Late one night the neighbor knocked on the front door and asked……….
” Did you see what Fremont Kevlin has done this time? ” Mr Bexley howled into my face before I opened my front door all the way. ” Did you see what he has wandering around in his Apple Orchard?”
” No. I don’t like apples.” I said.
” Don’t like apples, I have no reason to be back in his apple orchard. What were you doing back there Mr. Bexley?”
” Retrieving my property. That’s what I was doing and that’s when I saw…”
” What property?”
” My gall danged wood chipper Mrs. Baker! He backed up his truck and took my wood chipper without permission and now he’s using it to-“
” Chip wood? ” I offered.
” Were that it was that simple Mrs. Baker. Do you really think him with the bars in all of his windows would be using a wood chipper to chip wood?”
” I suppose not.”
” That man. That inconsiderate son of a- pardon my French Mrs. Baker. But he helped himself to those bags of lime from the Green’s garage, the rope and copper wire from the Henderson’s place. You said yourself your shovels seem to grow legs and wander off and my wood chipper. My son of a bitching wood chipper is gone AGAIN.
” And now he’s got that thing wandering around in apple orchard- but ugly as it is I’m sick of that man just helping himself to our private property. He’s a thief and he took my damn wood chipper-“
” Without permission. I get it. I’ll go talk to him. Again. “
I went over to my coat closet and pulled out my jacket. My hat, my gloves. I reached up onto the top shelf and pulled down hammer and wooden stake and threw them into my leather carry all case.
” Okay. Let’ s go get your wood chipper back first. I have a feeling we might be needing it tonight.”
As a writer of the strange and macabre I must ask myself:
What am I afraid of?
My list is short and sweet.
And being lost.
I’m also afraid of the dark, being buried alive and I’m afraid of being hit by lightning.
I know. I get it. Monsters aren’t real, if you’re lost you can always find a way back to the point you lost your way, the dark can’t wrap its hands around your neck and squeeze and I doubt if I’ll be buried alive because once your embalmed there’s zero chance of being buried alive.
HOWEVER I have almost been hit by lightning twice.
So when I write about Monsters, or the lost or the dark or death and the many, many, many ways it can come for you, I guess I can’t help but to feel…somewhere in all of that there is something true, something real…and I feel- with every ounce of my being
It’s been a long time till October and I’m dieing to get back to work.
Where is that shovel… I mean pen.