Day 263; 334 days of photos
The Gorilla in the Basement
An X-Files Story
Agent Mulder was slumped over his desk in his basement office. The only light in the room was the pale yellow light of a desk lamp. At first glance, he appears asleep, or worse.
Out of the darkness, a grunt filled the void. Followed by a rattling sound. As he jerked his head up from his desk, he realized the noise was coming from the hall.
After a couple moments of silence, he returned to the work at hand.
After what seemed like only a couple minutes, there arose a dejected noise. As if someone or something was trying to say, “what now?” But it was more a moan. Followed by a thump.
“What the?” Mulder rose from his desk with some frustration. He knew it would take hours for him to get back to this state. The moment was gone. His crisp white dress shirt was half hanging out of his pants. Sleeves rolled up and he was missing his tie.
His rushed forward motion came to an abrupt stop. He flinched as Agent Scully opened the door almost hitting him in the face.
One of the many pencils he had catapulted into the ceiling tiles fell landing with a crisp smack on a sheet of paper.
Scully noticed him jump.
She looked surprised, “Mulder, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He used his best efforts to brush off his aggression. With a smirk, he said, “I wish. Did you see anything in the hall?”
“No, why?”
He walked back over to the desk, picked up the pencil and with a gentle flick of his wrist, sent it back up into the ceiling tiles. “It was probably nothing.”
“Mulder, have you been here all night?” She asked before shutting the door behind her.
*Author’s note. I had an old satchel under my night stand; covered with 20 plus years of dust. It contained page after page of stories I had started. This is one example.
Day 262; 334 days for photos
Be careful what you wish for
A cautionary tale with a modern twist?
Written by:
Jolene Rice
Michael Raven
Peggy walked down the path of random-patterned slate from her home to the steel pole barn semi-hidden within a grove of trees behind her home. Judy followed behind, surprised that the building had not been visible from her parking place up the hill. The winding path was lined with all kinds of herbs and flowers that Judy could not identify. Her mother and grandmother had not been blessed with green thumbs and both avoided anything that might be construed as gardening as a result. Bright blossoms in brilliant reds, bright yellows, rich purples and pale whites hung over the path so far as Peggy’s passing skirt would knock little yellow puffs of pollen into the air that lingered only as long as they escaped the drip drops of rain that still fell from the sky.
“So,” said Peggy as she opened the service door to the pole barn and ushered Judy inside. “What brings you here again? You were somewhat circumspect in your message about what, exactly, you were looking to purchase. It’s no problem, of course, as a lot of my first-time clientele can be shy about what ails them.”
Peggy gestured to a comfy chair in an area of the pole barn meant to resemble a living room. There was an oriental rug on a low platform of engineered wood flooring laid over the concrete floor of the pole barn. The chair itself was overstuffed with deep burgundy brocade for the fabric, Between the chair and another one that was quite obviously intended for Peggy, was a short oak coffee table with a few fliers in natural wood holders and a pile of business cards.
Behind the consulting area were neat rows of small tinctures and jars of dried herbs for sale on wooden shelves. Along the length of the shelves was a counter which sported an old-fashioned steel balance and an aluminum bowl resting on that. There were stone mortars and pestles of various sizes and capacities placed strategically along the length of the counter.
In the back of the barn, there was a low wall blocking a view of the rear. Judy could make out a small column of steam rising over the wall, from which an earthy smell emanated. The smell was not unpleasant, but it made Judy wrinkle her nose all the same.
“Sorry about the current brew,” said Peggy. “Kava kava has a distinct odor, but there is nothing quite like it for someone looking to do a little amateur oneiromancy in their spare time. I can open up the big doors if the smell bothers you.”
Judy shook her head as she sat down.
“Fantastic!” said Peggy. “We’ll make a witch of you yet.” She chuckled in a way that Judy could tell meant she had no such intention. Competition, she supposed. “What was it then, that you are looking to solve?”
“Umm…,” said Judy. “Well… It’s just that I, umm…”
“C’mon, deary. I’m a professional. You don’t have to worry about me judging your needs. But we need to know what they are before I can assist you to cure what ails you.”
Judy blurted it out in the way one rips off a bandage. “I’m so very tired of being ignored because I’m no longer young and beautiful.” Her voice caught a bit on the last word and she was afraid she would break down into tears. To keep that from happening, she interrupted the impending sob by quickly adding, “I want people to notice me like they did back when I was still twenty-five.”
Peggy sat back in her own chair, nodding throughout the scene. “You’re not alone, dear. There are plenty of people out there who ask for the same or similar from me. So, first off, you are in good company. Men and women alike come to me, hoping to drive away the loneliness that seems to plague people these days. Too often, it is because they feel unattractive or old. It’s not uncommon for them to tell me they feel ignored.”
“Yes,” breathed out Judy in agreement. “I hate how the world seems to ignore me these days.”
“Well, lucky for you, the treatment is somewhat straight-forward for such things.” She got up and walked behind the counter to grab a small amber bottle and came back to place it in Judy’s hand.
Judy’s face lit up. “It is?”
“Very straight-forward,” replied Peggy. “However… I should warn you.”
Judy’s growing excitement collapsed out of her. “What’s that?”
Part five
Day 261; 334 days of photos
Coreopsis 27 c
Sarah was sitting under a willow tree in the warm sum. A familiar scent filled her nose. “Hello.” A bouquet of tulips was placed before her. “Thank you.”
Orion finally walked from behind the tree, sitting beside of her. He studied her face.
“How do you feel?”
“Weak.” She sighed.
“I am so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about me.” She lowered her glance.
“I can’t help it.”
“How are things with you?”
“Same.”
“Oh.”
“Sarah.”
She looked back up at him. “What?”
“Michael wants to have the surgery. Juliah can’t be with him the entire time.”
“You want to accompany him?”
“Yes.”
“Come get me when he’s ready to leave.”
“Anything.”
Sarah stared at him. His reply shocked her. ‘Anything’ was what David said all the time. And now Carter had started saying it. ‘Anything indeed’.
Orion helped her to her feet. They parted. She blindly walked back to the house. David took the flowers from her as she leaned against the doorframe.
“Where did you get the flowers my dear?”
“Orion,” she sighed. She so wanted to say something mean about him but couldn’t.
David helped her to a couch where he covered her up. “Give Orion a chance. If this divorce is allowed, he would make you a fine husband.”
She was floored. “What?” What a comment to say? It rolled out of his mouth like it has been living here. “Are you insane?”
“No, why do you think I ask you not to walk away from this one?”
“What’s in it for you?” She growled.
“Your happiness.” He sat on the couch at her feet.
“What would you know about my happiness?”
“I know that when a man gets close to you, you back him off. I know that you haven’t had a relationship since college.”
“So, I don’t want a man in my life.”
“Independence is a good thing. Loneliness is not.”
“I hate that word. Loneliness anyway. What makes you think I am lonely?”
“Sarah, believe it or not. I know you.”
“Whatever.” She aggressively pulled the blanket up to her chin; warmth overtake her. She was soon asleep.
When David came back to check on her, she wasn’t on the couch and he began to panic. Sarah wasn’t in the guest room. “Sarah!” He started calling her. “Sarah!” He ran from room to room. Instead, she was standing in the hall staring at two paintings. “Sarah.” He whispered, out of breath.
She glared at him. The longer she stared at him the madder she got. Her left hand was on the painting of the female. She threw the blanket off, storming from the house.
“Sarah.” He called after her, falling to his knees in the floor.
Day 260; 334 days of photos
Down into the black
Day 259; 334 days of photos
Be careful what you wish for
A cautionary tale with a modern twist?
Written by:
Jolene Rice
Michael Raven
Judy’s attention was refocused by the miasma of woodsy smells that was all far more earthy in tone than what seemed absolutely necessary. It reminded Judy of her grandmother’s root cellar on the family ranch back in Montana, except for a cloying floral overtone to it. That root cellar had terrified her as a child, and Judy had always hated it when her mother would volunteer her to wash a load of laundry in the clangy-bangy washing machine her grandmother kept down there when they visited. The cellar always smelled like wet dirt and Judy imagined that some kind of creeper lurked down there in the semidarkness of the single bare bulb, waiting to grab her and drag her into the hidden depths of the shadows within.
Judy shuddered at the memory and wondered just how resolved she was to see this through. It was not so late that she could not just turn around go back to her Honda and drive the hell away.
“Jane, is it?” You have an appointment scheduled for one-fifteen?”
Judy hoped that one of the cunning woman’s “many and varied skills”, several pages worth of which were on her website, did not include mind-reading. She could not recall having seen that listed, but Judy had not really been looking through the other talents Margaret professed. She had largely stopped looking when she saw that Ms. Butterfield made “tinctures and potions intended to draw the attentions and affections of specific individuals, or in general.”
“Umm, Judy, actually” stammered Judy.
“Oh my! I’m sorry about that, oh deary,” said the woman who was far too young to be calling most people, let alone Judy, “deary”. “And Peggy will do nicely. I use Margaret on the web page because it has a more mystic quality to it, but my regulars all call me Peggy.”
Peggy was a young waif who hardly appeared old enough to drink, let alone to have gotten her claimed accreditations and licenses, with her ash-blond tresses just hanging past her shoulders — which were quite bare under the spaghetti straps that held up the paisley-patterned sundress she wore. She was barefoot, and had obviously been out in her garden at some point earlier in the day, judging from the amount of dirt that covered her feet. Judy found it scandalous that Peggy seemed to be conducting business, not only with dirty bare feet, but it was also quite apparent she was doing so without a bra.
“Come in! Come in!” Peggy said. “Come tell Granny Peg what we can concoct for you.”
Without waiting, Peggy turned and started walking toward a steel pole barn behind her tiny home, leaving Judy, slack-jawed, in front of the small abode.
The sign above the front and only door leading to the small home read in a stylized mystical font: “Welcome to my humble hut.”
Part four
