite being abandoned by the grangers, the water and the gas - though not the electricity - continued to run, though mr fuss and mr budge never paid any bills to keep them up. shortly after moving in, mr fuss and mr budge discovered an old trunk, buried under the old oak tree down by the old creek. it belonged to the notorious bank robber black sam sutcliff, who had been killed in a shootout outside laramie wyoming and never returned to claim it, and it was filled up with twenty dollar bills - for mr fuss and mr budge’s purposes, an inexhaustible supply. mr fuss and mr budge owned an old bicycle with a sidecar, and they took turns at the end of each month, riding the thirty miles into “town” - a few stores at a crossroads - to pete parker’s general store, to purchase a month’s worth of supplies - mostly candles, matches, flour for the endless pancakes they made, maple syrup, and bullets for the old firearm with which they hunted squirrels and other, mostly furry, small creatures. with anything left from the twenty, they might purchase one of old mother mccoy’s homemade apple or blueberry pies. things went on in this way for many years. one day a couple of rounders named frankie france and polly paris were passing through the town in their souped up studebaker and they stopped at pete parker’s store. they were relaxing and letting the studebaker’s engine cool down, and sitting in the rocking chairs beside the cracker barrel, drinking ice cold bottles of moxie from pete’s cooler, when mr fuss arrived on his bicycle and made the usual purchases. the two city slickers watched the proceedings with some amusement, though without saying anything, and when mr fuss had departed, frankie asked pete , what was that all about? oh, just a couple of harmless old fellers who live down the road apiece, one of them comes in every month for supplies, just as you saw. been coming here for years, regular as flowers in the springtime. where do they get their money,? poilly asked. pete was scandalized. folks in these parts mind their own business, missy. i’m sorry, polly quickly apologized. i didn’t mean no harm. pete just nodded, but frankie and polly exchanged a glance which said, here is something worth looking into. after paying for their gas and their moxies, frankie and polly made their way back to their car, and after trying one road and then another, saw mr fuss pedaling ahead of them down one of the roads. frankie pulled the studebaker over to the side of the road and they waited for night to completely fall. when they finally started up, they quickly came on what they were sure was the old house pete parker had been talking about. it was set well back from the road, but they could see dim lights - from candles - in a couple of the windows. if there was a road or path up to the house they couldn’t see it. they got out of the car and started across the rough ground. they came to the old creek. how do we get across this? polly asked. it don’t look that deep, frankie said. we’ll just get our feet wet. what frankie and polly did not suspect was that mr fuss and mr budge had been protected for years by an alligator named old zeke who lived in the creek - which was deeper than it looked - and zeke was very jealous of his territory. frankie had not gone five feet into the water before zeke grabbed hold of him and made short work of him. while zeke and frankie were thrashing about, polly managed to scramble to the other side, and ran up to the house, crying for help. mr fuss was almost deaf, but mr budge had excellent hearing, and hearing the maiden’s cries, came out on the front porch. help! my friend is being eaten by an alligator! polly shouted. probably no “being eaten” about it, mr budge replied. zeke doesn’t waste time. mr fuss had followed mr budge out on to the porch. and what were you and your friend doing out in the dark, young lady, eh? he asked polly. um - we were looking for mushrooms. ain’t no mushrooms in these parts, miss, at least none either man or critter could eat. i did not know that, sir. please, can i come in and dry off? and there has got to be a way back to the road and my car without meeting up with the alligator again. please tell me there is! mr fuss looked more closely at polly. i seen you before - you was in the general store , with a feller who looked like a carnival barker. he must have been the one got eaten by zeke. but why did he have to eat frankie? couldn’t he just give him a little bite, or just bark at him? alligators ain’t dogs, miss, mr fuss answered. they have their own ways. look here, mr budge told polly, you can come in and get dry and have a cup of coffee and then i will take you around back to the path by the old pear tree and you can get back to your car. oh thank you, sir, you are a real gentleman. they went inside. polly took her wet shoes off and mr budge lit a fire in one of the old fireplaces. mr fuss stared at polly at she sipped the hellishly hot coffee mr budge had brewed her, as if he had never seen a woman before in his life. the ancients knew things of which we dare not dream, mr fuss intoned. i am sure they did, polly managed to say. don’t pay him no mind, mr budge assured polly. later, when mr budge had escorted polly back to the studebaker, to which she fortunately had her own keys, as frankie’s were either on the creek or in zeke, polly asked him - what did your friend mean? about what? about ancients and dreams and such. hell if i know. he’s been saying it for forty years, and i got absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

veracruz

by bofa xesjum

this is it - positively the last time i heard you the first time can you hear me now? i just woke up ah - you just woke up why do you torture me like this? you know i have no brain it’s lucky for you i have some compassion for your unfortunate condition night had fallen. the lamp burned low in the cabin. mike had been holding harry captive since they had busted out of the pen and holed up in the cabin. despite the danger that lurked everywhere, harry had wanted to make a run for it, but mike insisted on laying low. harry was getting desperate. pauline was waiting for him in thomasville, to drive him to veracruz. of all the guys he could have busted out of the pen with, mike was the worst. he had been going to go with johnny falcon - a standup guy. an unfortunate series of events had resulted in johnny’s being thrown in solitary just when everything was set up. harry had never expected such a thing. there was something about the whole thing that was screwy - that he just couldn’t understand. he had always been lucky, except when he was unlucky. mike was a dumb brute. but harry had asked him to replace johnny because he thought he could control him. right from the start harry felt something was wrong. but he still expected he could pull it off. in the first few minutes after they got over the wall he thought he was home free. and then just like that it all went wrong. he had forgotten all the stories he had heard around the campfire, all the movies he watched as a kid on late night tv. when the going gets tough, then you ain’t seen nothing yet. the boys in the back room always win. where was frank? where was the truck that was going to take them to thomasville? the night was a big blank nothing stretching as far as the eye could see. harry had never gotten a break in his life. you’re a natural - a natural loser, his daddy used to tell him, and his mama too. he quickly adjusted to his natural circumstances. except sometimes when he had a little too much to drink. sad - it was really sad. everybody said so. nothing changed as the years went by. then he met pauline. for no reason anybody could see, pauline was halfway nice to him. of all the pathetic bums in the world, pauline, who had a heart as cold as the best of them, took pity on harry. hard to figure, bur she just did. pauline worked two jobs - in dixie’s beauty salon by day, and as a waitress in big joe’s place at night. you could say she had a third job on the side - taking suckers for their hard earned money. pauline had always wanted a dog - but she was allergic to the poor beasts. harry could be likened to a sad puppy. in any event, he kindled some random spark of buried kindness in pauline. she gave him the time of day about once a week, and listened to his sad stories. but the time comes when the queen demands something of her most humble and loyal subjects - it is nature’s way. a guy named george was proving a pest to pauline. he even threatened to go to the police with a story of how she had cheated him - in a perfectly legit business proposition. it was time for harry to show a little gratitude for the nice way she treated him. it was the old story - the old army game. harry told pauline he was up for anything she wanted him to do. one dark night george got what was coming to him. pauline had an alibi as cast iron as a locked safe in the bottom of the mississippi river. harry, her knight in shining armor, did what he had to do. pauline was sincerely grateful. all he had to do was bust out of the pen and get to thomasville, and pauline would meet him and drive him to veracruz. you don’t need me to tell you how it ended. nobody ever makes it to veracruz.

my friend

by bofa xesjum

when adam got back to his apartment after working the midnight to 8 am shift, he found a handwritten note, on a small piece of paper, stuck under his door. the note read: i thought you were my friend. adam did not know anybody whom he thought might have written such a note. he had lots of friends, and he liked them, and they liked him. also, he did not think he knew anybody who would write anything on a piece of paper. he did not think he had seen a piece of paper since he had been in school. he assumed that the note had been placed under his door by mistake. it might have been meant for one of the persons occupying the apartments to the left and right of his. or for the apartment across the hall from his. or for the apartment directly above his, or directly below his. whoever left it, might have gotten into the wrong building, and meant it for the same apartment , on the same floor, on the buildings to the north and south of adam’s building, or for the building across the street. actually, if you stopped and thought about it, it could have been intended for any apartment, in any city, in the world. adam decided to forget about it. but after he had his breakfast shake and began doing his exercises, he realized he could not forget it. there was the sinister wording of the message. “i thought you were my friend.” how threatening was that? suppose the person writing the note actually abused or exploited or alienated or even assaulted - or even killed! - the intended recipient of the note! and suppose it came out that adam had know about the note and not reported it. not to mention how bad adam would feel about it. he decided he had better notify security. he sent a brief message. hello security. i found a threatening note under my door when i returned from work this morning. it was on a piece of paper. i think it was written by hand, but am not an expert on such matters. i am sure it was not intended for me, but thought i should report it. thank you. the response came right back from security. please provide the contents of the note. i thought you were my friend. that was all. again, the response was immediate. all the responses from security, except one, would be immediate. were the words “that was all” part of the note? no. the only words were “i thought you were my friend”. please provide a list of all your friends. i have a lot of friends, adam replied. and i do not think any of them left the note. please provide a list of all your friends. i have a lot of friends. i do not think any of them left the note. provide a list of all your friends. failure to do so will be a breach of security. adam now wished he had not reported the note. after some thought, he sent a list of all the people he could think of who might be called his friends, a total of 37 people. after a pause of two minutes, during which the message “stay on line” kept blinking, security responded. 22 of the people cited acknowledged you as a friend. this is 59.5 percent and below the acceptable limit. your security is revoked. please gather any belongings you wish to take with you and report immediately to the security station of your building complex. the items will be scanned, and any that are acceptable you nat retain when you are escorted out of the security area. adam knew there was no appeal. how he wished he had simply ignored the note! he took his teddy bear, a bag with extra clothing, his school yearbook, and a couple of old coins he had won in card games, and sadly made his way down the elevator and through the ground level tunnels to the security station. a security checkpoint was waiting for him, and flashing,, when he arrived. it passed the teddy bear and the bag of clothing but not the school yearbook or the coins. adam was escorted to the door of the security area by a human guard. any questions? the guard asked in a friendly enough manner. adam shook his head. the guard unlocked the door and watched as adam, with his clothes under one arm and his teddy bear under the other, headed down the street in a drizzling rain into the great lawless city. the guard shook his head. “he won’t last long,“ he muttered as he closed and relocked the door. * later that day, alex, accompanied by lee, arrived at adam’s old apartment to take it over. that worked out well, lee said. yes it did, alex agreed, dropping a suitcase inside the door. now do i get my reward? lee asked. you know, alex replied, i was going to keep my end of the bargain, but now… i am sorry, you are just too unattractive. i understand, lee replied. he had no way to make alex keep the bargain. good-bye, alex said. goodbye. lee said. lee made his way back to his own apartment. when he opened the door, he found a note that had been slipped under it. the note read: you do not know who you are dealing with.

two thousand pounds, part 3

by bofa xesjum

part three of three

to read part two, click here

to read part one, click here

mrs meadows and her cat lived in a cottage down a crooked lane off the high road. it was after midnight when the vicar, armed with a stout stick and a sack in which to hopefully capture the cat, ventured down the crooked lane. there was no moon, but there were tall trees coming together over his head, and in the darkness he could barely keep to the path. suddenly the cottage was in front of him. there were no lights, as he had expected and hoped. should he knock? he thought not. best to simply try the front door first. yes, that was a good plan. feeling foolish, he crept to the front door. what is the point of “creeping” ? he wondered. in the unlikely event that there is anybody in the vicinity to see me, they will either see me or not. stealthily he tried the knob of the cottage’s front door. yes, “stealthily”, he thought, how else would i turn it? suddenly the vicar wondered, is this all worth it? just to restore the stained glass windows in the chapel into which a soul hardly ventures any more. but he was captive to forces beyond his control, and in for a penny, in for a pound. he turned the knob. the door opened, silently! so far, so good. except that he could not see a thing in the dark interior of the cottage. but he heard something. a hiss - the hissing of a cat! and there were the cat’s yellow eyes on the ground in front of him. in a single motion he reached for the cat and seized it and stuffed it into his sack! the beast had been fatter and heavier than he had imagined it would be, but offered no resistance except a slight increase in his hissing. it had not even tried to scratch him. quickly closing the door behind him, the vicar slung the sack with the cat in it over his shoulder and hurried back up the lane. but he had not gone thirty meters when he heard a voice behind him… “reverend, reverend sir, you forgot something…” the vicar turned and to his amazement saw old mrs meadows stumping up the road to him on her cane! with no thought of escaping, he could only say, “why , good evening, mrs meadows, whatever could i have forgotten?” the old woman came up to him and held something out to him. an envelope. “why, what can this be?’ the vicar asked. “it is your instructions from lady molly as to your third task.” “of course, of course.” “you can give jeffrey back to me now,” mrs meadows said. “jeffrey?” “the cat. you accomplished lady molly’s second task by kidnapping him. so now you can give him back to me.” “oh, yes, of course.” the vicar handed the sack with the cat in it to mrs meadows. he took the envelope from her and extracted a piece of paper from it. “i am afraid i can’t read this,” he told mrs meadows. “it’s too dark.” “the light will be better on the high road,” he told him. she slung the sack over her shoulder and turned to go. “good night, reverend.” “good night. i hope jeffrey was not too inconvenienced by his little adventure.” “oh, no, we were both expecting it.” and with that mrs meadows headed back to her cottage. when the vicar made it back to the high road he took the piece of paper with lady moly’s instructions back out of his pocket. but a sudden wind came along and blew it out of his hand and down the road. the vicar never did accomplish his third task, or know what it was. a week later, more unpleasantness broke out in the district, and a gang of thugs completely destroyed the chapel and smashed the stained glass windows to pieces. years later, a couple of children were playing in the ruins of the chapel, and they found the piece of paper which had been blown out of the vicar’s hand, but the words on it had been worn away. the end