Short stories
I actually prefer writing (and reading) short stories as opposed to novels. Short stories you can get done reading in one sitting & I can write one in a day or two and be done with it. Novels, of course, take much longer to read, as well as write but they are more rewarding when done (provided it was an enjoyable read. Or, in the case of the writer, they enjoyed writing it). Here are three of my stories—horror, suspense, and humor—as well as a little background information on each: how I came up with the idea, the writing process, etc. Scroll over the "short stories" drop down then click on a story and see what you think. Any questions, comments, let me know.
I actually prefer writing (and reading) short stories as opposed to novels. Short stories you can get done reading in one sitting & I can write one in a day or two and be done with it. Novels, of course, take much longer to read, as well as write but they are more rewarding when done (provided it was an enjoyable read. Or, in the case of the writer, they enjoyed writing it). Here are three of my stories—horror, suspense, and humor—as well as a little background information on each: how I came up with the idea, the writing process, etc. Scroll over the "short stories" drop down then click on a story and see what you think. Any questions, comments, let me know.
Northwest 19thand
Youngs Boulevard
We were driving in northwest Oklahoma City when we saw it. An older home, built in the nineteen twenties though it didn't look it. But it was what we wanted. The intersection there was a four way stop and as we drove past, I saw the tracks amidst the intersection and wondered aloud what they were.
"Train tracks," Jeremy, our eight year old and Kelly, our four year old daughter, said together while nine month old Jill slept beside them.
"But why are they still here?" I asked.
"Who knows?" my wife Toni said as we passed the two storied, deep red brick house with wide front porch and arched doorways. She clutched my arm. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
Next evening, a short, balding, pudgy man with thin brown eyes and beads of sweat on his forehead met us. "Let me give ya the tour. Where'd I put those keys?" He searched his pockets then chuckled. "Guess if I can't find ‘em I could break a window." His grin abated. "Then again, them things're made of unbreakable plexiglass, put in after a bad wind storm. Don't worry, I'll find 'em." He slapped his shirt pocket. A jingle.
We went up creaky porch steps and he opened the door, my breath taken away by the home's elegance. I inquired as to the price and he showed me.
I whistled. "Why so cheap?"
"Got it at government auction." The realtor gave an elbow, his hand at the side of his mouth. "Creditors said previous owner skipped the country to avoid debt. I heard he simply vanished."
The guy led us into a commodious front room then down a small corridor to a larger, brighter room, this one below ground level. A balcony extended from two walls, led to bedrooms.
We then entered another room where a small fireplace left me with a homey feeling, bookshelves lining windowless walls. In the distance, a train's whistle warned motorists. Or so I thought.
Upstairs, the master bedroom with walk-in closet cinched it for my wife. She wrapped herself around me. "Let's buy."
When I saw the master bath with Jacuzzi, it was a done deal.
Our first night there, boxes and furniture in harum-scarum fashion, the whistle woke me. I smiled.
At work, I considered my next article for the newspaper, about the Oklahoma oil boom but it didn't work so my neighbor referred me to Odell Ferguson, an old timer, said he could describe things back then. I called, left a message that Sunday as a train whistle sounded in the distance.
Having received no call back by Tuesday, I left another message and hung up as, in the distance, the sound was audible.
By Thursday I'd given up on the guy and retired to bed. Past midnight, I heard a rustling, went downstairs, and turned on porch lights. A yelp. I opened the front door. "Who's out there?"
A tall, slender man with a blue shirt and blue denim overalls came forward. "Howdy." He offered his hand. "Name's Odell Ferguson. Sorry I scared ya but I don't get much sleep now. You called, left a message so thought I'd git some exacise out here. Then, passing the house, decided to have looksee if anyone was awake." He observed my uncombed hair. "Guess you wasn’t."
"Well, I'm awake now so c'mon in." I opened the door and turned on a lamp, told him what I wanted, grabbed a nearby pencil and notepad, and looked up. My hair went stiff, my eyes bulged, my legs rubbery. His skin had gone old and wrinkly, eyeballs sunken. He smiled a crooked grin, mouth displaying missing teeth, the rest old and chipped. His hands snapped forward and clutched my shoulders, his long, sharp nails sinking into my skin. I screamed and fell to my knees.
"Daddy, what's happening?" Kelly hollered from upstairs.
I could not answer. I gazed up, Jeremy also there, his face pale. He ran to the stairs but slipped, fell toward the balcony guardrail, he small enough to fall through the slats. His head came through then his shoulders then the rest of his body.
"Daddy, help! I—"
"Honey, you okay?" Toni's voice said.
I jumped up in bed. In moonlight, I discerned Toni’s face, her eyes cringing though she had a tiny smile.
I caught my breath. "Fine."
We fell back asleep and the phone woke me as sunlight crept over the house. "Hello?"
"Hello," the same low, rough voice from my dream said. "You left a message. I'm Odell Ferguson. Be glad to do an inter- view."
We scheduled to meet. I drove to his house, a small place with carport though no vehicle was present, house painted dark blue with green Welcome mat at the door. I pressed the doorbell, the guy greeting me a replica of the man in my dream except this person looked friendly. I told him who I was. He shook my hand, invited me in, and offered a seat on his plaid couch, he lounging in a gold recliner.
"Now sir..." I began.
"Call me Odell."
"Okay. Tell me about the depression, dust bowl."
We talked for a while when a plane flew by. Odell looked at the sky, sentimentalized how he remembered when the main way to travel was by train.
I decided to ask. "Were you here when the Union Pacific was built?"
Odell laughed. "I may be old but not that old. That was built in the early twentieth century."
"Does it come through this area?"
Odell shook his head. "That line is downtown. You can hear the trains' horns every so often though not real loud."
"Oh," I said, my heart sinking. "I heard some trains and ..
I watched the old man as his pupils dilated and his irises shrank, asked if he was okay.
"Just thinking ... Where'd you say ya live?"
"Nineteenth and Youngs."
Odell bit his upper lip. "Can't be," he muttered. "That was years ago."
"What?" The pencil twitched in my hand.
Odell rose, paced, finally stopped and folded his arms. "A tragedy," he began. "Near the end of the nineteenth century, one of them railroad magnates like Cornelius Vanderbilt built a track here when it was nothing but land and a few streets. Built it right where you live now."
"You mean that piece of track at the intersection used to be—"
"That old man's railroad." Odell nodded, returned to his chair. "Know what that man's name was?"
My shoulders rose and fell.
Odell stood. "Anderson. Anderson Youngs."
"They named the street after him?"
"No one likes to admit it." Odell slumped in his recliner. “Daddy told me 'bout it. First a minor crash, small passenger train almost ran off the track, railroad dismissing it as human error though one engineer claimed it was cheap, inefficient rails and railroad ties. Youngs denied that." Odell gave a t-t-twith his tongue. "Don't know how investigators missed it. 'Course, I am looking at twenty twenty hindsight. Things went back to normal when a freight train came through and ran over that track by yer house, had lots of cargo and was believed to have bent the track. Next morning, passenger train comes through ..." Odell paused. "Musta been almost one hun'red people 'board. Went past that spot going eighty miles an hour and when it raced over that mangled rail .." He exhaled. "An accident."
"How bad?"
"Half the people died. Authorities did another investigation, shut down the line, demanded its owner replace them tracks. Youngs bailed out, sold his company to a business syndicate who closed most of the rail lines, including the one here since the Union Pacific had been built recently. The incident was forgotten, area became a wheat field then a residential district, only proof of the railroad’s existence that piece at the intersection. Your original owner lived there many years when one night it sounded, off in the distance at first then louder. This guy sold the place to my friend, he a light sleeper, who tried earplugs, even searched for the previous owner—which was like finding that Judge Crater—so my friend moved. House was vacant until mid eighties, when I learned a story." The old man shivered. "These owners heard the whistle. And something new: the clack of wheels. Window panes rattled, floors vibrated, the house shook. Its occupants ran out to check and found nothing, the whistle had stopped, and the roar of drivers disappeared. Family went back inside, fell asleep. The noise returned. But opening the door was like pulling a tractor trailer on a rope with your hands. The train sounded right outside the front door." He paused.
"What happened?"
Odell grimaced. "The person I heard this from said the neighbors fled to his house, described what'd occurred, said they’d broken a window and crawled out."
"Didn't the neighbor hear the train?" I asked.
Odell chuckled without humor. "That's the crux, he didn't. No one did. Neighbor let the family sleep in his house overnight and next morning the family was gone, never seen nor heard from. It was as if .." He didn't finish.
"This really happened?" I said, a smile tugging at my mouth's corners.
"Check it out in your paper, all there in black and white. At least the part about Anderson Youngs. The other stuff, who knows?"
The sound of a far off whistle made me gooseflesh.
Odell smiled. "Is the Union Pacific downtown."
I closed my notebook and stood, thanked him, said I'd call if I needed.
Odell smiled. "Door's always open."
Again the horn sounded. Too far away.
That week at work, I crept down to the basement where old articles had been transferred to microfilm years ago and never updated, spider webs in every corner, file cabinets covered in layers of dust.
I searched the database, found relevant articles, and put them under the microfilm screen. One made me stop. Something about the first successful railroad. The article came alive, similar to Odell's story about the crash though I found no articles about the apparent ghost's whistle. Was what Odell said true?
Trains whistled that night, all from downtown. It was a myth. Snuggling next to my wife on the sofa, I grew sleepy.
A honk. I popped up, cold sweat on my forehead, my breath uneven. I shook Toni. "You hear that?"
"What?" she mumbled.
The noise again. Headlights brighter than I'd ever seen flooded the house, ran across one wall and disappeared. The sound of a rig drove past.
"Yeah," Toni mumbled. A truck. Big deal.”
My heart settled back into place. As I nodded off, it sounded. I put a pillow over my head, sure it was the rig. But this sound wouldn't quit, had me upright. It repeated, grew, and faded. Another downtown train.
Nature's call woke me hours later. Back on the couch, the noise came back, louder.
"Toni, wake up!" I shook my wife.
"Now what?" she muttered through clenched teeth.
"Do you hear it now?"
"There's nothing out there. Listen .. Now go back to sleep and leave—"
It sounded.
In silhouetted darkness, I observed Toni's mouth open. "Where's that from?" she whispered.
"Don't know. From what I learned .." The noise was so piercing, we covered our ears.
"Mommy!" Kelly's muffled voice upstairs. "Mommy, Daddy. Wha's dat?" She ran downstairs, Jeremy behind her, his toy lion tight in his arms.
Toni and Kelly rested on one couch, Jeremy and I on the other. His hands twitched. We moved Jillian’s cradle next to us while she slept nonchalantly.
We lay sleepless on the couch. The whistle would stop then minutes later, start again, louder, wheels on rails sounding.
A blinding glare through the window like floodlights. Panes rattled, vibrated so fierce I thought the glass in them would break.
Light shone into the crib, awoke Jill. She wailed.
As quick as it had begun, it ended. The light dimmed, horn silent. Blackness returned. Jill and Kelly sobbed. Jeremy hid under blankets.
"What in the hell was that?" Toni asked, no one with an answer. Slowly, we all fell asleep.
The sun's rays were an unwelcome sight. The kids slept with their mother so I crept to the kitchen, brewed coffee, opened the blinds covering the front windows, and looked out at the lawn. Had I dreamt it? Others would think us loony.
I had trouble falling asleep that night but once I did, wasn't conscious until sunrise. It was the weekend but we kept busy.
"What a day." Toni stretched and yawned. "Think I'll draw a hot bath."
I nodded off on the couch.
"Dad! Dad!" Jeremy said. "C'mere." His voice trembled.
"What's wrong?"
"Dad! Get up! I'm scared!"
I sat up, stifled a yawn. "What is it?"
Wide-eyed, Jeremy grabbed my hand, led me to his bathroom. The faucet ran. He pointed at it then clutched my waist. "What's wrong? Was washing my hands when that happened."
That referred to the color the water had taken. In fact, it hadn't just changed colors. There was something else coming out. Red. A deep crimson liquid.
"Don't panic." I tried to keep my voice even. "No big deal." I turned the faucet knob. Nothing.
Jeremy cried. Suddenly, the faucet stopped. Then that sound. The bathroom light flickered and failed. I flipped the wall switch. Nothing. Jeremy clung to me. Kelly, now awake, joined him. Even upstairs, the sound of the train's rails vibrated the walls and floor. I heard footfalls.
"You guys okay?" It was Toni.
"In here!" I yelled.
"We have to get out of here!" Toni said above the din as she held Jill, who screamed while pulling her mom's hair.
The sound stopped.
"Let's start packing!" Toni said, still hollering.
"To where?" I demanded.
"I don't know." Toni's voice calmed. "A neighbor's?"
"And we tell them? They'll think we belong in the funny farm."
"How about a motel till we find another place?"
We got our necessities and piled into the car.
Next day, we took a week's worth of clothes and other items. By mid-week, my wife had found a house to rent.
We moved Saturday, cumulus clouds scattered hither and thither across an otherwise blue sky. By nightfall we were almost done.
"The bookshelf in the study," I said to Toni, who followed me into the room. We each grabbed a shelf end and marched toward the front. Lights flickered. Winds blew the door shut. Then that sound. That horrible, gut wrenching wail. We were like sculptures.
"Let's get out of here!" I finally shouted. We dropped the bookshelf and I grabbed Jeremy while Toni took Jill and Kelly.
We ran to the door. A loud click. The lock. I tried to turn it, to no avail, door not budging either. Gusts howled and screamed, rattled windows as the whistle we'd become so familiar with began.
"Open it, damnit! Open it!" Toni screamed.
Light shone through the house. The door would not give.
"The windows!" Toni yelled.
I couldn't open them, tried smashing one then recalled the realtor’s comment: Unbreakable. My body went numb, the winds moaned, and the horn was the loudest it'd ever been. The light came closer, sound of wheels louder.
Out of the room's corner, a flame flickered and grew, ran up one wall. Smoke billowed.
"Daddy, help!" Jeremy begged.
We cowered in a corner, unable to move. The train's light approached our yard, the fire now a blaze covering two walls that leaned in and out as if breathing.
I crawled to the study's back door. A fire-filled beam creaked and toppled. I spun away from it, beam falling so close I felt its heat on my back. The walls groaned louder, leaned inward and collapsed, as if lunging for us.
"Dad, look out!" Jeremy hollered.
I sprinted to him as the walls crashed onto a table. Glass from those unbreakable windows shattered. Wind and dirt blew in, caused us to gag and cough and place our hands in front of our faces. But it was what we needed.
"Let's get out of here! Now!" I screamed, Toni needing no coaxing. We stumbled through the mess, hurried to the truck.
In the cab, I stuck the key into the ignition. It wouldn't turn over. Once. Twice. Thrice. Fourth time, the hum of the engine sounded, as beautiful as a classical concert. I drove away at a speed I didn't think the truck could reach while Toni dialed nine one one on her cell phone.
Fire engines sirened as we drove to the motel.
Next morning, I drove past the place on my way to work. At the four way stop, I pressed the brake pedal and took another look, one side of the place burnt like a charcoal briquette.
I raised my foot off the pedal. The car conked out. I tried to restart it. Nothing. I turned the ignition again. Same result. I prayed like I was on my death bed.
It returned. The sound.
My stomach became a maze of knots and my left hand gripped the wheel, right hand turning the key as far as it could go. I floored the gas pedal. The car was a corpse. The whistle sounded louder. Once more, I turned the key, leaning on the wheel in desperation. The engine roared, squeal of tires on pavement permeating the neighborhood. I sped across the intersection and drove away doing sixty. I was gone from the area. Never to return. No matter what anybody would say, no matter the circumstances. Never!
THE END
HOW I CAME UP WITH THIS STORY
Yes, there really are tracks at that intersection in Oklahoma City. Used to live in that area years ago and it's a four way stop. I drove across the intersection for many months before finally wondering what kind of tracks they were, thinking train tracks though they looked too small(found out
later they were trolley tracks that used to run in that area) As I wondered and crossed the intersection, in my mind I heard the whistle of a train and imagined a train speeding out of nowhere and splitting my car in a half.
Thinking this might be a story, I imagined each time the noise getting louder until, when an important dignitary was being rushed to the hospital, the train would crush the ambulance. Of course, it didn't turn out that way(the original idea is almost never the one I use for a story) but I still liked it as I'm a sucker for those urban legend, historical horror stories that are half-based in truth.
The Drowning Machine
A wave taller than any I'd encountered rose in the nighttime air. I hopped on my boogie board and made sure I got Roger's attention as waves carried me in and dumped me at water's edge.
I stood, laughed, and looked at Roger. "How 'bout that?"
"I don't know," he said. "Should we quit? Thad thinks so."
"No way." I said and high stepped into the ocean as water lashed my calves and rushed to shore. "This is great."
I sprinted back out and as I stretched to dive in, a huge clap like an earth tremor shook me, clouds on the horizon lurching. I twisted in the water, boogie board lost. Another wave splashed my shoulders and pushed me back. I cackled at it, thrilled by the speed at which it carried me to shore.
We were the only guests on the beach in Ocean City, New Jersey, place dormant for several weeks, when summer season began. Friends Roger and Allison talked Thad, Christian, and I into coming out.
"They're chicken," Allison had said at our apartment with a bray of laughter associated from too much alcohol.
Roger waved us to the car. "Let's get going. Got your boogie boards? I'm bringing my surfboard." The fin stuck out of his Jeep's back end.
Thad combed his short hair back. "I don't know. No one's there, no lifeguards, nothing. Water'll be cold." He examined the evening sky. "It'll be dark shortly."
"Aw, c'mon. Christian, you're not going to let him spoil our graduation party, are ya?" Roger asked.
Christian's head moved side to side. "Whatever you guys do, I'll go with it."
Roger faced me. I looked at him, then Allison, Christian, and Thad. If Veronica was here I could pass the look to her and she'd decide. Roger and I'd been friends since we were college freshmen and he'd gotten me doing things I'd never done.
Thad, a friend since high school, chewed his lip and folded his arms over his chest. I looked at Allison who giggled.
"What's the matter? Scared?" She elbowed Roger. "Remember when he was afraid of Disney World's Tower of Terror?" She chortled, half drunk, half teasing.
Roger moaned and his shoulders drooped. "Well?"
My blood burned and my ears were hot. “Let's go," I said and we jumped in the car.
On the beach, cold sand chilled my feet and gusts hit our faces. Despite chilly waters I jumped in, grabbed the boogie board, and paddled out. Low clouds hovered, drifted in, and a grumble sounded. A flash in the distant sky. I shuddered but seeing Roger surf a tall wave, his athletic body standing above it, urged me to do the same. I hauled the board out and rode a few breakers. Thunder sounded closer.
"Maybe we should go," Thad said as he, Roger, and I moved ashore.
Roger roared a drunk laugh, all the bottles in his backpack empty. "Hell no," he bellowed. "We're not coward asses. You don't want to go, do ya?" he asked me.
"Ya kidding? Hell no."
A long, deep thunderclap intruded.
Roger gazed at me. "What the hell was that? Should we go?” He crinkled his eyes then laughed his drunken laugh.
I chuckled too and charged into the water, swam backstroke, observed the light scud clouds, how tranquil, beautiful they were, how refreshing the water felt. My muscles hummed like a new engine.
I swam out and tread water, no one out this far. I grinned like I'd won a king of the hill battle and cupped a hand to my mouth. "C'mon guys, whatsa matter? Too scared?"
No one responded. Winds blew faster. Lightning burst and seared my eyes. Clouds invaded the remaining light and darkness erupted. Thunder exploded, winds gale force. I continued my brave front. "C'mon guys, can't we ..."
A rush of water from the rear crashed and foam surrounded my head. I bobbed and coughed until my throat cleared. Another wave hit. Thunder burst and rain drizzled. The storm front raced toward us. My heart palpitated, my lungs hurt.
I dove in and paddled to shore. My legs and arms churned. But instead of moving forward, I was thrust back, and gasped. More foamy water bruised my face, boogie board ripped from my clutches. The sky went from pale blue to purple. I checked behind me. My lungs screeched and my brain flashed an urgent order to turn around. I did and braced for the onslaught.
The largest wave I'd witnessed destroyed me though I relaxed, knew it would carry me ashore. I was thrown forward then slammed back, as if I’d hit an invisible wall. I dog paddled yet the distance between me and the shoreline grew.
"Help!" My sore lungs gave an inaudible yelp. "Guys!" I waved but they didn't see me. Rain fell thicker, winds stronger. I coughed, choked, wheezed. My face went white, body temperature falling, my bones ready to snap like brittle gum.
I strove to stay afloat, searched the area but the sky, now midnight blue, made it impossible to see. Lightning shone. I looked in all directions but darkness came too quick, followed by thunder. Blackness crawled over my eyes and I went under.
My choking throat woke me as my head broke the surface. I heard a shout, hollered to it as waves crashed. In a brief calm I heard the voice say it couldn't get out that deep, waves too high.
Rain plummeted, pounded me while lightning winked and the obligatory thunder peal echoed.
I labored for breath, swam to shore but made no progress, like a soldier marking time. Huge, snow‑white crests atop an angry, tall breaker roared toward me. My sight darkened and my body eased. I felt eerily calm.
I heard a cry. An infant's. I looked down and saw the newborn, eyes like mine. The baby wailed as if beaten. I looked at it then person holding it. Veronica. My wife, mother to be. Our child. A precious girl. I reached for her, my body weak yet vibrating with anticipation. My hands went to touch it.
Cold water hit me and my mouth opened as air filled my lungs. My eyelids opened and though dizzy, I collected my surroundings and discovered I was right where I'd been before unconsciousness hit. I thought of Veronica, seven months pregnant and how she hated being alone. She couldn't be left to raise a new child by herself.
Must stay alive, I thought.For them. Hell, for me. Have to see my child.
My heart soared, my lungs cleared as did my vision and things settled. Blood pumped into my arms, legs, and muscles. I swam ahead, knew I'd make it.
A few strokes to shore. Then I was propelled back, as if a working bulldozer with steel blade was in front of me. My lungs wanted to collapse, muscles ready to quit. Thunder broke and lightning streaked, long and bright. I saw no one in the water, no one on shore. My heart sank and I heard a roar. The sky flash showed a wave the size of a truck. It crashed around me. My vision faded.
I came to, on my back, continued to be swept away from shore.
Lightning burst on the horizon and I saw a strange sight, unable to decipher it before the lightning vanished. The flash occurred again and when I discerned what the object that fell from the sky was, I felt I'd become paraplegic. A waterspout.
My bones were ready to break, my mouth salty and dry. The image of my wife failed to renew my strength.
The funnel approached. I sank and recalled drinking sea water makes you go mad. And a drowning man goes under three times. Was this number three?
Waves crested and pounded me as water sprayed as if from a broken water main. With the next lightning flash I viewed the cyclone. A hundred yards away. Winds whipped my face and my eyes teared, my hair as if pulled from its roots.
The combers crescendoed but I kept getting shoved out to sea, my eye ducts like a water faucet at full throttle.
I swam parallel to shore, raised my left arm, then my right. A sensation like a chainsaw tore through my right arm. I screamed and got a belly full of water.
I lifted my arm again. Pain revisited. I dog paddled while the noise like a freight train sounded in back of me.
A cresting wave rolled in, twenty feet to the left and behind me. Could it carry me to shore?
I lifted my right arm and ignored the torment, swam. My body drifted to the wave. The tornado buffeted the sea and I went up, down, up down.
The roller rose and my legs, though soft as clay, kicked and channeled through the sea.
Up in the air I went, the wave upon me, waterspout behind it. The waves beat me, flipped me, lifted me like a giant hand. I went up.
Foam invaded my eyes, nose, and lips. I choked then vomited. Lightning streaked a white line, a daytime glare that lasted on my eyes after the burst ended.
Thunder talked and a flash further out lit up the night like a fire ball. I looked to shore as my breaker peaked and saw the shadows on land. Human figures pointed and motioned but winds were so deafening I couldn't hear their voices. The wave swayed forward and I was tossed as if from a cannon.
Air whistled in my ears. I stretched to swim. My arms only cut through air. Wind whipped at me. I soared to a peak. Lightning bristled, revealed the maelstrom below.
I descended and slapped the water with the equivalent force of hitting a concrete wall. My senses dulled and my vision blurred.
I came to and raised my right arm. The chainsaw like pain returned. I cried and lowered the limb, swam with my left arm. And recalled what I’d been trapped in. A ripcurrent. To be sure I was free of its death grasp, I swam parallel to shore, the way one must to escape.
Across the waters I went. Free. I changed directions, moved to shore, gap between me and the beach shrinking.
The roar of ocean, rain, and thunder was invaded by another, this one pleasurable. Voices. My friends. Lightning lit up again and Roger came out then halted as blackness took over. The next flash brought the same image, my friends as if hitting an unseen wall, pointing, shouting, hands around their mouths.
I glimpsed over my shoulder. My body grew colder, numb. Water spout approached.
Lightning again. I saw the body outlines, still in the water. Two moved toward me. I wanted to wave them back but couldn't lift my right arm and used the left to tread water. The tall and short shadows told me it was Thad with Roger. Thad, who'd been afraid to get in, now stood in waves that scourged his face. That he was willing to risk his life gave me strength. I again pictured Veronica with our newborn and believed I would make it. Had to.
I crawled to the shoreline, tornado closer.
A cutting through my toes. Even in the water, I felt blood trickle across my feet. What I touched made my lips form a wide, upward arc. Never had the pain of hitting rocks been so joyful.
My feet touch sand at ocean's bottom. I raised my legs, swayed, caught my balance, and shot my left arm in the air. Roger and Thad whooped and hollered. Another lightning flash and I saw Allison and Christian embrace. I staggered, stumbled, hopped to them. The waterspout changed directions, away from the shore.
I raised my arm again. Wind shears blew me down. Wet sand hit my eyes, face, shirt, shorts, and arms. Water flowed over me and seeped into my mouth. I ran my fingers through the sand.
A hand reached out. I grasped it. Our fingerpads touched. Water rushed behind me. My arm fell. Another wave covered my head. Water entered my lungs. I hacked, spit, and crawled as slow as snow receding in sub‑zero temperatures.
The hand reached out and I clutched it, clung to it. Roger pulled me in. My chin rubbed sand, hit a sharp object and kept rubbing. I lost sense of surroundings.
Hands touched me. One slapped my cheeks. Voices talked, distant at first, then clear.
"Speak to me," Roger hit my cheeks again.
"I hear ya," I mumbled. The hand let up.
"He's okay," Roger exclaimed. "He'll make it!"
I squirmed to get up, discovered it too painful and lay on the beach, my right arm as if it had been hit by a grenade and put in a washing machine ‑ still connected to my body. Allison left for help and Christian stated the waterspout had risen into the sky.
"Thought you were a goner," he said.
"Yeah. But I made it."
"Don't know how," Roger added. "Someone must've been lookin' out for ya."
"Yeah," I muttered and thought of Veronica and our offspring. I lowered my head to the sand and passed out.
"C'mon honey, keep it comin'. Almost there." I observed it in the canal. It looked lovely.
"C'mon dear, not much longer." I breathed in and out, like I'd been taught in class. "Here it is. It's comin'. I see its head."
As slow as the hour hand moves on a clock, it came out, head first. Bald, covered with liquid. But the most beautiful baby girl I'd seen. The head popped out as did the rest of her.
I heard nothing and my breathing ceased. Then the most amazing, lovely sound. The cry of a newborn girl.
The obstetrician smiled. "Normal and healthy," she said.
My wife grinned, her chest heaving in quick thrusts, her hospital gown soaked, her face glistening.
I beamed and held the baby up with my good hand, other still in a sling "Who'd have thought she'd save my life out there?" I kissed the child's forehead. "Let's call her Savior," I said in my giddiness.
Veronica grimaced. "We'll do no such thing. She'd be laughed out of school. The neighborhood. The country."
"So what do we name her?"
"Something normal. Erica?"
I smiled and nodded. "Sounds good."
"Savior," my wife mocked and rolled her eyes. "You'd have thought I'd have come up with that considering the torture I've been in the past twelve hours. You don't have a clue what I've been through."
I displayed my sling. "I think I do."
We laughed and I leaned in on my wife, the baby between us. A family. Both of them my savior.
THE IDEA FOR THIS ONE
Came up with this story after watching a rerun of NBC’s Dateline on a cable channel about rip currents (a.k., Drowning Machine). I think I like this one because of the circumstances surrounding the writing process. I’d taken off work on a Monday & Tuesday in October one year and it’d been raining all the previous week. Thankfully, it cleared on Monday, a beautiful day, little wind, sunny & 80ish. I finished the story that morning and that night friends came over for beer and pizza and we watched my favorite team, the Tennesee Titans, beat the Jacksonville Jaguars for their 5thstraight win (though they wound up losing in their first playoff game that year. Bummer!) Fortunately, Tuesday’s weather was just as nice. This one was published in ’09 and is one of the few I can read after publication and say “I like this one.”
DREAM COME TRUE?
Ted Armis rubbed his temples with his fingers. "What does it mean?"
Leonard Sheridian took a swig from his beer bottle. “Nothing. Nothing at all."
"But it's so vivid, so real, I swear it's actually happening."
"But it's not," Leonard said, set the bottle back on the formica counter between them, leaned back in the red cushioned booth and put his hands on the back of his head. "It's not real. Only seems real. Not is. Seems."
"Each night it gets clearer, lasts longer."
Leonard shrugged. "It's nothing. Your mind's working overtime.” He called a waitress over and ordered another beer. "Quit searching for interpretations, deeper meanings."
"There's no interpreting," Ted said. "She's there, I see her. She turns. It's her."
"Looks like her," Leonard corrected. "You didn't say it was her for sure."
Ted's lips undulated. "I'm pretty sure."
"Pretty sure doesn't cut it."
"But this dream is so lucid; it's telling me something."
"Telling you you're nuts."
"I mean it. What about that guy in 1979? He dreamt a plane would crash at O'hare airport. And it did. Worst crash due to mechanical failure in U.S. history."
"But he couldn't pinpoint specifics. Some psychic vision," Leonard said. "Just remember, his dream stopped after that."
"Big deal. He created a self fulfilling prophecy, said he wouldn't have it anymore so he didn't."
"You don't believe in psychic phenomena?"
"I'm saying in this case it's not true."
"You wouldn't say that if youhad the dream."
The waitress returned, gave Leonard his beer and took the empty bottle. Leonard eyed her well figured physique.
"Do you believe dreams can be premonitions?" Ted asked the waitress.
The red haired girl put a hand on her chin then pointed. "Yeah. As long as I'm in it and some handsome, wealthy guy wants to marry me.” She noticed Leonard eyeing her. "Someone unlike yourself," she told him and left.
Ted whistled. "Got you good."
"Not unlike Marcia's got you good. Bad," Leonard said. "She doesn't want you. Left you over a year ago."
"We went our separate ways," Ted said and his right hand became a fist. "It was mutual. We felt we couldn't go any farther." He thought of his dream, shook his head. "But neither of us wanted to break up, we just felt like .."
"Like what?"
"I dunno. Like .."
"Like sex was all you had?" Leonard chuckled. " 'cause I know she wasn't after you for your looks. Or personality. Must've been the sex."
Ted gave a false grin. "Funny."
"So why'd you break up?"
"I don't know.” Ted eased his clenched hand. "But this .. dream .."
"Forewarning," Leonard said with a smirk.
"Glad you agree with me," Ted said with a smile.
"I do. Just not in this case."
"Whatever.” Ted checked his watch. "Getting late. Think I'll go home."
"Pay attention to that dream tonight. Talk to her," Leonard said. "See what she says."
"Funny."
"I'm serious," Leonard said. "I believe dreams have meaning."
"Sure," Ted said and left.
He had the dream again, saw Marcia. Or whom he believed was her, she in profile, her shoulder length blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. Her right eye—it seemed to be blue, like hers—glistened in the streetlight's glow. She seemed to smile, her eyes bright when she noticed Ted.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you," she said, her arms open though they blocked her face, Ted unable to tell if it was her. "It's been so long since .."
Ted awoke in cold sweats.
"You need sleep," Leonard said the next day. "Those bags under your eyes look like a quarterback's eye black."
Ted gave a half smile. "I'm telling ya, she's trying to tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know. But each night the dream gets longer.”
"You're still not over her."
Ted thought for a minute. "Guess not," he said, managed a grin.
"You're obsessed with her."
"It's more than that. I can feel it."
"If you say so," Leonard said. "Though I think you're reading too much into it. Besides, Marcia's in Colorado, long ways away. She's not comin' anytime soon."
"I know," Ted said. "Yet ..” He couldn't finish the sentence.
Again the dream that night: Marcia smiled, turned.
"I knew I'd find you here ... it's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted's cold sweats returned. He panted, caught his breath and rubbed his eyes. An hour passed before he fell asleep.
Next night, same thing, except the last sentence extended to, "tell you how much .."
"Damn!" Ted said, sotto voce. He gathered the bed sheets in his fists then loosened them. "C'mon," he said to his apartment's walls. "Let me know."
The next two nights were the same. Then he got a call.
"Hey.” It was Vern, a former dorm buddy. "Didja hear who's coming to town?"
"Santa Claus?"
"What a comedian," Vern said. "Marcia."
Ted gasped. "Who?"
"Marcia. Your woman."
"Ex," Ted said.
"I know. But you guys were so serious we thought it was down the aisle for you two. Why'd she dump you anyway?"
Ted flinched, grit his teeth. "We separated amicably. Both of us. It was mutual."
"If ya say so. But she's comin' back. Tomorrow."
Ted's mind sang 'Ode to Joy' but he gathered himself. "That is nice," he said calmly. "If we cross paths I’d be glad to converse with her, communicate as much and .."
"Why are ya talkin’ like you're one of the royal family?"
"I'm not," Ted said. "But should I run into her, that's fine. We'll talk, exchange pleasantries, and say adios."
"Man," Vern said. "If it'd been me with a girl for over a year and we met again, I'd be in bed with her in an hour."
"That's why you don't have a girl," Ted said. "Your heart is below your beltline."
Both boys laughed.
"See ya," Vern said. "And if you do see her, good luck."
"Thanks. But we're just friends."
"Uh-huh," Vern said, dubious. "Bye."
The dream was the same, only Marcia (or the girl Ted believed was Marcia) turned her head further.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you how much I .."
Ted came to, gasped like a race horse, and calmed by telling himself it meant nothing, he merely thinking too much. But his mind and stomach felt otherwise. And he remembered something he hadn't seen in past sequences. She'd turned far enough this time, he saw it. Below her ear. The scar. From stitches when she said she fell off her bike at six.
It is her, he thought, raised his hands in triumph and imagined seeing her, how it would be, what they would say.
I know she's telling me she missed me, wants to go back to school here and make up. That's the rest of her sentence. I know it. He beamed and relaxed on the bed, fell asleep in minutes.
The day arrived. Ted got up and went to Finance class. Just before entering, he saw a girl with blonde, shoulder length hair and blue eyes. He inhaled. Then exhaled. Not Marcia.
"Damn," he whispered as the dream played in his mind.
After Finance, he went to Intermediate Accounting. He got up to leave and saw a girl. Blonde hair. Same size as her. He pressed his lips together. And sighed. Not her.
Next he went to Economics. Every girl with blonde hair near the shoulders caused Ted to turn. None were Marcia.
He and Leonard went out for dinner.
"Is that her?" Leonard would say whenever a girl like Marcia came into view.
"Shut up," Ted would tease back.
They returned to Ted's place as darkness took over.
Leonard looked at the time as they watched t.v. on the old couch. "It's past midnight, day's over. I'm sure she's in bed now.” He chuckled. "Maybe with another guy. Guess your dream was just that. A dream. A wish. Fairy tale. Now move on with your life."
"I know," Ted said and though his stomach pinched and his heart seemed to be in the soles of his shoes, he smiled. "Never meant to be."
"That's the spirit," Leonard said, slapped Ted's thigh and stood. "Let's go have a drink. On me."
Ted sighed. "I dunno."
"Come on, drown your sorrows, put her behind ya. At least the dream won't happen anymore."
"You're right," Ted said and got up.
The two visited an off campus pub, had some drinks, met friends, and went to the strip, a street next to campus with the most popular bars and hang outs.
"Let's go," Ted told Leonard after visiting several bars .
"So dreams don't always come true," Leonard said. "Don't worry, lots of other hens in the hen house."
"I know," Ted said. "It's just that ..."
A voice spoke. Familiar. Then the words.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you."
Ted recognized the voice. His skin goosepimpled. His heart seemed frozen. He stopped breathing. The voice continued.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted turned. His face went white and his hands palsied. Then he smiled, looked at Leonard, also pale faced. Ted's grin grew. His heart felt as if on fire. He looked at her to be sure though he knew who it was. It was her, blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. The street light shone on her, she in profile. The woman turned, lips going up, eyes twinkling in the streetlight's glow. She continued to speak.
".. tell you how much I care about .."
Ted ran up to her, wrapped his arms around her.
"I missed you too. It's so good to see you. Haven't stopped thinking about you since you left.” He pressed her to his body. Her perfume relaxed and excited him, the best he'd ever smelled on a girl. He went to kiss her.
"What the hell are you doing?" the girl said.
Ted's lips met a hand. He pulled back. It was Marcia. "Whadya mean? It's me, Ted."
Marcia cringed. "Oh God, Ted. Get away from me."
"But you just said how glad you were to make it back to Stillwater, see me and .."
Marcia pushed Ted away. "Not you.” She shuffled to the sidewalk where an older man stood. She wrapped her arms around this guy. "Him," she said and pressed her lips on his cheek. "My Uncle Louie.” She hugged him. "I was in town, tried to call but you weren't around. Shoulda figured you'd be out carousing."
"Marcia!" the man said and returned the hug. "My favorite niece. What are you doing here?"
"Going back to school.” She separated from her uncle. "You were right, work is hard. I'm re-enrolling here. Wanted to thank you for your monetary support and advice. Mom said you're leaving tomorrow for Europe until next month on business. Had to find you. Should've guessed you'd be near a bar."
"That's great, honey. Glad you're back. You're making the right choice."
Marcia leaned her head on her uncle's shoulder. "You've been so good. Just had to say thanks. See you when you get back."
"You bet," the uncle said then looked at Ted and Leonard. "Who're these two? They know you?"
"Oh them," Marcia said and led her uncle quickly past them. "Bad memories from my past.” She looked over her shoulder, glared at Ted and pointed. "Especially that one. He's very strange. You saw him attack me then claim I was his girlfriend. Only in his dreams."
The uncle laughed and the two left.
Leonard punched a hand on Ted's shoulder, chortled. "Sometimes dreams come true. Just not the way you expect.” He burst into laughter, doubled over.
"Shut up," Ted said, grinned and grabbed Leonard by the neck. "C'mon, knucklehead, let's go home."
THE IDEA BEHIND THIS ONE
Hadn’t done many humorous stories and since Dream International Quarterly magazine (now defunct) had published several stories of mine, I thought something humorous about dreams would be a good story. So I came up with this one—a humorous(I hope) take on how dreams can easily be misinterpreted.
Northwest 19thand Youngs Boulevard
We were driving in northwest Oklahoma City when we saw it. An older home, built in the nineteen twenties though it didn't look it. But it was what we wanted. The intersection there was a four way stop and as we drove past, I saw the tracks amidst the intersection and wondered aloud what they were.
"Train tracks," Jeremy, our eight year old and Kelly, our four year old daughter, said together while nine month old Jill slept beside them.
"But why are they still here?" I asked.
"Who knows?" my wife Toni said as we passed the two storied, deep red brick house with wide front porch and arched doorways. She clutched my arm. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
Next evening, a short, balding, pudgy man with thin brown eyes and beads of sweat on his forehead met us. "Let me give ya the tour. Where'd I put those keys?" He searched his pockets then chuckled. "Guess if I can't find ‘em I could break a window." His grin abated. "Then again, them things're made of unbreakable plexiglass, put in after a bad wind storm. Don't worry, I'll find 'em." He slapped his shirt pocket. A jingle.
We went up creaky porch steps and he opened the door, my breath taken away by the home's elegance. I inquired as to the price and he showed me.
I whistled. "Why so cheap?"
"Got it at government auction." The realtor gave an elbow, his hand at the side of his mouth. "Creditors said previous owner skipped the country to avoid debt. I heard he simply vanished."
The guy led us into a commodious front room then down a small corridor to a larger, brighter room, this one below ground level. A balcony extended from two walls, led to bedrooms.
We then entered another room where a small fireplace left me with a homey feeling, bookshelves lining windowless walls. In the distance, a train's whistle warned motorists. Or so I thought.
Upstairs, the master bedroom with walk-in closet cinched it for my wife. She wrapped herself around me. "Let's buy."
When I saw the master bath with Jacuzzi, it was a done deal.
Our first night there, boxes and furniture in harum-scarum fashion, the whistle woke me. I smiled.
At work, I considered my next article for the newspaper, about the Oklahoma oil boom but it didn't work so my neighbor referred me to Odell Ferguson, an old timer, said he could describe things back then. I called, left a message that Sunday as a train whistle sounded in the distance.
Having received no call back by Tuesday, I left another message and hung up as, in the distance, the sound was audible.
By Thursday I'd given up on the guy and retired to bed. Past midnight, I heard a rustling, went downstairs, and turned on porch lights. A yelp. I opened the front door. "Who's out there?"
A tall, slender man with a blue shirt and blue denim overalls came forward. "Howdy." He offered his hand. "Name's Odell Ferguson. Sorry I scared ya but I don't get much sleep now. You called, left a message so thought I'd git some exacise out here. Then, passing the house, decided to have looksee if anyone was awake." He observed my uncombed hair. "Guess you wasn’t."
"Well, I'm awake now so c'mon in." I opened the door and turned on a lamp, told him what I wanted, grabbed a nearby pencil and notepad, and looked up. My hair went stiff, my eyes bulged, my legs rubbery. His skin had gone old and wrinkly, eyeballs sunken. He smiled a crooked grin, mouth displaying missing teeth, the rest old and chipped. His hands snapped forward and clutched my shoulders, his long, sharp nails sinking into my skin. I screamed and fell to my knees.
"Daddy, what's happening?" Kelly hollered from upstairs.
I could not answer. I gazed up, Jeremy also there, his face pale. He ran to the stairs but slipped, fell toward the balcony guardrail, he small enough to fall through the slats. His head came through then his shoulders then the rest of his body.
"Daddy, help! I—"
"Honey, you okay?" Toni's voice said.
I jumped up in bed. In moonlight, I discerned Toni’s face, her eyes cringing though she had a tiny smile.
I caught my breath. "Fine."
We fell back asleep and the phone woke me as sunlight crept over the house. "Hello?"
"Hello," the same low, rough voice from my dream said. "You left a message. I'm Odell Ferguson. Be glad to do an inter- view."
We scheduled to meet. I drove to his house, a small place with carport though no vehicle was present, house painted dark blue with green Welcome mat at the door. I pressed the doorbell, the guy greeting me a replica of the man in my dream except this person looked friendly. I told him who I was. He shook my hand, invited me in, and offered a seat on his plaid couch, he lounging in a gold recliner.
"Now sir..." I began.
"Call me Odell."
"Okay. Tell me about the depression, dust bowl."
We talked for a while when a plane flew by. Odell looked at the sky, sentimentalized how he remembered when the main way to travel was by train.
I decided to ask. "Were you here when the Union Pacific was built?"
Odell laughed. "I may be old but not that old. That was built in the early twentieth century."
"Does it come through this area?"
Odell shook his head. "That line is downtown. You can hear the trains' horns every so often though not real loud."
"Oh," I said, my heart sinking. "I heard some trains and ..
I watched the old man as his pupils dilated and his irises shrank, asked if he was okay.
"Just thinking ... Where'd you say ya live?"
"Nineteenth and Youngs."
Odell bit his upper lip. "Can't be," he muttered. "That was years ago."
"What?" The pencil twitched in my hand.
Odell rose, paced, finally stopped and folded his arms. "A tragedy," he began. "Near the end of the nineteenth century, one of them railroad magnates like Cornelius Vanderbilt built a track here when it was nothing but land and a few streets. Built it right where you live now."
"You mean that piece of track at the intersection used to be—"
"That old man's railroad." Odell nodded, returned to his chair. "Know what that man's name was?"
My shoulders rose and fell.
Odell stood. "Anderson. Anderson Youngs."
"They named the street after him?"
"No one likes to admit it." Odell slumped in his recliner. “Daddy told me 'bout it. First a minor crash, small passenger train almost ran off the track, railroad dismissing it as human error though one engineer claimed it was cheap, inefficient rails and railroad ties. Youngs denied that." Odell gave a t-t-twith his tongue. "Don't know how investigators missed it. 'Course, I am looking at twenty twenty hindsight. Things went back to normal when a freight train came through and ran over that track by yer house, had lots of cargo and was believed to have bent the track. Next morning, passenger train comes through ..." Odell paused. "Musta been almost one hun'red people 'board. Went past that spot going eighty miles an hour and when it raced over that mangled rail .." He exhaled. "An accident."
"How bad?"
"Half the people died. Authorities did another investigation, shut down the line, demanded its owner replace them tracks. Youngs bailed out, sold his company to a business syndicate who closed most of the rail lines, including the one here since the Union Pacific had been built recently. The incident was forgotten, area became a wheat field then a residential district, only proof of the railroad’s existence that piece at the intersection. Your original owner lived there many years when one night it sounded, off in the distance at first then louder. This guy sold the place to my friend, he a light sleeper, who tried earplugs, even searched for the previous owner—which was like finding that Judge Crater—so my friend moved. House was vacant until mid eighties, when I learned a story." The old man shivered. "These owners heard the whistle. And something new: the clack of wheels. Window panes rattled, floors vibrated, the house shook. Its occupants ran out to check and found nothing, the whistle had stopped, and the roar of drivers disappeared. Family went back inside, fell asleep. The noise returned. But opening the door was like pulling a tractor trailer on a rope with your hands. The train sounded right outside the front door." He paused.
"What happened?"
Odell grimaced. "The person I heard this from said the neighbors fled to his house, described what'd occurred, said they’d broken a window and crawled out."
"Didn't the neighbor hear the train?" I asked.
Odell chuckled without humor. "That's the crux, he didn't. No one did. Neighbor let the family sleep in his house overnight and next morning the family was gone, never seen nor heard from. It was as if .." He didn't finish.
"This really happened?" I said, a smile tugging at my mouth's corners.
"Check it out in your paper, all there in black and white. At least the part about Anderson Youngs. The other stuff, who knows?"
The sound of a far off whistle made me gooseflesh.
Odell smiled. "Is the Union Pacific downtown."
I closed my notebook and stood, thanked him, said I'd call if I needed.
Odell smiled. "Door's always open."
Again the horn sounded. Too far away.
That week at work, I crept down to the basement where old articles had been transferred to microfilm years ago and never updated, spider webs in every corner, file cabinets covered in layers of dust.
I searched the database, found relevant articles, and put them under the microfilm screen. One made me stop. Something about the first successful railroad. The article came alive, similar to Odell's story about the crash though I found no articles about the apparent ghost's whistle. Was what Odell said true?
Trains whistled that night, all from downtown. It was a myth. Snuggling next to my wife on the sofa, I grew sleepy.
A honk. I popped up, cold sweat on my forehead, my breath uneven. I shook Toni. "You hear that?"
"What?" she mumbled.
The noise again. Headlights brighter than I'd ever seen flooded the house, ran across one wall and disappeared. The sound of a rig drove past.
"Yeah," Toni mumbled. A truck. Big deal.”
My heart settled back into place. As I nodded off, it sounded. I put a pillow over my head, sure it was the rig. But this sound wouldn't quit, had me upright. It repeated, grew, and faded. Another downtown train.
Nature's call woke me hours later. Back on the couch, the noise came back, louder.
"Toni, wake up!" I shook my wife.
"Now what?" she muttered through clenched teeth.
"Do you hear it now?"
"There's nothing out there. Listen .. Now go back to sleep and leave—"
It sounded.
In silhouetted darkness, I observed Toni's mouth open. "Where's that from?" she whispered.
"Don't know. From what I learned .." The noise was so piercing, we covered our ears.
"Mommy!" Kelly's muffled voice upstairs. "Mommy, Daddy. Wha's dat?" She ran downstairs, Jeremy behind her, his toy lion tight in his arms.
Toni and Kelly rested on one couch, Jeremy and I on the other. His hands twitched. We moved Jillian’s cradle next to us while she slept nonchalantly.
We lay sleepless on the couch. The whistle would stop then minutes later, start again, louder, wheels on rails sounding.
A blinding glare through the window like floodlights. Panes rattled, vibrated so fierce I thought the glass in them would break.
Light shone into the crib, awoke Jill. She wailed.
As quick as it had begun, it ended. The light dimmed, horn silent. Blackness returned. Jill and Kelly sobbed. Jeremy hid under blankets.
"What in the hell was that?" Toni asked, no one with an answer. Slowly, we all fell asleep.
The sun's rays were an unwelcome sight. The kids slept with their mother so I crept to the kitchen, brewed coffee, opened the blinds covering the front windows, and looked out at the lawn. Had I dreamt it? Others would think us loony.
I had trouble falling asleep that night but once I did, wasn't conscious until sunrise. It was the weekend but we kept busy.
"What a day." Toni stretched and yawned. "Think I'll draw a hot bath."
I nodded off on the couch.
"Dad! Dad!" Jeremy said. "C'mere." His voice trembled.
"What's wrong?"
"Dad! Get up! I'm scared!"
I sat up, stifled a yawn. "What is it?"
Wide-eyed, Jeremy grabbed my hand, led me to his bathroom. The faucet ran. He pointed at it then clutched my waist. "What's wrong? Was washing my hands when that happened."
That referred to the color the water had taken. In fact, it hadn't just changed colors. There was something else coming out. Red. A deep crimson liquid.
"Don't panic." I tried to keep my voice even. "No big deal." I turned the faucet knob. Nothing.
Jeremy cried. Suddenly, the faucet stopped. Then that sound. The bathroom light flickered and failed. I flipped the wall switch. Nothing. Jeremy clung to me. Kelly, now awake, joined him. Even upstairs, the sound of the train's rails vibrated the walls and floor. I heard footfalls.
"You guys okay?" It was Toni.
"In here!" I yelled.
"We have to get out of here!" Toni said above the din as she held Jill, who screamed while pulling her mom's hair.
The sound stopped.
"Let's start packing!" Toni said, still hollering.
"To where?" I demanded.
"I don't know." Toni's voice calmed. "A neighbor's?"
"And we tell them? They'll think we belong in the funny farm."
"How about a motel till we find another place?"
We got our necessities and piled into the car.
Next day, we took a week's worth of clothes and other items. By mid-week, my wife had found a house to rent.
We moved Saturday, cumulus clouds scattered hither and thither across an otherwise blue sky. By nightfall we were almost done.
"The bookshelf in the study," I said to Toni, who followed me into the room. We each grabbed a shelf end and marched toward the front. Lights flickered. Winds blew the door shut. Then that sound. That horrible, gut wrenching wail. We were like sculptures.
"Let's get out of here!" I finally shouted. We dropped the bookshelf and I grabbed Jeremy while Toni took Jill and Kelly.
We ran to the door. A loud click. The lock. I tried to turn it, to no avail, door not budging either. Gusts howled and screamed, rattled windows as the whistle we'd become so familiar with began.
"Open it, damnit! Open it!" Toni screamed.
Light shone through the house. The door would not give.
"The windows!" Toni yelled.
I couldn't open them, tried smashing one then recalled the realtor’s comment: Unbreakable. My body went numb, the winds moaned, and the horn was the loudest it'd ever been. The light came closer, sound of wheels louder.
Out of the room's corner, a flame flickered and grew, ran up one wall. Smoke billowed.
"Daddy, help!" Jeremy begged.
We cowered in a corner, unable to move. The train's light approached our yard, the fire now a blaze covering two walls that leaned in and out as if breathing.
I crawled to the study's back door. A fire-filled beam creaked and toppled. I spun away from it, beam falling so close I felt its heat on my back. The walls groaned louder, leaned inward and collapsed, as if lunging for us.
"Dad, look out!" Jeremy hollered.
I sprinted to him as the walls crashed onto a table. Glass from those unbreakable windows shattered. Wind and dirt blew in, caused us to gag and cough and place our hands in front of our faces. But it was what we needed.
"Let's get out of here! Now!" I screamed, Toni needing no coaxing. We stumbled through the mess, hurried to the truck.
In the cab, I stuck the key into the ignition. It wouldn't turn over. Once. Twice. Thrice. Fourth time, the hum of the engine sounded, as beautiful as a classical concert. I drove away at a speed I didn't think the truck could reach while Toni dialed nine one one on her cell phone.
Fire engines sirened as we drove to the motel.
Next morning, I drove past the place on my way to work. At the four way stop, I pressed the brake pedal and took another look, one side of the place burnt like a charcoal briquette.
I raised my foot off the pedal. The car conked out. I tried to restart it. Nothing. I turned the ignition again. Same result. I prayed like I was on my death bed.
It returned. The sound.
My stomach became a maze of knots and my left hand gripped the wheel, right hand turning the key as far as it could go. I floored the gas pedal. The car was a corpse. The whistle sounded louder. Once more, I turned the key, leaning on the wheel in desperation. The engine roared, squeal of tires on pavement permeating the neighborhood. I sped across the intersection and drove away doing sixty. I was gone from the area. Never to return. No matter what anybody would say, no matter the circumstances. Never!
THE END
HOW I CAME UP WITH THIS STORY
Yes, there really are tracks at that intersection in Oklahoma City. Used to live in that area years ago and it's a four way stop. I drove across the intersection for many months before finally wondering what kind of tracks they were, thinking train tracks though they looked too small(found out
later they were trolley tracks that used to run in that area) As I wondered and crossed the intersection, in my mind I heard the whistle of a train and imagined a train speeding out of nowhere and splitting my car in a half.
Thinking this might be a story, I imagined each time the noise getting louder until, when an important dignitary was being rushed to the hospital, the train would crush the ambulance. Of course, it didn't turn out that way(the original idea is almost never the one I use for a story) but I still liked it as I'm a sucker for those urban legend, historical horror stories that are half-based in truth.
The Drowning Machine
A wave taller than any I'd encountered rose in the nighttime air. I hopped on my boogie board and made sure I got Roger's attention as waves carried me in and dumped me at water's edge.
I stood, laughed, and looked at Roger. "How 'bout that?"
"I don't know," he said. "Should we quit? Thad thinks so."
"No way." I said and high stepped into the ocean as water lashed my calves and rushed to shore. "This is great."
I sprinted back out and as I stretched to dive in, a huge clap like an earth tremor shook me, clouds on the horizon lurching. I twisted in the water, boogie board lost. Another wave splashed my shoulders and pushed me back. I cackled at it, thrilled by the speed at which it carried me to shore.
We were the only guests on the beach in Ocean City, New Jersey, place dormant for several weeks, when summer season began. Friends Roger and Allison talked Thad, Christian, and I into coming out.
"They're chicken," Allison had said at our apartment with a bray of laughter associated from too much alcohol.
Roger waved us to the car. "Let's get going. Got your boogie boards? I'm bringing my surfboard." The fin stuck out of his Jeep's back end.
Thad combed his short hair back. "I don't know. No one's there, no lifeguards, nothing. Water'll be cold." He examined the evening sky. "It'll be dark shortly."
"Aw, c'mon. Christian, you're not going to let him spoil our graduation party, are ya?" Roger asked.
Christian's head moved side to side. "Whatever you guys do, I'll go with it."
Roger faced me. I looked at him, then Allison, Christian, and Thad. If Veronica was here I could pass the look to her and she'd decide. Roger and I'd been friends since we were college freshmen and he'd gotten me doing things I'd never done.
Thad, a friend since high school, chewed his lip and folded his arms over his chest. I looked at Allison who giggled.
"What's the matter? Scared?" She elbowed Roger. "Remember when he was afraid of Disney World's Tower of Terror?" She chortled, half drunk, half teasing.
Roger moaned and his shoulders drooped. "Well?"
My blood burned and my ears were hot. “Let's go," I said and we jumped in the car.
On the beach, cold sand chilled my feet and gusts hit our faces. Despite chilly waters I jumped in, grabbed the boogie board, and paddled out. Low clouds hovered, drifted in, and a grumble sounded. A flash in the distant sky. I shuddered but seeing Roger surf a tall wave, his athletic body standing above it, urged me to do the same. I hauled the board out and rode a few breakers. Thunder sounded closer.
"Maybe we should go," Thad said as he, Roger, and I moved ashore.
Roger roared a drunk laugh, all the bottles in his backpack empty. "Hell no," he bellowed. "We're not coward asses. You don't want to go, do ya?" he asked me.
"Ya kidding? Hell no."
A long, deep thunderclap intruded.
Roger gazed at me. "What the hell was that? Should we go?” He crinkled his eyes then laughed his drunken laugh.
I chuckled too and charged into the water, swam backstroke, observed the light scud clouds, how tranquil, beautiful they were, how refreshing the water felt. My muscles hummed like a new engine.
I swam out and tread water, no one out this far. I grinned like I'd won a king of the hill battle and cupped a hand to my mouth. "C'mon guys, whatsa matter? Too scared?"
No one responded. Winds blew faster. Lightning burst and seared my eyes. Clouds invaded the remaining light and darkness erupted. Thunder exploded, winds gale force. I continued my brave front. "C'mon guys, can't we ..."
A rush of water from the rear crashed and foam surrounded my head. I bobbed and coughed until my throat cleared. Another wave hit. Thunder burst and rain drizzled. The storm front raced toward us. My heart palpitated, my lungs hurt.
I dove in and paddled to shore. My legs and arms churned. But instead of moving forward, I was thrust back, and gasped. More foamy water bruised my face, boogie board ripped from my clutches. The sky went from pale blue to purple. I checked behind me. My lungs screeched and my brain flashed an urgent order to turn around. I did and braced for the onslaught.
The largest wave I'd witnessed destroyed me though I relaxed, knew it would carry me ashore. I was thrown forward then slammed back, as if I’d hit an invisible wall. I dog paddled yet the distance between me and the shoreline grew.
"Help!" My sore lungs gave an inaudible yelp. "Guys!" I waved but they didn't see me. Rain fell thicker, winds stronger. I coughed, choked, wheezed. My face went white, body temperature falling, my bones ready to snap like brittle gum.
I strove to stay afloat, searched the area but the sky, now midnight blue, made it impossible to see. Lightning shone. I looked in all directions but darkness came too quick, followed by thunder. Blackness crawled over my eyes and I went under.
My choking throat woke me as my head broke the surface. I heard a shout, hollered to it as waves crashed. In a brief calm I heard the voice say it couldn't get out that deep, waves too high.
Rain plummeted, pounded me while lightning winked and the obligatory thunder peal echoed.
I labored for breath, swam to shore but made no progress, like a soldier marking time. Huge, snow‑white crests atop an angry, tall breaker roared toward me. My sight darkened and my body eased. I felt eerily calm.
I heard a cry. An infant's. I looked down and saw the newborn, eyes like mine. The baby wailed as if beaten. I looked at it then person holding it. Veronica. My wife, mother to be. Our child. A precious girl. I reached for her, my body weak yet vibrating with anticipation. My hands went to touch it.
Cold water hit me and my mouth opened as air filled my lungs. My eyelids opened and though dizzy, I collected my surroundings and discovered I was right where I'd been before unconsciousness hit. I thought of Veronica, seven months pregnant and how she hated being alone. She couldn't be left to raise a new child by herself.
Must stay alive, I thought.For them. Hell, for me. Have to see my child.
My heart soared, my lungs cleared as did my vision and things settled. Blood pumped into my arms, legs, and muscles. I swam ahead, knew I'd make it.
A few strokes to shore. Then I was propelled back, as if a working bulldozer with steel blade was in front of me. My lungs wanted to collapse, muscles ready to quit. Thunder broke and lightning streaked, long and bright. I saw no one in the water, no one on shore. My heart sank and I heard a roar. The sky flash showed a wave the size of a truck. It crashed around me. My vision faded.
I came to, on my back, continued to be swept away from shore.
Lightning burst on the horizon and I saw a strange sight, unable to decipher it before the lightning vanished. The flash occurred again and when I discerned what the object that fell from the sky was, I felt I'd become paraplegic. A waterspout.
My bones were ready to break, my mouth salty and dry. The image of my wife failed to renew my strength.
The funnel approached. I sank and recalled drinking sea water makes you go mad. And a drowning man goes under three times. Was this number three?
Waves crested and pounded me as water sprayed as if from a broken water main. With the next lightning flash I viewed the cyclone. A hundred yards away. Winds whipped my face and my eyes teared, my hair as if pulled from its roots.
The combers crescendoed but I kept getting shoved out to sea, my eye ducts like a water faucet at full throttle.
I swam parallel to shore, raised my left arm, then my right. A sensation like a chainsaw tore through my right arm. I screamed and got a belly full of water.
I lifted my arm again. Pain revisited. I dog paddled while the noise like a freight train sounded in back of me.
A cresting wave rolled in, twenty feet to the left and behind me. Could it carry me to shore?
I lifted my right arm and ignored the torment, swam. My body drifted to the wave. The tornado buffeted the sea and I went up, down, up down.
The roller rose and my legs, though soft as clay, kicked and channeled through the sea.
Up in the air I went, the wave upon me, waterspout behind it. The waves beat me, flipped me, lifted me like a giant hand. I went up.
Foam invaded my eyes, nose, and lips. I choked then vomited. Lightning streaked a white line, a daytime glare that lasted on my eyes after the burst ended.
Thunder talked and a flash further out lit up the night like a fire ball. I looked to shore as my breaker peaked and saw the shadows on land. Human figures pointed and motioned but winds were so deafening I couldn't hear their voices. The wave swayed forward and I was tossed as if from a cannon.
Air whistled in my ears. I stretched to swim. My arms only cut through air. Wind whipped at me. I soared to a peak. Lightning bristled, revealed the maelstrom below.
I descended and slapped the water with the equivalent force of hitting a concrete wall. My senses dulled and my vision blurred.
I came to and raised my right arm. The chainsaw like pain returned. I cried and lowered the limb, swam with my left arm. And recalled what I’d been trapped in. A ripcurrent. To be sure I was free of its death grasp, I swam parallel to shore, the way one must to escape.
Across the waters I went. Free. I changed directions, moved to shore, gap between me and the beach shrinking.
The roar of ocean, rain, and thunder was invaded by another, this one pleasurable. Voices. My friends. Lightning lit up again and Roger came out then halted as blackness took over. The next flash brought the same image, my friends as if hitting an unseen wall, pointing, shouting, hands around their mouths.
I glimpsed over my shoulder. My body grew colder, numb. Water spout approached.
Lightning again. I saw the body outlines, still in the water. Two moved toward me. I wanted to wave them back but couldn't lift my right arm and used the left to tread water. The tall and short shadows told me it was Thad with Roger. Thad, who'd been afraid to get in, now stood in waves that scourged his face. That he was willing to risk his life gave me strength. I again pictured Veronica with our newborn and believed I would make it. Had to.
I crawled to the shoreline, tornado closer.
A cutting through my toes. Even in the water, I felt blood trickle across my feet. What I touched made my lips form a wide, upward arc. Never had the pain of hitting rocks been so joyful.
My feet touch sand at ocean's bottom. I raised my legs, swayed, caught my balance, and shot my left arm in the air. Roger and Thad whooped and hollered. Another lightning flash and I saw Allison and Christian embrace. I staggered, stumbled, hopped to them. The waterspout changed directions, away from the shore.
I raised my arm again. Wind shears blew me down. Wet sand hit my eyes, face, shirt, shorts, and arms. Water flowed over me and seeped into my mouth. I ran my fingers through the sand.
A hand reached out. I grasped it. Our fingerpads touched. Water rushed behind me. My arm fell. Another wave covered my head. Water entered my lungs. I hacked, spit, and crawled as slow as snow receding in sub‑zero temperatures.
The hand reached out and I clutched it, clung to it. Roger pulled me in. My chin rubbed sand, hit a sharp object and kept rubbing. I lost sense of surroundings.
Hands touched me. One slapped my cheeks. Voices talked, distant at first, then clear.
"Speak to me," Roger hit my cheeks again.
"I hear ya," I mumbled. The hand let up.
"He's okay," Roger exclaimed. "He'll make it!"
I squirmed to get up, discovered it too painful and lay on the beach, my right arm as if it had been hit by a grenade and put in a washing machine ‑ still connected to my body. Allison left for help and Christian stated the waterspout had risen into the sky.
"Thought you were a goner," he said.
"Yeah. But I made it."
"Don't know how," Roger added. "Someone must've been lookin' out for ya."
"Yeah," I muttered and thought of Veronica and our offspring. I lowered my head to the sand and passed out.
"C'mon honey, keep it comin'. Almost there." I observed it in the canal. It looked lovely.
"C'mon dear, not much longer." I breathed in and out, like I'd been taught in class. "Here it is. It's comin'. I see its head."
As slow as the hour hand moves on a clock, it came out, head first. Bald, covered with liquid. But the most beautiful baby girl I'd seen. The head popped out as did the rest of her.
I heard nothing and my breathing ceased. Then the most amazing, lovely sound. The cry of a newborn girl.
The obstetrician smiled. "Normal and healthy," she said.
My wife grinned, her chest heaving in quick thrusts, her hospital gown soaked, her face glistening.
I beamed and held the baby up with my good hand, other still in a sling "Who'd have thought she'd save my life out there?" I kissed the child's forehead. "Let's call her Savior," I said in my giddiness.
Veronica grimaced. "We'll do no such thing. She'd be laughed out of school. The neighborhood. The country."
"So what do we name her?"
"Something normal. Erica?"
I smiled and nodded. "Sounds good."
"Savior," my wife mocked and rolled her eyes. "You'd have thought I'd have come up with that considering the torture I've been in the past twelve hours. You don't have a clue what I've been through."
I displayed my sling. "I think I do."
We laughed and I leaned in on my wife, the baby between us. A family. Both of them my savior.
THE IDEA FOR THIS ONE
Came up with this story after watching a rerun of NBC’s Dateline on a cable channel about rip currents (a.k., Drowning Machine). I think I like this one because of the circumstances surrounding the writing process. I’d taken off work on a Monday & Tuesday in October one year and it’d been raining all the previous week. Thankfully, it cleared on Monday, a beautiful day, little wind, sunny & 80ish. I finished the story that morning and that night friends came over for beer and pizza and we watched my favorite team, the Tennesee Titans, beat the Jacksonville Jaguars for their 5thstraight win (though they wound up losing in their first playoff game that year. Bummer!) Fortunately, Tuesday’s weather was just as nice. This one was published in ’09 and is one of the few I can read after publication and say “I like this one.”
DREAM COME TRUE?
Ted Armis rubbed his temples with his fingers. "What does it mean?"
Leonard Sheridian took a swig from his beer bottle. “Nothing. Nothing at all."
"But it's so vivid, so real, I swear it's actually happening."
"But it's not," Leonard said, set the bottle back on the formica counter between them, leaned back in the red cushioned booth and put his hands on the back of his head. "It's not real. Only seems real. Not is. Seems."
"Each night it gets clearer, lasts longer."
Leonard shrugged. "It's nothing. Your mind's working overtime.” He called a waitress over and ordered another beer. "Quit searching for interpretations, deeper meanings."
"There's no interpreting," Ted said. "She's there, I see her. She turns. It's her."
"Looks like her," Leonard corrected. "You didn't say it was her for sure."
Ted's lips undulated. "I'm pretty sure."
"Pretty sure doesn't cut it."
"But this dream is so lucid; it's telling me something."
"Telling you you're nuts."
"I mean it. What about that guy in 1979? He dreamt a plane would crash at O'hare airport. And it did. Worst crash due to mechanical failure in U.S. history."
"But he couldn't pinpoint specifics. Some psychic vision," Leonard said. "Just remember, his dream stopped after that."
"Big deal. He created a self fulfilling prophecy, said he wouldn't have it anymore so he didn't."
"You don't believe in psychic phenomena?"
"I'm saying in this case it's not true."
"You wouldn't say that if youhad the dream."
The waitress returned, gave Leonard his beer and took the empty bottle. Leonard eyed her well figured physique.
"Do you believe dreams can be premonitions?" Ted asked the waitress.
The red haired girl put a hand on her chin then pointed. "Yeah. As long as I'm in it and some handsome, wealthy guy wants to marry me.” She noticed Leonard eyeing her. "Someone unlike yourself," she told him and left.
Ted whistled. "Got you good."
"Not unlike Marcia's got you good. Bad," Leonard said. "She doesn't want you. Left you over a year ago."
"We went our separate ways," Ted said and his right hand became a fist. "It was mutual. We felt we couldn't go any farther." He thought of his dream, shook his head. "But neither of us wanted to break up, we just felt like .."
"Like what?"
"I dunno. Like .."
"Like sex was all you had?" Leonard chuckled. " 'cause I know she wasn't after you for your looks. Or personality. Must've been the sex."
Ted gave a false grin. "Funny."
"So why'd you break up?"
"I don't know.” Ted eased his clenched hand. "But this .. dream .."
"Forewarning," Leonard said with a smirk.
"Glad you agree with me," Ted said with a smile.
"I do. Just not in this case."
"Whatever.” Ted checked his watch. "Getting late. Think I'll go home."
"Pay attention to that dream tonight. Talk to her," Leonard said. "See what she says."
"Funny."
"I'm serious," Leonard said. "I believe dreams have meaning."
"Sure," Ted said and left.
He had the dream again, saw Marcia. Or whom he believed was her, she in profile, her shoulder length blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. Her right eye—it seemed to be blue, like hers—glistened in the streetlight's glow. She seemed to smile, her eyes bright when she noticed Ted.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you," she said, her arms open though they blocked her face, Ted unable to tell if it was her. "It's been so long since .."
Ted awoke in cold sweats.
"You need sleep," Leonard said the next day. "Those bags under your eyes look like a quarterback's eye black."
Ted gave a half smile. "I'm telling ya, she's trying to tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know. But each night the dream gets longer.”
"You're still not over her."
Ted thought for a minute. "Guess not," he said, managed a grin.
"You're obsessed with her."
"It's more than that. I can feel it."
"If you say so," Leonard said. "Though I think you're reading too much into it. Besides, Marcia's in Colorado, long ways away. She's not comin' anytime soon."
"I know," Ted said. "Yet ..” He couldn't finish the sentence.
Again the dream that night: Marcia smiled, turned.
"I knew I'd find you here ... it's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted's cold sweats returned. He panted, caught his breath and rubbed his eyes. An hour passed before he fell asleep.
Next night, same thing, except the last sentence extended to, "tell you how much .."
"Damn!" Ted said, sotto voce. He gathered the bed sheets in his fists then loosened them. "C'mon," he said to his apartment's walls. "Let me know."
The next two nights were the same. Then he got a call.
"Hey.” It was Vern, a former dorm buddy. "Didja hear who's coming to town?"
"Santa Claus?"
"What a comedian," Vern said. "Marcia."
Ted gasped. "Who?"
"Marcia. Your woman."
"Ex," Ted said.
"I know. But you guys were so serious we thought it was down the aisle for you two. Why'd she dump you anyway?"
Ted flinched, grit his teeth. "We separated amicably. Both of us. It was mutual."
"If ya say so. But she's comin' back. Tomorrow."
Ted's mind sang 'Ode to Joy' but he gathered himself. "That is nice," he said calmly. "If we cross paths I’d be glad to converse with her, communicate as much and .."
"Why are ya talkin’ like you're one of the royal family?"
"I'm not," Ted said. "But should I run into her, that's fine. We'll talk, exchange pleasantries, and say adios."
"Man," Vern said. "If it'd been me with a girl for over a year and we met again, I'd be in bed with her in an hour."
"That's why you don't have a girl," Ted said. "Your heart is below your beltline."
Both boys laughed.
"See ya," Vern said. "And if you do see her, good luck."
"Thanks. But we're just friends."
"Uh-huh," Vern said, dubious. "Bye."
The dream was the same, only Marcia (or the girl Ted believed was Marcia) turned her head further.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you how much I .."
Ted came to, gasped like a race horse, and calmed by telling himself it meant nothing, he merely thinking too much. But his mind and stomach felt otherwise. And he remembered something he hadn't seen in past sequences. She'd turned far enough this time, he saw it. Below her ear. The scar. From stitches when she said she fell off her bike at six.
It is her, he thought, raised his hands in triumph and imagined seeing her, how it would be, what they would say.
I know she's telling me she missed me, wants to go back to school here and make up. That's the rest of her sentence. I know it. He beamed and relaxed on the bed, fell asleep in minutes.
The day arrived. Ted got up and went to Finance class. Just before entering, he saw a girl with blonde, shoulder length hair and blue eyes. He inhaled. Then exhaled. Not Marcia.
"Damn," he whispered as the dream played in his mind.
After Finance, he went to Intermediate Accounting. He got up to leave and saw a girl. Blonde hair. Same size as her. He pressed his lips together. And sighed. Not her.
Next he went to Economics. Every girl with blonde hair near the shoulders caused Ted to turn. None were Marcia.
He and Leonard went out for dinner.
"Is that her?" Leonard would say whenever a girl like Marcia came into view.
"Shut up," Ted would tease back.
They returned to Ted's place as darkness took over.
Leonard looked at the time as they watched t.v. on the old couch. "It's past midnight, day's over. I'm sure she's in bed now.” He chuckled. "Maybe with another guy. Guess your dream was just that. A dream. A wish. Fairy tale. Now move on with your life."
"I know," Ted said and though his stomach pinched and his heart seemed to be in the soles of his shoes, he smiled. "Never meant to be."
"That's the spirit," Leonard said, slapped Ted's thigh and stood. "Let's go have a drink. On me."
Ted sighed. "I dunno."
"Come on, drown your sorrows, put her behind ya. At least the dream won't happen anymore."
"You're right," Ted said and got up.
The two visited an off campus pub, had some drinks, met friends, and went to the strip, a street next to campus with the most popular bars and hang outs.
"Let's go," Ted told Leonard after visiting several bars .
"So dreams don't always come true," Leonard said. "Don't worry, lots of other hens in the hen house."
"I know," Ted said. "It's just that ..."
A voice spoke. Familiar. Then the words.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you."
Ted recognized the voice. His skin goosepimpled. His heart seemed frozen. He stopped breathing. The voice continued.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted turned. His face went white and his hands palsied. Then he smiled, looked at Leonard, also pale faced. Ted's grin grew. His heart felt as if on fire. He looked at her to be sure though he knew who it was. It was her, blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. The street light shone on her, she in profile. The woman turned, lips going up, eyes twinkling in the streetlight's glow. She continued to speak.
".. tell you how much I care about .."
Ted ran up to her, wrapped his arms around her.
"I missed you too. It's so good to see you. Haven't stopped thinking about you since you left.” He pressed her to his body. Her perfume relaxed and excited him, the best he'd ever smelled on a girl. He went to kiss her.
"What the hell are you doing?" the girl said.
Ted's lips met a hand. He pulled back. It was Marcia. "Whadya mean? It's me, Ted."
Marcia cringed. "Oh God, Ted. Get away from me."
"But you just said how glad you were to make it back to Stillwater, see me and .."
Marcia pushed Ted away. "Not you.” She shuffled to the sidewalk where an older man stood. She wrapped her arms around this guy. "Him," she said and pressed her lips on his cheek. "My Uncle Louie.” She hugged him. "I was in town, tried to call but you weren't around. Shoulda figured you'd be out carousing."
"Marcia!" the man said and returned the hug. "My favorite niece. What are you doing here?"
"Going back to school.” She separated from her uncle. "You were right, work is hard. I'm re-enrolling here. Wanted to thank you for your monetary support and advice. Mom said you're leaving tomorrow for Europe until next month on business. Had to find you. Should've guessed you'd be near a bar."
"That's great, honey. Glad you're back. You're making the right choice."
Marcia leaned her head on her uncle's shoulder. "You've been so good. Just had to say thanks. See you when you get back."
"You bet," the uncle said then looked at Ted and Leonard. "Who're these two? They know you?"
"Oh them," Marcia said and led her uncle quickly past them. "Bad memories from my past.” She looked over her shoulder, glared at Ted and pointed. "Especially that one. He's very strange. You saw him attack me then claim I was his girlfriend. Only in his dreams."
The uncle laughed and the two left.
Leonard punched a hand on Ted's shoulder, chortled. "Sometimes dreams come true. Just not the way you expect.” He burst into laughter, doubled over.
"Shut up," Ted said, grinned and grabbed Leonard by the neck. "C'mon, knucklehead, let's go home."
THE IDEA BEHIND THIS ONE
Hadn’t done many humorous stories and since Dream International Quarterly magazine (now defunct) had published several stories of mine, I thought something humorous about dreams would be a good story. So I came up with this one—a humorous(I hope) take on how dreams can easily be misinterpreted.
Northwest 19thand Youngs Boulevard
We were driving in northwest Oklahoma City when we saw it. An older home, built in the nineteen twenties though it didn't look it. But it was what we wanted. The intersection there was a four way stop and as we drove past, I saw the tracks amidst the intersection and wondered aloud what they were.
"Train tracks," Jeremy, our eight year old and Kelly, our four year old daughter, said together while nine month old Jill slept beside them.
"But why are they still here?" I asked.
"Who knows?" my wife Toni said as we passed the two storied, deep red brick house with wide front porch and arched doorways. She clutched my arm. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
Next evening, a short, balding, pudgy man with thin brown eyes and beads of sweat on his forehead met us. "Let me give ya the tour. Where'd I put those keys?" He searched his pockets then chuckled. "Guess if I can't find ‘em I could break a window." His grin abated. "Then again, them things're made of unbreakable plexiglass, put in after a bad wind storm. Don't worry, I'll find 'em." He slapped his shirt pocket. A jingle.
We went up creaky porch steps and he opened the door, my breath taken away by the home's elegance. I inquired as to the price and he showed me.
I whistled. "Why so cheap?"
"Got it at government auction." The realtor gave an elbow, his hand at the side of his mouth. "Creditors said previous owner skipped the country to avoid debt. I heard he simply vanished."
The guy led us into a commodious front room then down a small corridor to a larger, brighter room, this one below ground level. A balcony extended from two walls, led to bedrooms.
We then entered another room where a small fireplace left me with a homey feeling, bookshelves lining windowless walls. In the distance, a train's whistle warned motorists. Or so I thought.
Upstairs, the master bedroom with walk-in closet cinched it for my wife. She wrapped herself around me. "Let's buy."
When I saw the master bath with Jacuzzi, it was a done deal.
Our first night there, boxes and furniture in harum-scarum fashion, the whistle woke me. I smiled.
At work, I considered my next article for the newspaper, about the Oklahoma oil boom but it didn't work so my neighbor referred me to Odell Ferguson, an old timer, said he could describe things back then. I called, left a message that Sunday as a train whistle sounded in the distance.
Having received no call back by Tuesday, I left another message and hung up as, in the distance, the sound was audible.
By Thursday I'd given up on the guy and retired to bed. Past midnight, I heard a rustling, went downstairs, and turned on porch lights. A yelp. I opened the front door. "Who's out there?"
A tall, slender man with a blue shirt and blue denim overalls came forward. "Howdy." He offered his hand. "Name's Odell Ferguson. Sorry I scared ya but I don't get much sleep now. You called, left a message so thought I'd git some exacise out here. Then, passing the house, decided to have looksee if anyone was awake." He observed my uncombed hair. "Guess you wasn’t."
"Well, I'm awake now so c'mon in." I opened the door and turned on a lamp, told him what I wanted, grabbed a nearby pencil and notepad, and looked up. My hair went stiff, my eyes bulged, my legs rubbery. His skin had gone old and wrinkly, eyeballs sunken. He smiled a crooked grin, mouth displaying missing teeth, the rest old and chipped. His hands snapped forward and clutched my shoulders, his long, sharp nails sinking into my skin. I screamed and fell to my knees.
"Daddy, what's happening?" Kelly hollered from upstairs.
I could not answer. I gazed up, Jeremy also there, his face pale. He ran to the stairs but slipped, fell toward the balcony guardrail, he small enough to fall through the slats. His head came through then his shoulders then the rest of his body.
"Daddy, help! I—"
"Honey, you okay?" Toni's voice said.
I jumped up in bed. In moonlight, I discerned Toni’s face, her eyes cringing though she had a tiny smile.
I caught my breath. "Fine."
We fell back asleep and the phone woke me as sunlight crept over the house. "Hello?"
"Hello," the same low, rough voice from my dream said. "You left a message. I'm Odell Ferguson. Be glad to do an inter- view."
We scheduled to meet. I drove to his house, a small place with carport though no vehicle was present, house painted dark blue with green Welcome mat at the door. I pressed the doorbell, the guy greeting me a replica of the man in my dream except this person looked friendly. I told him who I was. He shook my hand, invited me in, and offered a seat on his plaid couch, he lounging in a gold recliner.
"Now sir..." I began.
"Call me Odell."
"Okay. Tell me about the depression, dust bowl."
We talked for a while when a plane flew by. Odell looked at the sky, sentimentalized how he remembered when the main way to travel was by train.
I decided to ask. "Were you here when the Union Pacific was built?"
Odell laughed. "I may be old but not that old. That was built in the early twentieth century."
"Does it come through this area?"
Odell shook his head. "That line is downtown. You can hear the trains' horns every so often though not real loud."
"Oh," I said, my heart sinking. "I heard some trains and ..
I watched the old man as his pupils dilated and his irises shrank, asked if he was okay.
"Just thinking ... Where'd you say ya live?"
"Nineteenth and Youngs."
Odell bit his upper lip. "Can't be," he muttered. "That was years ago."
"What?" The pencil twitched in my hand.
Odell rose, paced, finally stopped and folded his arms. "A tragedy," he began. "Near the end of the nineteenth century, one of them railroad magnates like Cornelius Vanderbilt built a track here when it was nothing but land and a few streets. Built it right where you live now."
"You mean that piece of track at the intersection used to be—"
"That old man's railroad." Odell nodded, returned to his chair. "Know what that man's name was?"
My shoulders rose and fell.
Odell stood. "Anderson. Anderson Youngs."
"They named the street after him?"
"No one likes to admit it." Odell slumped in his recliner. “Daddy told me 'bout it. First a minor crash, small passenger train almost ran off the track, railroad dismissing it as human error though one engineer claimed it was cheap, inefficient rails and railroad ties. Youngs denied that." Odell gave a t-t-twith his tongue. "Don't know how investigators missed it. 'Course, I am looking at twenty twenty hindsight. Things went back to normal when a freight train came through and ran over that track by yer house, had lots of cargo and was believed to have bent the track. Next morning, passenger train comes through ..." Odell paused. "Musta been almost one hun'red people 'board. Went past that spot going eighty miles an hour and when it raced over that mangled rail .." He exhaled. "An accident."
"How bad?"
"Half the people died. Authorities did another investigation, shut down the line, demanded its owner replace them tracks. Youngs bailed out, sold his company to a business syndicate who closed most of the rail lines, including the one here since the Union Pacific had been built recently. The incident was forgotten, area became a wheat field then a residential district, only proof of the railroad’s existence that piece at the intersection. Your original owner lived there many years when one night it sounded, off in the distance at first then louder. This guy sold the place to my friend, he a light sleeper, who tried earplugs, even searched for the previous owner—which was like finding that Judge Crater—so my friend moved. House was vacant until mid eighties, when I learned a story." The old man shivered. "These owners heard the whistle. And something new: the clack of wheels. Window panes rattled, floors vibrated, the house shook. Its occupants ran out to check and found nothing, the whistle had stopped, and the roar of drivers disappeared. Family went back inside, fell asleep. The noise returned. But opening the door was like pulling a tractor trailer on a rope with your hands. The train sounded right outside the front door." He paused.
"What happened?"
Odell grimaced. "The person I heard this from said the neighbors fled to his house, described what'd occurred, said they’d broken a window and crawled out."
"Didn't the neighbor hear the train?" I asked.
Odell chuckled without humor. "That's the crux, he didn't. No one did. Neighbor let the family sleep in his house overnight and next morning the family was gone, never seen nor heard from. It was as if .." He didn't finish.
"This really happened?" I said, a smile tugging at my mouth's corners.
"Check it out in your paper, all there in black and white. At least the part about Anderson Youngs. The other stuff, who knows?"
The sound of a far off whistle made me gooseflesh.
Odell smiled. "Is the Union Pacific downtown."
I closed my notebook and stood, thanked him, said I'd call if I needed.
Odell smiled. "Door's always open."
Again the horn sounded. Too far away.
That week at work, I crept down to the basement where old articles had been transferred to microfilm years ago and never updated, spider webs in every corner, file cabinets covered in layers of dust.
I searched the database, found relevant articles, and put them under the microfilm screen. One made me stop. Something about the first successful railroad. The article came alive, similar to Odell's story about the crash though I found no articles about the apparent ghost's whistle. Was what Odell said true?
Trains whistled that night, all from downtown. It was a myth. Snuggling next to my wife on the sofa, I grew sleepy.
A honk. I popped up, cold sweat on my forehead, my breath uneven. I shook Toni. "You hear that?"
"What?" she mumbled.
The noise again. Headlights brighter than I'd ever seen flooded the house, ran across one wall and disappeared. The sound of a rig drove past.
"Yeah," Toni mumbled. A truck. Big deal.”
My heart settled back into place. As I nodded off, it sounded. I put a pillow over my head, sure it was the rig. But this sound wouldn't quit, had me upright. It repeated, grew, and faded. Another downtown train.
Nature's call woke me hours later. Back on the couch, the noise came back, louder.
"Toni, wake up!" I shook my wife.
"Now what?" she muttered through clenched teeth.
"Do you hear it now?"
"There's nothing out there. Listen .. Now go back to sleep and leave—"
It sounded.
In silhouetted darkness, I observed Toni's mouth open. "Where's that from?" she whispered.
"Don't know. From what I learned .." The noise was so piercing, we covered our ears.
"Mommy!" Kelly's muffled voice upstairs. "Mommy, Daddy. Wha's dat?" She ran downstairs, Jeremy behind her, his toy lion tight in his arms.
Toni and Kelly rested on one couch, Jeremy and I on the other. His hands twitched. We moved Jillian’s cradle next to us while she slept nonchalantly.
We lay sleepless on the couch. The whistle would stop then minutes later, start again, louder, wheels on rails sounding.
A blinding glare through the window like floodlights. Panes rattled, vibrated so fierce I thought the glass in them would break.
Light shone into the crib, awoke Jill. She wailed.
As quick as it had begun, it ended. The light dimmed, horn silent. Blackness returned. Jill and Kelly sobbed. Jeremy hid under blankets.
"What in the hell was that?" Toni asked, no one with an answer. Slowly, we all fell asleep.
The sun's rays were an unwelcome sight. The kids slept with their mother so I crept to the kitchen, brewed coffee, opened the blinds covering the front windows, and looked out at the lawn. Had I dreamt it? Others would think us loony.
I had trouble falling asleep that night but once I did, wasn't conscious until sunrise. It was the weekend but we kept busy.
"What a day." Toni stretched and yawned. "Think I'll draw a hot bath."
I nodded off on the couch.
"Dad! Dad!" Jeremy said. "C'mere." His voice trembled.
"What's wrong?"
"Dad! Get up! I'm scared!"
I sat up, stifled a yawn. "What is it?"
Wide-eyed, Jeremy grabbed my hand, led me to his bathroom. The faucet ran. He pointed at it then clutched my waist. "What's wrong? Was washing my hands when that happened."
That referred to the color the water had taken. In fact, it hadn't just changed colors. There was something else coming out. Red. A deep crimson liquid.
"Don't panic." I tried to keep my voice even. "No big deal." I turned the faucet knob. Nothing.
Jeremy cried. Suddenly, the faucet stopped. Then that sound. The bathroom light flickered and failed. I flipped the wall switch. Nothing. Jeremy clung to me. Kelly, now awake, joined him. Even upstairs, the sound of the train's rails vibrated the walls and floor. I heard footfalls.
"You guys okay?" It was Toni.
"In here!" I yelled.
"We have to get out of here!" Toni said above the din as she held Jill, who screamed while pulling her mom's hair.
The sound stopped.
"Let's start packing!" Toni said, still hollering.
"To where?" I demanded.
"I don't know." Toni's voice calmed. "A neighbor's?"
"And we tell them? They'll think we belong in the funny farm."
"How about a motel till we find another place?"
We got our necessities and piled into the car.
Next day, we took a week's worth of clothes and other items. By mid-week, my wife had found a house to rent.
We moved Saturday, cumulus clouds scattered hither and thither across an otherwise blue sky. By nightfall we were almost done.
"The bookshelf in the study," I said to Toni, who followed me into the room. We each grabbed a shelf end and marched toward the front. Lights flickered. Winds blew the door shut. Then that sound. That horrible, gut wrenching wail. We were like sculptures.
"Let's get out of here!" I finally shouted. We dropped the bookshelf and I grabbed Jeremy while Toni took Jill and Kelly.
We ran to the door. A loud click. The lock. I tried to turn it, to no avail, door not budging either. Gusts howled and screamed, rattled windows as the whistle we'd become so familiar with began.
"Open it, damnit! Open it!" Toni screamed.
Light shone through the house. The door would not give.
"The windows!" Toni yelled.
I couldn't open them, tried smashing one then recalled the realtor’s comment: Unbreakable. My body went numb, the winds moaned, and the horn was the loudest it'd ever been. The light came closer, sound of wheels louder.
Out of the room's corner, a flame flickered and grew, ran up one wall. Smoke billowed.
"Daddy, help!" Jeremy begged.
We cowered in a corner, unable to move. The train's light approached our yard, the fire now a blaze covering two walls that leaned in and out as if breathing.
I crawled to the study's back door. A fire-filled beam creaked and toppled. I spun away from it, beam falling so close I felt its heat on my back. The walls groaned louder, leaned inward and collapsed, as if lunging for us.
"Dad, look out!" Jeremy hollered.
I sprinted to him as the walls crashed onto a table. Glass from those unbreakable windows shattered. Wind and dirt blew in, caused us to gag and cough and place our hands in front of our faces. But it was what we needed.
"Let's get out of here! Now!" I screamed, Toni needing no coaxing. We stumbled through the mess, hurried to the truck.
In the cab, I stuck the key into the ignition. It wouldn't turn over. Once. Twice. Thrice. Fourth time, the hum of the engine sounded, as beautiful as a classical concert. I drove away at a speed I didn't think the truck could reach while Toni dialed nine one one on her cell phone.
Fire engines sirened as we drove to the motel.
Next morning, I drove past the place on my way to work. At the four way stop, I pressed the brake pedal and took another look, one side of the place burnt like a charcoal briquette.
I raised my foot off the pedal. The car conked out. I tried to restart it. Nothing. I turned the ignition again. Same result. I prayed like I was on my death bed.
It returned. The sound.
My stomach became a maze of knots and my left hand gripped the wheel, right hand turning the key as far as it could go. I floored the gas pedal. The car was a corpse. The whistle sounded louder. Once more, I turned the key, leaning on the wheel in desperation. The engine roared, squeal of tires on pavement permeating the neighborhood. I sped across the intersection and drove away doing sixty. I was gone from the area. Never to return. No matter what anybody would say, no matter the circumstances. Never!
THE END
HOW I CAME UP WITH THIS STORY
Yes, there really are tracks at that intersection in Oklahoma City. Used to live in that area years ago and it's a four way stop. I drove across the intersection for many months before finally wondering what kind of tracks they were, thinking train tracks though they looked too small(found out
later they were trolley tracks that used to run in that area) As I wondered and crossed the intersection, in my mind I heard the whistle of a train and imagined a train speeding out of nowhere and splitting my car in a half.
Thinking this might be a story, I imagined each time the noise getting louder until, when an important dignitary was being rushed to the hospital, the train would crush the ambulance. Of course, it didn't turn out that way(the original idea is almost never the one I use for a story) but I still liked it as I'm a sucker for those urban legend, historical horror stories that are half-based in truth.
The Drowning Machine
A wave taller than any I'd encountered rose in the nighttime air. I hopped on my boogie board and made sure I got Roger's attention as waves carried me in and dumped me at water's edge.
I stood, laughed, and looked at Roger. "How 'bout that?"
"I don't know," he said. "Should we quit? Thad thinks so."
"No way." I said and high stepped into the ocean as water lashed my calves and rushed to shore. "This is great."
I sprinted back out and as I stretched to dive in, a huge clap like an earth tremor shook me, clouds on the horizon lurching. I twisted in the water, boogie board lost. Another wave splashed my shoulders and pushed me back. I cackled at it, thrilled by the speed at which it carried me to shore.
We were the only guests on the beach in Ocean City, New Jersey, place dormant for several weeks, when summer season began. Friends Roger and Allison talked Thad, Christian, and I into coming out.
"They're chicken," Allison had said at our apartment with a bray of laughter associated from too much alcohol.
Roger waved us to the car. "Let's get going. Got your boogie boards? I'm bringing my surfboard." The fin stuck out of his Jeep's back end.
Thad combed his short hair back. "I don't know. No one's there, no lifeguards, nothing. Water'll be cold." He examined the evening sky. "It'll be dark shortly."
"Aw, c'mon. Christian, you're not going to let him spoil our graduation party, are ya?" Roger asked.
Christian's head moved side to side. "Whatever you guys do, I'll go with it."
Roger faced me. I looked at him, then Allison, Christian, and Thad. If Veronica was here I could pass the look to her and she'd decide. Roger and I'd been friends since we were college freshmen and he'd gotten me doing things I'd never done.
Thad, a friend since high school, chewed his lip and folded his arms over his chest. I looked at Allison who giggled.
"What's the matter? Scared?" She elbowed Roger. "Remember when he was afraid of Disney World's Tower of Terror?" She chortled, half drunk, half teasing.
Roger moaned and his shoulders drooped. "Well?"
My blood burned and my ears were hot. “Let's go," I said and we jumped in the car.
On the beach, cold sand chilled my feet and gusts hit our faces. Despite chilly waters I jumped in, grabbed the boogie board, and paddled out. Low clouds hovered, drifted in, and a grumble sounded. A flash in the distant sky. I shuddered but seeing Roger surf a tall wave, his athletic body standing above it, urged me to do the same. I hauled the board out and rode a few breakers. Thunder sounded closer.
"Maybe we should go," Thad said as he, Roger, and I moved ashore.
Roger roared a drunk laugh, all the bottles in his backpack empty. "Hell no," he bellowed. "We're not coward asses. You don't want to go, do ya?" he asked me.
"Ya kidding? Hell no."
A long, deep thunderclap intruded.
Roger gazed at me. "What the hell was that? Should we go?” He crinkled his eyes then laughed his drunken laugh.
I chuckled too and charged into the water, swam backstroke, observed the light scud clouds, how tranquil, beautiful they were, how refreshing the water felt. My muscles hummed like a new engine.
I swam out and tread water, no one out this far. I grinned like I'd won a king of the hill battle and cupped a hand to my mouth. "C'mon guys, whatsa matter? Too scared?"
No one responded. Winds blew faster. Lightning burst and seared my eyes. Clouds invaded the remaining light and darkness erupted. Thunder exploded, winds gale force. I continued my brave front. "C'mon guys, can't we ..."
A rush of water from the rear crashed and foam surrounded my head. I bobbed and coughed until my throat cleared. Another wave hit. Thunder burst and rain drizzled. The storm front raced toward us. My heart palpitated, my lungs hurt.
I dove in and paddled to shore. My legs and arms churned. But instead of moving forward, I was thrust back, and gasped. More foamy water bruised my face, boogie board ripped from my clutches. The sky went from pale blue to purple. I checked behind me. My lungs screeched and my brain flashed an urgent order to turn around. I did and braced for the onslaught.
The largest wave I'd witnessed destroyed me though I relaxed, knew it would carry me ashore. I was thrown forward then slammed back, as if I’d hit an invisible wall. I dog paddled yet the distance between me and the shoreline grew.
"Help!" My sore lungs gave an inaudible yelp. "Guys!" I waved but they didn't see me. Rain fell thicker, winds stronger. I coughed, choked, wheezed. My face went white, body temperature falling, my bones ready to snap like brittle gum.
I strove to stay afloat, searched the area but the sky, now midnight blue, made it impossible to see. Lightning shone. I looked in all directions but darkness came too quick, followed by thunder. Blackness crawled over my eyes and I went under.
My choking throat woke me as my head broke the surface. I heard a shout, hollered to it as waves crashed. In a brief calm I heard the voice say it couldn't get out that deep, waves too high.
Rain plummeted, pounded me while lightning winked and the obligatory thunder peal echoed.
I labored for breath, swam to shore but made no progress, like a soldier marking time. Huge, snow‑white crests atop an angry, tall breaker roared toward me. My sight darkened and my body eased. I felt eerily calm.
I heard a cry. An infant's. I looked down and saw the newborn, eyes like mine. The baby wailed as if beaten. I looked at it then person holding it. Veronica. My wife, mother to be. Our child. A precious girl. I reached for her, my body weak yet vibrating with anticipation. My hands went to touch it.
Cold water hit me and my mouth opened as air filled my lungs. My eyelids opened and though dizzy, I collected my surroundings and discovered I was right where I'd been before unconsciousness hit. I thought of Veronica, seven months pregnant and how she hated being alone. She couldn't be left to raise a new child by herself.
Must stay alive, I thought.For them. Hell, for me. Have to see my child.
My heart soared, my lungs cleared as did my vision and things settled. Blood pumped into my arms, legs, and muscles. I swam ahead, knew I'd make it.
A few strokes to shore. Then I was propelled back, as if a working bulldozer with steel blade was in front of me. My lungs wanted to collapse, muscles ready to quit. Thunder broke and lightning streaked, long and bright. I saw no one in the water, no one on shore. My heart sank and I heard a roar. The sky flash showed a wave the size of a truck. It crashed around me. My vision faded.
I came to, on my back, continued to be swept away from shore.
Lightning burst on the horizon and I saw a strange sight, unable to decipher it before the lightning vanished. The flash occurred again and when I discerned what the object that fell from the sky was, I felt I'd become paraplegic. A waterspout.
My bones were ready to break, my mouth salty and dry. The image of my wife failed to renew my strength.
The funnel approached. I sank and recalled drinking sea water makes you go mad. And a drowning man goes under three times. Was this number three?
Waves crested and pounded me as water sprayed as if from a broken water main. With the next lightning flash I viewed the cyclone. A hundred yards away. Winds whipped my face and my eyes teared, my hair as if pulled from its roots.
The combers crescendoed but I kept getting shoved out to sea, my eye ducts like a water faucet at full throttle.
I swam parallel to shore, raised my left arm, then my right. A sensation like a chainsaw tore through my right arm. I screamed and got a belly full of water.
I lifted my arm again. Pain revisited. I dog paddled while the noise like a freight train sounded in back of me.
A cresting wave rolled in, twenty feet to the left and behind me. Could it carry me to shore?
I lifted my right arm and ignored the torment, swam. My body drifted to the wave. The tornado buffeted the sea and I went up, down, up down.
The roller rose and my legs, though soft as clay, kicked and channeled through the sea.
Up in the air I went, the wave upon me, waterspout behind it. The waves beat me, flipped me, lifted me like a giant hand. I went up.
Foam invaded my eyes, nose, and lips. I choked then vomited. Lightning streaked a white line, a daytime glare that lasted on my eyes after the burst ended.
Thunder talked and a flash further out lit up the night like a fire ball. I looked to shore as my breaker peaked and saw the shadows on land. Human figures pointed and motioned but winds were so deafening I couldn't hear their voices. The wave swayed forward and I was tossed as if from a cannon.
Air whistled in my ears. I stretched to swim. My arms only cut through air. Wind whipped at me. I soared to a peak. Lightning bristled, revealed the maelstrom below.
I descended and slapped the water with the equivalent force of hitting a concrete wall. My senses dulled and my vision blurred.
I came to and raised my right arm. The chainsaw like pain returned. I cried and lowered the limb, swam with my left arm. And recalled what I’d been trapped in. A ripcurrent. To be sure I was free of its death grasp, I swam parallel to shore, the way one must to escape.
Across the waters I went. Free. I changed directions, moved to shore, gap between me and the beach shrinking.
The roar of ocean, rain, and thunder was invaded by another, this one pleasurable. Voices. My friends. Lightning lit up again and Roger came out then halted as blackness took over. The next flash brought the same image, my friends as if hitting an unseen wall, pointing, shouting, hands around their mouths.
I glimpsed over my shoulder. My body grew colder, numb. Water spout approached.
Lightning again. I saw the body outlines, still in the water. Two moved toward me. I wanted to wave them back but couldn't lift my right arm and used the left to tread water. The tall and short shadows told me it was Thad with Roger. Thad, who'd been afraid to get in, now stood in waves that scourged his face. That he was willing to risk his life gave me strength. I again pictured Veronica with our newborn and believed I would make it. Had to.
I crawled to the shoreline, tornado closer.
A cutting through my toes. Even in the water, I felt blood trickle across my feet. What I touched made my lips form a wide, upward arc. Never had the pain of hitting rocks been so joyful.
My feet touch sand at ocean's bottom. I raised my legs, swayed, caught my balance, and shot my left arm in the air. Roger and Thad whooped and hollered. Another lightning flash and I saw Allison and Christian embrace. I staggered, stumbled, hopped to them. The waterspout changed directions, away from the shore.
I raised my arm again. Wind shears blew me down. Wet sand hit my eyes, face, shirt, shorts, and arms. Water flowed over me and seeped into my mouth. I ran my fingers through the sand.
A hand reached out. I grasped it. Our fingerpads touched. Water rushed behind me. My arm fell. Another wave covered my head. Water entered my lungs. I hacked, spit, and crawled as slow as snow receding in sub‑zero temperatures.
The hand reached out and I clutched it, clung to it. Roger pulled me in. My chin rubbed sand, hit a sharp object and kept rubbing. I lost sense of surroundings.
Hands touched me. One slapped my cheeks. Voices talked, distant at first, then clear.
"Speak to me," Roger hit my cheeks again.
"I hear ya," I mumbled. The hand let up.
"He's okay," Roger exclaimed. "He'll make it!"
I squirmed to get up, discovered it too painful and lay on the beach, my right arm as if it had been hit by a grenade and put in a washing machine ‑ still connected to my body. Allison left for help and Christian stated the waterspout had risen into the sky.
"Thought you were a goner," he said.
"Yeah. But I made it."
"Don't know how," Roger added. "Someone must've been lookin' out for ya."
"Yeah," I muttered and thought of Veronica and our offspring. I lowered my head to the sand and passed out.
"C'mon honey, keep it comin'. Almost there." I observed it in the canal. It looked lovely.
"C'mon dear, not much longer." I breathed in and out, like I'd been taught in class. "Here it is. It's comin'. I see its head."
As slow as the hour hand moves on a clock, it came out, head first. Bald, covered with liquid. But the most beautiful baby girl I'd seen. The head popped out as did the rest of her.
I heard nothing and my breathing ceased. Then the most amazing, lovely sound. The cry of a newborn girl.
The obstetrician smiled. "Normal and healthy," she said.
My wife grinned, her chest heaving in quick thrusts, her hospital gown soaked, her face glistening.
I beamed and held the baby up with my good hand, other still in a sling "Who'd have thought she'd save my life out there?" I kissed the child's forehead. "Let's call her Savior," I said in my giddiness.
Veronica grimaced. "We'll do no such thing. She'd be laughed out of school. The neighborhood. The country."
"So what do we name her?"
"Something normal. Erica?"
I smiled and nodded. "Sounds good."
"Savior," my wife mocked and rolled her eyes. "You'd have thought I'd have come up with that considering the torture I've been in the past twelve hours. You don't have a clue what I've been through."
I displayed my sling. "I think I do."
We laughed and I leaned in on my wife, the baby between us. A family. Both of them my savior.
THE IDEA FOR THIS ONE
Came up with this story after watching a rerun of NBC’s Dateline on a cable channel about rip currents (a.k., Drowning Machine). I think I like this one because of the circumstances surrounding the writing process. I’d taken off work on a Monday & Tuesday in October one year and it’d been raining all the previous week. Thankfully, it cleared on Monday, a beautiful day, little wind, sunny & 80ish. I finished the story that morning and that night friends came over for beer and pizza and we watched my favorite team, the Tennesee Titans, beat the Jacksonville Jaguars for their 5thstraight win (though they wound up losing in their first playoff game that year. Bummer!) Fortunately, Tuesday’s weather was just as nice. This one was published in ’09 and is one of the few I can read after publication and say “I like this one.”
DREAM COME TRUE?
Ted Armis rubbed his temples with his fingers. "What does it mean?"
Leonard Sheridian took a swig from his beer bottle. “Nothing. Nothing at all."
"But it's so vivid, so real, I swear it's actually happening."
"But it's not," Leonard said, set the bottle back on the formica counter between them, leaned back in the red cushioned booth and put his hands on the back of his head. "It's not real. Only seems real. Not is. Seems."
"Each night it gets clearer, lasts longer."
Leonard shrugged. "It's nothing. Your mind's working overtime.” He called a waitress over and ordered another beer. "Quit searching for interpretations, deeper meanings."
"There's no interpreting," Ted said. "She's there, I see her. She turns. It's her."
"Looks like her," Leonard corrected. "You didn't say it was her for sure."
Ted's lips undulated. "I'm pretty sure."
"Pretty sure doesn't cut it."
"But this dream is so lucid; it's telling me something."
"Telling you you're nuts."
"I mean it. What about that guy in 1979? He dreamt a plane would crash at O'hare airport. And it did. Worst crash due to mechanical failure in U.S. history."
"But he couldn't pinpoint specifics. Some psychic vision," Leonard said. "Just remember, his dream stopped after that."
"Big deal. He created a self fulfilling prophecy, said he wouldn't have it anymore so he didn't."
"You don't believe in psychic phenomena?"
"I'm saying in this case it's not true."
"You wouldn't say that if youhad the dream."
The waitress returned, gave Leonard his beer and took the empty bottle. Leonard eyed her well figured physique.
"Do you believe dreams can be premonitions?" Ted asked the waitress.
The red haired girl put a hand on her chin then pointed. "Yeah. As long as I'm in it and some handsome, wealthy guy wants to marry me.” She noticed Leonard eyeing her. "Someone unlike yourself," she told him and left.
Ted whistled. "Got you good."
"Not unlike Marcia's got you good. Bad," Leonard said. "She doesn't want you. Left you over a year ago."
"We went our separate ways," Ted said and his right hand became a fist. "It was mutual. We felt we couldn't go any farther." He thought of his dream, shook his head. "But neither of us wanted to break up, we just felt like .."
"Like what?"
"I dunno. Like .."
"Like sex was all you had?" Leonard chuckled. " 'cause I know she wasn't after you for your looks. Or personality. Must've been the sex."
Ted gave a false grin. "Funny."
"So why'd you break up?"
"I don't know.” Ted eased his clenched hand. "But this .. dream .."
"Forewarning," Leonard said with a smirk.
"Glad you agree with me," Ted said with a smile.
"I do. Just not in this case."
"Whatever.” Ted checked his watch. "Getting late. Think I'll go home."
"Pay attention to that dream tonight. Talk to her," Leonard said. "See what she says."
"Funny."
"I'm serious," Leonard said. "I believe dreams have meaning."
"Sure," Ted said and left.
He had the dream again, saw Marcia. Or whom he believed was her, she in profile, her shoulder length blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. Her right eye—it seemed to be blue, like hers—glistened in the streetlight's glow. She seemed to smile, her eyes bright when she noticed Ted.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you," she said, her arms open though they blocked her face, Ted unable to tell if it was her. "It's been so long since .."
Ted awoke in cold sweats.
"You need sleep," Leonard said the next day. "Those bags under your eyes look like a quarterback's eye black."
Ted gave a half smile. "I'm telling ya, she's trying to tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know. But each night the dream gets longer.”
"You're still not over her."
Ted thought for a minute. "Guess not," he said, managed a grin.
"You're obsessed with her."
"It's more than that. I can feel it."
"If you say so," Leonard said. "Though I think you're reading too much into it. Besides, Marcia's in Colorado, long ways away. She's not comin' anytime soon."
"I know," Ted said. "Yet ..” He couldn't finish the sentence.
Again the dream that night: Marcia smiled, turned.
"I knew I'd find you here ... it's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted's cold sweats returned. He panted, caught his breath and rubbed his eyes. An hour passed before he fell asleep.
Next night, same thing, except the last sentence extended to, "tell you how much .."
"Damn!" Ted said, sotto voce. He gathered the bed sheets in his fists then loosened them. "C'mon," he said to his apartment's walls. "Let me know."
The next two nights were the same. Then he got a call.
"Hey.” It was Vern, a former dorm buddy. "Didja hear who's coming to town?"
"Santa Claus?"
"What a comedian," Vern said. "Marcia."
Ted gasped. "Who?"
"Marcia. Your woman."
"Ex," Ted said.
"I know. But you guys were so serious we thought it was down the aisle for you two. Why'd she dump you anyway?"
Ted flinched, grit his teeth. "We separated amicably. Both of us. It was mutual."
"If ya say so. But she's comin' back. Tomorrow."
Ted's mind sang 'Ode to Joy' but he gathered himself. "That is nice," he said calmly. "If we cross paths I’d be glad to converse with her, communicate as much and .."
"Why are ya talkin’ like you're one of the royal family?"
"I'm not," Ted said. "But should I run into her, that's fine. We'll talk, exchange pleasantries, and say adios."
"Man," Vern said. "If it'd been me with a girl for over a year and we met again, I'd be in bed with her in an hour."
"That's why you don't have a girl," Ted said. "Your heart is below your beltline."
Both boys laughed.
"See ya," Vern said. "And if you do see her, good luck."
"Thanks. But we're just friends."
"Uh-huh," Vern said, dubious. "Bye."
The dream was the same, only Marcia (or the girl Ted believed was Marcia) turned her head further.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you how much I .."
Ted came to, gasped like a race horse, and calmed by telling himself it meant nothing, he merely thinking too much. But his mind and stomach felt otherwise. And he remembered something he hadn't seen in past sequences. She'd turned far enough this time, he saw it. Below her ear. The scar. From stitches when she said she fell off her bike at six.
It is her, he thought, raised his hands in triumph and imagined seeing her, how it would be, what they would say.
I know she's telling me she missed me, wants to go back to school here and make up. That's the rest of her sentence. I know it. He beamed and relaxed on the bed, fell asleep in minutes.
The day arrived. Ted got up and went to Finance class. Just before entering, he saw a girl with blonde, shoulder length hair and blue eyes. He inhaled. Then exhaled. Not Marcia.
"Damn," he whispered as the dream played in his mind.
After Finance, he went to Intermediate Accounting. He got up to leave and saw a girl. Blonde hair. Same size as her. He pressed his lips together. And sighed. Not her.
Next he went to Economics. Every girl with blonde hair near the shoulders caused Ted to turn. None were Marcia.
He and Leonard went out for dinner.
"Is that her?" Leonard would say whenever a girl like Marcia came into view.
"Shut up," Ted would tease back.
They returned to Ted's place as darkness took over.
Leonard looked at the time as they watched t.v. on the old couch. "It's past midnight, day's over. I'm sure she's in bed now.” He chuckled. "Maybe with another guy. Guess your dream was just that. A dream. A wish. Fairy tale. Now move on with your life."
"I know," Ted said and though his stomach pinched and his heart seemed to be in the soles of his shoes, he smiled. "Never meant to be."
"That's the spirit," Leonard said, slapped Ted's thigh and stood. "Let's go have a drink. On me."
Ted sighed. "I dunno."
"Come on, drown your sorrows, put her behind ya. At least the dream won't happen anymore."
"You're right," Ted said and got up.
The two visited an off campus pub, had some drinks, met friends, and went to the strip, a street next to campus with the most popular bars and hang outs.
"Let's go," Ted told Leonard after visiting several bars .
"So dreams don't always come true," Leonard said. "Don't worry, lots of other hens in the hen house."
"I know," Ted said. "It's just that ..."
A voice spoke. Familiar. Then the words.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you."
Ted recognized the voice. His skin goosepimpled. His heart seemed frozen. He stopped breathing. The voice continued.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted turned. His face went white and his hands palsied. Then he smiled, looked at Leonard, also pale faced. Ted's grin grew. His heart felt as if on fire. He looked at her to be sure though he knew who it was. It was her, blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. The street light shone on her, she in profile. The woman turned, lips going up, eyes twinkling in the streetlight's glow. She continued to speak.
".. tell you how much I care about .."
Ted ran up to her, wrapped his arms around her.
"I missed you too. It's so good to see you. Haven't stopped thinking about you since you left.” He pressed her to his body. Her perfume relaxed and excited him, the best he'd ever smelled on a girl. He went to kiss her.
"What the hell are you doing?" the girl said.
Ted's lips met a hand. He pulled back. It was Marcia. "Whadya mean? It's me, Ted."
Marcia cringed. "Oh God, Ted. Get away from me."
"But you just said how glad you were to make it back to Stillwater, see me and .."
Marcia pushed Ted away. "Not you.” She shuffled to the sidewalk where an older man stood. She wrapped her arms around this guy. "Him," she said and pressed her lips on his cheek. "My Uncle Louie.” She hugged him. "I was in town, tried to call but you weren't around. Shoulda figured you'd be out carousing."
"Marcia!" the man said and returned the hug. "My favorite niece. What are you doing here?"
"Going back to school.” She separated from her uncle. "You were right, work is hard. I'm re-enrolling here. Wanted to thank you for your monetary support and advice. Mom said you're leaving tomorrow for Europe until next month on business. Had to find you. Should've guessed you'd be near a bar."
"That's great, honey. Glad you're back. You're making the right choice."
Marcia leaned her head on her uncle's shoulder. "You've been so good. Just had to say thanks. See you when you get back."
"You bet," the uncle said then looked at Ted and Leonard. "Who're these two? They know you?"
"Oh them," Marcia said and led her uncle quickly past them. "Bad memories from my past.” She looked over her shoulder, glared at Ted and pointed. "Especially that one. He's very strange. You saw him attack me then claim I was his girlfriend. Only in his dreams."
The uncle laughed and the two left.
Leonard punched a hand on Ted's shoulder, chortled. "Sometimes dreams come true. Just not the way you expect.” He burst into laughter, doubled over.
"Shut up," Ted said, grinned and grabbed Leonard by the neck. "C'mon, knucklehead, let's go home."
THE IDEA BEHIND THIS ONE
Hadn’t done many humorous stories and since Dream International Quarterly magazine (now defunct) had published several stories of mine, I thought something humorous about dreams would be a good story. So I came up with this one—a humorous(I hope) take on how dreams can easily be misinterpreted.
Northwest 19thand Youngs Boulevard
We were driving in northwest Oklahoma City when we saw it. An older home, built in the nineteen twenties though it didn't look it. But it was what we wanted. The intersection there was a four way stop and as we drove past, I saw the tracks amidst the intersection and wondered aloud what they were.
"Train tracks," Jeremy, our eight year old and Kelly, our four year old daughter, said together while nine month old Jill slept beside them.
"But why are they still here?" I asked.
"Who knows?" my wife Toni said as we passed the two storied, deep red brick house with wide front porch and arched doorways. She clutched my arm. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
Next evening, a short, balding, pudgy man with thin brown eyes and beads of sweat on his forehead met us. "Let me give ya the tour. Where'd I put those keys?" He searched his pockets then chuckled. "Guess if I can't find ‘em I could break a window." His grin abated. "Then again, them things're made of unbreakable plexiglass, put in after a bad wind storm. Don't worry, I'll find 'em." He slapped his shirt pocket. A jingle.
We went up creaky porch steps and he opened the door, my breath taken away by the home's elegance. I inquired as to the price and he showed me.
I whistled. "Why so cheap?"
"Got it at government auction." The realtor gave an elbow, his hand at the side of his mouth. "Creditors said previous owner skipped the country to avoid debt. I heard he simply vanished."
The guy led us into a commodious front room then down a small corridor to a larger, brighter room, this one below ground level. A balcony extended from two walls, led to bedrooms.
We then entered another room where a small fireplace left me with a homey feeling, bookshelves lining windowless walls. In the distance, a train's whistle warned motorists. Or so I thought.
Upstairs, the master bedroom with walk-in closet cinched it for my wife. She wrapped herself around me. "Let's buy."
When I saw the master bath with Jacuzzi, it was a done deal.
Our first night there, boxes and furniture in harum-scarum fashion, the whistle woke me. I smiled.
At work, I considered my next article for the newspaper, about the Oklahoma oil boom but it didn't work so my neighbor referred me to Odell Ferguson, an old timer, said he could describe things back then. I called, left a message that Sunday as a train whistle sounded in the distance.
Having received no call back by Tuesday, I left another message and hung up as, in the distance, the sound was audible.
By Thursday I'd given up on the guy and retired to bed. Past midnight, I heard a rustling, went downstairs, and turned on porch lights. A yelp. I opened the front door. "Who's out there?"
A tall, slender man with a blue shirt and blue denim overalls came forward. "Howdy." He offered his hand. "Name's Odell Ferguson. Sorry I scared ya but I don't get much sleep now. You called, left a message so thought I'd git some exacise out here. Then, passing the house, decided to have looksee if anyone was awake." He observed my uncombed hair. "Guess you wasn’t."
"Well, I'm awake now so c'mon in." I opened the door and turned on a lamp, told him what I wanted, grabbed a nearby pencil and notepad, and looked up. My hair went stiff, my eyes bulged, my legs rubbery. His skin had gone old and wrinkly, eyeballs sunken. He smiled a crooked grin, mouth displaying missing teeth, the rest old and chipped. His hands snapped forward and clutched my shoulders, his long, sharp nails sinking into my skin. I screamed and fell to my knees.
"Daddy, what's happening?" Kelly hollered from upstairs.
I could not answer. I gazed up, Jeremy also there, his face pale. He ran to the stairs but slipped, fell toward the balcony guardrail, he small enough to fall through the slats. His head came through then his shoulders then the rest of his body.
"Daddy, help! I—"
"Honey, you okay?" Toni's voice said.
I jumped up in bed. In moonlight, I discerned Toni’s face, her eyes cringing though she had a tiny smile.
I caught my breath. "Fine."
We fell back asleep and the phone woke me as sunlight crept over the house. "Hello?"
"Hello," the same low, rough voice from my dream said. "You left a message. I'm Odell Ferguson. Be glad to do an inter- view."
We scheduled to meet. I drove to his house, a small place with carport though no vehicle was present, house painted dark blue with green Welcome mat at the door. I pressed the doorbell, the guy greeting me a replica of the man in my dream except this person looked friendly. I told him who I was. He shook my hand, invited me in, and offered a seat on his plaid couch, he lounging in a gold recliner.
"Now sir..." I began.
"Call me Odell."
"Okay. Tell me about the depression, dust bowl."
We talked for a while when a plane flew by. Odell looked at the sky, sentimentalized how he remembered when the main way to travel was by train.
I decided to ask. "Were you here when the Union Pacific was built?"
Odell laughed. "I may be old but not that old. That was built in the early twentieth century."
"Does it come through this area?"
Odell shook his head. "That line is downtown. You can hear the trains' horns every so often though not real loud."
"Oh," I said, my heart sinking. "I heard some trains and ..
I watched the old man as his pupils dilated and his irises shrank, asked if he was okay.
"Just thinking ... Where'd you say ya live?"
"Nineteenth and Youngs."
Odell bit his upper lip. "Can't be," he muttered. "That was years ago."
"What?" The pencil twitched in my hand.
Odell rose, paced, finally stopped and folded his arms. "A tragedy," he began. "Near the end of the nineteenth century, one of them railroad magnates like Cornelius Vanderbilt built a track here when it was nothing but land and a few streets. Built it right where you live now."
"You mean that piece of track at the intersection used to be—"
"That old man's railroad." Odell nodded, returned to his chair. "Know what that man's name was?"
My shoulders rose and fell.
Odell stood. "Anderson. Anderson Youngs."
"They named the street after him?"
"No one likes to admit it." Odell slumped in his recliner. “Daddy told me 'bout it. First a minor crash, small passenger train almost ran off the track, railroad dismissing it as human error though one engineer claimed it was cheap, inefficient rails and railroad ties. Youngs denied that." Odell gave a t-t-twith his tongue. "Don't know how investigators missed it. 'Course, I am looking at twenty twenty hindsight. Things went back to normal when a freight train came through and ran over that track by yer house, had lots of cargo and was believed to have bent the track. Next morning, passenger train comes through ..." Odell paused. "Musta been almost one hun'red people 'board. Went past that spot going eighty miles an hour and when it raced over that mangled rail .." He exhaled. "An accident."
"How bad?"
"Half the people died. Authorities did another investigation, shut down the line, demanded its owner replace them tracks. Youngs bailed out, sold his company to a business syndicate who closed most of the rail lines, including the one here since the Union Pacific had been built recently. The incident was forgotten, area became a wheat field then a residential district, only proof of the railroad’s existence that piece at the intersection. Your original owner lived there many years when one night it sounded, off in the distance at first then louder. This guy sold the place to my friend, he a light sleeper, who tried earplugs, even searched for the previous owner—which was like finding that Judge Crater—so my friend moved. House was vacant until mid eighties, when I learned a story." The old man shivered. "These owners heard the whistle. And something new: the clack of wheels. Window panes rattled, floors vibrated, the house shook. Its occupants ran out to check and found nothing, the whistle had stopped, and the roar of drivers disappeared. Family went back inside, fell asleep. The noise returned. But opening the door was like pulling a tractor trailer on a rope with your hands. The train sounded right outside the front door." He paused.
"What happened?"
Odell grimaced. "The person I heard this from said the neighbors fled to his house, described what'd occurred, said they’d broken a window and crawled out."
"Didn't the neighbor hear the train?" I asked.
Odell chuckled without humor. "That's the crux, he didn't. No one did. Neighbor let the family sleep in his house overnight and next morning the family was gone, never seen nor heard from. It was as if .." He didn't finish.
"This really happened?" I said, a smile tugging at my mouth's corners.
"Check it out in your paper, all there in black and white. At least the part about Anderson Youngs. The other stuff, who knows?"
The sound of a far off whistle made me gooseflesh.
Odell smiled. "Is the Union Pacific downtown."
I closed my notebook and stood, thanked him, said I'd call if I needed.
Odell smiled. "Door's always open."
Again the horn sounded. Too far away.
That week at work, I crept down to the basement where old articles had been transferred to microfilm years ago and never updated, spider webs in every corner, file cabinets covered in layers of dust.
I searched the database, found relevant articles, and put them under the microfilm screen. One made me stop. Something about the first successful railroad. The article came alive, similar to Odell's story about the crash though I found no articles about the apparent ghost's whistle. Was what Odell said true?
Trains whistled that night, all from downtown. It was a myth. Snuggling next to my wife on the sofa, I grew sleepy.
A honk. I popped up, cold sweat on my forehead, my breath uneven. I shook Toni. "You hear that?"
"What?" she mumbled.
The noise again. Headlights brighter than I'd ever seen flooded the house, ran across one wall and disappeared. The sound of a rig drove past.
"Yeah," Toni mumbled. A truck. Big deal.”
My heart settled back into place. As I nodded off, it sounded. I put a pillow over my head, sure it was the rig. But this sound wouldn't quit, had me upright. It repeated, grew, and faded. Another downtown train.
Nature's call woke me hours later. Back on the couch, the noise came back, louder.
"Toni, wake up!" I shook my wife.
"Now what?" she muttered through clenched teeth.
"Do you hear it now?"
"There's nothing out there. Listen .. Now go back to sleep and leave—"
It sounded.
In silhouetted darkness, I observed Toni's mouth open. "Where's that from?" she whispered.
"Don't know. From what I learned .." The noise was so piercing, we covered our ears.
"Mommy!" Kelly's muffled voice upstairs. "Mommy, Daddy. Wha's dat?" She ran downstairs, Jeremy behind her, his toy lion tight in his arms.
Toni and Kelly rested on one couch, Jeremy and I on the other. His hands twitched. We moved Jillian’s cradle next to us while she slept nonchalantly.
We lay sleepless on the couch. The whistle would stop then minutes later, start again, louder, wheels on rails sounding.
A blinding glare through the window like floodlights. Panes rattled, vibrated so fierce I thought the glass in them would break.
Light shone into the crib, awoke Jill. She wailed.
As quick as it had begun, it ended. The light dimmed, horn silent. Blackness returned. Jill and Kelly sobbed. Jeremy hid under blankets.
"What in the hell was that?" Toni asked, no one with an answer. Slowly, we all fell asleep.
The sun's rays were an unwelcome sight. The kids slept with their mother so I crept to the kitchen, brewed coffee, opened the blinds covering the front windows, and looked out at the lawn. Had I dreamt it? Others would think us loony.
I had trouble falling asleep that night but once I did, wasn't conscious until sunrise. It was the weekend but we kept busy.
"What a day." Toni stretched and yawned. "Think I'll draw a hot bath."
I nodded off on the couch.
"Dad! Dad!" Jeremy said. "C'mere." His voice trembled.
"What's wrong?"
"Dad! Get up! I'm scared!"
I sat up, stifled a yawn. "What is it?"
Wide-eyed, Jeremy grabbed my hand, led me to his bathroom. The faucet ran. He pointed at it then clutched my waist. "What's wrong? Was washing my hands when that happened."
That referred to the color the water had taken. In fact, it hadn't just changed colors. There was something else coming out. Red. A deep crimson liquid.
"Don't panic." I tried to keep my voice even. "No big deal." I turned the faucet knob. Nothing.
Jeremy cried. Suddenly, the faucet stopped. Then that sound. The bathroom light flickered and failed. I flipped the wall switch. Nothing. Jeremy clung to me. Kelly, now awake, joined him. Even upstairs, the sound of the train's rails vibrated the walls and floor. I heard footfalls.
"You guys okay?" It was Toni.
"In here!" I yelled.
"We have to get out of here!" Toni said above the din as she held Jill, who screamed while pulling her mom's hair.
The sound stopped.
"Let's start packing!" Toni said, still hollering.
"To where?" I demanded.
"I don't know." Toni's voice calmed. "A neighbor's?"
"And we tell them? They'll think we belong in the funny farm."
"How about a motel till we find another place?"
We got our necessities and piled into the car.
Next day, we took a week's worth of clothes and other items. By mid-week, my wife had found a house to rent.
We moved Saturday, cumulus clouds scattered hither and thither across an otherwise blue sky. By nightfall we were almost done.
"The bookshelf in the study," I said to Toni, who followed me into the room. We each grabbed a shelf end and marched toward the front. Lights flickered. Winds blew the door shut. Then that sound. That horrible, gut wrenching wail. We were like sculptures.
"Let's get out of here!" I finally shouted. We dropped the bookshelf and I grabbed Jeremy while Toni took Jill and Kelly.
We ran to the door. A loud click. The lock. I tried to turn it, to no avail, door not budging either. Gusts howled and screamed, rattled windows as the whistle we'd become so familiar with began.
"Open it, damnit! Open it!" Toni screamed.
Light shone through the house. The door would not give.
"The windows!" Toni yelled.
I couldn't open them, tried smashing one then recalled the realtor’s comment: Unbreakable. My body went numb, the winds moaned, and the horn was the loudest it'd ever been. The light came closer, sound of wheels louder.
Out of the room's corner, a flame flickered and grew, ran up one wall. Smoke billowed.
"Daddy, help!" Jeremy begged.
We cowered in a corner, unable to move. The train's light approached our yard, the fire now a blaze covering two walls that leaned in and out as if breathing.
I crawled to the study's back door. A fire-filled beam creaked and toppled. I spun away from it, beam falling so close I felt its heat on my back. The walls groaned louder, leaned inward and collapsed, as if lunging for us.
"Dad, look out!" Jeremy hollered.
I sprinted to him as the walls crashed onto a table. Glass from those unbreakable windows shattered. Wind and dirt blew in, caused us to gag and cough and place our hands in front of our faces. But it was what we needed.
"Let's get out of here! Now!" I screamed, Toni needing no coaxing. We stumbled through the mess, hurried to the truck.
In the cab, I stuck the key into the ignition. It wouldn't turn over. Once. Twice. Thrice. Fourth time, the hum of the engine sounded, as beautiful as a classical concert. I drove away at a speed I didn't think the truck could reach while Toni dialed nine one one on her cell phone.
Fire engines sirened as we drove to the motel.
Next morning, I drove past the place on my way to work. At the four way stop, I pressed the brake pedal and took another look, one side of the place burnt like a charcoal briquette.
I raised my foot off the pedal. The car conked out. I tried to restart it. Nothing. I turned the ignition again. Same result. I prayed like I was on my death bed.
It returned. The sound.
My stomach became a maze of knots and my left hand gripped the wheel, right hand turning the key as far as it could go. I floored the gas pedal. The car was a corpse. The whistle sounded louder. Once more, I turned the key, leaning on the wheel in desperation. The engine roared, squeal of tires on pavement permeating the neighborhood. I sped across the intersection and drove away doing sixty. I was gone from the area. Never to return. No matter what anybody would say, no matter the circumstances. Never!
THE END
HOW I CAME UP WITH THIS STORY
Yes, there really are tracks at that intersection in Oklahoma City. Used to live in that area years ago and it's a four way stop. I drove across the intersection for many months before finally wondering what kind of tracks they were, thinking train tracks though they looked too small(found out
later they were trolley tracks that used to run in that area) As I wondered and crossed the intersection, in my mind I heard the whistle of a train and imagined a train speeding out of nowhere and splitting my car in a half.
Thinking this might be a story, I imagined each time the noise getting louder until, when an important dignitary was being rushed to the hospital, the train would crush the ambulance. Of course, it didn't turn out that way(the original idea is almost never the one I use for a story) but I still liked it as I'm a sucker for those urban legend, historical horror stories that are half-based in truth.
The Drowning Machine
A wave taller than any I'd encountered rose in the nighttime air. I hopped on my boogie board and made sure I got Roger's attention as waves carried me in and dumped me at water's edge.
I stood, laughed, and looked at Roger. "How 'bout that?"
"I don't know," he said. "Should we quit? Thad thinks so."
"No way." I said and high stepped into the ocean as water lashed my calves and rushed to shore. "This is great."
I sprinted back out and as I stretched to dive in, a huge clap like an earth tremor shook me, clouds on the horizon lurching. I twisted in the water, boogie board lost. Another wave splashed my shoulders and pushed me back. I cackled at it, thrilled by the speed at which it carried me to shore.
We were the only guests on the beach in Ocean City, New Jersey, place dormant for several weeks, when summer season began. Friends Roger and Allison talked Thad, Christian, and I into coming out.
"They're chicken," Allison had said at our apartment with a bray of laughter associated from too much alcohol.
Roger waved us to the car. "Let's get going. Got your boogie boards? I'm bringing my surfboard." The fin stuck out of his Jeep's back end.
Thad combed his short hair back. "I don't know. No one's there, no lifeguards, nothing. Water'll be cold." He examined the evening sky. "It'll be dark shortly."
"Aw, c'mon. Christian, you're not going to let him spoil our graduation party, are ya?" Roger asked.
Christian's head moved side to side. "Whatever you guys do, I'll go with it."
Roger faced me. I looked at him, then Allison, Christian, and Thad. If Veronica was here I could pass the look to her and she'd decide. Roger and I'd been friends since we were college freshmen and he'd gotten me doing things I'd never done.
Thad, a friend since high school, chewed his lip and folded his arms over his chest. I looked at Allison who giggled.
"What's the matter? Scared?" She elbowed Roger. "Remember when he was afraid of Disney World's Tower of Terror?" She chortled, half drunk, half teasing.
Roger moaned and his shoulders drooped. "Well?"
My blood burned and my ears were hot. “Let's go," I said and we jumped in the car.
On the beach, cold sand chilled my feet and gusts hit our faces. Despite chilly waters I jumped in, grabbed the boogie board, and paddled out. Low clouds hovered, drifted in, and a grumble sounded. A flash in the distant sky. I shuddered but seeing Roger surf a tall wave, his athletic body standing above it, urged me to do the same. I hauled the board out and rode a few breakers. Thunder sounded closer.
"Maybe we should go," Thad said as he, Roger, and I moved ashore.
Roger roared a drunk laugh, all the bottles in his backpack empty. "Hell no," he bellowed. "We're not coward asses. You don't want to go, do ya?" he asked me.
"Ya kidding? Hell no."
A long, deep thunderclap intruded.
Roger gazed at me. "What the hell was that? Should we go?” He crinkled his eyes then laughed his drunken laugh.
I chuckled too and charged into the water, swam backstroke, observed the light scud clouds, how tranquil, beautiful they were, how refreshing the water felt. My muscles hummed like a new engine.
I swam out and tread water, no one out this far. I grinned like I'd won a king of the hill battle and cupped a hand to my mouth. "C'mon guys, whatsa matter? Too scared?"
No one responded. Winds blew faster. Lightning burst and seared my eyes. Clouds invaded the remaining light and darkness erupted. Thunder exploded, winds gale force. I continued my brave front. "C'mon guys, can't we ..."
A rush of water from the rear crashed and foam surrounded my head. I bobbed and coughed until my throat cleared. Another wave hit. Thunder burst and rain drizzled. The storm front raced toward us. My heart palpitated, my lungs hurt.
I dove in and paddled to shore. My legs and arms churned. But instead of moving forward, I was thrust back, and gasped. More foamy water bruised my face, boogie board ripped from my clutches. The sky went from pale blue to purple. I checked behind me. My lungs screeched and my brain flashed an urgent order to turn around. I did and braced for the onslaught.
The largest wave I'd witnessed destroyed me though I relaxed, knew it would carry me ashore. I was thrown forward then slammed back, as if I’d hit an invisible wall. I dog paddled yet the distance between me and the shoreline grew.
"Help!" My sore lungs gave an inaudible yelp. "Guys!" I waved but they didn't see me. Rain fell thicker, winds stronger. I coughed, choked, wheezed. My face went white, body temperature falling, my bones ready to snap like brittle gum.
I strove to stay afloat, searched the area but the sky, now midnight blue, made it impossible to see. Lightning shone. I looked in all directions but darkness came too quick, followed by thunder. Blackness crawled over my eyes and I went under.
My choking throat woke me as my head broke the surface. I heard a shout, hollered to it as waves crashed. In a brief calm I heard the voice say it couldn't get out that deep, waves too high.
Rain plummeted, pounded me while lightning winked and the obligatory thunder peal echoed.
I labored for breath, swam to shore but made no progress, like a soldier marking time. Huge, snow‑white crests atop an angry, tall breaker roared toward me. My sight darkened and my body eased. I felt eerily calm.
I heard a cry. An infant's. I looked down and saw the newborn, eyes like mine. The baby wailed as if beaten. I looked at it then person holding it. Veronica. My wife, mother to be. Our child. A precious girl. I reached for her, my body weak yet vibrating with anticipation. My hands went to touch it.
Cold water hit me and my mouth opened as air filled my lungs. My eyelids opened and though dizzy, I collected my surroundings and discovered I was right where I'd been before unconsciousness hit. I thought of Veronica, seven months pregnant and how she hated being alone. She couldn't be left to raise a new child by herself.
Must stay alive, I thought.For them. Hell, for me. Have to see my child.
My heart soared, my lungs cleared as did my vision and things settled. Blood pumped into my arms, legs, and muscles. I swam ahead, knew I'd make it.
A few strokes to shore. Then I was propelled back, as if a working bulldozer with steel blade was in front of me. My lungs wanted to collapse, muscles ready to quit. Thunder broke and lightning streaked, long and bright. I saw no one in the water, no one on shore. My heart sank and I heard a roar. The sky flash showed a wave the size of a truck. It crashed around me. My vision faded.
I came to, on my back, continued to be swept away from shore.
Lightning burst on the horizon and I saw a strange sight, unable to decipher it before the lightning vanished. The flash occurred again and when I discerned what the object that fell from the sky was, I felt I'd become paraplegic. A waterspout.
My bones were ready to break, my mouth salty and dry. The image of my wife failed to renew my strength.
The funnel approached. I sank and recalled drinking sea water makes you go mad. And a drowning man goes under three times. Was this number three?
Waves crested and pounded me as water sprayed as if from a broken water main. With the next lightning flash I viewed the cyclone. A hundred yards away. Winds whipped my face and my eyes teared, my hair as if pulled from its roots.
The combers crescendoed but I kept getting shoved out to sea, my eye ducts like a water faucet at full throttle.
I swam parallel to shore, raised my left arm, then my right. A sensation like a chainsaw tore through my right arm. I screamed and got a belly full of water.
I lifted my arm again. Pain revisited. I dog paddled while the noise like a freight train sounded in back of me.
A cresting wave rolled in, twenty feet to the left and behind me. Could it carry me to shore?
I lifted my right arm and ignored the torment, swam. My body drifted to the wave. The tornado buffeted the sea and I went up, down, up down.
The roller rose and my legs, though soft as clay, kicked and channeled through the sea.
Up in the air I went, the wave upon me, waterspout behind it. The waves beat me, flipped me, lifted me like a giant hand. I went up.
Foam invaded my eyes, nose, and lips. I choked then vomited. Lightning streaked a white line, a daytime glare that lasted on my eyes after the burst ended.
Thunder talked and a flash further out lit up the night like a fire ball. I looked to shore as my breaker peaked and saw the shadows on land. Human figures pointed and motioned but winds were so deafening I couldn't hear their voices. The wave swayed forward and I was tossed as if from a cannon.
Air whistled in my ears. I stretched to swim. My arms only cut through air. Wind whipped at me. I soared to a peak. Lightning bristled, revealed the maelstrom below.
I descended and slapped the water with the equivalent force of hitting a concrete wall. My senses dulled and my vision blurred.
I came to and raised my right arm. The chainsaw like pain returned. I cried and lowered the limb, swam with my left arm. And recalled what I’d been trapped in. A ripcurrent. To be sure I was free of its death grasp, I swam parallel to shore, the way one must to escape.
Across the waters I went. Free. I changed directions, moved to shore, gap between me and the beach shrinking.
The roar of ocean, rain, and thunder was invaded by another, this one pleasurable. Voices. My friends. Lightning lit up again and Roger came out then halted as blackness took over. The next flash brought the same image, my friends as if hitting an unseen wall, pointing, shouting, hands around their mouths.
I glimpsed over my shoulder. My body grew colder, numb. Water spout approached.
Lightning again. I saw the body outlines, still in the water. Two moved toward me. I wanted to wave them back but couldn't lift my right arm and used the left to tread water. The tall and short shadows told me it was Thad with Roger. Thad, who'd been afraid to get in, now stood in waves that scourged his face. That he was willing to risk his life gave me strength. I again pictured Veronica with our newborn and believed I would make it. Had to.
I crawled to the shoreline, tornado closer.
A cutting through my toes. Even in the water, I felt blood trickle across my feet. What I touched made my lips form a wide, upward arc. Never had the pain of hitting rocks been so joyful.
My feet touch sand at ocean's bottom. I raised my legs, swayed, caught my balance, and shot my left arm in the air. Roger and Thad whooped and hollered. Another lightning flash and I saw Allison and Christian embrace. I staggered, stumbled, hopped to them. The waterspout changed directions, away from the shore.
I raised my arm again. Wind shears blew me down. Wet sand hit my eyes, face, shirt, shorts, and arms. Water flowed over me and seeped into my mouth. I ran my fingers through the sand.
A hand reached out. I grasped it. Our fingerpads touched. Water rushed behind me. My arm fell. Another wave covered my head. Water entered my lungs. I hacked, spit, and crawled as slow as snow receding in sub‑zero temperatures.
The hand reached out and I clutched it, clung to it. Roger pulled me in. My chin rubbed sand, hit a sharp object and kept rubbing. I lost sense of surroundings.
Hands touched me. One slapped my cheeks. Voices talked, distant at first, then clear.
"Speak to me," Roger hit my cheeks again.
"I hear ya," I mumbled. The hand let up.
"He's okay," Roger exclaimed. "He'll make it!"
I squirmed to get up, discovered it too painful and lay on the beach, my right arm as if it had been hit by a grenade and put in a washing machine ‑ still connected to my body. Allison left for help and Christian stated the waterspout had risen into the sky.
"Thought you were a goner," he said.
"Yeah. But I made it."
"Don't know how," Roger added. "Someone must've been lookin' out for ya."
"Yeah," I muttered and thought of Veronica and our offspring. I lowered my head to the sand and passed out.
"C'mon honey, keep it comin'. Almost there." I observed it in the canal. It looked lovely.
"C'mon dear, not much longer." I breathed in and out, like I'd been taught in class. "Here it is. It's comin'. I see its head."
As slow as the hour hand moves on a clock, it came out, head first. Bald, covered with liquid. But the most beautiful baby girl I'd seen. The head popped out as did the rest of her.
I heard nothing and my breathing ceased. Then the most amazing, lovely sound. The cry of a newborn girl.
The obstetrician smiled. "Normal and healthy," she said.
My wife grinned, her chest heaving in quick thrusts, her hospital gown soaked, her face glistening.
I beamed and held the baby up with my good hand, other still in a sling "Who'd have thought she'd save my life out there?" I kissed the child's forehead. "Let's call her Savior," I said in my giddiness.
Veronica grimaced. "We'll do no such thing. She'd be laughed out of school. The neighborhood. The country."
"So what do we name her?"
"Something normal. Erica?"
I smiled and nodded. "Sounds good."
"Savior," my wife mocked and rolled her eyes. "You'd have thought I'd have come up with that considering the torture I've been in the past twelve hours. You don't have a clue what I've been through."
I displayed my sling. "I think I do."
We laughed and I leaned in on my wife, the baby between us. A family. Both of them my savior.
THE IDEA FOR THIS ONE
Came up with this story after watching a rerun of NBC’s Dateline on a cable channel about rip currents (a.k., Drowning Machine). I think I like this one because of the circumstances surrounding the writing process. I’d taken off work on a Monday & Tuesday in October one year and it’d been raining all the previous week. Thankfully, it cleared on Monday, a beautiful day, little wind, sunny & 80ish. I finished the story that morning and that night friends came over for beer and pizza and we watched my favorite team, the Tennesee Titans, beat the Jacksonville Jaguars for their 5thstraight win (though they wound up losing in their first playoff game that year. Bummer!) Fortunately, Tuesday’s weather was just as nice. This one was published in ’09 and is one of the few I can read after publication and say “I like this one.”
DREAM COME TRUE?
Ted Armis rubbed his temples with his fingers. "What does it mean?"
Leonard Sheridian took a swig from his beer bottle. “Nothing. Nothing at all."
"But it's so vivid, so real, I swear it's actually happening."
"But it's not," Leonard said, set the bottle back on the formica counter between them, leaned back in the red cushioned booth and put his hands on the back of his head. "It's not real. Only seems real. Not is. Seems."
"Each night it gets clearer, lasts longer."
Leonard shrugged. "It's nothing. Your mind's working overtime.” He called a waitress over and ordered another beer. "Quit searching for interpretations, deeper meanings."
"There's no interpreting," Ted said. "She's there, I see her. She turns. It's her."
"Looks like her," Leonard corrected. "You didn't say it was her for sure."
Ted's lips undulated. "I'm pretty sure."
"Pretty sure doesn't cut it."
"But this dream is so lucid; it's telling me something."
"Telling you you're nuts."
"I mean it. What about that guy in 1979? He dreamt a plane would crash at O'hare airport. And it did. Worst crash due to mechanical failure in U.S. history."
"But he couldn't pinpoint specifics. Some psychic vision," Leonard said. "Just remember, his dream stopped after that."
"Big deal. He created a self fulfilling prophecy, said he wouldn't have it anymore so he didn't."
"You don't believe in psychic phenomena?"
"I'm saying in this case it's not true."
"You wouldn't say that if youhad the dream."
The waitress returned, gave Leonard his beer and took the empty bottle. Leonard eyed her well figured physique.
"Do you believe dreams can be premonitions?" Ted asked the waitress.
The red haired girl put a hand on her chin then pointed. "Yeah. As long as I'm in it and some handsome, wealthy guy wants to marry me.” She noticed Leonard eyeing her. "Someone unlike yourself," she told him and left.
Ted whistled. "Got you good."
"Not unlike Marcia's got you good. Bad," Leonard said. "She doesn't want you. Left you over a year ago."
"We went our separate ways," Ted said and his right hand became a fist. "It was mutual. We felt we couldn't go any farther." He thought of his dream, shook his head. "But neither of us wanted to break up, we just felt like .."
"Like what?"
"I dunno. Like .."
"Like sex was all you had?" Leonard chuckled. " 'cause I know she wasn't after you for your looks. Or personality. Must've been the sex."
Ted gave a false grin. "Funny."
"So why'd you break up?"
"I don't know.” Ted eased his clenched hand. "But this .. dream .."
"Forewarning," Leonard said with a smirk.
"Glad you agree with me," Ted said with a smile.
"I do. Just not in this case."
"Whatever.” Ted checked his watch. "Getting late. Think I'll go home."
"Pay attention to that dream tonight. Talk to her," Leonard said. "See what she says."
"Funny."
"I'm serious," Leonard said. "I believe dreams have meaning."
"Sure," Ted said and left.
He had the dream again, saw Marcia. Or whom he believed was her, she in profile, her shoulder length blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. Her right eye—it seemed to be blue, like hers—glistened in the streetlight's glow. She seemed to smile, her eyes bright when she noticed Ted.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you," she said, her arms open though they blocked her face, Ted unable to tell if it was her. "It's been so long since .."
Ted awoke in cold sweats.
"You need sleep," Leonard said the next day. "Those bags under your eyes look like a quarterback's eye black."
Ted gave a half smile. "I'm telling ya, she's trying to tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know. But each night the dream gets longer.”
"You're still not over her."
Ted thought for a minute. "Guess not," he said, managed a grin.
"You're obsessed with her."
"It's more than that. I can feel it."
"If you say so," Leonard said. "Though I think you're reading too much into it. Besides, Marcia's in Colorado, long ways away. She's not comin' anytime soon."
"I know," Ted said. "Yet ..” He couldn't finish the sentence.
Again the dream that night: Marcia smiled, turned.
"I knew I'd find you here ... it's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted's cold sweats returned. He panted, caught his breath and rubbed his eyes. An hour passed before he fell asleep.
Next night, same thing, except the last sentence extended to, "tell you how much .."
"Damn!" Ted said, sotto voce. He gathered the bed sheets in his fists then loosened them. "C'mon," he said to his apartment's walls. "Let me know."
The next two nights were the same. Then he got a call.
"Hey.” It was Vern, a former dorm buddy. "Didja hear who's coming to town?"
"Santa Claus?"
"What a comedian," Vern said. "Marcia."
Ted gasped. "Who?"
"Marcia. Your woman."
"Ex," Ted said.
"I know. But you guys were so serious we thought it was down the aisle for you two. Why'd she dump you anyway?"
Ted flinched, grit his teeth. "We separated amicably. Both of us. It was mutual."
"If ya say so. But she's comin' back. Tomorrow."
Ted's mind sang 'Ode to Joy' but he gathered himself. "That is nice," he said calmly. "If we cross paths I’d be glad to converse with her, communicate as much and .."
"Why are ya talkin’ like you're one of the royal family?"
"I'm not," Ted said. "But should I run into her, that's fine. We'll talk, exchange pleasantries, and say adios."
"Man," Vern said. "If it'd been me with a girl for over a year and we met again, I'd be in bed with her in an hour."
"That's why you don't have a girl," Ted said. "Your heart is below your beltline."
Both boys laughed.
"See ya," Vern said. "And if you do see her, good luck."
"Thanks. But we're just friends."
"Uh-huh," Vern said, dubious. "Bye."
The dream was the same, only Marcia (or the girl Ted believed was Marcia) turned her head further.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you how much I .."
Ted came to, gasped like a race horse, and calmed by telling himself it meant nothing, he merely thinking too much. But his mind and stomach felt otherwise. And he remembered something he hadn't seen in past sequences. She'd turned far enough this time, he saw it. Below her ear. The scar. From stitches when she said she fell off her bike at six.
It is her, he thought, raised his hands in triumph and imagined seeing her, how it would be, what they would say.
I know she's telling me she missed me, wants to go back to school here and make up. That's the rest of her sentence. I know it. He beamed and relaxed on the bed, fell asleep in minutes.
The day arrived. Ted got up and went to Finance class. Just before entering, he saw a girl with blonde, shoulder length hair and blue eyes. He inhaled. Then exhaled. Not Marcia.
"Damn," he whispered as the dream played in his mind.
After Finance, he went to Intermediate Accounting. He got up to leave and saw a girl. Blonde hair. Same size as her. He pressed his lips together. And sighed. Not her.
Next he went to Economics. Every girl with blonde hair near the shoulders caused Ted to turn. None were Marcia.
He and Leonard went out for dinner.
"Is that her?" Leonard would say whenever a girl like Marcia came into view.
"Shut up," Ted would tease back.
They returned to Ted's place as darkness took over.
Leonard looked at the time as they watched t.v. on the old couch. "It's past midnight, day's over. I'm sure she's in bed now.” He chuckled. "Maybe with another guy. Guess your dream was just that. A dream. A wish. Fairy tale. Now move on with your life."
"I know," Ted said and though his stomach pinched and his heart seemed to be in the soles of his shoes, he smiled. "Never meant to be."
"That's the spirit," Leonard said, slapped Ted's thigh and stood. "Let's go have a drink. On me."
Ted sighed. "I dunno."
"Come on, drown your sorrows, put her behind ya. At least the dream won't happen anymore."
"You're right," Ted said and got up.
The two visited an off campus pub, had some drinks, met friends, and went to the strip, a street next to campus with the most popular bars and hang outs.
"Let's go," Ted told Leonard after visiting several bars .
"So dreams don't always come true," Leonard said. "Don't worry, lots of other hens in the hen house."
"I know," Ted said. "It's just that ..."
A voice spoke. Familiar. Then the words.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you."
Ted recognized the voice. His skin goosepimpled. His heart seemed frozen. He stopped breathing. The voice continued.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted turned. His face went white and his hands palsied. Then he smiled, looked at Leonard, also pale faced. Ted's grin grew. His heart felt as if on fire. He looked at her to be sure though he knew who it was. It was her, blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. The street light shone on her, she in profile. The woman turned, lips going up, eyes twinkling in the streetlight's glow. She continued to speak.
".. tell you how much I care about .."
Ted ran up to her, wrapped his arms around her.
"I missed you too. It's so good to see you. Haven't stopped thinking about you since you left.” He pressed her to his body. Her perfume relaxed and excited him, the best he'd ever smelled on a girl. He went to kiss her.
"What the hell are you doing?" the girl said.
Ted's lips met a hand. He pulled back. It was Marcia. "Whadya mean? It's me, Ted."
Marcia cringed. "Oh God, Ted. Get away from me."
"But you just said how glad you were to make it back to Stillwater, see me and .."
Marcia pushed Ted away. "Not you.” She shuffled to the sidewalk where an older man stood. She wrapped her arms around this guy. "Him," she said and pressed her lips on his cheek. "My Uncle Louie.” She hugged him. "I was in town, tried to call but you weren't around. Shoulda figured you'd be out carousing."
"Marcia!" the man said and returned the hug. "My favorite niece. What are you doing here?"
"Going back to school.” She separated from her uncle. "You were right, work is hard. I'm re-enrolling here. Wanted to thank you for your monetary support and advice. Mom said you're leaving tomorrow for Europe until next month on business. Had to find you. Should've guessed you'd be near a bar."
"That's great, honey. Glad you're back. You're making the right choice."
Marcia leaned her head on her uncle's shoulder. "You've been so good. Just had to say thanks. See you when you get back."
"You bet," the uncle said then looked at Ted and Leonard. "Who're these two? They know you?"
"Oh them," Marcia said and led her uncle quickly past them. "Bad memories from my past.” She looked over her shoulder, glared at Ted and pointed. "Especially that one. He's very strange. You saw him attack me then claim I was his girlfriend. Only in his dreams."
The uncle laughed and the two left.
Leonard punched a hand on Ted's shoulder, chortled. "Sometimes dreams come true. Just not the way you expect.” He burst into laughter, doubled over.
"Shut up," Ted said, grinned and grabbed Leonard by the neck. "C'mon, knucklehead, let's go home."
THE IDEA BEHIND THIS ONE
Hadn’t done many humorous stories and since Dream International Quarterly magazine (now defunct) had published several stories of mine, I thought something humorous about dreams would be a good story. So I came up with this one—a humorous(I hope) take on how dreams can easily be misinterpreted.
Short stories
Here are a few of my short stories—horror, suspense, and humor, as well as a little background information on each: how I came up with the idea, the writing process, etc. see what you think. Any questions, comments, let me know. Short stories
Here are a few of my short stories—horror, suspense, and humor, as well as a little background information on each: how I came up with the idea, the writing process, etc. see what you think. Any questions, comments, let me know.
We were driving in northwest Oklahoma City when we saw it. An older home, built in the nineteen twenties though it didn't look it. But it was what we wanted. The intersection there was a four way stop and as we drove past, I saw the tracks amidst the intersection and wondered aloud what they were.
"Train tracks," Jeremy, our eight year old and Kelly, our four year old daughter, said together while nine month old Jill slept beside them.
"But why are they still here?" I asked.
"Who knows?" my wife Toni said as we passed the two storied, deep red brick house with wide front porch and arched doorways. She clutched my arm. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
Next evening, a short, balding, pudgy man with thin brown eyes and beads of sweat on his forehead met us. "Let me give ya the tour. Where'd I put those keys?" He searched his pockets then chuckled. "Guess if I can't find ‘em I could break a window." His grin abated. "Then again, them things're made of unbreakable plexiglass, put in after a bad wind storm. Don't worry, I'll find 'em." He slapped his shirt pocket. A jingle.
We went up creaky porch steps and he opened the door, my breath taken away by the home's elegance. I inquired as to the price and he showed me.
I whistled. "Why so cheap?"
"Got it at government auction." The realtor gave an elbow, his hand at the side of his mouth. "Creditors said previous owner skipped the country to avoid debt. I heard he simply vanished."
The guy led us into a commodious front room then down a small corridor to a larger, brighter room, this one below ground level. A balcony extended from two walls, led to bedrooms.
We then entered another room where a small fireplace left me with a homey feeling, bookshelves lining windowless walls. In the distance, a train's whistle warned motorists. Or so I thought.
Upstairs, the master bedroom with walk-in closet cinched it for my wife. She wrapped herself around me. "Let's buy."
When I saw the master bath with Jacuzzi, it was a done deal.
Our first night there, boxes and furniture in harum-scarum fashion, the whistle woke me. I smiled.
At work, I considered my next article for the newspaper, about the Oklahoma oil boom but it didn't work so my neighbor referred me to Odell Ferguson, an old timer, said he could describe things back then. I called, left a message that Sunday as a train whistle sounded in the distance.
Having received no call back by Tuesday, I left another message and hung up as, in the distance, the sound was audible.
By Thursday I'd given up on the guy and retired to bed. Past midnight, I heard a rustling, went downstairs, and turned on porch lights. A yelp. I opened the front door. "Who's out there?"
A tall, slender man with a blue shirt and blue denim overalls came forward. "Howdy." He offered his hand. "Name's Odell Ferguson. Sorry I scared ya but I don't get much sleep now. You called, left a message so thought I'd git some exacise out here. Then, passing the house, decided to have looksee if anyone was awake." He observed my uncombed hair. "Guess you wasn’t."
"Well, I'm awake now so c'mon in." I opened the door and turned on a lamp, told him what I wanted, grabbed a nearby pencil and notepad, and looked up. My hair went stiff, my eyes bulged, my legs rubbery. His skin had gone old and wrinkly, eyeballs sunken. He smiled a crooked grin, mouth displaying missing teeth, the rest old and chipped. His hands snapped forward and clutched my shoulders, his long, sharp nails sinking into my skin. I screamed and fell to my knees.
"Daddy, what's happening?" Kelly hollered from upstairs.
I could not answer. I gazed up, Jeremy also there, his face pale. He ran to the stairs but slipped, fell toward the balcony guardrail, he small enough to fall through the slats. His head came through then his shoulders then the rest of his body.
"Daddy, help! I—"
"Honey, you okay?" Toni's voice said.
I jumped up in bed. In moonlight, I discerned Toni’s face, her eyes cringing though she had a tiny smile.
I caught my breath. "Fine."
We fell back asleep and the phone woke me as sunlight crept over the house. "Hello?"
"Hello," the same low, rough voice from my dream said. "You left a message. I'm Odell Ferguson. Be glad to do an inter- view."
We scheduled to meet. I drove to his house, a small place with carport though no vehicle was present, house painted dark blue with green Welcome mat at the door. I pressed the doorbell, the guy greeting me a replica of the man in my dream except this person looked friendly. I told him who I was. He shook my hand, invited me in, and offered a seat on his plaid couch, he lounging in a gold recliner.
"Now sir..." I began.
"Call me Odell."
"Okay. Tell me about the depression, dust bowl."
We talked for a while when a plane flew by. Odell looked at the sky, sentimentalized how he remembered when the main way to travel was by train.
I decided to ask. "Were you here when the Union Pacific was built?"
Odell laughed. "I may be old but not that old. That was built in the early twentieth century."
"Does it come through this area?"
Odell shook his head. "That line is downtown. You can hear the trains' horns every so often though not real loud."
"Oh," I said, my heart sinking. "I heard some trains and ..
I watched the old man as his pupils dilated and his irises shrank, asked if he was okay.
"Just thinking ... Where'd you say ya live?"
"Nineteenth and Youngs."
Odell bit his upper lip. "Can't be," he muttered. "That was years ago."
"What?" The pencil twitched in my hand.
Odell rose, paced, finally stopped and folded his arms. "A tragedy," he began. "Near the end of the nineteenth century, one of them railroad magnates like Cornelius Vanderbilt built a track here when it was nothing but land and a few streets. Built it right where you live now."
"You mean that piece of track at the intersection used to be—"
"That old man's railroad." Odell nodded, returned to his chair. "Know what that man's name was?"
My shoulders rose and fell.
Odell stood. "Anderson. Anderson Youngs."
"They named the street after him?"
"No one likes to admit it." Odell slumped in his recliner. “Daddy told me 'bout it. First a minor crash, small passenger train almost ran off the track, railroad dismissing it as human error though one engineer claimed it was cheap, inefficient rails and railroad ties. Youngs denied that." Odell gave a t-t-twith his tongue. "Don't know how investigators missed it. 'Course, I am looking at twenty twenty hindsight. Things went back to normal when a freight train came through and ran over that track by yer house, had lots of cargo and was believed to have bent the track. Next morning, passenger train comes through ..." Odell paused. "Musta been almost one hun'red people 'board. Went past that spot going eighty miles an hour and when it raced over that mangled rail .." He exhaled. "An accident."
"How bad?"
"Half the people died. Authorities did another investigation, shut down the line, demanded its owner replace them tracks. Youngs bailed out, sold his company to a business syndicate who closed most of the rail lines, including the one here since the Union Pacific had been built recently. The incident was forgotten, area became a wheat field then a residential district, only proof of the railroad’s existence that piece at the intersection. Your original owner lived there many years when one night it sounded, off in the distance at first then louder. This guy sold the place to my friend, he a light sleeper, who tried earplugs, even searched for the previous owner—which was like finding that Judge Crater—so my friend moved. House was vacant until mid eighties, when I learned a story." The old man shivered. "These owners heard the whistle. And something new: the clack of wheels. Window panes rattled, floors vibrated, the house shook. Its occupants ran out to check and found nothing, the whistle had stopped, and the roar of drivers disappeared. Family went back inside, fell asleep. The noise returned. But opening the door was like pulling a tractor trailer on a rope with your hands. The train sounded right outside the front door." He paused.
"What happened?"
Odell grimaced. "The person I heard this from said the neighbors fled to his house, described what'd occurred, said they’d broken a window and crawled out."
"Didn't the neighbor hear the train?" I asked.
Odell chuckled without humor. "That's the crux, he didn't. No one did. Neighbor let the family sleep in his house overnight and next morning the family was gone, never seen nor heard from. It was as if .." He didn't finish.
"This really happened?" I said, a smile tugging at my mouth's corners.
"Check it out in your paper, all there in black and white. At least the part about Anderson Youngs. The other stuff, who knows?"
The sound of a far off whistle made me gooseflesh.
Odell smiled. "Is the Union Pacific downtown."
I closed my notebook and stood, thanked him, said I'd call if I needed.
Odell smiled. "Door's always open."
Again the horn sounded. Too far away.
That week at work, I crept down to the basement where old articles had been transferred to microfilm years ago and never updated, spider webs in every corner, file cabinets covered in layers of dust.
I searched the database, found relevant articles, and put them under the microfilm screen. One made me stop. Something about the first successful railroad. The article came alive, similar to Odell's story about the crash though I found no articles about the apparent ghost's whistle. Was what Odell said true?
Trains whistled that night, all from downtown. It was a myth. Snuggling next to my wife on the sofa, I grew sleepy.
A honk. I popped up, cold sweat on my forehead, my breath uneven. I shook Toni. "You hear that?"
"What?" she mumbled.
The noise again. Headlights brighter than I'd ever seen flooded the house, ran across one wall and disappeared. The sound of a rig drove past.
"Yeah," Toni mumbled. A truck. Big deal.”
My heart settled back into place. As I nodded off, it sounded. I put a pillow over my head, sure it was the rig. But this sound wouldn't quit, had me upright. It repeated, grew, and faded. Another downtown train.
Nature's call woke me hours later. Back on the couch, the noise came back, louder.
"Toni, wake up!" I shook my wife.
"Now what?" she muttered through clenched teeth.
"Do you hear it now?"
"There's nothing out there. Listen .. Now go back to sleep and leave—"
It sounded.
In silhouetted darkness, I observed Toni's mouth open. "Where's that from?" she whispered.
"Don't know. From what I learned .." The noise was so piercing, we covered our ears.
"Mommy!" Kelly's muffled voice upstairs. "Mommy, Daddy. Wha's dat?" She ran downstairs, Jeremy behind her, his toy lion tight in his arms.
Toni and Kelly rested on one couch, Jeremy and I on the other. His hands twitched. We moved Jillian’s cradle next to us while she slept nonchalantly.
We lay sleepless on the couch. The whistle would stop then minutes later, start again, louder, wheels on rails sounding.
A blinding glare through the window like floodlights. Panes rattled, vibrated so fierce I thought the glass in them would break.
Light shone into the crib, awoke Jill. She wailed.
As quick as it had begun, it ended. The light dimmed, horn silent. Blackness returned. Jill and Kelly sobbed. Jeremy hid under blankets.
"What in the hell was that?" Toni asked, no one with an answer. Slowly, we all fell asleep.
The sun's rays were an unwelcome sight. The kids slept with their mother so I crept to the kitchen, brewed coffee, opened the blinds covering the front windows, and looked out at the lawn. Had I dreamt it? Others would think us loony.
I had trouble falling asleep that night but once I did, wasn't conscious until sunrise. It was the weekend but we kept busy.
"What a day." Toni stretched and yawned. "Think I'll draw a hot bath."
I nodded off on the couch.
"Dad! Dad!" Jeremy said. "C'mere." His voice trembled.
"What's wrong?"
"Dad! Get up! I'm scared!"
I sat up, stifled a yawn. "What is it?"
Wide-eyed, Jeremy grabbed my hand, led me to his bathroom. The faucet ran. He pointed at it then clutched my waist. "What's wrong? Was washing my hands when that happened."
That referred to the color the water had taken. In fact, it hadn't just changed colors. There was something else coming out. Red. A deep crimson liquid.
"Don't panic." I tried to keep my voice even. "No big deal." I turned the faucet knob. Nothing.
Jeremy cried. Suddenly, the faucet stopped. Then that sound. The bathroom light flickered and failed. I flipped the wall switch. Nothing. Jeremy clung to me. Kelly, now awake, joined him. Even upstairs, the sound of the train's rails vibrated the walls and floor. I heard footfalls.
"You guys okay?" It was Toni.
"In here!" I yelled.
"We have to get out of here!" Toni said above the din as she held Jill, who screamed while pulling her mom's hair.
The sound stopped.
"Let's start packing!" Toni said, still hollering.
"To where?" I demanded.
"I don't know." Toni's voice calmed. "A neighbor's?"
"And we tell them? They'll think we belong in the funny farm."
"How about a motel till we find another place?"
We got our necessities and piled into the car.
Next day, we took a week's worth of clothes and other items. By mid-week, my wife had found a house to rent.
We moved Saturday, cumulus clouds scattered hither and thither across an otherwise blue sky. By nightfall we were almost done.
"The bookshelf in the study," I said to Toni, who followed me into the room. We each grabbed a shelf end and marched toward the front. Lights flickered. Winds blew the door shut. Then that sound. That horrible, gut wrenching wail. We were like sculptures.
"Let's get out of here!" I finally shouted. We dropped the bookshelf and I grabbed Jeremy while Toni took Jill and Kelly.
We ran to the door. A loud click. The lock. I tried to turn it, to no avail, door not budging either. Gusts howled and screamed, rattled windows as the whistle we'd become so familiar with began.
"Open it, damnit! Open it!" Toni screamed.
Light shone through the house. The door would not give.
"The windows!" Toni yelled.
I couldn't open them, tried smashing one then recalled the realtor’s comment: Unbreakable. My body went numb, the winds moaned, and the horn was the loudest it'd ever been. The light came closer, sound of wheels louder.
Out of the room's corner, a flame flickered and grew, ran up one wall. Smoke billowed.
"Daddy, help!" Jeremy begged.
We cowered in a corner, unable to move. The train's light approached our yard, the fire now a blaze covering two walls that leaned in and out as if breathing.
I crawled to the study's back door. A fire-filled beam creaked and toppled. I spun away from it, beam falling so close I felt its heat on my back. The walls groaned louder, leaned inward and collapsed, as if lunging for us.
"Dad, look out!" Jeremy hollered.
I sprinted to him as the walls crashed onto a table. Glass from those unbreakable windows shattered. Wind and dirt blew in, caused us to gag and cough and place our hands in front of our faces. But it was what we needed.
"Let's get out of here! Now!" I screamed, Toni needing no coaxing. We stumbled through the mess, hurried to the truck.
In the cab, I stuck the key into the ignition. It wouldn't turn over. Once. Twice. Thrice. Fourth time, the hum of the engine sounded, as beautiful as a classical concert. I drove away at a speed I didn't think the truck could reach while Toni dialed nine one one on her cell phone.
Fire engines sirened as we drove to the motel.
Next morning, I drove past the place on my way to work. At the four way stop, I pressed the brake pedal and took another look, one side of the place burnt like a charcoal briquette.
I raised my foot off the pedal. The car conked out. I tried to restart it. Nothing. I turned the ignition again. Same result. I prayed like I was on my death bed.
It returned. The sound.
My stomach became a maze of knots and my left hand gripped the wheel, right hand turning the key as far as it could go. I floored the gas pedal. The car was a corpse. The whistle sounded louder. Once more, I turned the key, leaning on the wheel in desperation. The engine roared, squeal of tires on pavement permeating the neighborhood. I sped across the intersection and drove away doing sixty. I was gone from the area. Never to return. No matter what anybody would say, no matter the circumstances. Never!
THE END
HOW I CAME UP WITH THIS STORY
Yes, there really are tracks at that intersection in Oklahoma City. Used to live in that area years ago and it's a four way stop. I drove across the intersection for many months before finally wondering what kind of tracks they were, thinking train tracks though they looked too small(found out
later they were trolley tracks that used to run in that area) As I wondered and crossed the intersection, in my mind I heard the whistle of a train and imagined a train speeding out of nowhere and splitting my car in a half.
Thinking this might be a story, I imagined each time the noise getting louder until, when an important dignitary was being rushed to the hospital, the train would crush the ambulance. Of course, it didn't turn out that way(the original idea is almost never the one I use for a story) but I still liked it as I'm a sucker for those urban legend, historical horror stories that are half-based in truth.
The Drowning Machine
A wave taller than any I'd encountered rose in the nighttime air. I hopped on my boogie board and made sure I got Roger's attention as waves carried me in and dumped me at water's edge.
I stood, laughed, and looked at Roger. "How 'bout that?"
"I don't know," he said. "Should we quit? Thad thinks so."
"No way." I said and high stepped into the ocean as water lashed my calves and rushed to shore. "This is great."
I sprinted back out and as I stretched to dive in, a huge clap like an earth tremor shook me, clouds on the horizon lurching. I twisted in the water, boogie board lost. Another wave splashed my shoulders and pushed me back. I cackled at it, thrilled by the speed at which it carried me to shore.
We were the only guests on the beach in Ocean City, New Jersey, place dormant for several weeks, when summer season began. Friends Roger and Allison talked Thad, Christian, and I into coming out.
"They're chicken," Allison had said at our apartment with a bray of laughter associated from too much alcohol.
Roger waved us to the car. "Let's get going. Got your boogie boards? I'm bringing my surfboard." The fin stuck out of his Jeep's back end.
Thad combed his short hair back. "I don't know. No one's there, no lifeguards, nothing. Water'll be cold." He examined the evening sky. "It'll be dark shortly."
"Aw, c'mon. Christian, you're not going to let him spoil our graduation party, are ya?" Roger asked.
Christian's head moved side to side. "Whatever you guys do, I'll go with it."
Roger faced me. I looked at him, then Allison, Christian, and Thad. If Veronica was here I could pass the look to her and she'd decide. Roger and I'd been friends since we were college freshmen and he'd gotten me doing things I'd never done.
Thad, a friend since high school, chewed his lip and folded his arms over his chest. I looked at Allison who giggled.
"What's the matter? Scared?" She elbowed Roger. "Remember when he was afraid of Disney World's Tower of Terror?" She chortled, half drunk, half teasing.
Roger moaned and his shoulders drooped. "Well?"
My blood burned and my ears were hot. “Let's go," I said and we jumped in the car.
On the beach, cold sand chilled my feet and gusts hit our faces. Despite chilly waters I jumped in, grabbed the boogie board, and paddled out. Low clouds hovered, drifted in, and a grumble sounded. A flash in the distant sky. I shuddered but seeing Roger surf a tall wave, his athletic body standing above it, urged me to do the same. I hauled the board out and rode a few breakers. Thunder sounded closer.
"Maybe we should go," Thad said as he, Roger, and I moved ashore.
Roger roared a drunk laugh, all the bottles in his backpack empty. "Hell no," he bellowed. "We're not coward asses. You don't want to go, do ya?" he asked me.
"Ya kidding? Hell no."
A long, deep thunderclap intruded.
Roger gazed at me. "What the hell was that? Should we go?” He crinkled his eyes then laughed his drunken laugh.
I chuckled too and charged into the water, swam backstroke, observed the light scud clouds, how tranquil, beautiful they were, how refreshing the water felt. My muscles hummed like a new engine.
I swam out and tread water, no one out this far. I grinned like I'd won a king of the hill battle and cupped a hand to my mouth. "C'mon guys, whatsa matter? Too scared?"
No one responded. Winds blew faster. Lightning burst and seared my eyes. Clouds invaded the remaining light and darkness erupted. Thunder exploded, winds gale force. I continued my brave front. "C'mon guys, can't we ..."
A rush of water from the rear crashed and foam surrounded my head. I bobbed and coughed until my throat cleared. Another wave hit. Thunder burst and rain drizzled. The storm front raced toward us. My heart palpitated, my lungs hurt.
I dove in and paddled to shore. My legs and arms churned. But instead of moving forward, I was thrust back, and gasped. More foamy water bruised my face, boogie board ripped from my clutches. The sky went from pale blue to purple. I checked behind me. My lungs screeched and my brain flashed an urgent order to turn around. I did and braced for the onslaught.
The largest wave I'd witnessed destroyed me though I relaxed, knew it would carry me ashore. I was thrown forward then slammed back, as if I’d hit an invisible wall. I dog paddled yet the distance between me and the shoreline grew.
"Help!" My sore lungs gave an inaudible yelp. "Guys!" I waved but they didn't see me. Rain fell thicker, winds stronger. I coughed, choked, wheezed. My face went white, body temperature falling, my bones ready to snap like brittle gum.
I strove to stay afloat, searched the area but the sky, now midnight blue, made it impossible to see. Lightning shone. I looked in all directions but darkness came too quick, followed by thunder. Blackness crawled over my eyes and I went under.
My choking throat woke me as my head broke the surface. I heard a shout, hollered to it as waves crashed. In a brief calm I heard the voice say it couldn't get out that deep, waves too high.
Rain plummeted, pounded me while lightning winked and the obligatory thunder peal echoed.
I labored for breath, swam to shore but made no progress, like a soldier marking time. Huge, snow‑white crests atop an angry, tall breaker roared toward me. My sight darkened and my body eased. I felt eerily calm.
I heard a cry. An infant's. I looked down and saw the newborn, eyes like mine. The baby wailed as if beaten. I looked at it then person holding it. Veronica. My wife, mother to be. Our child. A precious girl. I reached for her, my body weak yet vibrating with anticipation. My hands went to touch it.
Cold water hit me and my mouth opened as air filled my lungs. My eyelids opened and though dizzy, I collected my surroundings and discovered I was right where I'd been before unconsciousness hit. I thought of Veronica, seven months pregnant and how she hated being alone. She couldn't be left to raise a new child by herself.
Must stay alive, I thought.For them. Hell, for me. Have to see my child.
My heart soared, my lungs cleared as did my vision and things settled. Blood pumped into my arms, legs, and muscles. I swam ahead, knew I'd make it.
A few strokes to shore. Then I was propelled back, as if a working bulldozer with steel blade was in front of me. My lungs wanted to collapse, muscles ready to quit. Thunder broke and lightning streaked, long and bright. I saw no one in the water, no one on shore. My heart sank and I heard a roar. The sky flash showed a wave the size of a truck. It crashed around me. My vision faded.
I came to, on my back, continued to be swept away from shore.
Lightning burst on the horizon and I saw a strange sight, unable to decipher it before the lightning vanished. The flash occurred again and when I discerned what the object that fell from the sky was, I felt I'd become paraplegic. A waterspout.
My bones were ready to break, my mouth salty and dry. The image of my wife failed to renew my strength.
The funnel approached. I sank and recalled drinking sea water makes you go mad. And a drowning man goes under three times. Was this number three?
Waves crested and pounded me as water sprayed as if from a broken water main. With the next lightning flash I viewed the cyclone. A hundred yards away. Winds whipped my face and my eyes teared, my hair as if pulled from its roots.
The combers crescendoed but I kept getting shoved out to sea, my eye ducts like a water faucet at full throttle.
I swam parallel to shore, raised my left arm, then my right. A sensation like a chainsaw tore through my right arm. I screamed and got a belly full of water.
I lifted my arm again. Pain revisited. I dog paddled while the noise like a freight train sounded in back of me.
A cresting wave rolled in, twenty feet to the left and behind me. Could it carry me to shore?
I lifted my right arm and ignored the torment, swam. My body drifted to the wave. The tornado buffeted the sea and I went up, down, up down.
The roller rose and my legs, though soft as clay, kicked and channeled through the sea.
Up in the air I went, the wave upon me, waterspout behind it. The waves beat me, flipped me, lifted me like a giant hand. I went up.
Foam invaded my eyes, nose, and lips. I choked then vomited. Lightning streaked a white line, a daytime glare that lasted on my eyes after the burst ended.
Thunder talked and a flash further out lit up the night like a fire ball. I looked to shore as my breaker peaked and saw the shadows on land. Human figures pointed and motioned but winds were so deafening I couldn't hear their voices. The wave swayed forward and I was tossed as if from a cannon.
Air whistled in my ears. I stretched to swim. My arms only cut through air. Wind whipped at me. I soared to a peak. Lightning bristled, revealed the maelstrom below.
I descended and slapped the water with the equivalent force of hitting a concrete wall. My senses dulled and my vision blurred.
I came to and raised my right arm. The chainsaw like pain returned. I cried and lowered the limb, swam with my left arm. And recalled what I’d been trapped in. A ripcurrent. To be sure I was free of its death grasp, I swam parallel to shore, the way one must to escape.
Across the waters I went. Free. I changed directions, moved to shore, gap between me and the beach shrinking.
The roar of ocean, rain, and thunder was invaded by another, this one pleasurable. Voices. My friends. Lightning lit up again and Roger came out then halted as blackness took over. The next flash brought the same image, my friends as if hitting an unseen wall, pointing, shouting, hands around their mouths.
I glimpsed over my shoulder. My body grew colder, numb. Water spout approached.
Lightning again. I saw the body outlines, still in the water. Two moved toward me. I wanted to wave them back but couldn't lift my right arm and used the left to tread water. The tall and short shadows told me it was Thad with Roger. Thad, who'd been afraid to get in, now stood in waves that scourged his face. That he was willing to risk his life gave me strength. I again pictured Veronica with our newborn and believed I would make it. Had to.
I crawled to the shoreline, tornado closer.
A cutting through my toes. Even in the water, I felt blood trickle across my feet. What I touched made my lips form a wide, upward arc. Never had the pain of hitting rocks been so joyful.
My feet touch sand at ocean's bottom. I raised my legs, swayed, caught my balance, and shot my left arm in the air. Roger and Thad whooped and hollered. Another lightning flash and I saw Allison and Christian embrace. I staggered, stumbled, hopped to them. The waterspout changed directions, away from the shore.
I raised my arm again. Wind shears blew me down. Wet sand hit my eyes, face, shirt, shorts, and arms. Water flowed over me and seeped into my mouth. I ran my fingers through the sand.
A hand reached out. I grasped it. Our fingerpads touched. Water rushed behind me. My arm fell. Another wave covered my head. Water entered my lungs. I hacked, spit, and crawled as slow as snow receding in sub‑zero temperatures.
The hand reached out and I clutched it, clung to it. Roger pulled me in. My chin rubbed sand, hit a sharp object and kept rubbing. I lost sense of surroundings.
Hands touched me. One slapped my cheeks. Voices talked, distant at first, then clear.
"Speak to me," Roger hit my cheeks again.
"I hear ya," I mumbled. The hand let up.
"He's okay," Roger exclaimed. "He'll make it!"
I squirmed to get up, discovered it too painful and lay on the beach, my right arm as if it had been hit by a grenade and put in a washing machine ‑ still connected to my body. Allison left for help and Christian stated the waterspout had risen into the sky.
"Thought you were a goner," he said.
"Yeah. But I made it."
"Don't know how," Roger added. "Someone must've been lookin' out for ya."
"Yeah," I muttered and thought of Veronica and our offspring. I lowered my head to the sand and passed out.
"C'mon honey, keep it comin'. Almost there." I observed it in the canal. It looked lovely.
"C'mon dear, not much longer." I breathed in and out, like I'd been taught in class. "Here it is. It's comin'. I see its head."
As slow as the hour hand moves on a clock, it came out, head first. Bald, covered with liquid. But the most beautiful baby girl I'd seen. The head popped out as did the rest of her.
I heard nothing and my breathing ceased. Then the most amazing, lovely sound. The cry of a newborn girl.
The obstetrician smiled. "Normal and healthy," she said.
My wife grinned, her chest heaving in quick thrusts, her hospital gown soaked, her face glistening.
I beamed and held the baby up with my good hand, other still in a sling "Who'd have thought she'd save my life out there?" I kissed the child's forehead. "Let's call her Savior," I said in my giddiness.
Veronica grimaced. "We'll do no such thing. She'd be laughed out of school. The neighborhood. The country."
"So what do we name her?"
"Something normal. Erica?"
I smiled and nodded. "Sounds good."
"Savior," my wife mocked and rolled her eyes. "You'd have thought I'd have come up with that considering the torture I've been in the past twelve hours. You don't have a clue what I've been through."
I displayed my sling. "I think I do."
We laughed and I leaned in on my wife, the baby between us. A family. Both of them my savior.
THE IDEA FOR THIS ONE
Came up with this story after watching a rerun of NBC’s Dateline on a cable channel about rip currents (a.k., Drowning Machine). I think I like this one because of the circumstances surrounding the writing process. I’d taken off work on a Monday & Tuesday in October one year and it’d been raining all the previous week. Thankfully, it cleared on Monday, a beautiful day, little wind, sunny & 80ish. I finished the story that morning and that night friends came over for beer and pizza and we watched my favorite team, the Tennesee Titans, beat the Jacksonville Jaguars for their 5thstraight win (though they wound up losing in their first playoff game that year. Bummer!) Fortunately, Tuesday’s weather was just as nice. This one was published in ’09 and is one of the few I can read after publication and say “I like this one.”
DREAM COME TRUE?
Ted Armis rubbed his temples with his fingers. "What does it mean?"
Leonard Sheridian took a swig from his beer bottle. “Nothing. Nothing at all."
"But it's so vivid, so real, I swear it's actually happening."
"But it's not," Leonard said, set the bottle back on the formica counter between them, leaned back in the red cushioned booth and put his hands on the back of his head. "It's not real. Only seems real. Not is. Seems."
"Each night it gets clearer, lasts longer."
Leonard shrugged. "It's nothing. Your mind's working overtime.” He called a waitress over and ordered another beer. "Quit searching for interpretations, deeper meanings."
"There's no interpreting," Ted said. "She's there, I see her. She turns. It's her."
"Looks like her," Leonard corrected. "You didn't say it was her for sure."
Ted's lips undulated. "I'm pretty sure."
"Pretty sure doesn't cut it."
"But this dream is so lucid; it's telling me something."
"Telling you you're nuts."
"I mean it. What about that guy in 1979? He dreamt a plane would crash at O'hare airport. And it did. Worst crash due to mechanical failure in U.S. history."
"But he couldn't pinpoint specifics. Some psychic vision," Leonard said. "Just remember, his dream stopped after that."
"Big deal. He created a self fulfilling prophecy, said he wouldn't have it anymore so he didn't."
"You don't believe in psychic phenomena?"
"I'm saying in this case it's not true."
"You wouldn't say that if youhad the dream."
The waitress returned, gave Leonard his beer and took the empty bottle. Leonard eyed her well figured physique.
"Do you believe dreams can be premonitions?" Ted asked the waitress.
The red haired girl put a hand on her chin then pointed. "Yeah. As long as I'm in it and some handsome, wealthy guy wants to marry me.” She noticed Leonard eyeing her. "Someone unlike yourself," she told him and left.
Ted whistled. "Got you good."
"Not unlike Marcia's got you good. Bad," Leonard said. "She doesn't want you. Left you over a year ago."
"We went our separate ways," Ted said and his right hand became a fist. "It was mutual. We felt we couldn't go any farther." He thought of his dream, shook his head. "But neither of us wanted to break up, we just felt like .."
"Like what?"
"I dunno. Like .."
"Like sex was all you had?" Leonard chuckled. " 'cause I know she wasn't after you for your looks. Or personality. Must've been the sex."
Ted gave a false grin. "Funny."
"So why'd you break up?"
"I don't know.” Ted eased his clenched hand. "But this .. dream .."
"Forewarning," Leonard said with a smirk.
"Glad you agree with me," Ted said with a smile.
"I do. Just not in this case."
"Whatever.” Ted checked his watch. "Getting late. Think I'll go home."
"Pay attention to that dream tonight. Talk to her," Leonard said. "See what she says."
"Funny."
"I'm serious," Leonard said. "I believe dreams have meaning."
"Sure," Ted said and left.
He had the dream again, saw Marcia. Or whom he believed was her, she in profile, her shoulder length blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. Her right eye—it seemed to be blue, like hers—glistened in the streetlight's glow. She seemed to smile, her eyes bright when she noticed Ted.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you," she said, her arms open though they blocked her face, Ted unable to tell if it was her. "It's been so long since .."
Ted awoke in cold sweats.
"You need sleep," Leonard said the next day. "Those bags under your eyes look like a quarterback's eye black."
Ted gave a half smile. "I'm telling ya, she's trying to tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know. But each night the dream gets longer.”
"You're still not over her."
Ted thought for a minute. "Guess not," he said, managed a grin.
"You're obsessed with her."
"It's more than that. I can feel it."
"If you say so," Leonard said. "Though I think you're reading too much into it. Besides, Marcia's in Colorado, long ways away. She's not comin' anytime soon."
"I know," Ted said. "Yet ..” He couldn't finish the sentence.
Again the dream that night: Marcia smiled, turned.
"I knew I'd find you here ... it's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted's cold sweats returned. He panted, caught his breath and rubbed his eyes. An hour passed before he fell asleep.
Next night, same thing, except the last sentence extended to, "tell you how much .."
"Damn!" Ted said, sotto voce. He gathered the bed sheets in his fists then loosened them. "C'mon," he said to his apartment's walls. "Let me know."
The next two nights were the same. Then he got a call.
"Hey.” It was Vern, a former dorm buddy. "Didja hear who's coming to town?"
"Santa Claus?"
"What a comedian," Vern said. "Marcia."
Ted gasped. "Who?"
"Marcia. Your woman."
"Ex," Ted said.
"I know. But you guys were so serious we thought it was down the aisle for you two. Why'd she dump you anyway?"
Ted flinched, grit his teeth. "We separated amicably. Both of us. It was mutual."
"If ya say so. But she's comin' back. Tomorrow."
Ted's mind sang 'Ode to Joy' but he gathered himself. "That is nice," he said calmly. "If we cross paths I’d be glad to converse with her, communicate as much and .."
"Why are ya talkin’ like you're one of the royal family?"
"I'm not," Ted said. "But should I run into her, that's fine. We'll talk, exchange pleasantries, and say adios."
"Man," Vern said. "If it'd been me with a girl for over a year and we met again, I'd be in bed with her in an hour."
"That's why you don't have a girl," Ted said. "Your heart is below your beltline."
Both boys laughed.
"See ya," Vern said. "And if you do see her, good luck."
"Thanks. But we're just friends."
"Uh-huh," Vern said, dubious. "Bye."
The dream was the same, only Marcia (or the girl Ted believed was Marcia) turned her head further.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you how much I .."
Ted came to, gasped like a race horse, and calmed by telling himself it meant nothing, he merely thinking too much. But his mind and stomach felt otherwise. And he remembered something he hadn't seen in past sequences. She'd turned far enough this time, he saw it. Below her ear. The scar. From stitches when she said she fell off her bike at six.
It is her, he thought, raised his hands in triumph and imagined seeing her, how it would be, what they would say.
I know she's telling me she missed me, wants to go back to school here and make up. That's the rest of her sentence. I know it. He beamed and relaxed on the bed, fell asleep in minutes.
The day arrived. Ted got up and went to Finance class. Just before entering, he saw a girl with blonde, shoulder length hair and blue eyes. He inhaled. Then exhaled. Not Marcia.
"Damn," he whispered as the dream played in his mind.
After Finance, he went to Intermediate Accounting. He got up to leave and saw a girl. Blonde hair. Same size as her. He pressed his lips together. And sighed. Not her.
Next he went to Economics. Every girl with blonde hair near the shoulders caused Ted to turn. None were Marcia.
He and Leonard went out for dinner.
"Is that her?" Leonard would say whenever a girl like Marcia came into view.
"Shut up," Ted would tease back.
They returned to Ted's place as darkness took over.
Leonard looked at the time as they watched t.v. on the old couch. "It's past midnight, day's over. I'm sure she's in bed now.” He chuckled. "Maybe with another guy. Guess your dream was just that. A dream. A wish. Fairy tale. Now move on with your life."
"I know," Ted said and though his stomach pinched and his heart seemed to be in the soles of his shoes, he smiled. "Never meant to be."
"That's the spirit," Leonard said, slapped Ted's thigh and stood. "Let's go have a drink. On me."
Ted sighed. "I dunno."
"Come on, drown your sorrows, put her behind ya. At least the dream won't happen anymore."
"You're right," Ted said and got up.
The two visited an off campus pub, had some drinks, met friends, and went to the strip, a street next to campus with the most popular bars and hang outs.
"Let's go," Ted told Leonard after visiting several bars .
"So dreams don't always come true," Leonard said. "Don't worry, lots of other hens in the hen house."
"I know," Ted said. "It's just that ..."
A voice spoke. Familiar. Then the words.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you."
Ted recognized the voice. His skin goosepimpled. His heart seemed frozen. He stopped breathing. The voice continued.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted turned. His face went white and his hands palsied. Then he smiled, looked at Leonard, also pale faced. Ted's grin grew. His heart felt as if on fire. He looked at her to be sure though he knew who it was. It was her, blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. The street light shone on her, she in profile. The woman turned, lips going up, eyes twinkling in the streetlight's glow. She continued to speak.
".. tell you how much I care about .."
Ted ran up to her, wrapped his arms around her.
"I missed you too. It's so good to see you. Haven't stopped thinking about you since you left.” He pressed her to his body. Her perfume relaxed and excited him, the best he'd ever smelled on a girl. He went to kiss her.
"What the hell are you doing?" the girl said.
Ted's lips met a hand. He pulled back. It was Marcia. "Whadya mean? It's me, Ted."
Marcia cringed. "Oh God, Ted. Get away from me."
"But you just said how glad you were to make it back to Stillwater, see me and .."
Marcia pushed Ted away. "Not you.” She shuffled to the sidewalk where an older man stood. She wrapped her arms around this guy. "Him," she said and pressed her lips on his cheek. "My Uncle Louie.” She hugged him. "I was in town, tried to call but you weren't around. Shoulda figured you'd be out carousing."
"Marcia!" the man said and returned the hug. "My favorite niece. What are you doing here?"
"Going back to school.” She separated from her uncle. "You were right, work is hard. I'm re-enrolling here. Wanted to thank you for your monetary support and advice. Mom said you're leaving tomorrow for Europe until next month on business. Had to find you. Should've guessed you'd be near a bar."
"That's great, honey. Glad you're back. You're making the right choice."
Marcia leaned her head on her uncle's shoulder. "You've been so good. Just had to say thanks. See you when you get back."
"You bet," the uncle said then looked at Ted and Leonard. "Who're these two? They know you?"
"Oh them," Marcia said and led her uncle quickly past them. "Bad memories from my past.” She looked over her shoulder, glared at Ted and pointed. "Especially that one. He's very strange. You saw him attack me then claim I was his girlfriend. Only in his dreams."
The uncle laughed and the two left.
Leonard punched a hand on Ted's shoulder, chortled. "Sometimes dreams come true. Just not the way you expect.” He burst into laughter, doubled over.
"Shut up," Ted said, grinned and grabbed Leonard by the neck. "C'mon, knucklehead, let's go home."
THE IDEA BEHIND THIS ONE
Hadn’t done many humorous stories and since Dream International Quarterly magazine (now defunct) had published several stories of mine, I thought something humorous about dreams would be a good story. So I came up with this one—a humorous(I hope) take on how dreams can easily be misinterpreted.
Northwest 19thand Youngs Boulevard
We were driving in northwest Oklahoma City when we saw it. An older home, built in the nineteen twenties though it didn't look it. But it was what we wanted. The intersection there was a four way stop and as we drove past, I saw the tracks amidst the intersection and wondered aloud what they were.
"Train tracks," Jeremy, our eight year old and Kelly, our four year old daughter, said together while nine month old Jill slept beside them.
"But why are they still here?" I asked.
"Who knows?" my wife Toni said as we passed the two storied, deep red brick house with wide front porch and arched doorways. She clutched my arm. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
Next evening, a short, balding, pudgy man with thin brown eyes and beads of sweat on his forehead met us. "Let me give ya the tour. Where'd I put those keys?" He searched his pockets then chuckled. "Guess if I can't find ‘em I could break a window." His grin abated. "Then again, them things're made of unbreakable plexiglass, put in after a bad wind storm. Don't worry, I'll find 'em." He slapped his shirt pocket. A jingle.
We went up creaky porch steps and he opened the door, my breath taken away by the home's elegance. I inquired as to the price and he showed me.
I whistled. "Why so cheap?"
"Got it at government auction." The realtor gave an elbow, his hand at the side of his mouth. "Creditors said previous owner skipped the country to avoid debt. I heard he simply vanished."
The guy led us into a commodious front room then down a small corridor to a larger, brighter room, this one below ground level. A balcony extended from two walls, led to bedrooms.
We then entered another room where a small fireplace left me with a homey feeling, bookshelves lining windowless walls. In the distance, a train's whistle warned motorists. Or so I thought.
Upstairs, the master bedroom with walk-in closet cinched it for my wife. She wrapped herself around me. "Let's buy."
When I saw the master bath with Jacuzzi, it was a done deal.
Our first night there, boxes and furniture in harum-scarum fashion, the whistle woke me. I smiled.
At work, I considered my next article for the newspaper, about the Oklahoma oil boom but it didn't work so my neighbor referred me to Odell Ferguson, an old timer, said he could describe things back then. I called, left a message that Sunday as a train whistle sounded in the distance.
Having received no call back by Tuesday, I left another message and hung up as, in the distance, the sound was audible.
By Thursday I'd given up on the guy and retired to bed. Past midnight, I heard a rustling, went downstairs, and turned on porch lights. A yelp. I opened the front door. "Who's out there?"
A tall, slender man with a blue shirt and blue denim overalls came forward. "Howdy." He offered his hand. "Name's Odell Ferguson. Sorry I scared ya but I don't get much sleep now. You called, left a message so thought I'd git some exacise out here. Then, passing the house, decided to have looksee if anyone was awake." He observed my uncombed hair. "Guess you wasn’t."
"Well, I'm awake now so c'mon in." I opened the door and turned on a lamp, told him what I wanted, grabbed a nearby pencil and notepad, and looked up. My hair went stiff, my eyes bulged, my legs rubbery. His skin had gone old and wrinkly, eyeballs sunken. He smiled a crooked grin, mouth displaying missing teeth, the rest old and chipped. His hands snapped forward and clutched my shoulders, his long, sharp nails sinking into my skin. I screamed and fell to my knees.
"Daddy, what's happening?" Kelly hollered from upstairs.
I could not answer. I gazed up, Jeremy also there, his face pale. He ran to the stairs but slipped, fell toward the balcony guardrail, he small enough to fall through the slats. His head came through then his shoulders then the rest of his body.
"Daddy, help! I—"
"Honey, you okay?" Toni's voice said.
I jumped up in bed. In moonlight, I discerned Toni’s face, her eyes cringing though she had a tiny smile.
I caught my breath. "Fine."
We fell back asleep and the phone woke me as sunlight crept over the house. "Hello?"
"Hello," the same low, rough voice from my dream said. "You left a message. I'm Odell Ferguson. Be glad to do an inter- view."
We scheduled to meet. I drove to his house, a small place with carport though no vehicle was present, house painted dark blue with green Welcome mat at the door. I pressed the doorbell, the guy greeting me a replica of the man in my dream except this person looked friendly. I told him who I was. He shook my hand, invited me in, and offered a seat on his plaid couch, he lounging in a gold recliner.
"Now sir..." I began.
"Call me Odell."
"Okay. Tell me about the depression, dust bowl."
We talked for a while when a plane flew by. Odell looked at the sky, sentimentalized how he remembered when the main way to travel was by train.
I decided to ask. "Were you here when the Union Pacific was built?"
Odell laughed. "I may be old but not that old. That was built in the early twentieth century."
"Does it come through this area?"
Odell shook his head. "That line is downtown. You can hear the trains' horns every so often though not real loud."
"Oh," I said, my heart sinking. "I heard some trains and ..
I watched the old man as his pupils dilated and his irises shrank, asked if he was okay.
"Just thinking ... Where'd you say ya live?"
"Nineteenth and Youngs."
Odell bit his upper lip. "Can't be," he muttered. "That was years ago."
"What?" The pencil twitched in my hand.
Odell rose, paced, finally stopped and folded his arms. "A tragedy," he began. "Near the end of the nineteenth century, one of them railroad magnates like Cornelius Vanderbilt built a track here when it was nothing but land and a few streets. Built it right where you live now."
"You mean that piece of track at the intersection used to be—"
"That old man's railroad." Odell nodded, returned to his chair. "Know what that man's name was?"
My shoulders rose and fell.
Odell stood. "Anderson. Anderson Youngs."
"They named the street after him?"
"No one likes to admit it." Odell slumped in his recliner. “Daddy told me 'bout it. First a minor crash, small passenger train almost ran off the track, railroad dismissing it as human error though one engineer claimed it was cheap, inefficient rails and railroad ties. Youngs denied that." Odell gave a t-t-twith his tongue. "Don't know how investigators missed it. 'Course, I am looking at twenty twenty hindsight. Things went back to normal when a freight train came through and ran over that track by yer house, had lots of cargo and was believed to have bent the track. Next morning, passenger train comes through ..." Odell paused. "Musta been almost one hun'red people 'board. Went past that spot going eighty miles an hour and when it raced over that mangled rail .." He exhaled. "An accident."
"How bad?"
"Half the people died. Authorities did another investigation, shut down the line, demanded its owner replace them tracks. Youngs bailed out, sold his company to a business syndicate who closed most of the rail lines, including the one here since the Union Pacific had been built recently. The incident was forgotten, area became a wheat field then a residential district, only proof of the railroad’s existence that piece at the intersection. Your original owner lived there many years when one night it sounded, off in the distance at first then louder. This guy sold the place to my friend, he a light sleeper, who tried earplugs, even searched for the previous owner—which was like finding that Judge Crater—so my friend moved. House was vacant until mid eighties, when I learned a story." The old man shivered. "These owners heard the whistle. And something new: the clack of wheels. Window panes rattled, floors vibrated, the house shook. Its occupants ran out to check and found nothing, the whistle had stopped, and the roar of drivers disappeared. Family went back inside, fell asleep. The noise returned. But opening the door was like pulling a tractor trailer on a rope with your hands. The train sounded right outside the front door." He paused.
"What happened?"
Odell grimaced. "The person I heard this from said the neighbors fled to his house, described what'd occurred, said they’d broken a window and crawled out."
"Didn't the neighbor hear the train?" I asked.
Odell chuckled without humor. "That's the crux, he didn't. No one did. Neighbor let the family sleep in his house overnight and next morning the family was gone, never seen nor heard from. It was as if .." He didn't finish.
"This really happened?" I said, a smile tugging at my mouth's corners.
"Check it out in your paper, all there in black and white. At least the part about Anderson Youngs. The other stuff, who knows?"
The sound of a far off whistle made me gooseflesh.
Odell smiled. "Is the Union Pacific downtown."
I closed my notebook and stood, thanked him, said I'd call if I needed.
Odell smiled. "Door's always open."
Again the horn sounded. Too far away.
That week at work, I crept down to the basement where old articles had been transferred to microfilm years ago and never updated, spider webs in every corner, file cabinets covered in layers of dust.
I searched the database, found relevant articles, and put them under the microfilm screen. One made me stop. Something about the first successful railroad. The article came alive, similar to Odell's story about the crash though I found no articles about the apparent ghost's whistle. Was what Odell said true?
Trains whistled that night, all from downtown. It was a myth. Snuggling next to my wife on the sofa, I grew sleepy.
A honk. I popped up, cold sweat on my forehead, my breath uneven. I shook Toni. "You hear that?"
"What?" she mumbled.
The noise again. Headlights brighter than I'd ever seen flooded the house, ran across one wall and disappeared. The sound of a rig drove past.
"Yeah," Toni mumbled. A truck. Big deal.”
My heart settled back into place. As I nodded off, it sounded. I put a pillow over my head, sure it was the rig. But this sound wouldn't quit, had me upright. It repeated, grew, and faded. Another downtown train.
Nature's call woke me hours later. Back on the couch, the noise came back, louder.
"Toni, wake up!" I shook my wife.
"Now what?" she muttered through clenched teeth.
"Do you hear it now?"
"There's nothing out there. Listen .. Now go back to sleep and leave—"
It sounded.
In silhouetted darkness, I observed Toni's mouth open. "Where's that from?" she whispered.
"Don't know. From what I learned .." The noise was so piercing, we covered our ears.
"Mommy!" Kelly's muffled voice upstairs. "Mommy, Daddy. Wha's dat?" She ran downstairs, Jeremy behind her, his toy lion tight in his arms.
Toni and Kelly rested on one couch, Jeremy and I on the other. His hands twitched. We moved Jillian’s cradle next to us while she slept nonchalantly.
We lay sleepless on the couch. The whistle would stop then minutes later, start again, louder, wheels on rails sounding.
A blinding glare through the window like floodlights. Panes rattled, vibrated so fierce I thought the glass in them would break.
Light shone into the crib, awoke Jill. She wailed.
As quick as it had begun, it ended. The light dimmed, horn silent. Blackness returned. Jill and Kelly sobbed. Jeremy hid under blankets.
"What in the hell was that?" Toni asked, no one with an answer. Slowly, we all fell asleep.
The sun's rays were an unwelcome sight. The kids slept with their mother so I crept to the kitchen, brewed coffee, opened the blinds covering the front windows, and looked out at the lawn. Had I dreamt it? Others would think us loony.
I had trouble falling asleep that night but once I did, wasn't conscious until sunrise. It was the weekend but we kept busy.
"What a day." Toni stretched and yawned. "Think I'll draw a hot bath."
I nodded off on the couch.
"Dad! Dad!" Jeremy said. "C'mere." His voice trembled.
"What's wrong?"
"Dad! Get up! I'm scared!"
I sat up, stifled a yawn. "What is it?"
Wide-eyed, Jeremy grabbed my hand, led me to his bathroom. The faucet ran. He pointed at it then clutched my waist. "What's wrong? Was washing my hands when that happened."
That referred to the color the water had taken. In fact, it hadn't just changed colors. There was something else coming out. Red. A deep crimson liquid.
"Don't panic." I tried to keep my voice even. "No big deal." I turned the faucet knob. Nothing.
Jeremy cried. Suddenly, the faucet stopped. Then that sound. The bathroom light flickered and failed. I flipped the wall switch. Nothing. Jeremy clung to me. Kelly, now awake, joined him. Even upstairs, the sound of the train's rails vibrated the walls and floor. I heard footfalls.
"You guys okay?" It was Toni.
"In here!" I yelled.
"We have to get out of here!" Toni said above the din as she held Jill, who screamed while pulling her mom's hair.
The sound stopped.
"Let's start packing!" Toni said, still hollering.
"To where?" I demanded.
"I don't know." Toni's voice calmed. "A neighbor's?"
"And we tell them? They'll think we belong in the funny farm."
"How about a motel till we find another place?"
We got our necessities and piled into the car.
Next day, we took a week's worth of clothes and other items. By mid-week, my wife had found a house to rent.
We moved Saturday, cumulus clouds scattered hither and thither across an otherwise blue sky. By nightfall we were almost done.
"The bookshelf in the study," I said to Toni, who followed me into the room. We each grabbed a shelf end and marched toward the front. Lights flickered. Winds blew the door shut. Then that sound. That horrible, gut wrenching wail. We were like sculptures.
"Let's get out of here!" I finally shouted. We dropped the bookshelf and I grabbed Jeremy while Toni took Jill and Kelly.
We ran to the door. A loud click. The lock. I tried to turn it, to no avail, door not budging either. Gusts howled and screamed, rattled windows as the whistle we'd become so familiar with began.
"Open it, damnit! Open it!" Toni screamed.
Light shone through the house. The door would not give.
"The windows!" Toni yelled.
I couldn't open them, tried smashing one then recalled the realtor’s comment: Unbreakable. My body went numb, the winds moaned, and the horn was the loudest it'd ever been. The light came closer, sound of wheels louder.
Out of the room's corner, a flame flickered and grew, ran up one wall. Smoke billowed.
"Daddy, help!" Jeremy begged.
We cowered in a corner, unable to move. The train's light approached our yard, the fire now a blaze covering two walls that leaned in and out as if breathing.
I crawled to the study's back door. A fire-filled beam creaked and toppled. I spun away from it, beam falling so close I felt its heat on my back. The walls groaned louder, leaned inward and collapsed, as if lunging for us.
"Dad, look out!" Jeremy hollered.
I sprinted to him as the walls crashed onto a table. Glass from those unbreakable windows shattered. Wind and dirt blew in, caused us to gag and cough and place our hands in front of our faces. But it was what we needed.
"Let's get out of here! Now!" I screamed, Toni needing no coaxing. We stumbled through the mess, hurried to the truck.
In the cab, I stuck the key into the ignition. It wouldn't turn over. Once. Twice. Thrice. Fourth time, the hum of the engine sounded, as beautiful as a classical concert. I drove away at a speed I didn't think the truck could reach while Toni dialed nine one one on her cell phone.
Fire engines sirened as we drove to the motel.
Next morning, I drove past the place on my way to work. At the four way stop, I pressed the brake pedal and took another look, one side of the place burnt like a charcoal briquette.
I raised my foot off the pedal. The car conked out. I tried to restart it. Nothing. I turned the ignition again. Same result. I prayed like I was on my death bed.
It returned. The sound.
My stomach became a maze of knots and my left hand gripped the wheel, right hand turning the key as far as it could go. I floored the gas pedal. The car was a corpse. The whistle sounded louder. Once more, I turned the key, leaning on the wheel in desperation. The engine roared, squeal of tires on pavement permeating the neighborhood. I sped across the intersection and drove away doing sixty. I was gone from the area. Never to return. No matter what anybody would say, no matter the circumstances. Never!
THE END
HOW I CAME UP WITH THIS STORY
Yes, there really are tracks at that intersection in Oklahoma City. Used to live in that area years ago and it's a four way stop. I drove across the intersection for many months before finally wondering what kind of tracks they were, thinking train tracks though they looked too small(found out
later they were trolley tracks that used to run in that area) As I wondered and crossed the intersection, in my mind I heard the whistle of a train and imagined a train speeding out of nowhere and splitting my car in a half.
Thinking this might be a story, I imagined each time the noise getting louder until, when an important dignitary was being rushed to the hospital, the train would crush the ambulance. Of course, it didn't turn out that way(the original idea is almost never the one I use for a story) but I still liked it as I'm a sucker for those urban legend, historical horror stories that are half-based in truth.
The Drowning Machine
A wave taller than any I'd encountered rose in the nighttime air. I hopped on my boogie board and made sure I got Roger's attention as waves carried me in and dumped me at water's edge.
I stood, laughed, and looked at Roger. "How 'bout that?"
"I don't know," he said. "Should we quit? Thad thinks so."
"No way." I said and high stepped into the ocean as water lashed my calves and rushed to shore. "This is great."
I sprinted back out and as I stretched to dive in, a huge clap like an earth tremor shook me, clouds on the horizon lurching. I twisted in the water, boogie board lost. Another wave splashed my shoulders and pushed me back. I cackled at it, thrilled by the speed at which it carried me to shore.
We were the only guests on the beach in Ocean City, New Jersey, place dormant for several weeks, when summer season began. Friends Roger and Allison talked Thad, Christian, and I into coming out.
"They're chicken," Allison had said at our apartment with a bray of laughter associated from too much alcohol.
Roger waved us to the car. "Let's get going. Got your boogie boards? I'm bringing my surfboard." The fin stuck out of his Jeep's back end.
Thad combed his short hair back. "I don't know. No one's there, no lifeguards, nothing. Water'll be cold." He examined the evening sky. "It'll be dark shortly."
"Aw, c'mon. Christian, you're not going to let him spoil our graduation party, are ya?" Roger asked.
Christian's head moved side to side. "Whatever you guys do, I'll go with it."
Roger faced me. I looked at him, then Allison, Christian, and Thad. If Veronica was here I could pass the look to her and she'd decide. Roger and I'd been friends since we were college freshmen and he'd gotten me doing things I'd never done.
Thad, a friend since high school, chewed his lip and folded his arms over his chest. I looked at Allison who giggled.
"What's the matter? Scared?" She elbowed Roger. "Remember when he was afraid of Disney World's Tower of Terror?" She chortled, half drunk, half teasing.
Roger moaned and his shoulders drooped. "Well?"
My blood burned and my ears were hot. “Let's go," I said and we jumped in the car.
On the beach, cold sand chilled my feet and gusts hit our faces. Despite chilly waters I jumped in, grabbed the boogie board, and paddled out. Low clouds hovered, drifted in, and a grumble sounded. A flash in the distant sky. I shuddered but seeing Roger surf a tall wave, his athletic body standing above it, urged me to do the same. I hauled the board out and rode a few breakers. Thunder sounded closer.
"Maybe we should go," Thad said as he, Roger, and I moved ashore.
Roger roared a drunk laugh, all the bottles in his backpack empty. "Hell no," he bellowed. "We're not coward asses. You don't want to go, do ya?" he asked me.
"Ya kidding? Hell no."
A long, deep thunderclap intruded.
Roger gazed at me. "What the hell was that? Should we go?” He crinkled his eyes then laughed his drunken laugh.
I chuckled too and charged into the water, swam backstroke, observed the light scud clouds, how tranquil, beautiful they were, how refreshing the water felt. My muscles hummed like a new engine.
I swam out and tread water, no one out this far. I grinned like I'd won a king of the hill battle and cupped a hand to my mouth. "C'mon guys, whatsa matter? Too scared?"
No one responded. Winds blew faster. Lightning burst and seared my eyes. Clouds invaded the remaining light and darkness erupted. Thunder exploded, winds gale force. I continued my brave front. "C'mon guys, can't we ..."
A rush of water from the rear crashed and foam surrounded my head. I bobbed and coughed until my throat cleared. Another wave hit. Thunder burst and rain drizzled. The storm front raced toward us. My heart palpitated, my lungs hurt.
I dove in and paddled to shore. My legs and arms churned. But instead of moving forward, I was thrust back, and gasped. More foamy water bruised my face, boogie board ripped from my clutches. The sky went from pale blue to purple. I checked behind me. My lungs screeched and my brain flashed an urgent order to turn around. I did and braced for the onslaught.
The largest wave I'd witnessed destroyed me though I relaxed, knew it would carry me ashore. I was thrown forward then slammed back, as if I’d hit an invisible wall. I dog paddled yet the distance between me and the shoreline grew.
"Help!" My sore lungs gave an inaudible yelp. "Guys!" I waved but they didn't see me. Rain fell thicker, winds stronger. I coughed, choked, wheezed. My face went white, body temperature falling, my bones ready to snap like brittle gum.
I strove to stay afloat, searched the area but the sky, now midnight blue, made it impossible to see. Lightning shone. I looked in all directions but darkness came too quick, followed by thunder. Blackness crawled over my eyes and I went under.
My choking throat woke me as my head broke the surface. I heard a shout, hollered to it as waves crashed. In a brief calm I heard the voice say it couldn't get out that deep, waves too high.
Rain plummeted, pounded me while lightning winked and the obligatory thunder peal echoed.
I labored for breath, swam to shore but made no progress, like a soldier marking time. Huge, snow‑white crests atop an angry, tall breaker roared toward me. My sight darkened and my body eased. I felt eerily calm.
I heard a cry. An infant's. I looked down and saw the newborn, eyes like mine. The baby wailed as if beaten. I looked at it then person holding it. Veronica. My wife, mother to be. Our child. A precious girl. I reached for her, my body weak yet vibrating with anticipation. My hands went to touch it.
Cold water hit me and my mouth opened as air filled my lungs. My eyelids opened and though dizzy, I collected my surroundings and discovered I was right where I'd been before unconsciousness hit. I thought of Veronica, seven months pregnant and how she hated being alone. She couldn't be left to raise a new child by herself.
Must stay alive, I thought.For them. Hell, for me. Have to see my child.
My heart soared, my lungs cleared as did my vision and things settled. Blood pumped into my arms, legs, and muscles. I swam ahead, knew I'd make it.
A few strokes to shore. Then I was propelled back, as if a working bulldozer with steel blade was in front of me. My lungs wanted to collapse, muscles ready to quit. Thunder broke and lightning streaked, long and bright. I saw no one in the water, no one on shore. My heart sank and I heard a roar. The sky flash showed a wave the size of a truck. It crashed around me. My vision faded.
I came to, on my back, continued to be swept away from shore.
Lightning burst on the horizon and I saw a strange sight, unable to decipher it before the lightning vanished. The flash occurred again and when I discerned what the object that fell from the sky was, I felt I'd become paraplegic. A waterspout.
My bones were ready to break, my mouth salty and dry. The image of my wife failed to renew my strength.
The funnel approached. I sank and recalled drinking sea water makes you go mad. And a drowning man goes under three times. Was this number three?
Waves crested and pounded me as water sprayed as if from a broken water main. With the next lightning flash I viewed the cyclone. A hundred yards away. Winds whipped my face and my eyes teared, my hair as if pulled from its roots.
The combers crescendoed but I kept getting shoved out to sea, my eye ducts like a water faucet at full throttle.
I swam parallel to shore, raised my left arm, then my right. A sensation like a chainsaw tore through my right arm. I screamed and got a belly full of water.
I lifted my arm again. Pain revisited. I dog paddled while the noise like a freight train sounded in back of me.
A cresting wave rolled in, twenty feet to the left and behind me. Could it carry me to shore?
I lifted my right arm and ignored the torment, swam. My body drifted to the wave. The tornado buffeted the sea and I went up, down, up down.
The roller rose and my legs, though soft as clay, kicked and channeled through the sea.
Up in the air I went, the wave upon me, waterspout behind it. The waves beat me, flipped me, lifted me like a giant hand. I went up.
Foam invaded my eyes, nose, and lips. I choked then vomited. Lightning streaked a white line, a daytime glare that lasted on my eyes after the burst ended.
Thunder talked and a flash further out lit up the night like a fire ball. I looked to shore as my breaker peaked and saw the shadows on land. Human figures pointed and motioned but winds were so deafening I couldn't hear their voices. The wave swayed forward and I was tossed as if from a cannon.
Air whistled in my ears. I stretched to swim. My arms only cut through air. Wind whipped at me. I soared to a peak. Lightning bristled, revealed the maelstrom below.
I descended and slapped the water with the equivalent force of hitting a concrete wall. My senses dulled and my vision blurred.
I came to and raised my right arm. The chainsaw like pain returned. I cried and lowered the limb, swam with my left arm. And recalled what I’d been trapped in. A ripcurrent. To be sure I was free of its death grasp, I swam parallel to shore, the way one must to escape.
Across the waters I went. Free. I changed directions, moved to shore, gap between me and the beach shrinking.
The roar of ocean, rain, and thunder was invaded by another, this one pleasurable. Voices. My friends. Lightning lit up again and Roger came out then halted as blackness took over. The next flash brought the same image, my friends as if hitting an unseen wall, pointing, shouting, hands around their mouths.
I glimpsed over my shoulder. My body grew colder, numb. Water spout approached.
Lightning again. I saw the body outlines, still in the water. Two moved toward me. I wanted to wave them back but couldn't lift my right arm and used the left to tread water. The tall and short shadows told me it was Thad with Roger. Thad, who'd been afraid to get in, now stood in waves that scourged his face. That he was willing to risk his life gave me strength. I again pictured Veronica with our newborn and believed I would make it. Had to.
I crawled to the shoreline, tornado closer.
A cutting through my toes. Even in the water, I felt blood trickle across my feet. What I touched made my lips form a wide, upward arc. Never had the pain of hitting rocks been so joyful.
My feet touch sand at ocean's bottom. I raised my legs, swayed, caught my balance, and shot my left arm in the air. Roger and Thad whooped and hollered. Another lightning flash and I saw Allison and Christian embrace. I staggered, stumbled, hopped to them. The waterspout changed directions, away from the shore.
I raised my arm again. Wind shears blew me down. Wet sand hit my eyes, face, shirt, shorts, and arms. Water flowed over me and seeped into my mouth. I ran my fingers through the sand.
A hand reached out. I grasped it. Our fingerpads touched. Water rushed behind me. My arm fell. Another wave covered my head. Water entered my lungs. I hacked, spit, and crawled as slow as snow receding in sub‑zero temperatures.
The hand reached out and I clutched it, clung to it. Roger pulled me in. My chin rubbed sand, hit a sharp object and kept rubbing. I lost sense of surroundings.
Hands touched me. One slapped my cheeks. Voices talked, distant at first, then clear.
"Speak to me," Roger hit my cheeks again.
"I hear ya," I mumbled. The hand let up.
"He's okay," Roger exclaimed. "He'll make it!"
I squirmed to get up, discovered it too painful and lay on the beach, my right arm as if it had been hit by a grenade and put in a washing machine ‑ still connected to my body. Allison left for help and Christian stated the waterspout had risen into the sky.
"Thought you were a goner," he said.
"Yeah. But I made it."
"Don't know how," Roger added. "Someone must've been lookin' out for ya."
"Yeah," I muttered and thought of Veronica and our offspring. I lowered my head to the sand and passed out.
"C'mon honey, keep it comin'. Almost there." I observed it in the canal. It looked lovely.
"C'mon dear, not much longer." I breathed in and out, like I'd been taught in class. "Here it is. It's comin'. I see its head."
As slow as the hour hand moves on a clock, it came out, head first. Bald, covered with liquid. But the most beautiful baby girl I'd seen. The head popped out as did the rest of her.
I heard nothing and my breathing ceased. Then the most amazing, lovely sound. The cry of a newborn girl.
The obstetrician smiled. "Normal and healthy," she said.
My wife grinned, her chest heaving in quick thrusts, her hospital gown soaked, her face glistening.
I beamed and held the baby up with my good hand, other still in a sling "Who'd have thought she'd save my life out there?" I kissed the child's forehead. "Let's call her Savior," I said in my giddiness.
Veronica grimaced. "We'll do no such thing. She'd be laughed out of school. The neighborhood. The country."
"So what do we name her?"
"Something normal. Erica?"
I smiled and nodded. "Sounds good."
"Savior," my wife mocked and rolled her eyes. "You'd have thought I'd have come up with that considering the torture I've been in the past twelve hours. You don't have a clue what I've been through."
I displayed my sling. "I think I do."
We laughed and I leaned in on my wife, the baby between us. A family. Both of them my savior.
THE IDEA FOR THIS ONE
Came up with this story after watching a rerun of NBC’s Dateline on a cable channel about rip currents (a.k., Drowning Machine). I think I like this one because of the circumstances surrounding the writing process. I’d taken off work on a Monday & Tuesday in October one year and it’d been raining all the previous week. Thankfully, it cleared on Monday, a beautiful day, little wind, sunny & 80ish. I finished the story that morning and that night friends came over for beer and pizza and we watched my favorite team, the Tennesee Titans, beat the Jacksonville Jaguars for their 5thstraight win (though they wound up losing in their first playoff game that year. Bummer!) Fortunately, Tuesday’s weather was just as nice. This one was published in ’09 and is one of the few I can read after publication and say “I like this one.”
DREAM COME TRUE?
Ted Armis rubbed his temples with his fingers. "What does it mean?"
Leonard Sheridian took a swig from his beer bottle. “Nothing. Nothing at all."
"But it's so vivid, so real, I swear it's actually happening."
"But it's not," Leonard said, set the bottle back on the formica counter between them, leaned back in the red cushioned booth and put his hands on the back of his head. "It's not real. Only seems real. Not is. Seems."
"Each night it gets clearer, lasts longer."
Leonard shrugged. "It's nothing. Your mind's working overtime.” He called a waitress over and ordered another beer. "Quit searching for interpretations, deeper meanings."
"There's no interpreting," Ted said. "She's there, I see her. She turns. It's her."
"Looks like her," Leonard corrected. "You didn't say it was her for sure."
Ted's lips undulated. "I'm pretty sure."
"Pretty sure doesn't cut it."
"But this dream is so lucid; it's telling me something."
"Telling you you're nuts."
"I mean it. What about that guy in 1979? He dreamt a plane would crash at O'hare airport. And it did. Worst crash due to mechanical failure in U.S. history."
"But he couldn't pinpoint specifics. Some psychic vision," Leonard said. "Just remember, his dream stopped after that."
"Big deal. He created a self fulfilling prophecy, said he wouldn't have it anymore so he didn't."
"You don't believe in psychic phenomena?"
"I'm saying in this case it's not true."
"You wouldn't say that if youhad the dream."
The waitress returned, gave Leonard his beer and took the empty bottle. Leonard eyed her well figured physique.
"Do you believe dreams can be premonitions?" Ted asked the waitress.
The red haired girl put a hand on her chin then pointed. "Yeah. As long as I'm in it and some handsome, wealthy guy wants to marry me.” She noticed Leonard eyeing her. "Someone unlike yourself," she told him and left.
Ted whistled. "Got you good."
"Not unlike Marcia's got you good. Bad," Leonard said. "She doesn't want you. Left you over a year ago."
"We went our separate ways," Ted said and his right hand became a fist. "It was mutual. We felt we couldn't go any farther." He thought of his dream, shook his head. "But neither of us wanted to break up, we just felt like .."
"Like what?"
"I dunno. Like .."
"Like sex was all you had?" Leonard chuckled. " 'cause I know she wasn't after you for your looks. Or personality. Must've been the sex."
Ted gave a false grin. "Funny."
"So why'd you break up?"
"I don't know.” Ted eased his clenched hand. "But this .. dream .."
"Forewarning," Leonard said with a smirk.
"Glad you agree with me," Ted said with a smile.
"I do. Just not in this case."
"Whatever.” Ted checked his watch. "Getting late. Think I'll go home."
"Pay attention to that dream tonight. Talk to her," Leonard said. "See what she says."
"Funny."
"I'm serious," Leonard said. "I believe dreams have meaning."
"Sure," Ted said and left.
He had the dream again, saw Marcia. Or whom he believed was her, she in profile, her shoulder length blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. Her right eye—it seemed to be blue, like hers—glistened in the streetlight's glow. She seemed to smile, her eyes bright when she noticed Ted.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you," she said, her arms open though they blocked her face, Ted unable to tell if it was her. "It's been so long since .."
Ted awoke in cold sweats.
"You need sleep," Leonard said the next day. "Those bags under your eyes look like a quarterback's eye black."
Ted gave a half smile. "I'm telling ya, she's trying to tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know. But each night the dream gets longer.”
"You're still not over her."
Ted thought for a minute. "Guess not," he said, managed a grin.
"You're obsessed with her."
"It's more than that. I can feel it."
"If you say so," Leonard said. "Though I think you're reading too much into it. Besides, Marcia's in Colorado, long ways away. She's not comin' anytime soon."
"I know," Ted said. "Yet ..” He couldn't finish the sentence.
Again the dream that night: Marcia smiled, turned.
"I knew I'd find you here ... it's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted's cold sweats returned. He panted, caught his breath and rubbed his eyes. An hour passed before he fell asleep.
Next night, same thing, except the last sentence extended to, "tell you how much .."
"Damn!" Ted said, sotto voce. He gathered the bed sheets in his fists then loosened them. "C'mon," he said to his apartment's walls. "Let me know."
The next two nights were the same. Then he got a call.
"Hey.” It was Vern, a former dorm buddy. "Didja hear who's coming to town?"
"Santa Claus?"
"What a comedian," Vern said. "Marcia."
Ted gasped. "Who?"
"Marcia. Your woman."
"Ex," Ted said.
"I know. But you guys were so serious we thought it was down the aisle for you two. Why'd she dump you anyway?"
Ted flinched, grit his teeth. "We separated amicably. Both of us. It was mutual."
"If ya say so. But she's comin' back. Tomorrow."
Ted's mind sang 'Ode to Joy' but he gathered himself. "That is nice," he said calmly. "If we cross paths I’d be glad to converse with her, communicate as much and .."
"Why are ya talkin’ like you're one of the royal family?"
"I'm not," Ted said. "But should I run into her, that's fine. We'll talk, exchange pleasantries, and say adios."
"Man," Vern said. "If it'd been me with a girl for over a year and we met again, I'd be in bed with her in an hour."
"That's why you don't have a girl," Ted said. "Your heart is below your beltline."
Both boys laughed.
"See ya," Vern said. "And if you do see her, good luck."
"Thanks. But we're just friends."
"Uh-huh," Vern said, dubious. "Bye."
The dream was the same, only Marcia (or the girl Ted believed was Marcia) turned her head further.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you how much I .."
Ted came to, gasped like a race horse, and calmed by telling himself it meant nothing, he merely thinking too much. But his mind and stomach felt otherwise. And he remembered something he hadn't seen in past sequences. She'd turned far enough this time, he saw it. Below her ear. The scar. From stitches when she said she fell off her bike at six.
It is her, he thought, raised his hands in triumph and imagined seeing her, how it would be, what they would say.
I know she's telling me she missed me, wants to go back to school here and make up. That's the rest of her sentence. I know it. He beamed and relaxed on the bed, fell asleep in minutes.
The day arrived. Ted got up and went to Finance class. Just before entering, he saw a girl with blonde, shoulder length hair and blue eyes. He inhaled. Then exhaled. Not Marcia.
"Damn," he whispered as the dream played in his mind.
After Finance, he went to Intermediate Accounting. He got up to leave and saw a girl. Blonde hair. Same size as her. He pressed his lips together. And sighed. Not her.
Next he went to Economics. Every girl with blonde hair near the shoulders caused Ted to turn. None were Marcia.
He and Leonard went out for dinner.
"Is that her?" Leonard would say whenever a girl like Marcia came into view.
"Shut up," Ted would tease back.
They returned to Ted's place as darkness took over.
Leonard looked at the time as they watched t.v. on the old couch. "It's past midnight, day's over. I'm sure she's in bed now.” He chuckled. "Maybe with another guy. Guess your dream was just that. A dream. A wish. Fairy tale. Now move on with your life."
"I know," Ted said and though his stomach pinched and his heart seemed to be in the soles of his shoes, he smiled. "Never meant to be."
"That's the spirit," Leonard said, slapped Ted's thigh and stood. "Let's go have a drink. On me."
Ted sighed. "I dunno."
"Come on, drown your sorrows, put her behind ya. At least the dream won't happen anymore."
"You're right," Ted said and got up.
The two visited an off campus pub, had some drinks, met friends, and went to the strip, a street next to campus with the most popular bars and hang outs.
"Let's go," Ted told Leonard after visiting several bars .
"So dreams don't always come true," Leonard said. "Don't worry, lots of other hens in the hen house."
"I know," Ted said. "It's just that ..."
A voice spoke. Familiar. Then the words.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you."
Ted recognized the voice. His skin goosepimpled. His heart seemed frozen. He stopped breathing. The voice continued.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted turned. His face went white and his hands palsied. Then he smiled, looked at Leonard, also pale faced. Ted's grin grew. His heart felt as if on fire. He looked at her to be sure though he knew who it was. It was her, blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. The street light shone on her, she in profile. The woman turned, lips going up, eyes twinkling in the streetlight's glow. She continued to speak.
".. tell you how much I care about .."
Ted ran up to her, wrapped his arms around her.
"I missed you too. It's so good to see you. Haven't stopped thinking about you since you left.” He pressed her to his body. Her perfume relaxed and excited him, the best he'd ever smelled on a girl. He went to kiss her.
"What the hell are you doing?" the girl said.
Ted's lips met a hand. He pulled back. It was Marcia. "Whadya mean? It's me, Ted."
Marcia cringed. "Oh God, Ted. Get away from me."
"But you just said how glad you were to make it back to Stillwater, see me and .."
Marcia pushed Ted away. "Not you.” She shuffled to the sidewalk where an older man stood. She wrapped her arms around this guy. "Him," she said and pressed her lips on his cheek. "My Uncle Louie.” She hugged him. "I was in town, tried to call but you weren't around. Shoulda figured you'd be out carousing."
"Marcia!" the man said and returned the hug. "My favorite niece. What are you doing here?"
"Going back to school.” She separated from her uncle. "You were right, work is hard. I'm re-enrolling here. Wanted to thank you for your monetary support and advice. Mom said you're leaving tomorrow for Europe until next month on business. Had to find you. Should've guessed you'd be near a bar."
"That's great, honey. Glad you're back. You're making the right choice."
Marcia leaned her head on her uncle's shoulder. "You've been so good. Just had to say thanks. See you when you get back."
"You bet," the uncle said then looked at Ted and Leonard. "Who're these two? They know you?"
"Oh them," Marcia said and led her uncle quickly past them. "Bad memories from my past.” She looked over her shoulder, glared at Ted and pointed. "Especially that one. He's very strange. You saw him attack me then claim I was his girlfriend. Only in his dreams."
The uncle laughed and the two left.
Leonard punched a hand on Ted's shoulder, chortled. "Sometimes dreams come true. Just not the way you expect.” He burst into laughter, doubled over.
"Shut up," Ted said, grinned and grabbed Leonard by the neck. "C'mon, knucklehead, let's go home."
THE IDEA BEHIND THIS ONE
Hadn’t done many humorous stories and since Dream International Quarterly magazine (now defunct) had published several stories of mine, I thought something humorous about dreams would be a good story. So I came up with this one—a humorous(I hope) take on how dreams can easily be misinterpreted.
Northwest 19thand Youngs Boulevard
We were driving in northwest Oklahoma City when we saw it. An older home, built in the nineteen twenties though it didn't look it. But it was what we wanted. The intersection there was a four way stop and as we drove past, I saw the tracks amidst the intersection and wondered aloud what they were.
"Train tracks," Jeremy, our eight year old and Kelly, our four year old daughter, said together while nine month old Jill slept beside them.
"But why are they still here?" I asked.
"Who knows?" my wife Toni said as we passed the two storied, deep red brick house with wide front porch and arched doorways. She clutched my arm. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
Next evening, a short, balding, pudgy man with thin brown eyes and beads of sweat on his forehead met us. "Let me give ya the tour. Where'd I put those keys?" He searched his pockets then chuckled. "Guess if I can't find ‘em I could break a window." His grin abated. "Then again, them things're made of unbreakable plexiglass, put in after a bad wind storm. Don't worry, I'll find 'em." He slapped his shirt pocket. A jingle.
We went up creaky porch steps and he opened the door, my breath taken away by the home's elegance. I inquired as to the price and he showed me.
I whistled. "Why so cheap?"
"Got it at government auction." The realtor gave an elbow, his hand at the side of his mouth. "Creditors said previous owner skipped the country to avoid debt. I heard he simply vanished."
The guy led us into a commodious front room then down a small corridor to a larger, brighter room, this one below ground level. A balcony extended from two walls, led to bedrooms.
We then entered another room where a small fireplace left me with a homey feeling, bookshelves lining windowless walls. In the distance, a train's whistle warned motorists. Or so I thought.
Upstairs, the master bedroom with walk-in closet cinched it for my wife. She wrapped herself around me. "Let's buy."
When I saw the master bath with Jacuzzi, it was a done deal.
Our first night there, boxes and furniture in harum-scarum fashion, the whistle woke me. I smiled.
At work, I considered my next article for the newspaper, about the Oklahoma oil boom but it didn't work so my neighbor referred me to Odell Ferguson, an old timer, said he could describe things back then. I called, left a message that Sunday as a train whistle sounded in the distance.
Having received no call back by Tuesday, I left another message and hung up as, in the distance, the sound was audible.
By Thursday I'd given up on the guy and retired to bed. Past midnight, I heard a rustling, went downstairs, and turned on porch lights. A yelp. I opened the front door. "Who's out there?"
A tall, slender man with a blue shirt and blue denim overalls came forward. "Howdy." He offered his hand. "Name's Odell Ferguson. Sorry I scared ya but I don't get much sleep now. You called, left a message so thought I'd git some exacise out here. Then, passing the house, decided to have looksee if anyone was awake." He observed my uncombed hair. "Guess you wasn’t."
"Well, I'm awake now so c'mon in." I opened the door and turned on a lamp, told him what I wanted, grabbed a nearby pencil and notepad, and looked up. My hair went stiff, my eyes bulged, my legs rubbery. His skin had gone old and wrinkly, eyeballs sunken. He smiled a crooked grin, mouth displaying missing teeth, the rest old and chipped. His hands snapped forward and clutched my shoulders, his long, sharp nails sinking into my skin. I screamed and fell to my knees.
"Daddy, what's happening?" Kelly hollered from upstairs.
I could not answer. I gazed up, Jeremy also there, his face pale. He ran to the stairs but slipped, fell toward the balcony guardrail, he small enough to fall through the slats. His head came through then his shoulders then the rest of his body.
"Daddy, help! I—"
"Honey, you okay?" Toni's voice said.
I jumped up in bed. In moonlight, I discerned Toni’s face, her eyes cringing though she had a tiny smile.
I caught my breath. "Fine."
We fell back asleep and the phone woke me as sunlight crept over the house. "Hello?"
"Hello," the same low, rough voice from my dream said. "You left a message. I'm Odell Ferguson. Be glad to do an inter- view."
We scheduled to meet. I drove to his house, a small place with carport though no vehicle was present, house painted dark blue with green Welcome mat at the door. I pressed the doorbell, the guy greeting me a replica of the man in my dream except this person looked friendly. I told him who I was. He shook my hand, invited me in, and offered a seat on his plaid couch, he lounging in a gold recliner.
"Now sir..." I began.
"Call me Odell."
"Okay. Tell me about the depression, dust bowl."
We talked for a while when a plane flew by. Odell looked at the sky, sentimentalized how he remembered when the main way to travel was by train.
I decided to ask. "Were you here when the Union Pacific was built?"
Odell laughed. "I may be old but not that old. That was built in the early twentieth century."
"Does it come through this area?"
Odell shook his head. "That line is downtown. You can hear the trains' horns every so often though not real loud."
"Oh," I said, my heart sinking. "I heard some trains and ..
I watched the old man as his pupils dilated and his irises shrank, asked if he was okay.
"Just thinking ... Where'd you say ya live?"
"Nineteenth and Youngs."
Odell bit his upper lip. "Can't be," he muttered. "That was years ago."
"What?" The pencil twitched in my hand.
Odell rose, paced, finally stopped and folded his arms. "A tragedy," he began. "Near the end of the nineteenth century, one of them railroad magnates like Cornelius Vanderbilt built a track here when it was nothing but land and a few streets. Built it right where you live now."
"You mean that piece of track at the intersection used to be—"
"That old man's railroad." Odell nodded, returned to his chair. "Know what that man's name was?"
My shoulders rose and fell.
Odell stood. "Anderson. Anderson Youngs."
"They named the street after him?"
"No one likes to admit it." Odell slumped in his recliner. “Daddy told me 'bout it. First a minor crash, small passenger train almost ran off the track, railroad dismissing it as human error though one engineer claimed it was cheap, inefficient rails and railroad ties. Youngs denied that." Odell gave a t-t-twith his tongue. "Don't know how investigators missed it. 'Course, I am looking at twenty twenty hindsight. Things went back to normal when a freight train came through and ran over that track by yer house, had lots of cargo and was believed to have bent the track. Next morning, passenger train comes through ..." Odell paused. "Musta been almost one hun'red people 'board. Went past that spot going eighty miles an hour and when it raced over that mangled rail .." He exhaled. "An accident."
"How bad?"
"Half the people died. Authorities did another investigation, shut down the line, demanded its owner replace them tracks. Youngs bailed out, sold his company to a business syndicate who closed most of the rail lines, including the one here since the Union Pacific had been built recently. The incident was forgotten, area became a wheat field then a residential district, only proof of the railroad’s existence that piece at the intersection. Your original owner lived there many years when one night it sounded, off in the distance at first then louder. This guy sold the place to my friend, he a light sleeper, who tried earplugs, even searched for the previous owner—which was like finding that Judge Crater—so my friend moved. House was vacant until mid eighties, when I learned a story." The old man shivered. "These owners heard the whistle. And something new: the clack of wheels. Window panes rattled, floors vibrated, the house shook. Its occupants ran out to check and found nothing, the whistle had stopped, and the roar of drivers disappeared. Family went back inside, fell asleep. The noise returned. But opening the door was like pulling a tractor trailer on a rope with your hands. The train sounded right outside the front door." He paused.
"What happened?"
Odell grimaced. "The person I heard this from said the neighbors fled to his house, described what'd occurred, said they’d broken a window and crawled out."
"Didn't the neighbor hear the train?" I asked.
Odell chuckled without humor. "That's the crux, he didn't. No one did. Neighbor let the family sleep in his house overnight and next morning the family was gone, never seen nor heard from. It was as if .." He didn't finish.
"This really happened?" I said, a smile tugging at my mouth's corners.
"Check it out in your paper, all there in black and white. At least the part about Anderson Youngs. The other stuff, who knows?"
The sound of a far off whistle made me gooseflesh.
Odell smiled. "Is the Union Pacific downtown."
I closed my notebook and stood, thanked him, said I'd call if I needed.
Odell smiled. "Door's always open."
Again the horn sounded. Too far away.
That week at work, I crept down to the basement where old articles had been transferred to microfilm years ago and never updated, spider webs in every corner, file cabinets covered in layers of dust.
I searched the database, found relevant articles, and put them under the microfilm screen. One made me stop. Something about the first successful railroad. The article came alive, similar to Odell's story about the crash though I found no articles about the apparent ghost's whistle. Was what Odell said true?
Trains whistled that night, all from downtown. It was a myth. Snuggling next to my wife on the sofa, I grew sleepy.
A honk. I popped up, cold sweat on my forehead, my breath uneven. I shook Toni. "You hear that?"
"What?" she mumbled.
The noise again. Headlights brighter than I'd ever seen flooded the house, ran across one wall and disappeared. The sound of a rig drove past.
"Yeah," Toni mumbled. A truck. Big deal.”
My heart settled back into place. As I nodded off, it sounded. I put a pillow over my head, sure it was the rig. But this sound wouldn't quit, had me upright. It repeated, grew, and faded. Another downtown train.
Nature's call woke me hours later. Back on the couch, the noise came back, louder.
"Toni, wake up!" I shook my wife.
"Now what?" she muttered through clenched teeth.
"Do you hear it now?"
"There's nothing out there. Listen .. Now go back to sleep and leave—"
It sounded.
In silhouetted darkness, I observed Toni's mouth open. "Where's that from?" she whispered.
"Don't know. From what I learned .." The noise was so piercing, we covered our ears.
"Mommy!" Kelly's muffled voice upstairs. "Mommy, Daddy. Wha's dat?" She ran downstairs, Jeremy behind her, his toy lion tight in his arms.
Toni and Kelly rested on one couch, Jeremy and I on the other. His hands twitched. We moved Jillian’s cradle next to us while she slept nonchalantly.
We lay sleepless on the couch. The whistle would stop then minutes later, start again, louder, wheels on rails sounding.
A blinding glare through the window like floodlights. Panes rattled, vibrated so fierce I thought the glass in them would break.
Light shone into the crib, awoke Jill. She wailed.
As quick as it had begun, it ended. The light dimmed, horn silent. Blackness returned. Jill and Kelly sobbed. Jeremy hid under blankets.
"What in the hell was that?" Toni asked, no one with an answer. Slowly, we all fell asleep.
The sun's rays were an unwelcome sight. The kids slept with their mother so I crept to the kitchen, brewed coffee, opened the blinds covering the front windows, and looked out at the lawn. Had I dreamt it? Others would think us loony.
I had trouble falling asleep that night but once I did, wasn't conscious until sunrise. It was the weekend but we kept busy.
"What a day." Toni stretched and yawned. "Think I'll draw a hot bath."
I nodded off on the couch.
"Dad! Dad!" Jeremy said. "C'mere." His voice trembled.
"What's wrong?"
"Dad! Get up! I'm scared!"
I sat up, stifled a yawn. "What is it?"
Wide-eyed, Jeremy grabbed my hand, led me to his bathroom. The faucet ran. He pointed at it then clutched my waist. "What's wrong? Was washing my hands when that happened."
That referred to the color the water had taken. In fact, it hadn't just changed colors. There was something else coming out. Red. A deep crimson liquid.
"Don't panic." I tried to keep my voice even. "No big deal." I turned the faucet knob. Nothing.
Jeremy cried. Suddenly, the faucet stopped. Then that sound. The bathroom light flickered and failed. I flipped the wall switch. Nothing. Jeremy clung to me. Kelly, now awake, joined him. Even upstairs, the sound of the train's rails vibrated the walls and floor. I heard footfalls.
"You guys okay?" It was Toni.
"In here!" I yelled.
"We have to get out of here!" Toni said above the din as she held Jill, who screamed while pulling her mom's hair.
The sound stopped.
"Let's start packing!" Toni said, still hollering.
"To where?" I demanded.
"I don't know." Toni's voice calmed. "A neighbor's?"
"And we tell them? They'll think we belong in the funny farm."
"How about a motel till we find another place?"
We got our necessities and piled into the car.
Next day, we took a week's worth of clothes and other items. By mid-week, my wife had found a house to rent.
We moved Saturday, cumulus clouds scattered hither and thither across an otherwise blue sky. By nightfall we were almost done.
"The bookshelf in the study," I said to Toni, who followed me into the room. We each grabbed a shelf end and marched toward the front. Lights flickered. Winds blew the door shut. Then that sound. That horrible, gut wrenching wail. We were like sculptures.
"Let's get out of here!" I finally shouted. We dropped the bookshelf and I grabbed Jeremy while Toni took Jill and Kelly.
We ran to the door. A loud click. The lock. I tried to turn it, to no avail, door not budging either. Gusts howled and screamed, rattled windows as the whistle we'd become so familiar with began.
"Open it, damnit! Open it!" Toni screamed.
Light shone through the house. The door would not give.
"The windows!" Toni yelled.
I couldn't open them, tried smashing one then recalled the realtor’s comment: Unbreakable. My body went numb, the winds moaned, and the horn was the loudest it'd ever been. The light came closer, sound of wheels louder.
Out of the room's corner, a flame flickered and grew, ran up one wall. Smoke billowed.
"Daddy, help!" Jeremy begged.
We cowered in a corner, unable to move. The train's light approached our yard, the fire now a blaze covering two walls that leaned in and out as if breathing.
I crawled to the study's back door. A fire-filled beam creaked and toppled. I spun away from it, beam falling so close I felt its heat on my back. The walls groaned louder, leaned inward and collapsed, as if lunging for us.
"Dad, look out!" Jeremy hollered.
I sprinted to him as the walls crashed onto a table. Glass from those unbreakable windows shattered. Wind and dirt blew in, caused us to gag and cough and place our hands in front of our faces. But it was what we needed.
"Let's get out of here! Now!" I screamed, Toni needing no coaxing. We stumbled through the mess, hurried to the truck.
In the cab, I stuck the key into the ignition. It wouldn't turn over. Once. Twice. Thrice. Fourth time, the hum of the engine sounded, as beautiful as a classical concert. I drove away at a speed I didn't think the truck could reach while Toni dialed nine one one on her cell phone.
Fire engines sirened as we drove to the motel.
Next morning, I drove past the place on my way to work. At the four way stop, I pressed the brake pedal and took another look, one side of the place burnt like a charcoal briquette.
I raised my foot off the pedal. The car conked out. I tried to restart it. Nothing. I turned the ignition again. Same result. I prayed like I was on my death bed.
It returned. The sound.
My stomach became a maze of knots and my left hand gripped the wheel, right hand turning the key as far as it could go. I floored the gas pedal. The car was a corpse. The whistle sounded louder. Once more, I turned the key, leaning on the wheel in desperation. The engine roared, squeal of tires on pavement permeating the neighborhood. I sped across the intersection and drove away doing sixty. I was gone from the area. Never to return. No matter what anybody would say, no matter the circumstances. Never!
THE END
HOW I CAME UP WITH THIS STORY
Yes, there really are tracks at that intersection in Oklahoma City. Used to live in that area years ago and it's a four way stop. I drove across the intersection for many months before finally wondering what kind of tracks they were, thinking train tracks though they looked too small(found out
later they were trolley tracks that used to run in that area) As I wondered and crossed the intersection, in my mind I heard the whistle of a train and imagined a train speeding out of nowhere and splitting my car in a half.
Thinking this might be a story, I imagined each time the noise getting louder until, when an important dignitary was being rushed to the hospital, the train would crush the ambulance. Of course, it didn't turn out that way(the original idea is almost never the one I use for a story) but I still liked it as I'm a sucker for those urban legend, historical horror stories that are half-based in truth.
The Drowning Machine
A wave taller than any I'd encountered rose in the nighttime air. I hopped on my boogie board and made sure I got Roger's attention as waves carried me in and dumped me at water's edge.
I stood, laughed, and looked at Roger. "How 'bout that?"
"I don't know," he said. "Should we quit? Thad thinks so."
"No way." I said and high stepped into the ocean as water lashed my calves and rushed to shore. "This is great."
I sprinted back out and as I stretched to dive in, a huge clap like an earth tremor shook me, clouds on the horizon lurching. I twisted in the water, boogie board lost. Another wave splashed my shoulders and pushed me back. I cackled at it, thrilled by the speed at which it carried me to shore.
We were the only guests on the beach in Ocean City, New Jersey, place dormant for several weeks, when summer season began. Friends Roger and Allison talked Thad, Christian, and I into coming out.
"They're chicken," Allison had said at our apartment with a bray of laughter associated from too much alcohol.
Roger waved us to the car. "Let's get going. Got your boogie boards? I'm bringing my surfboard." The fin stuck out of his Jeep's back end.
Thad combed his short hair back. "I don't know. No one's there, no lifeguards, nothing. Water'll be cold." He examined the evening sky. "It'll be dark shortly."
"Aw, c'mon. Christian, you're not going to let him spoil our graduation party, are ya?" Roger asked.
Christian's head moved side to side. "Whatever you guys do, I'll go with it."
Roger faced me. I looked at him, then Allison, Christian, and Thad. If Veronica was here I could pass the look to her and she'd decide. Roger and I'd been friends since we were college freshmen and he'd gotten me doing things I'd never done.
Thad, a friend since high school, chewed his lip and folded his arms over his chest. I looked at Allison who giggled.
"What's the matter? Scared?" She elbowed Roger. "Remember when he was afraid of Disney World's Tower of Terror?" She chortled, half drunk, half teasing.
Roger moaned and his shoulders drooped. "Well?"
My blood burned and my ears were hot. “Let's go," I said and we jumped in the car.
On the beach, cold sand chilled my feet and gusts hit our faces. Despite chilly waters I jumped in, grabbed the boogie board, and paddled out. Low clouds hovered, drifted in, and a grumble sounded. A flash in the distant sky. I shuddered but seeing Roger surf a tall wave, his athletic body standing above it, urged me to do the same. I hauled the board out and rode a few breakers. Thunder sounded closer.
"Maybe we should go," Thad said as he, Roger, and I moved ashore.
Roger roared a drunk laugh, all the bottles in his backpack empty. "Hell no," he bellowed. "We're not coward asses. You don't want to go, do ya?" he asked me.
"Ya kidding? Hell no."
A long, deep thunderclap intruded.
Roger gazed at me. "What the hell was that? Should we go?” He crinkled his eyes then laughed his drunken laugh.
I chuckled too and charged into the water, swam backstroke, observed the light scud clouds, how tranquil, beautiful they were, how refreshing the water felt. My muscles hummed like a new engine.
I swam out and tread water, no one out this far. I grinned like I'd won a king of the hill battle and cupped a hand to my mouth. "C'mon guys, whatsa matter? Too scared?"
No one responded. Winds blew faster. Lightning burst and seared my eyes. Clouds invaded the remaining light and darkness erupted. Thunder exploded, winds gale force. I continued my brave front. "C'mon guys, can't we ..."
A rush of water from the rear crashed and foam surrounded my head. I bobbed and coughed until my throat cleared. Another wave hit. Thunder burst and rain drizzled. The storm front raced toward us. My heart palpitated, my lungs hurt.
I dove in and paddled to shore. My legs and arms churned. But instead of moving forward, I was thrust back, and gasped. More foamy water bruised my face, boogie board ripped from my clutches. The sky went from pale blue to purple. I checked behind me. My lungs screeched and my brain flashed an urgent order to turn around. I did and braced for the onslaught.
The largest wave I'd witnessed destroyed me though I relaxed, knew it would carry me ashore. I was thrown forward then slammed back, as if I’d hit an invisible wall. I dog paddled yet the distance between me and the shoreline grew.
"Help!" My sore lungs gave an inaudible yelp. "Guys!" I waved but they didn't see me. Rain fell thicker, winds stronger. I coughed, choked, wheezed. My face went white, body temperature falling, my bones ready to snap like brittle gum.
I strove to stay afloat, searched the area but the sky, now midnight blue, made it impossible to see. Lightning shone. I looked in all directions but darkness came too quick, followed by thunder. Blackness crawled over my eyes and I went under.
My choking throat woke me as my head broke the surface. I heard a shout, hollered to it as waves crashed. In a brief calm I heard the voice say it couldn't get out that deep, waves too high.
Rain plummeted, pounded me while lightning winked and the obligatory thunder peal echoed.
I labored for breath, swam to shore but made no progress, like a soldier marking time. Huge, snow‑white crests atop an angry, tall breaker roared toward me. My sight darkened and my body eased. I felt eerily calm.
I heard a cry. An infant's. I looked down and saw the newborn, eyes like mine. The baby wailed as if beaten. I looked at it then person holding it. Veronica. My wife, mother to be. Our child. A precious girl. I reached for her, my body weak yet vibrating with anticipation. My hands went to touch it.
Cold water hit me and my mouth opened as air filled my lungs. My eyelids opened and though dizzy, I collected my surroundings and discovered I was right where I'd been before unconsciousness hit. I thought of Veronica, seven months pregnant and how she hated being alone. She couldn't be left to raise a new child by herself.
Must stay alive, I thought.For them. Hell, for me. Have to see my child.
My heart soared, my lungs cleared as did my vision and things settled. Blood pumped into my arms, legs, and muscles. I swam ahead, knew I'd make it.
A few strokes to shore. Then I was propelled back, as if a working bulldozer with steel blade was in front of me. My lungs wanted to collapse, muscles ready to quit. Thunder broke and lightning streaked, long and bright. I saw no one in the water, no one on shore. My heart sank and I heard a roar. The sky flash showed a wave the size of a truck. It crashed around me. My vision faded.
I came to, on my back, continued to be swept away from shore.
Lightning burst on the horizon and I saw a strange sight, unable to decipher it before the lightning vanished. The flash occurred again and when I discerned what the object that fell from the sky was, I felt I'd become paraplegic. A waterspout.
My bones were ready to break, my mouth salty and dry. The image of my wife failed to renew my strength.
The funnel approached. I sank and recalled drinking sea water makes you go mad. And a drowning man goes under three times. Was this number three?
Waves crested and pounded me as water sprayed as if from a broken water main. With the next lightning flash I viewed the cyclone. A hundred yards away. Winds whipped my face and my eyes teared, my hair as if pulled from its roots.
The combers crescendoed but I kept getting shoved out to sea, my eye ducts like a water faucet at full throttle.
I swam parallel to shore, raised my left arm, then my right. A sensation like a chainsaw tore through my right arm. I screamed and got a belly full of water.
I lifted my arm again. Pain revisited. I dog paddled while the noise like a freight train sounded in back of me.
A cresting wave rolled in, twenty feet to the left and behind me. Could it carry me to shore?
I lifted my right arm and ignored the torment, swam. My body drifted to the wave. The tornado buffeted the sea and I went up, down, up down.
The roller rose and my legs, though soft as clay, kicked and channeled through the sea.
Up in the air I went, the wave upon me, waterspout behind it. The waves beat me, flipped me, lifted me like a giant hand. I went up.
Foam invaded my eyes, nose, and lips. I choked then vomited. Lightning streaked a white line, a daytime glare that lasted on my eyes after the burst ended.
Thunder talked and a flash further out lit up the night like a fire ball. I looked to shore as my breaker peaked and saw the shadows on land. Human figures pointed and motioned but winds were so deafening I couldn't hear their voices. The wave swayed forward and I was tossed as if from a cannon.
Air whistled in my ears. I stretched to swim. My arms only cut through air. Wind whipped at me. I soared to a peak. Lightning bristled, revealed the maelstrom below.
I descended and slapped the water with the equivalent force of hitting a concrete wall. My senses dulled and my vision blurred.
I came to and raised my right arm. The chainsaw like pain returned. I cried and lowered the limb, swam with my left arm. And recalled what I’d been trapped in. A ripcurrent. To be sure I was free of its death grasp, I swam parallel to shore, the way one must to escape.
Across the waters I went. Free. I changed directions, moved to shore, gap between me and the beach shrinking.
The roar of ocean, rain, and thunder was invaded by another, this one pleasurable. Voices. My friends. Lightning lit up again and Roger came out then halted as blackness took over. The next flash brought the same image, my friends as if hitting an unseen wall, pointing, shouting, hands around their mouths.
I glimpsed over my shoulder. My body grew colder, numb. Water spout approached.
Lightning again. I saw the body outlines, still in the water. Two moved toward me. I wanted to wave them back but couldn't lift my right arm and used the left to tread water. The tall and short shadows told me it was Thad with Roger. Thad, who'd been afraid to get in, now stood in waves that scourged his face. That he was willing to risk his life gave me strength. I again pictured Veronica with our newborn and believed I would make it. Had to.
I crawled to the shoreline, tornado closer.
A cutting through my toes. Even in the water, I felt blood trickle across my feet. What I touched made my lips form a wide, upward arc. Never had the pain of hitting rocks been so joyful.
My feet touch sand at ocean's bottom. I raised my legs, swayed, caught my balance, and shot my left arm in the air. Roger and Thad whooped and hollered. Another lightning flash and I saw Allison and Christian embrace. I staggered, stumbled, hopped to them. The waterspout changed directions, away from the shore.
I raised my arm again. Wind shears blew me down. Wet sand hit my eyes, face, shirt, shorts, and arms. Water flowed over me and seeped into my mouth. I ran my fingers through the sand.
A hand reached out. I grasped it. Our fingerpads touched. Water rushed behind me. My arm fell. Another wave covered my head. Water entered my lungs. I hacked, spit, and crawled as slow as snow receding in sub‑zero temperatures.
The hand reached out and I clutched it, clung to it. Roger pulled me in. My chin rubbed sand, hit a sharp object and kept rubbing. I lost sense of surroundings.
Hands touched me. One slapped my cheeks. Voices talked, distant at first, then clear.
"Speak to me," Roger hit my cheeks again.
"I hear ya," I mumbled. The hand let up.
"He's okay," Roger exclaimed. "He'll make it!"
I squirmed to get up, discovered it too painful and lay on the beach, my right arm as if it had been hit by a grenade and put in a washing machine ‑ still connected to my body. Allison left for help and Christian stated the waterspout had risen into the sky.
"Thought you were a goner," he said.
"Yeah. But I made it."
"Don't know how," Roger added. "Someone must've been lookin' out for ya."
"Yeah," I muttered and thought of Veronica and our offspring. I lowered my head to the sand and passed out.
"C'mon honey, keep it comin'. Almost there." I observed it in the canal. It looked lovely.
"C'mon dear, not much longer." I breathed in and out, like I'd been taught in class. "Here it is. It's comin'. I see its head."
As slow as the hour hand moves on a clock, it came out, head first. Bald, covered with liquid. But the most beautiful baby girl I'd seen. The head popped out as did the rest of her.
I heard nothing and my breathing ceased. Then the most amazing, lovely sound. The cry of a newborn girl.
The obstetrician smiled. "Normal and healthy," she said.
My wife grinned, her chest heaving in quick thrusts, her hospital gown soaked, her face glistening.
I beamed and held the baby up with my good hand, other still in a sling "Who'd have thought she'd save my life out there?" I kissed the child's forehead. "Let's call her Savior," I said in my giddiness.
Veronica grimaced. "We'll do no such thing. She'd be laughed out of school. The neighborhood. The country."
"So what do we name her?"
"Something normal. Erica?"
I smiled and nodded. "Sounds good."
"Savior," my wife mocked and rolled her eyes. "You'd have thought I'd have come up with that considering the torture I've been in the past twelve hours. You don't have a clue what I've been through."
I displayed my sling. "I think I do."
We laughed and I leaned in on my wife, the baby between us. A family. Both of them my savior.
THE IDEA FOR THIS ONE
Came up with this story after watching a rerun of NBC’s Dateline on a cable channel about rip currents (a.k., Drowning Machine). I think I like this one because of the circumstances surrounding the writing process. I’d taken off work on a Monday & Tuesday in October one year and it’d been raining all the previous week. Thankfully, it cleared on Monday, a beautiful day, little wind, sunny & 80ish. I finished the story that morning and that night friends came over for beer and pizza and we watched my favorite team, the Tennesee Titans, beat the Jacksonville Jaguars for their 5thstraight win (though they wound up losing in their first playoff game that year. Bummer!) Fortunately, Tuesday’s weather was just as nice. This one was published in ’09 and is one of the few I can read after publication and say “I like this one.”
DREAM COME TRUE?
Ted Armis rubbed his temples with his fingers. "What does it mean?"
Leonard Sheridian took a swig from his beer bottle. “Nothing. Nothing at all."
"But it's so vivid, so real, I swear it's actually happening."
"But it's not," Leonard said, set the bottle back on the formica counter between them, leaned back in the red cushioned booth and put his hands on the back of his head. "It's not real. Only seems real. Not is. Seems."
"Each night it gets clearer, lasts longer."
Leonard shrugged. "It's nothing. Your mind's working overtime.” He called a waitress over and ordered another beer. "Quit searching for interpretations, deeper meanings."
"There's no interpreting," Ted said. "She's there, I see her. She turns. It's her."
"Looks like her," Leonard corrected. "You didn't say it was her for sure."
Ted's lips undulated. "I'm pretty sure."
"Pretty sure doesn't cut it."
"But this dream is so lucid; it's telling me something."
"Telling you you're nuts."
"I mean it. What about that guy in 1979? He dreamt a plane would crash at O'hare airport. And it did. Worst crash due to mechanical failure in U.S. history."
"But he couldn't pinpoint specifics. Some psychic vision," Leonard said. "Just remember, his dream stopped after that."
"Big deal. He created a self fulfilling prophecy, said he wouldn't have it anymore so he didn't."
"You don't believe in psychic phenomena?"
"I'm saying in this case it's not true."
"You wouldn't say that if youhad the dream."
The waitress returned, gave Leonard his beer and took the empty bottle. Leonard eyed her well figured physique.
"Do you believe dreams can be premonitions?" Ted asked the waitress.
The red haired girl put a hand on her chin then pointed. "Yeah. As long as I'm in it and some handsome, wealthy guy wants to marry me.” She noticed Leonard eyeing her. "Someone unlike yourself," she told him and left.
Ted whistled. "Got you good."
"Not unlike Marcia's got you good. Bad," Leonard said. "She doesn't want you. Left you over a year ago."
"We went our separate ways," Ted said and his right hand became a fist. "It was mutual. We felt we couldn't go any farther." He thought of his dream, shook his head. "But neither of us wanted to break up, we just felt like .."
"Like what?"
"I dunno. Like .."
"Like sex was all you had?" Leonard chuckled. " 'cause I know she wasn't after you for your looks. Or personality. Must've been the sex."
Ted gave a false grin. "Funny."
"So why'd you break up?"
"I don't know.” Ted eased his clenched hand. "But this .. dream .."
"Forewarning," Leonard said with a smirk.
"Glad you agree with me," Ted said with a smile.
"I do. Just not in this case."
"Whatever.” Ted checked his watch. "Getting late. Think I'll go home."
"Pay attention to that dream tonight. Talk to her," Leonard said. "See what she says."
"Funny."
"I'm serious," Leonard said. "I believe dreams have meaning."
"Sure," Ted said and left.
He had the dream again, saw Marcia. Or whom he believed was her, she in profile, her shoulder length blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. Her right eye—it seemed to be blue, like hers—glistened in the streetlight's glow. She seemed to smile, her eyes bright when she noticed Ted.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you," she said, her arms open though they blocked her face, Ted unable to tell if it was her. "It's been so long since .."
Ted awoke in cold sweats.
"You need sleep," Leonard said the next day. "Those bags under your eyes look like a quarterback's eye black."
Ted gave a half smile. "I'm telling ya, she's trying to tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know. But each night the dream gets longer.”
"You're still not over her."
Ted thought for a minute. "Guess not," he said, managed a grin.
"You're obsessed with her."
"It's more than that. I can feel it."
"If you say so," Leonard said. "Though I think you're reading too much into it. Besides, Marcia's in Colorado, long ways away. She's not comin' anytime soon."
"I know," Ted said. "Yet ..” He couldn't finish the sentence.
Again the dream that night: Marcia smiled, turned.
"I knew I'd find you here ... it's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted's cold sweats returned. He panted, caught his breath and rubbed his eyes. An hour passed before he fell asleep.
Next night, same thing, except the last sentence extended to, "tell you how much .."
"Damn!" Ted said, sotto voce. He gathered the bed sheets in his fists then loosened them. "C'mon," he said to his apartment's walls. "Let me know."
The next two nights were the same. Then he got a call.
"Hey.” It was Vern, a former dorm buddy. "Didja hear who's coming to town?"
"Santa Claus?"
"What a comedian," Vern said. "Marcia."
Ted gasped. "Who?"
"Marcia. Your woman."
"Ex," Ted said.
"I know. But you guys were so serious we thought it was down the aisle for you two. Why'd she dump you anyway?"
Ted flinched, grit his teeth. "We separated amicably. Both of us. It was mutual."
"If ya say so. But she's comin' back. Tomorrow."
Ted's mind sang 'Ode to Joy' but he gathered himself. "That is nice," he said calmly. "If we cross paths I’d be glad to converse with her, communicate as much and .."
"Why are ya talkin’ like you're one of the royal family?"
"I'm not," Ted said. "But should I run into her, that's fine. We'll talk, exchange pleasantries, and say adios."
"Man," Vern said. "If it'd been me with a girl for over a year and we met again, I'd be in bed with her in an hour."
"That's why you don't have a girl," Ted said. "Your heart is below your beltline."
Both boys laughed.
"See ya," Vern said. "And if you do see her, good luck."
"Thanks. But we're just friends."
"Uh-huh," Vern said, dubious. "Bye."
The dream was the same, only Marcia (or the girl Ted believed was Marcia) turned her head further.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you how much I .."
Ted came to, gasped like a race horse, and calmed by telling himself it meant nothing, he merely thinking too much. But his mind and stomach felt otherwise. And he remembered something he hadn't seen in past sequences. She'd turned far enough this time, he saw it. Below her ear. The scar. From stitches when she said she fell off her bike at six.
It is her, he thought, raised his hands in triumph and imagined seeing her, how it would be, what they would say.
I know she's telling me she missed me, wants to go back to school here and make up. That's the rest of her sentence. I know it. He beamed and relaxed on the bed, fell asleep in minutes.
The day arrived. Ted got up and went to Finance class. Just before entering, he saw a girl with blonde, shoulder length hair and blue eyes. He inhaled. Then exhaled. Not Marcia.
"Damn," he whispered as the dream played in his mind.
After Finance, he went to Intermediate Accounting. He got up to leave and saw a girl. Blonde hair. Same size as her. He pressed his lips together. And sighed. Not her.
Next he went to Economics. Every girl with blonde hair near the shoulders caused Ted to turn. None were Marcia.
He and Leonard went out for dinner.
"Is that her?" Leonard would say whenever a girl like Marcia came into view.
"Shut up," Ted would tease back.
They returned to Ted's place as darkness took over.
Leonard looked at the time as they watched t.v. on the old couch. "It's past midnight, day's over. I'm sure she's in bed now.” He chuckled. "Maybe with another guy. Guess your dream was just that. A dream. A wish. Fairy tale. Now move on with your life."
"I know," Ted said and though his stomach pinched and his heart seemed to be in the soles of his shoes, he smiled. "Never meant to be."
"That's the spirit," Leonard said, slapped Ted's thigh and stood. "Let's go have a drink. On me."
Ted sighed. "I dunno."
"Come on, drown your sorrows, put her behind ya. At least the dream won't happen anymore."
"You're right," Ted said and got up.
The two visited an off campus pub, had some drinks, met friends, and went to the strip, a street next to campus with the most popular bars and hang outs.
"Let's go," Ted told Leonard after visiting several bars .
"So dreams don't always come true," Leonard said. "Don't worry, lots of other hens in the hen house."
"I know," Ted said. "It's just that ..."
A voice spoke. Familiar. Then the words.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you."
Ted recognized the voice. His skin goosepimpled. His heart seemed frozen. He stopped breathing. The voice continued.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted turned. His face went white and his hands palsied. Then he smiled, looked at Leonard, also pale faced. Ted's grin grew. His heart felt as if on fire. He looked at her to be sure though he knew who it was. It was her, blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. The street light shone on her, she in profile. The woman turned, lips going up, eyes twinkling in the streetlight's glow. She continued to speak.
".. tell you how much I care about .."
Ted ran up to her, wrapped his arms around her.
"I missed you too. It's so good to see you. Haven't stopped thinking about you since you left.” He pressed her to his body. Her perfume relaxed and excited him, the best he'd ever smelled on a girl. He went to kiss her.
"What the hell are you doing?" the girl said.
Ted's lips met a hand. He pulled back. It was Marcia. "Whadya mean? It's me, Ted."
Marcia cringed. "Oh God, Ted. Get away from me."
"But you just said how glad you were to make it back to Stillwater, see me and .."
Marcia pushed Ted away. "Not you.” She shuffled to the sidewalk where an older man stood. She wrapped her arms around this guy. "Him," she said and pressed her lips on his cheek. "My Uncle Louie.” She hugged him. "I was in town, tried to call but you weren't around. Shoulda figured you'd be out carousing."
"Marcia!" the man said and returned the hug. "My favorite niece. What are you doing here?"
"Going back to school.” She separated from her uncle. "You were right, work is hard. I'm re-enrolling here. Wanted to thank you for your monetary support and advice. Mom said you're leaving tomorrow for Europe until next month on business. Had to find you. Should've guessed you'd be near a bar."
"That's great, honey. Glad you're back. You're making the right choice."
Marcia leaned her head on her uncle's shoulder. "You've been so good. Just had to say thanks. See you when you get back."
"You bet," the uncle said then looked at Ted and Leonard. "Who're these two? They know you?"
"Oh them," Marcia said and led her uncle quickly past them. "Bad memories from my past.” She looked over her shoulder, glared at Ted and pointed. "Especially that one. He's very strange. You saw him attack me then claim I was his girlfriend. Only in his dreams."
The uncle laughed and the two left.
Leonard punched a hand on Ted's shoulder, chortled. "Sometimes dreams come true. Just not the way you expect.” He burst into laughter, doubled over.
"Shut up," Ted said, grinned and grabbed Leonard by the neck. "C'mon, knucklehead, let's go home."
THE IDEA BEHIND THIS ONE
Hadn’t done many humorous stories and since Dream International Quarterly magazine (now defunct) had published several stories of mine, I thought something humorous about dreams would be a good story. So I came up with this one—a humorous(I hope) take on how dreams can easily be misinterpreted.
Northwest 19thand Youngs Boulevard
We were driving in northwest Oklahoma City when we saw it. An older home, built in the nineteen twenties though it didn't look it. But it was what we wanted. The intersection there was a four way stop and as we drove past, I saw the tracks amidst the intersection and wondered aloud what they were.
"Train tracks," Jeremy, our eight year old and Kelly, our four year old daughter, said together while nine month old Jill slept beside them.
"But why are they still here?" I asked.
"Who knows?" my wife Toni said as we passed the two storied, deep red brick house with wide front porch and arched doorways. She clutched my arm. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
Next evening, a short, balding, pudgy man with thin brown eyes and beads of sweat on his forehead met us. "Let me give ya the tour. Where'd I put those keys?" He searched his pockets then chuckled. "Guess if I can't find ‘em I could break a window." His grin abated. "Then again, them things're made of unbreakable plexiglass, put in after a bad wind storm. Don't worry, I'll find 'em." He slapped his shirt pocket. A jingle.
We went up creaky porch steps and he opened the door, my breath taken away by the home's elegance. I inquired as to the price and he showed me.
I whistled. "Why so cheap?"
"Got it at government auction." The realtor gave an elbow, his hand at the side of his mouth. "Creditors said previous owner skipped the country to avoid debt. I heard he simply vanished."
The guy led us into a commodious front room then down a small corridor to a larger, brighter room, this one below ground level. A balcony extended from two walls, led to bedrooms.
We then entered another room where a small fireplace left me with a homey feeling, bookshelves lining windowless walls. In the distance, a train's whistle warned motorists. Or so I thought.
Upstairs, the master bedroom with walk-in closet cinched it for my wife. She wrapped herself around me. "Let's buy."
When I saw the master bath with Jacuzzi, it was a done deal.
Our first night there, boxes and furniture in harum-scarum fashion, the whistle woke me. I smiled.
At work, I considered my next article for the newspaper, about the Oklahoma oil boom but it didn't work so my neighbor referred me to Odell Ferguson, an old timer, said he could describe things back then. I called, left a message that Sunday as a train whistle sounded in the distance.
Having received no call back by Tuesday, I left another message and hung up as, in the distance, the sound was audible.
By Thursday I'd given up on the guy and retired to bed. Past midnight, I heard a rustling, went downstairs, and turned on porch lights. A yelp. I opened the front door. "Who's out there?"
A tall, slender man with a blue shirt and blue denim overalls came forward. "Howdy." He offered his hand. "Name's Odell Ferguson. Sorry I scared ya but I don't get much sleep now. You called, left a message so thought I'd git some exacise out here. Then, passing the house, decided to have looksee if anyone was awake." He observed my uncombed hair. "Guess you wasn’t."
"Well, I'm awake now so c'mon in." I opened the door and turned on a lamp, told him what I wanted, grabbed a nearby pencil and notepad, and looked up. My hair went stiff, my eyes bulged, my legs rubbery. His skin had gone old and wrinkly, eyeballs sunken. He smiled a crooked grin, mouth displaying missing teeth, the rest old and chipped. His hands snapped forward and clutched my shoulders, his long, sharp nails sinking into my skin. I screamed and fell to my knees.
"Daddy, what's happening?" Kelly hollered from upstairs.
I could not answer. I gazed up, Jeremy also there, his face pale. He ran to the stairs but slipped, fell toward the balcony guardrail, he small enough to fall through the slats. His head came through then his shoulders then the rest of his body.
"Daddy, help! I—"
"Honey, you okay?" Toni's voice said.
I jumped up in bed. In moonlight, I discerned Toni’s face, her eyes cringing though she had a tiny smile.
I caught my breath. "Fine."
We fell back asleep and the phone woke me as sunlight crept over the house. "Hello?"
"Hello," the same low, rough voice from my dream said. "You left a message. I'm Odell Ferguson. Be glad to do an inter- view."
We scheduled to meet. I drove to his house, a small place with carport though no vehicle was present, house painted dark blue with green Welcome mat at the door. I pressed the doorbell, the guy greeting me a replica of the man in my dream except this person looked friendly. I told him who I was. He shook my hand, invited me in, and offered a seat on his plaid couch, he lounging in a gold recliner.
"Now sir..." I began.
"Call me Odell."
"Okay. Tell me about the depression, dust bowl."
We talked for a while when a plane flew by. Odell looked at the sky, sentimentalized how he remembered when the main way to travel was by train.
I decided to ask. "Were you here when the Union Pacific was built?"
Odell laughed. "I may be old but not that old. That was built in the early twentieth century."
"Does it come through this area?"
Odell shook his head. "That line is downtown. You can hear the trains' horns every so often though not real loud."
"Oh," I said, my heart sinking. "I heard some trains and ..
I watched the old man as his pupils dilated and his irises shrank, asked if he was okay.
"Just thinking ... Where'd you say ya live?"
"Nineteenth and Youngs."
Odell bit his upper lip. "Can't be," he muttered. "That was years ago."
"What?" The pencil twitched in my hand.
Odell rose, paced, finally stopped and folded his arms. "A tragedy," he began. "Near the end of the nineteenth century, one of them railroad magnates like Cornelius Vanderbilt built a track here when it was nothing but land and a few streets. Built it right where you live now."
"You mean that piece of track at the intersection used to be—"
"That old man's railroad." Odell nodded, returned to his chair. "Know what that man's name was?"
My shoulders rose and fell.
Odell stood. "Anderson. Anderson Youngs."
"They named the street after him?"
"No one likes to admit it." Odell slumped in his recliner. “Daddy told me 'bout it. First a minor crash, small passenger train almost ran off the track, railroad dismissing it as human error though one engineer claimed it was cheap, inefficient rails and railroad ties. Youngs denied that." Odell gave a t-t-twith his tongue. "Don't know how investigators missed it. 'Course, I am looking at twenty twenty hindsight. Things went back to normal when a freight train came through and ran over that track by yer house, had lots of cargo and was believed to have bent the track. Next morning, passenger train comes through ..." Odell paused. "Musta been almost one hun'red people 'board. Went past that spot going eighty miles an hour and when it raced over that mangled rail .." He exhaled. "An accident."
"How bad?"
"Half the people died. Authorities did another investigation, shut down the line, demanded its owner replace them tracks. Youngs bailed out, sold his company to a business syndicate who closed most of the rail lines, including the one here since the Union Pacific had been built recently. The incident was forgotten, area became a wheat field then a residential district, only proof of the railroad’s existence that piece at the intersection. Your original owner lived there many years when one night it sounded, off in the distance at first then louder. This guy sold the place to my friend, he a light sleeper, who tried earplugs, even searched for the previous owner—which was like finding that Judge Crater—so my friend moved. House was vacant until mid eighties, when I learned a story." The old man shivered. "These owners heard the whistle. And something new: the clack of wheels. Window panes rattled, floors vibrated, the house shook. Its occupants ran out to check and found nothing, the whistle had stopped, and the roar of drivers disappeared. Family went back inside, fell asleep. The noise returned. But opening the door was like pulling a tractor trailer on a rope with your hands. The train sounded right outside the front door." He paused.
"What happened?"
Odell grimaced. "The person I heard this from said the neighbors fled to his house, described what'd occurred, said they’d broken a window and crawled out."
"Didn't the neighbor hear the train?" I asked.
Odell chuckled without humor. "That's the crux, he didn't. No one did. Neighbor let the family sleep in his house overnight and next morning the family was gone, never seen nor heard from. It was as if .." He didn't finish.
"This really happened?" I said, a smile tugging at my mouth's corners.
"Check it out in your paper, all there in black and white. At least the part about Anderson Youngs. The other stuff, who knows?"
The sound of a far off whistle made me gooseflesh.
Odell smiled. "Is the Union Pacific downtown."
I closed my notebook and stood, thanked him, said I'd call if I needed.
Odell smiled. "Door's always open."
Again the horn sounded. Too far away.
That week at work, I crept down to the basement where old articles had been transferred to microfilm years ago and never updated, spider webs in every corner, file cabinets covered in layers of dust.
I searched the database, found relevant articles, and put them under the microfilm screen. One made me stop. Something about the first successful railroad. The article came alive, similar to Odell's story about the crash though I found no articles about the apparent ghost's whistle. Was what Odell said true?
Trains whistled that night, all from downtown. It was a myth. Snuggling next to my wife on the sofa, I grew sleepy.
A honk. I popped up, cold sweat on my forehead, my breath uneven. I shook Toni. "You hear that?"
"What?" she mumbled.
The noise again. Headlights brighter than I'd ever seen flooded the house, ran across one wall and disappeared. The sound of a rig drove past.
"Yeah," Toni mumbled. A truck. Big deal.”
My heart settled back into place. As I nodded off, it sounded. I put a pillow over my head, sure it was the rig. But this sound wouldn't quit, had me upright. It repeated, grew, and faded. Another downtown train.
Nature's call woke me hours later. Back on the couch, the noise came back, louder.
"Toni, wake up!" I shook my wife.
"Now what?" she muttered through clenched teeth.
"Do you hear it now?"
"There's nothing out there. Listen .. Now go back to sleep and leave—"
It sounded.
In silhouetted darkness, I observed Toni's mouth open. "Where's that from?" she whispered.
"Don't know. From what I learned .." The noise was so piercing, we covered our ears.
"Mommy!" Kelly's muffled voice upstairs. "Mommy, Daddy. Wha's dat?" She ran downstairs, Jeremy behind her, his toy lion tight in his arms.
Toni and Kelly rested on one couch, Jeremy and I on the other. His hands twitched. We moved Jillian’s cradle next to us while she slept nonchalantly.
We lay sleepless on the couch. The whistle would stop then minutes later, start again, louder, wheels on rails sounding.
A blinding glare through the window like floodlights. Panes rattled, vibrated so fierce I thought the glass in them would break.
Light shone into the crib, awoke Jill. She wailed.
As quick as it had begun, it ended. The light dimmed, horn silent. Blackness returned. Jill and Kelly sobbed. Jeremy hid under blankets.
"What in the hell was that?" Toni asked, no one with an answer. Slowly, we all fell asleep.
The sun's rays were an unwelcome sight. The kids slept with their mother so I crept to the kitchen, brewed coffee, opened the blinds covering the front windows, and looked out at the lawn. Had I dreamt it? Others would think us loony.
I had trouble falling asleep that night but once I did, wasn't conscious until sunrise. It was the weekend but we kept busy.
"What a day." Toni stretched and yawned. "Think I'll draw a hot bath."
I nodded off on the couch.
"Dad! Dad!" Jeremy said. "C'mere." His voice trembled.
"What's wrong?"
"Dad! Get up! I'm scared!"
I sat up, stifled a yawn. "What is it?"
Wide-eyed, Jeremy grabbed my hand, led me to his bathroom. The faucet ran. He pointed at it then clutched my waist. "What's wrong? Was washing my hands when that happened."
That referred to the color the water had taken. In fact, it hadn't just changed colors. There was something else coming out. Red. A deep crimson liquid.
"Don't panic." I tried to keep my voice even. "No big deal." I turned the faucet knob. Nothing.
Jeremy cried. Suddenly, the faucet stopped. Then that sound. The bathroom light flickered and failed. I flipped the wall switch. Nothing. Jeremy clung to me. Kelly, now awake, joined him. Even upstairs, the sound of the train's rails vibrated the walls and floor. I heard footfalls.
"You guys okay?" It was Toni.
"In here!" I yelled.
"We have to get out of here!" Toni said above the din as she held Jill, who screamed while pulling her mom's hair.
The sound stopped.
"Let's start packing!" Toni said, still hollering.
"To where?" I demanded.
"I don't know." Toni's voice calmed. "A neighbor's?"
"And we tell them? They'll think we belong in the funny farm."
"How about a motel till we find another place?"
We got our necessities and piled into the car.
Next day, we took a week's worth of clothes and other items. By mid-week, my wife had found a house to rent.
We moved Saturday, cumulus clouds scattered hither and thither across an otherwise blue sky. By nightfall we were almost done.
"The bookshelf in the study," I said to Toni, who followed me into the room. We each grabbed a shelf end and marched toward the front. Lights flickered. Winds blew the door shut. Then that sound. That horrible, gut wrenching wail. We were like sculptures.
"Let's get out of here!" I finally shouted. We dropped the bookshelf and I grabbed Jeremy while Toni took Jill and Kelly.
We ran to the door. A loud click. The lock. I tried to turn it, to no avail, door not budging either. Gusts howled and screamed, rattled windows as the whistle we'd become so familiar with began.
"Open it, damnit! Open it!" Toni screamed.
Light shone through the house. The door would not give.
"The windows!" Toni yelled.
I couldn't open them, tried smashing one then recalled the realtor’s comment: Unbreakable. My body went numb, the winds moaned, and the horn was the loudest it'd ever been. The light came closer, sound of wheels louder.
Out of the room's corner, a flame flickered and grew, ran up one wall. Smoke billowed.
"Daddy, help!" Jeremy begged.
We cowered in a corner, unable to move. The train's light approached our yard, the fire now a blaze covering two walls that leaned in and out as if breathing.
I crawled to the study's back door. A fire-filled beam creaked and toppled. I spun away from it, beam falling so close I felt its heat on my back. The walls groaned louder, leaned inward and collapsed, as if lunging for us.
"Dad, look out!" Jeremy hollered.
I sprinted to him as the walls crashed onto a table. Glass from those unbreakable windows shattered. Wind and dirt blew in, caused us to gag and cough and place our hands in front of our faces. But it was what we needed.
"Let's get out of here! Now!" I screamed, Toni needing no coaxing. We stumbled through the mess, hurried to the truck.
In the cab, I stuck the key into the ignition. It wouldn't turn over. Once. Twice. Thrice. Fourth time, the hum of the engine sounded, as beautiful as a classical concert. I drove away at a speed I didn't think the truck could reach while Toni dialed nine one one on her cell phone.
Fire engines sirened as we drove to the motel.
Next morning, I drove past the place on my way to work. At the four way stop, I pressed the brake pedal and took another look, one side of the place burnt like a charcoal briquette.
I raised my foot off the pedal. The car conked out. I tried to restart it. Nothing. I turned the ignition again. Same result. I prayed like I was on my death bed.
It returned. The sound.
My stomach became a maze of knots and my left hand gripped the wheel, right hand turning the key as far as it could go. I floored the gas pedal. The car was a corpse. The whistle sounded louder. Once more, I turned the key, leaning on the wheel in desperation. The engine roared, squeal of tires on pavement permeating the neighborhood. I sped across the intersection and drove away doing sixty. I was gone from the area. Never to return. No matter what anybody would say, no matter the circumstances. Never!
THE END
HOW I CAME UP WITH THIS STORY
Yes, there really are tracks at that intersection in Oklahoma City. Used to live in that area years ago and it's a four way stop. I drove across the intersection for many months before finally wondering what kind of tracks they were, thinking train tracks though they looked too small(found out
later they were trolley tracks that used to run in that area) As I wondered and crossed the intersection, in my mind I heard the whistle of a train and imagined a train speeding out of nowhere and splitting my car in a half.
Thinking this might be a story, I imagined each time the noise getting louder until, when an important dignitary was being rushed to the hospital, the train would crush the ambulance. Of course, it didn't turn out that way(the original idea is almost never the one I use for a story) but I still liked it as I'm a sucker for those urban legend, historical horror stories that are half-based in truth.
The Drowning Machine
A wave taller than any I'd encountered rose in the nighttime air. I hopped on my boogie board and made sure I got Roger's attention as waves carried me in and dumped me at water's edge.
I stood, laughed, and looked at Roger. "How 'bout that?"
"I don't know," he said. "Should we quit? Thad thinks so."
"No way." I said and high stepped into the ocean as water lashed my calves and rushed to shore. "This is great."
I sprinted back out and as I stretched to dive in, a huge clap like an earth tremor shook me, clouds on the horizon lurching. I twisted in the water, boogie board lost. Another wave splashed my shoulders and pushed me back. I cackled at it, thrilled by the speed at which it carried me to shore.
We were the only guests on the beach in Ocean City, New Jersey, place dormant for several weeks, when summer season began. Friends Roger and Allison talked Thad, Christian, and I into coming out.
"They're chicken," Allison had said at our apartment with a bray of laughter associated from too much alcohol.
Roger waved us to the car. "Let's get going. Got your boogie boards? I'm bringing my surfboard." The fin stuck out of his Jeep's back end.
Thad combed his short hair back. "I don't know. No one's there, no lifeguards, nothing. Water'll be cold." He examined the evening sky. "It'll be dark shortly."
"Aw, c'mon. Christian, you're not going to let him spoil our graduation party, are ya?" Roger asked.
Christian's head moved side to side. "Whatever you guys do, I'll go with it."
Roger faced me. I looked at him, then Allison, Christian, and Thad. If Veronica was here I could pass the look to her and she'd decide. Roger and I'd been friends since we were college freshmen and he'd gotten me doing things I'd never done.
Thad, a friend since high school, chewed his lip and folded his arms over his chest. I looked at Allison who giggled.
"What's the matter? Scared?" She elbowed Roger. "Remember when he was afraid of Disney World's Tower of Terror?" She chortled, half drunk, half teasing.
Roger moaned and his shoulders drooped. "Well?"
My blood burned and my ears were hot. “Let's go," I said and we jumped in the car.
On the beach, cold sand chilled my feet and gusts hit our faces. Despite chilly waters I jumped in, grabbed the boogie board, and paddled out. Low clouds hovered, drifted in, and a grumble sounded. A flash in the distant sky. I shuddered but seeing Roger surf a tall wave, his athletic body standing above it, urged me to do the same. I hauled the board out and rode a few breakers. Thunder sounded closer.
"Maybe we should go," Thad said as he, Roger, and I moved ashore.
Roger roared a drunk laugh, all the bottles in his backpack empty. "Hell no," he bellowed. "We're not coward asses. You don't want to go, do ya?" he asked me.
"Ya kidding? Hell no."
A long, deep thunderclap intruded.
Roger gazed at me. "What the hell was that? Should we go?” He crinkled his eyes then laughed his drunken laugh.
I chuckled too and charged into the water, swam backstroke, observed the light scud clouds, how tranquil, beautiful they were, how refreshing the water felt. My muscles hummed like a new engine.
I swam out and tread water, no one out this far. I grinned like I'd won a king of the hill battle and cupped a hand to my mouth. "C'mon guys, whatsa matter? Too scared?"
No one responded. Winds blew faster. Lightning burst and seared my eyes. Clouds invaded the remaining light and darkness erupted. Thunder exploded, winds gale force. I continued my brave front. "C'mon guys, can't we ..."
A rush of water from the rear crashed and foam surrounded my head. I bobbed and coughed until my throat cleared. Another wave hit. Thunder burst and rain drizzled. The storm front raced toward us. My heart palpitated, my lungs hurt.
I dove in and paddled to shore. My legs and arms churned. But instead of moving forward, I was thrust back, and gasped. More foamy water bruised my face, boogie board ripped from my clutches. The sky went from pale blue to purple. I checked behind me. My lungs screeched and my brain flashed an urgent order to turn around. I did and braced for the onslaught.
The largest wave I'd witnessed destroyed me though I relaxed, knew it would carry me ashore. I was thrown forward then slammed back, as if I’d hit an invisible wall. I dog paddled yet the distance between me and the shoreline grew.
"Help!" My sore lungs gave an inaudible yelp. "Guys!" I waved but they didn't see me. Rain fell thicker, winds stronger. I coughed, choked, wheezed. My face went white, body temperature falling, my bones ready to snap like brittle gum.
I strove to stay afloat, searched the area but the sky, now midnight blue, made it impossible to see. Lightning shone. I looked in all directions but darkness came too quick, followed by thunder. Blackness crawled over my eyes and I went under.
My choking throat woke me as my head broke the surface. I heard a shout, hollered to it as waves crashed. In a brief calm I heard the voice say it couldn't get out that deep, waves too high.
Rain plummeted, pounded me while lightning winked and the obligatory thunder peal echoed.
I labored for breath, swam to shore but made no progress, like a soldier marking time. Huge, snow‑white crests atop an angry, tall breaker roared toward me. My sight darkened and my body eased. I felt eerily calm.
I heard a cry. An infant's. I looked down and saw the newborn, eyes like mine. The baby wailed as if beaten. I looked at it then person holding it. Veronica. My wife, mother to be. Our child. A precious girl. I reached for her, my body weak yet vibrating with anticipation. My hands went to touch it.
Cold water hit me and my mouth opened as air filled my lungs. My eyelids opened and though dizzy, I collected my surroundings and discovered I was right where I'd been before unconsciousness hit. I thought of Veronica, seven months pregnant and how she hated being alone. She couldn't be left to raise a new child by herself.
Must stay alive, I thought.For them. Hell, for me. Have to see my child.
My heart soared, my lungs cleared as did my vision and things settled. Blood pumped into my arms, legs, and muscles. I swam ahead, knew I'd make it.
A few strokes to shore. Then I was propelled back, as if a working bulldozer with steel blade was in front of me. My lungs wanted to collapse, muscles ready to quit. Thunder broke and lightning streaked, long and bright. I saw no one in the water, no one on shore. My heart sank and I heard a roar. The sky flash showed a wave the size of a truck. It crashed around me. My vision faded.
I came to, on my back, continued to be swept away from shore.
Lightning burst on the horizon and I saw a strange sight, unable to decipher it before the lightning vanished. The flash occurred again and when I discerned what the object that fell from the sky was, I felt I'd become paraplegic. A waterspout.
My bones were ready to break, my mouth salty and dry. The image of my wife failed to renew my strength.
The funnel approached. I sank and recalled drinking sea water makes you go mad. And a drowning man goes under three times. Was this number three?
Waves crested and pounded me as water sprayed as if from a broken water main. With the next lightning flash I viewed the cyclone. A hundred yards away. Winds whipped my face and my eyes teared, my hair as if pulled from its roots.
The combers crescendoed but I kept getting shoved out to sea, my eye ducts like a water faucet at full throttle.
I swam parallel to shore, raised my left arm, then my right. A sensation like a chainsaw tore through my right arm. I screamed and got a belly full of water.
I lifted my arm again. Pain revisited. I dog paddled while the noise like a freight train sounded in back of me.
A cresting wave rolled in, twenty feet to the left and behind me. Could it carry me to shore?
I lifted my right arm and ignored the torment, swam. My body drifted to the wave. The tornado buffeted the sea and I went up, down, up down.
The roller rose and my legs, though soft as clay, kicked and channeled through the sea.
Up in the air I went, the wave upon me, waterspout behind it. The waves beat me, flipped me, lifted me like a giant hand. I went up.
Foam invaded my eyes, nose, and lips. I choked then vomited. Lightning streaked a white line, a daytime glare that lasted on my eyes after the burst ended.
Thunder talked and a flash further out lit up the night like a fire ball. I looked to shore as my breaker peaked and saw the shadows on land. Human figures pointed and motioned but winds were so deafening I couldn't hear their voices. The wave swayed forward and I was tossed as if from a cannon.
Air whistled in my ears. I stretched to swim. My arms only cut through air. Wind whipped at me. I soared to a peak. Lightning bristled, revealed the maelstrom below.
I descended and slapped the water with the equivalent force of hitting a concrete wall. My senses dulled and my vision blurred.
I came to and raised my right arm. The chainsaw like pain returned. I cried and lowered the limb, swam with my left arm. And recalled what I’d been trapped in. A ripcurrent. To be sure I was free of its death grasp, I swam parallel to shore, the way one must to escape.
Across the waters I went. Free. I changed directions, moved to shore, gap between me and the beach shrinking.
The roar of ocean, rain, and thunder was invaded by another, this one pleasurable. Voices. My friends. Lightning lit up again and Roger came out then halted as blackness took over. The next flash brought the same image, my friends as if hitting an unseen wall, pointing, shouting, hands around their mouths.
I glimpsed over my shoulder. My body grew colder, numb. Water spout approached.
Lightning again. I saw the body outlines, still in the water. Two moved toward me. I wanted to wave them back but couldn't lift my right arm and used the left to tread water. The tall and short shadows told me it was Thad with Roger. Thad, who'd been afraid to get in, now stood in waves that scourged his face. That he was willing to risk his life gave me strength. I again pictured Veronica with our newborn and believed I would make it. Had to.
I crawled to the shoreline, tornado closer.
A cutting through my toes. Even in the water, I felt blood trickle across my feet. What I touched made my lips form a wide, upward arc. Never had the pain of hitting rocks been so joyful.
My feet touch sand at ocean's bottom. I raised my legs, swayed, caught my balance, and shot my left arm in the air. Roger and Thad whooped and hollered. Another lightning flash and I saw Allison and Christian embrace. I staggered, stumbled, hopped to them. The waterspout changed directions, away from the shore.
I raised my arm again. Wind shears blew me down. Wet sand hit my eyes, face, shirt, shorts, and arms. Water flowed over me and seeped into my mouth. I ran my fingers through the sand.
A hand reached out. I grasped it. Our fingerpads touched. Water rushed behind me. My arm fell. Another wave covered my head. Water entered my lungs. I hacked, spit, and crawled as slow as snow receding in sub‑zero temperatures.
The hand reached out and I clutched it, clung to it. Roger pulled me in. My chin rubbed sand, hit a sharp object and kept rubbing. I lost sense of surroundings.
Hands touched me. One slapped my cheeks. Voices talked, distant at first, then clear.
"Speak to me," Roger hit my cheeks again.
"I hear ya," I mumbled. The hand let up.
"He's okay," Roger exclaimed. "He'll make it!"
I squirmed to get up, discovered it too painful and lay on the beach, my right arm as if it had been hit by a grenade and put in a washing machine ‑ still connected to my body. Allison left for help and Christian stated the waterspout had risen into the sky.
"Thought you were a goner," he said.
"Yeah. But I made it."
"Don't know how," Roger added. "Someone must've been lookin' out for ya."
"Yeah," I muttered and thought of Veronica and our offspring. I lowered my head to the sand and passed out.
"C'mon honey, keep it comin'. Almost there." I observed it in the canal. It looked lovely.
"C'mon dear, not much longer." I breathed in and out, like I'd been taught in class. "Here it is. It's comin'. I see its head."
As slow as the hour hand moves on a clock, it came out, head first. Bald, covered with liquid. But the most beautiful baby girl I'd seen. The head popped out as did the rest of her.
I heard nothing and my breathing ceased. Then the most amazing, lovely sound. The cry of a newborn girl.
The obstetrician smiled. "Normal and healthy," she said.
My wife grinned, her chest heaving in quick thrusts, her hospital gown soaked, her face glistening.
I beamed and held the baby up with my good hand, other still in a sling "Who'd have thought she'd save my life out there?" I kissed the child's forehead. "Let's call her Savior," I said in my giddiness.
Veronica grimaced. "We'll do no such thing. She'd be laughed out of school. The neighborhood. The country."
"So what do we name her?"
"Something normal. Erica?"
I smiled and nodded. "Sounds good."
"Savior," my wife mocked and rolled her eyes. "You'd have thought I'd have come up with that considering the torture I've been in the past twelve hours. You don't have a clue what I've been through."
I displayed my sling. "I think I do."
We laughed and I leaned in on my wife, the baby between us. A family. Both of them my savior.
THE IDEA FOR THIS ONE
Came up with this story after watching a rerun of NBC’s Dateline on a cable channel about rip currents (a.k., Drowning Machine). I think I like this one because of the circumstances surrounding the writing process. I’d taken off work on a Monday & Tuesday in October one year and it’d been raining all the previous week. Thankfully, it cleared on Monday, a beautiful day, little wind, sunny & 80ish. I finished the story that morning and that night friends came over for beer and pizza and we watched my favorite team, the Tennesee Titans, beat the Jacksonville Jaguars for their 5thstraight win (though they wound up losing in their first playoff game that year. Bummer!) Fortunately, Tuesday’s weather was just as nice. This one was published in ’09 and is one of the few I can read after publication and say “I like this one.”
DREAM COME TRUE?
Ted Armis rubbed his temples with his fingers. "What does it mean?"
Leonard Sheridian took a swig from his beer bottle. “Nothing. Nothing at all."
"But it's so vivid, so real, I swear it's actually happening."
"But it's not," Leonard said, set the bottle back on the formica counter between them, leaned back in the red cushioned booth and put his hands on the back of his head. "It's not real. Only seems real. Not is. Seems."
"Each night it gets clearer, lasts longer."
Leonard shrugged. "It's nothing. Your mind's working overtime.” He called a waitress over and ordered another beer. "Quit searching for interpretations, deeper meanings."
"There's no interpreting," Ted said. "She's there, I see her. She turns. It's her."
"Looks like her," Leonard corrected. "You didn't say it was her for sure."
Ted's lips undulated. "I'm pretty sure."
"Pretty sure doesn't cut it."
"But this dream is so lucid; it's telling me something."
"Telling you you're nuts."
"I mean it. What about that guy in 1979? He dreamt a plane would crash at O'hare airport. And it did. Worst crash due to mechanical failure in U.S. history."
"But he couldn't pinpoint specifics. Some psychic vision," Leonard said. "Just remember, his dream stopped after that."
"Big deal. He created a self fulfilling prophecy, said he wouldn't have it anymore so he didn't."
"You don't believe in psychic phenomena?"
"I'm saying in this case it's not true."
"You wouldn't say that if youhad the dream."
The waitress returned, gave Leonard his beer and took the empty bottle. Leonard eyed her well figured physique.
"Do you believe dreams can be premonitions?" Ted asked the waitress.
The red haired girl put a hand on her chin then pointed. "Yeah. As long as I'm in it and some handsome, wealthy guy wants to marry me.” She noticed Leonard eyeing her. "Someone unlike yourself," she told him and left.
Ted whistled. "Got you good."
"Not unlike Marcia's got you good. Bad," Leonard said. "She doesn't want you. Left you over a year ago."
"We went our separate ways," Ted said and his right hand became a fist. "It was mutual. We felt we couldn't go any farther." He thought of his dream, shook his head. "But neither of us wanted to break up, we just felt like .."
"Like what?"
"I dunno. Like .."
"Like sex was all you had?" Leonard chuckled. " 'cause I know she wasn't after you for your looks. Or personality. Must've been the sex."
Ted gave a false grin. "Funny."
"So why'd you break up?"
"I don't know.” Ted eased his clenched hand. "But this .. dream .."
"Forewarning," Leonard said with a smirk.
"Glad you agree with me," Ted said with a smile.
"I do. Just not in this case."
"Whatever.” Ted checked his watch. "Getting late. Think I'll go home."
"Pay attention to that dream tonight. Talk to her," Leonard said. "See what she says."
"Funny."
"I'm serious," Leonard said. "I believe dreams have meaning."
"Sure," Ted said and left.
He had the dream again, saw Marcia. Or whom he believed was her, she in profile, her shoulder length blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. Her right eye—it seemed to be blue, like hers—glistened in the streetlight's glow. She seemed to smile, her eyes bright when she noticed Ted.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you," she said, her arms open though they blocked her face, Ted unable to tell if it was her. "It's been so long since .."
Ted awoke in cold sweats.
"You need sleep," Leonard said the next day. "Those bags under your eyes look like a quarterback's eye black."
Ted gave a half smile. "I'm telling ya, she's trying to tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know. But each night the dream gets longer.”
"You're still not over her."
Ted thought for a minute. "Guess not," he said, managed a grin.
"You're obsessed with her."
"It's more than that. I can feel it."
"If you say so," Leonard said. "Though I think you're reading too much into it. Besides, Marcia's in Colorado, long ways away. She's not comin' anytime soon."
"I know," Ted said. "Yet ..” He couldn't finish the sentence.
Again the dream that night: Marcia smiled, turned.
"I knew I'd find you here ... it's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted's cold sweats returned. He panted, caught his breath and rubbed his eyes. An hour passed before he fell asleep.
Next night, same thing, except the last sentence extended to, "tell you how much .."
"Damn!" Ted said, sotto voce. He gathered the bed sheets in his fists then loosened them. "C'mon," he said to his apartment's walls. "Let me know."
The next two nights were the same. Then he got a call.
"Hey.” It was Vern, a former dorm buddy. "Didja hear who's coming to town?"
"Santa Claus?"
"What a comedian," Vern said. "Marcia."
Ted gasped. "Who?"
"Marcia. Your woman."
"Ex," Ted said.
"I know. But you guys were so serious we thought it was down the aisle for you two. Why'd she dump you anyway?"
Ted flinched, grit his teeth. "We separated amicably. Both of us. It was mutual."
"If ya say so. But she's comin' back. Tomorrow."
Ted's mind sang 'Ode to Joy' but he gathered himself. "That is nice," he said calmly. "If we cross paths I’d be glad to converse with her, communicate as much and .."
"Why are ya talkin’ like you're one of the royal family?"
"I'm not," Ted said. "But should I run into her, that's fine. We'll talk, exchange pleasantries, and say adios."
"Man," Vern said. "If it'd been me with a girl for over a year and we met again, I'd be in bed with her in an hour."
"That's why you don't have a girl," Ted said. "Your heart is below your beltline."
Both boys laughed.
"See ya," Vern said. "And if you do see her, good luck."
"Thanks. But we're just friends."
"Uh-huh," Vern said, dubious. "Bye."
The dream was the same, only Marcia (or the girl Ted believed was Marcia) turned her head further.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you how much I .."
Ted came to, gasped like a race horse, and calmed by telling himself it meant nothing, he merely thinking too much. But his mind and stomach felt otherwise. And he remembered something he hadn't seen in past sequences. She'd turned far enough this time, he saw it. Below her ear. The scar. From stitches when she said she fell off her bike at six.
It is her, he thought, raised his hands in triumph and imagined seeing her, how it would be, what they would say.
I know she's telling me she missed me, wants to go back to school here and make up. That's the rest of her sentence. I know it. He beamed and relaxed on the bed, fell asleep in minutes.
The day arrived. Ted got up and went to Finance class. Just before entering, he saw a girl with blonde, shoulder length hair and blue eyes. He inhaled. Then exhaled. Not Marcia.
"Damn," he whispered as the dream played in his mind.
After Finance, he went to Intermediate Accounting. He got up to leave and saw a girl. Blonde hair. Same size as her. He pressed his lips together. And sighed. Not her.
Next he went to Economics. Every girl with blonde hair near the shoulders caused Ted to turn. None were Marcia.
He and Leonard went out for dinner.
"Is that her?" Leonard would say whenever a girl like Marcia came into view.
"Shut up," Ted would tease back.
They returned to Ted's place as darkness took over.
Leonard looked at the time as they watched t.v. on the old couch. "It's past midnight, day's over. I'm sure she's in bed now.” He chuckled. "Maybe with another guy. Guess your dream was just that. A dream. A wish. Fairy tale. Now move on with your life."
"I know," Ted said and though his stomach pinched and his heart seemed to be in the soles of his shoes, he smiled. "Never meant to be."
"That's the spirit," Leonard said, slapped Ted's thigh and stood. "Let's go have a drink. On me."
Ted sighed. "I dunno."
"Come on, drown your sorrows, put her behind ya. At least the dream won't happen anymore."
"You're right," Ted said and got up.
The two visited an off campus pub, had some drinks, met friends, and went to the strip, a street next to campus with the most popular bars and hang outs.
"Let's go," Ted told Leonard after visiting several bars .
"So dreams don't always come true," Leonard said. "Don't worry, lots of other hens in the hen house."
"I know," Ted said. "It's just that ..."
A voice spoke. Familiar. Then the words.
"I knew I'd find you here. I'm so glad to see you."
Ted recognized the voice. His skin goosepimpled. His heart seemed frozen. He stopped breathing. The voice continued.
"It's been so long since we saw each other. I'm so glad I made it back to Stillwater to tell you .."
Ted turned. His face went white and his hands palsied. Then he smiled, looked at Leonard, also pale faced. Ted's grin grew. His heart felt as if on fire. He looked at her to be sure though he knew who it was. It was her, blonde hair blowing in the Oklahoma breeze. The street light shone on her, she in profile. The woman turned, lips going up, eyes twinkling in the streetlight's glow. She continued to speak.
".. tell you how much I care about .."
Ted ran up to her, wrapped his arms around her.
"I missed you too. It's so good to see you. Haven't stopped thinking about you since you left.” He pressed her to his body. Her perfume relaxed and excited him, the best he'd ever smelled on a girl. He went to kiss her.
"What the hell are you doing?" the girl said.
Ted's lips met a hand. He pulled back. It was Marcia. "Whadya mean? It's me, Ted."
Marcia cringed. "Oh God, Ted. Get away from me."
"But you just said how glad you were to make it back to Stillwater, see me and .."
Marcia pushed Ted away. "Not you.” She shuffled to the sidewalk where an older man stood. She wrapped her arms around this guy. "Him," she said and pressed her lips on his cheek. "My Uncle Louie.” She hugged him. "I was in town, tried to call but you weren't around. Shoulda figured you'd be out carousing."
"Marcia!" the man said and returned the hug. "My favorite niece. What are you doing here?"
"Going back to school.” She separated from her uncle. "You were right, work is hard. I'm re-enrolling here. Wanted to thank you for your monetary support and advice. Mom said you're leaving tomorrow for Europe until next month on business. Had to find you. Should've guessed you'd be near a bar."
"That's great, honey. Glad you're back. You're making the right choice."
Marcia leaned her head on her uncle's shoulder. "You've been so good. Just had to say thanks. See you when you get back."
"You bet," the uncle said then looked at Ted and Leonard. "Who're these two? They know you?"
"Oh them," Marcia said and led her uncle quickly past them. "Bad memories from my past.” She looked over her shoulder, glared at Ted and pointed. "Especially that one. He's very strange. You saw him attack me then claim I was his girlfriend. Only in his dreams."
The uncle laughed and the two left.
Leonard punched a hand on Ted's shoulder, chortled. "Sometimes dreams come true. Just not the way you expect.” He burst into laughter, doubled over.
"Shut up," Ted said, grinned and grabbed Leonard by the neck. "C'mon, knucklehead, let's go home."
THE IDEA BEHIND THIS ONE
Hadn’t done many humorous stories and since Dream International Quarterly magazine (now defunct) had published several stories of mine, I thought something humorous about dreams would be a good story. So I came up with this one—a humorous(I hope) take on how dreams can easily be misinterpreted.
Short stories
Here are a few of my short stories—horror, suspense, and humor, as well as a little background information on each: how I came up with the idea, the writing process, etc. see what you think. Any questions, comments, let me know. Short stories
Here are a few of my short stories—horror, suspense, and humor, as well as a little background information on each: how I came up with the idea, the writing process, etc. see what you think. Any questions, comments, let me know.