13 Days 13 Shorts: Gnomes

We're getting pretty close to the conclusion of 13 Days and I just wanted to send out a pat on the back to everyone who has submitted something and a HUGE thank you to everyone who is keeping up with the festival. For today's late-night feature, we now turn to the topic of gnomes. This writer decided to take the topic and address the Hawaiian version of these mysterious creatures for a most chilling tale. The writer of this piece is in fact my very own mom, so without anymore introduction, here is Marla Najam's suspenseful take on gnomes:

GNOMES by Marla Najam

Clutching the best seller a little tighter, I noted that the Airbus-330 l was flying, lurched once more as it made its final pass over the island airport. Earlier she had predicted that it was not a good day to fly and cried as though she was going to lose me. Caressing the Purple Orchid and fragrant Tube Rose lei my sister had lovingly placed around my neck before we left home, I reflected on her words.
“Aloha sis, she had blessed me, “don’t worry about the omens, you are a well travelled modern girl, all that stuff is for island people, left behind.”
That part was true. Curious things had happed to me as a child; I was prone to sightings and visions. Though highly educated, I was a believer like my mom, and my sister was not, nothing weird ever happened to her. I tried not to think of the rough flight, my mom’s words, as her prediction was haunting me.
Through the dim fog of my thoughts, I suddenly realized that the guy next to me on the window seat was saying something to me….
“Sorry, what….?” I enquired, noticing him for the first time, vaguely aware that he was extending his hand. Why, I wondered desperately had I not noticed him before? What had he said? How long had he been talking to me? Was he aware that today was not a good day to travel, was it the same for him too? Fumbling hard to clear the fog, all I could do was to take his extended calloused hand.
Mistake! Big mistake my brain was screaming! What was it I had just experienced? Was it that the aircraft was suddenly plummeting! Ten, twenty, thirty feet… was it a vision of some event? Or was it really happening?
Please God don’t let me die! Not like this… Not with all the alarms going off, people screaming!
“I hate flying,” the guy next to me was admitting. I was too busy untangling reality from fantasy, prophecy and omen
How come this kind of stuff never happened to my unbeliever sister? Yet I, the globe trotter, the believer was the biggest trouble magnet. I had frequently heard them snicker behind me…… “She must be cursed!”


Chapter 2
“Caleb, My name is Caleb.” The guy by the window was introducing himself.
“Leilani, Dr. Leilani Campbell.” I heard myself reply. Things were calming down a little. The drink carts were out and those with weak bladders were racing down the isle to the restrooms.
“Thank god I am in your good company, should anything go wrong, I mean” The guy next to me was saying, “I hate flights, no travelling in general”
I realized then, that he had misunderstood my title.
“Oh, no, I am not that kind of doctor” I clarified tad irritated. I was still working on processing my vision. He had no idea of my curse, so behave, I chided myself silently. The man- Caleb, was talking to me again, this time asking: so what kind of doctor was I, where was going to, and had I been to San Francisco before? Politely I answered back that I was an anthropologist. I was going to San Francisco State to present a companion lecture of my book, “Superstitions in the Age of Technology.”
Yes I had been to San Francisco several years ago… and recollected in horror, in 1989 the year of the earthquake.
Caleb shared he was returning home, he detested “The City” as he called it, and hated flying/travelling. Everything that could, always went wrong and now this…
Dear God, not another believer? I made a mental note. I knew my vision had to do with him, but what?

Chapter 3
Boxed lunches having been served, devoured, were being recycled. The flight attendants busied setting the tone of calm by dimming the lights. Handing out head sets and blankets, with a smile Barbie like smile that always camouflaged what they really were thinking- “shut up and go to sleep so with any luck, I can nurse my hangover from too much of Waikiki”. I knew all this because “people watching” was my business, and I was good at it.
Politely I refused the headset, I preferred to read. I accepted my blanket with an equally plastic smile and asked for an extra one for the man called Caleb. Offering it to him, I was astonished, that he already had one wrapped around his waist, a little like a grandpa. Weird, how I had not noticed that before. Perhaps it was covered by the table, or simply, I was too preoccupied by the prophecies.
I shushed my talking head and eagerly sank into my book. Through the words I heard the man called Caleb, ask what was the book about, did I mind him talking, Where was I staying and where else was going to visit yada, yada, yada.
Before replying I allowed myself to take a surreptitious look at him to calculate if it was worth the trouble. He didn’t look ‘Ivy League’ but was educated and articulate. His eyes were engaging and mysterious, his jacket was definitely outdated, couldn’t tell what he wore for pants or shoes for the navy blue airline blanket. Pity, for I had an unofficial formula for choice of shoes that was very accurate. I also noted with great interest the peculiar gold ring on his little finger, too small for a proper ring finger but definitely a master piece copy of an ancient Colombian or Aztec design. It had to be a copy for the original should surely belong in some museum. Who was he? He would make an excellent study, or did I mean a date? One thing was sure-the gut feeling that our paths would cross again. As it turned out Caleb made the first move, and asked if I would have dinner with him when I was done lecturing? It was his enigmatic almost mysterious appeal that made me promise to call, and he in turn promised an unforgettable experience and a view to die for.
Chapter 4

‘The unforgettable experience’ began with a limo ride and the crisply suited chauffer asking,
“May I take your luggage Miss?” Was I dreaming? Slowly the rear window wound itself down. I peered inside, “Caleb?” I enquired looking at the chauffer.
“Mr. Worthington,” the chauffer announced. Mr. Worthington? Was that his name? Come to think of it he never said much about himself other than his phobias. I made a mental note to ‘Google’ him.
“Thanks for my ride.” I muttered more to myself, feeling like a teenager. Caleb dismissed my gratitude with something of a complement,” Some lecture,” he was there? Why?
Oddly enough none of this felt weird. I in this limo, with a guy I’d barely met. I am a girl with strong convictions, who reads signs, and believes in omens. Mom had always warned us girls of the ‘Menehune’.
“They are little tricksters who want to get little girls like you,” she’d warn us. There after followed a long list of places prohibited in the dark, and ended with all the various forms they could adopt. If only Maku, (my pet name for my mom) could see me now, I wished, with a gentrified Menehune from San Francisco, in his designer suite and limo. My chuckling aloud was causing Caleb to look confused. Much embarrassed of my talking head, I offered him a diluted version of my mom’s island one.
“Menehune! Eh? Is that who you think I am?” Did I detect a hint of Canadian accent just then? Distracted by my new piece of the puzzle, I tried to apologize. None necessary he replied graciously and with remarkable authority was making further arrangements with someone equally efficient on the other end of his blue tooth. Blue tooth -that too was funny, for Menehune had big yellow teeth, may be here, they were blue, and wore designer suits! My imagination was taking flight again.
“I took the liberty of cancelling your hotel for the whole weekend,” someone was saying…. Why? I really must pay attention! Besides how did he know where I was staying? There it was! He was my mom’s Menehune! I decided. But if he was, where were the signs? And why was I not freaking out?

Chapter 5
We had left the city behind, crossed over the Golden Gate Bridge and now climbing up a steep narrow path to the Headlands. The view on all sides was to die for. Careful what you wish for, I was making mental notes again.
“You are lucky that we have no fog yet” Caleb was informing, “It is impossible to see the beauty of the skyline in the fog.” Don’t jinx it, I wished. But, he continued with a new warning, it might be foggy on the other side of the tunnel. There! The jinx was in place. We had entered a whole new world. Fog was bellowing up and over the steep hills, and what was twinkly and romantic, was hellish in a flash. I couldn’t see outside the window, in the dim interior light only my concerned face stared back at me. A mild panic started to rise in my stomach. I noticed, that Caleb’s bright disposition had also altered into a somber- No, in to a distant almost remote one.
What had I done? I questioned myself in horror. Please God send me a sign I begged.
“You might want to make any last phone calls…,” Caleb was warning,
“Regular cell phones don’t work well up here.” Shocked and panicked, all I could mutter was what did he mean? Almost coldly he informed that a large mountain blocked his reception and to the west was the vast ocean. Shutting my eyes and my thoughts, I fell back in my seat.

Chapter 6
“Leilani…Dr. Campbell!” someone was calling me, feebly I responded yes to that sign. I felt a reassuring grip on my hand, to that, my response was much more positive.
“Are you o.k.?” The chauffer turned around and welcomed “Mr. Worthington and Miss”. I guess he felt obliged to add, as an after thought. Then he opened his window and was doing something outside. Paying the trolls their dues for crossing their bridge- my talking head commented. May be he has a moat with albino Caymans and gnomes that patrol his grounds, talking head was working overtime! What else? I wondered. A tower perhaps, for me to be captured in, a loom maybe for me to weave on? May be we’ll be greeted at the door by his very own Igor! My stomach had made its way up to my throat.
No such luck with Igor. I was met at the door by a most homely “Sra. Eva” She introduced herself. The chauffer had brought my things to the door; Caleb promised to meet me for dinner in half hour and had promptly driven off. I didn’t care where to.
Refreshed by the luxurious bath and curious of my surroundings, I wandered through the monochromatic lounge. Sr. Ricardo the butler I presumed had poured me my choice of wine, with great expertise, flare. So, all was good in my world, at least for now.
I wandered to the enticing bookshelves. There was an eclectic collection of books and artifacts, I noted. If Caleb had read even half of these, he’d make an interesting conversationalist, I calculated. There were golden coins, as though they had just been unearthed from an archeological dig. Exotic Chinese theatre masks, a wild collection of Masai Mara spears, a Native American- most likely a Navajo or Hopi papoose and a South American woman’s bust (complete with: clothes, black hat and real hair!). I would be in true paradise, but it felt like there were eyes everywhere, watching. I attributed it to the glass windows and the pitch black darkness outside. Suddenly, I spotted a huge hand painted silk scroll on a stark white wall as though pulled by a giant magnet, I ran to it. The depiction, I looked on with great delight, was that of the ancient Japanese legend of “Issun –Boshi (The One Inch Boy). I should know, for it was one of my most favorite folk legends.
Issun-Boshi was born an inch tall-his adoptive elderly parents adored him and never treated him any differently. He makes his marks by protecting a princess that he was supposed to be a companion of, for he could not be her body guard. The princess destroys his spell by the mallet of the fleeing ogre,, and Issun-boshi grows to a normal size, together they lived happily ever after.
Lost in my thoughts I had not heard the butler approach and jumped as he announced dinner.
Where was Caleb? ….
Chapter 8
He was already seated at the head of the table, as I took the seat to his left. Sra. Eva and Sr. Ricardo the butler took their places to his right. Odd, that the house keeper and the butler would be given such liberty.
I had a lot of questions: what did Mr. Worthington do for living, where was he getting all this money from, where did he buy all the antiques and did he know the story on the scroll? I have to Google him as soon. The older couple ate mostly in silence, choosing to nod, I loved the way the signora would burst in to a “Hay Dios Mio!” occasionally. My convictions of the man called Caleb being well read was accurate, he happened to know a lot of my field and much more. He seemed to share a bond quite unique with the older couple, and more than once I noticed the signora gazing at him as though he was her favorite poodle. Perhaps they were not his housekeeper and butler? The cliché of how the time flies when…… had never been more true.
Chapter 9
In the privacy of my room, I prayed that my ATT card worked and fired up my lap top. Throwing on my orange with red Hawaiian leaf print muumuu, I jumped on the bed with great excitement I started to Google ….
Caleb: meant Love (interesting), Eva: meant Life giver (very interesting), Ricardo: meant powerful (very, very interesting again). Who were they? And how were they all connected? New pieces to find I added to my growing list.
With even more excitement I typed the name: Caleb Worthington – nothing! What? It had to be there… there had to be a something… Relax, I told myself… Be methodical…With great irritation I undid my braid, I thought better with my hair flowing…
“You look like Pele”- (Goddess of fire, lightening, dance and rarely mentioned- violence) my mother always said of me like that. I felt powerful like her too, as though I could channel her energy.
Start again: Worthington … now, go brush your teeth- it’ll be done by the time you return. I looked around as I brushed monotonously. The shiny glass of the window made it look like I was in an aquarium. I was staring back at myself, everywhere I looked, so why did it seem that I was being watched by…. Not fairies of the forest, most likely the ghouls and the banshees... Yah! Right!
To my dismay there were 357 entries found! It was going to be a long night I predicted. Sinking down on the comfy downy comforter, I started with the first, then second….. After the 200th unrelated Worthington, I needed a fresh approach I decided. In my field one of the best resources for families was obituaries. He must have had parents for god’s sake. I waited for the website to appear …
“Aawooo, aawooo… one, then two, were they the dogs? Or, were they wild coyotes? I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I skimmed on in the archives, and was almost in the sixties…..And then a glimmer of hope! Maybe…
Just a brief, “Memorial services for the Hon. Charles C. Worthington were held at the Exploratorium gardens, following his tragic and untimely passing. Attended by most of North America and Canada’s prominent archeologists and celebrities, it was more a celebration of his life than a funeral. Her Royal Highness Princess Margaret, third cousin of the gentleman, eloquently, at times tearfully, eulogized him. ” The wild dogs or coyotes were getting very restless, or were they getting closer…. I checked the lock on my door and realized too late that there were no curtains to close on my oversized panoramic windows. Could they break in through them? This time the shiver ran down my spine.
Could this be my link? But there was no mention of a wife, son, daughter or anyone else in the family. I’d have to do a bit better so; I typed in the search column of the London times/archives, and hit return. A loud clap of thunder rumbled through the hills, or was it my imagination? As rain drops of a tropical storm, the words were spilling on the screen, and the first of the rain drops hit my window, Oh god! Here it was!

Chapter 10

The headline read: “Great Britain mourns the tragic death of the Hon. Charles C. Worthington, third cousin to Her Majesty the Queen”. With great curiosity I read on, “His private plane that he loved to piloted may have hit a patch of stormy weather on the Andes on route to an archival dig In Peru. He is believed to have been travelling with a small entourage of researchers all believed to have perished!”
Just at that time a huge flash of lightning struck nearby, I vaguely noticed it. To some it was a sign that the Gods very angry, to some a blessing.
I read on: Charles C. W. was somewhat of a recluse and not much more is known of his personal life. Due to his Inheritance and movie star looks, many claims were made by the ladies of the upper class, and many a rumor of various affairs floated in the social circle, but none were dignified by his estate.
This did not sound any thing like the man called Caleb downstairs or where ever he was. Phooey, I thought to myself. The storm sounded almost overhead I decided and I loved it. I hit the Google image of Hon. C. C. W. Who ever he was, he had my vote for good looks.
Closing my laptop, I flopped back, day dreaming. I almost envied the socialites that draped themselves on him, I dreamed on, imagining them in great banquet rooms, ballrooms, somehow the vision of him at a dig site was not coming to me. But it said that he was an authority in his field, a black sheep of the family who was all into his work and not into the royal stuff. That would me too, I decided almost falling asleep. The storm was rampaging all around; to me it was like a lullaby to my ears. I wished the Hon. C.C.W. a goodnight… and apologized for… the storm…he encountered and….

Chapter 11

The anguished scream of someone was unmistakable! … Who? What? Why? Where was I? I lay still trying to focus, if I was on the plane again or was I in an earthquake? What was happening? My cell phone lay dead, staring back at me –black.
I was not mistaken about the scream. The storm was of no help, now it was made me jumpy. A bolt of lightening! And that cry again! What if someone needed help? I wrapped a shawl and carefully stepped out into the hall. Oddly the lack of drapes was letting the lightening illuminate the interior. However, the entire collection of artifacts that had seemed so charming in the museum style lighting seemed sinister and most scary. Lastly, where was I going to? I waited for a sign.
In the eerie hush between the shattering thunders, I heard what seemed like a muted voices…coming from the opposite end of the house I had not toured before. Cautiously I walked, towards it. I was wondering whether to enter a private room, the choice was made for me. All in a flash, there was lightening, crashing thunder, that anguished cry, and I was inside the door.
Chapter
Adjusting to the night light in large adjacent room, I noted that there were curtains in this room. They were drawn shut to keep out the night or the storm I presumed. Another thunder and the light went out!
“Great,” I whispered to my self, “A power outage, in the middle of a storm.” Then my mind went racing to the business on hand- who was crying out for help?
“Hello,” I called out barely above a whisper. No answer. Perhaps I got it all wrong; maybe there was no one here. Carefully with one foot in front of the other I made it to the window. I felt for the pull and parted the heavy drapes a tad. From the tiny sliver of the stormy skies, I could make out a large four poster bed; second bolt showed the outline of… w-h-o was that? Hiding behind the curtains? I thought I saw someone one’s feet. Oh, no! My heart was going to jump out of my rib cage! I had to get out! And fast. I ran towards the door and tried the handle. It was locked! How? It was open a few minutes ago. Who could have done that? Who else was here?
I tried to quiet the chattering teeth. A muffled sound from the bed was a welcome distraction. Gingerly I walked over to the gigantic bed and peered…
“Caleb?” with great relief, I repeated Caleb to myself. Wait! What was he was muttering? Tiptoeing, I tried get closer and bent over him. His hands came up searching, reaching out. Instinctively, I grabbed them in my warm hands in an effort to comfort him. Just then, there was a huge clap of thunder making me jump and Caleb to thrash out, what was happening to him? I threw myself on him and squeezed my eyes shut, in an effort to shut out his nightmare. Could I do that for him and me? Or would this be a mistake! I could feel his tension flooding out of him and unfortunately into me…. What was I experiencing?

Chapter 12

Those alarming bells and whistles again…I could barely see, there was smoke! No! It was something else. The droning sound of the twin engines and the cockpit warning lights were flashing in some sort of demonic orchestration.
The pilot next to me was speaking to me in a soothing rich voice. He spoke in Spanish, why? Who was I and who was he? Why were we in trouble? Questions again! All I knew was that I soon I will have answers.
Now in a curiously intimate gesture, the pilot was reaching out for my hand in the fog, no clouds! Yes it was clouds! He was slipping something on my frozen ring finger. I felt his warmth on the inside surface, its weight but could not see a thing! Tears were streaming down my face as I clutched the metal and ran my fingers on the etchings on the surface. The plane was now plummeting ominously; the bells and whistles had changed their tune, as if defeated by fate, or had the pounding blood in my ears had silenced them. The only constant in this madness was the soft voice of the pilot-“Mi Amor” he was calling… me? His hold on my newly ringed fingers, strong and compelling, forcing me to stay alive, “Adios, Cara Mia,” he lifted my chilled fingers to his freezing lips, the inevitability of the impending doom was stirring violently in the pit of my stomach. Fingers intertwined, we were beyond any prayers now…..

Chapter 13
Amidst the burning wreckage, I lay numb and cold, I felt nothing. The reassuring grip was gone. I started to sob: for the broken people around me, for a journey I would never complete, for the man who had called me his love, for the man who had given me the exotic ring for the man lay dead in my lap, for me and my curse…
But wait! Slowly the heat was returning. I was being cradled in a comforting embrace, being spoken to in the same tongue as the dead man. But the dead did not return?
“Unless they had unfinished business!” my mother would say.
The breathing next to my ears was less erratic now, and the heartbeat less pounding, but the grip on my hand remained tight. Whatever had caused his nightmare earlier seemed to have passed on like the storm. There were still a few hours of sleep I could snatch.
Feeling woozy with sleep deprivation, comfy in that humongous bed, and content with his restful condition, I turned to cuddle Caleb. And that was when it struck! Like the lightening bolt from trident of the gods!
My heart had stopped beating and the blood had curdled in my veins- for I was hugging only half a man!
No legs! Or so it seemed. How could it be? How could someone so handsome and dignified be only half a man? My brain was on over drive. I had spent so much time with him and failed to notice something so fundamental? True panic started to rise in my throat, or was I going to throw up I had to run, and I ran…

Chapter 14

“Mija, are you o.k.?” Trying to escape Caleb’s room I ran straight into signora Eva, One look at me in the early light of the pre dawn, she knew I needed rescuing and fast.
Deep under the covers of her bed and an all too welcome cup of mint tea, I listened to her soothing voice…
It had been a great surprise when Caleb had announced that he was going to bring a lady friend to dinner at home, not only that she was going to stay a few days. He was not short of “company” mind you, she had said, but he had never brought anyone home before. She admitted that like most mothers, she had argued the “virtue of it” due to his “special circumstances”-there! It was the first mention of it I noted.
Difficult as it seemed for her to speak about it; she continued in a calm and quiet voice,
“For sooner or later Lil, you would find out for yourself.” How I wondered, did she know my nick name?
Caleb had mentioned that he would talk to her, but the impending storm had unnerved him. He hated storms and flying; they gave him nightmares- even now. Oh, how she knew about that!
He had spoken of her ever since their flight back and bought tickets to her lecture, and had called Eva excitedly to say that they were on their way.
Then, Eva did the most unexpected- she asked Leilani outright, “Do you have any feelings for him, mija?” she went on- as long as it was not outright disgust, she hoped, she’s ok with that. How could she be so frank?
I admitted to her, I did not hate anyone, leave alone someone as fascinating and enigmatic like Caleb. Either the tea was laced or I had gone bonkers. Like all mothers, she was looking out for her son.
Eva seemed relieved and shifted a little, “His real name is Charles Worthington, The Third.” No wonder! That, there was no Caleb Worthington on Google- my mind was computing. She continued on, that she was not his biological mother, but I probably knew that. I felt her hurt in that confession. But her pride returned, as she declared that she was the only mother he had known. I braced for the rest which came fast and furious.
Eva had first met Caleb’s mom, amongst the burning rubbles of an airplane. Eva’s tribe’s people were first on the scene of the wreckage where they lived on the terraced terrains of the Andes Mountain. Oh god! I exclaimed in silent horror: I knew the story! Or part of it at least.
Badly hurt, Carmen, his mother (so that was her name) was the sole survivor. So Eva’s parents being the tribe’s shamans had brought Carmen to their home and nursed her to health. Carmen had died a few months later after giving birth to a baby boy. Eva being the only female child in the family had become his caregiver. Caleb was a name given to him by his dying mother at his birth. Carmen was from the city and educated, she looked like a Goddess from the skies Eva shared. In those few months the girls had become very close and shard many secrets Eva remembered with a smile. She did not know much about her husband, only that he had loved her with all his being, but he had been killed beside her, and she wore his old Aztec gold ring- probably belonged to a royal. Carmen had wished it be given it to Caleb, when came of age. So she did know of the ring!
She had raised Caleb as her own, till “they” had found him and things had changed. Charles’ family had insisted on moving him to the city for education they had said, so Eva and her love Ricardo had moved with him. Even at the age of five, he had refused to go without them- she recalled with a choking voice. They had lived in many countries, and travelled to more countries than she could care to remember. Her voice was starting to fade now- so I offered her some tea, and we both absorbed what we now knew.
She had shared so much, I felt obliged to share a little too. I told her of how we had met on the plane, and how I had a vision the first time and every time we had touched. She just sipped her tea, I had a feeling she knew more than just that.
Disarmed by her warmth and love for Caleb, I brought up the events of last night. She just listened on.
I explained how I had tried to research his family line, and how I knew of his father. I purposely kept my visions from her- at lest for now. But at some time I had to bring up the whole anatomical issue!
Cautiously, I made one last assessment of her before plunging into the most private of all issues: absence of his lower extremities. What happened?
She waited, staring into her tea cup, twirling the leaves absentmindedly. I too waited holding my breath. Then it came slowly.
Carmen had been injured badly, and was not expected to live. Eva’s mother had asked her for one last wish the night she thought would be Carmen’s last.
“Save my unborn child,” she had begged. Take my life and give it to him, she used say. It took all the sacrifices and offerings her people to keep Carmen alive those last few months. As her condition worsened, hope faded for the unborn. And then one stormy night, Carmen, burning with fever, had given birth to a male child. Eva and her mother were the only two by her side at the time-therefore it had been easy to keep the secret. Eva’s mother had chanted her prayers through the whole ordeal. Now that Carmen had a few breaths left, she was going to let her enjoy her baby –even though he was not perfect. That night at least the village people had rejoiced at the miracle, for no one had expected him to live a few more days than his mom and then it would be all over.
But Caleb had proved everyone wrong. He had not only lived more than a few days, he was a living proof that he could do any thing he chose to. He had risen, like a ‘Phoenix from the ashes’ I thought.
As a child Eva had carried him in a papoose. Later he had lifted himself on his arms, every where (I know I have held those calloused hands). Spirits had made him unbreakable and the love of the village nurtured him through all the adversity. Now he was educated beyond any expectation and used prosthetic limbs. His inherited wealth, he used for kids like him all over the world. He was recognized all over the world for his generosity and philanthropic work. He was like a kid had once written in his thank you note she summarized, “An angel with a pot of gold.” I think she meant a “Leprechaun” I thought correcting her legend sleepily.
She must have sensed my fatigue and promptly shoved me down on the cloudy pillows. I had not even touched them and the light went out.

Epilogue
I had dreamt vividly – Leprechauns, Gnomes and Menehunes all came out dressed in their fineries. They were going to a garden party. Under a rainbow on a throne at the top of a long table was Caleb. He wore a Cape, a crown, his designer suite and shiny shoes. Eva and Ricardo were at the top of the table with him. As for me, I was content to have a place at the opposite end to Caleb. How far we had come from that fated flight to the main land I recollected twirling the antique gold ring that I wore now, knowing that our curse had finally lifted.

13 Days 13 Shorts: Demons

Tired of brilliant writing? Too bad! Today's short is from... well there's no other way to introduce but through his name. Steven. Ray. Morris.

DEMONS (HEY JOSEPHINE) by SRM

It had only been a few weeks after the incident. A young girl named Josephine Elle, just barely out of high school in the small community of Anaheim Hills, was found DROWNED in the town’s reservoir. It was ruled, inconclusively, a suicide.
No one had any reason to believe it was suicide, but no one had any reason to believe she was murdered. This was a small town after all and everyone liked Josephine. She was a diminutive girl, bordering on mousey. Her hair was straight and light brown, bordering on blonde. She seemed to be always on the cusp of something, like she wanted to speak, but didn’t know the right words.
Anyway she was dead and everyone, whether you knew her or not, seemed pretty broken up about it. It was a fragile community, only knowing snippets of the outside world. It was a suburban community, product of a master plan project in the late 60s. Everything was still new, still on the cusp of becoming something other than just another “suburb.”
Although he didn’t know her, at least, didn’t know her directly, Daniel Grey was intrigued by her tale. He was a songwriter and a storyteller and thus saw an opportunity. And no, this wasn’t some slam-bam cash-grab Hollywood-type of takeover; Daniel was an “artist” and saw in Josephine’s story more than it probably more than it was in reality. So he wrote a song about it.

Here are the lyrics:

“Hey Josephine”

Hey Josephine, you were the best in town
Hey Josephine, why did you reach for the ground?
Hey Josephine, your heart reached for the sky
Hey Josephine, no one can ever know why…

Was the air too hot? Did you suffer in your skin?
Were you feeling trapped? Did the demons crawl within?
Did you have a fever and did you cure it with a swim?
Why did you go? Why didn’t we listen?

Hey Josephine, you were the best in town
Hey Josephine, why did you reach for the ground?
Hey Josephine, your heart reached for the sky
Hey Josephine, no one can ever know why…

I sit here writing trying to figure out this mess
A beautiful girl who thought there was nothing left
How do you try to make this make sense?
It can’t be done without any consequence

Hey Josephine, you were the best in town
Hey Josephine, why did you reach for the ground?
Hey Josephine, your heart reached for the sky
Hey Josephine, no one can ever know why…

The song had a simple folksy melody, buried in a bit of reverb Daniel felt befitting of the material. He rocks out a bit on the harmonica on the end. It adds a little extra passion and a little punch. Whether it was great or merely good is still up for debate; the point being, local radio stations latched onto it and played it ad nauseam.
Our society likes to embrace tragedy so tightly we still haven’t recovered from the trauma of our own conception. Daniel didn’t know Josephine, but he felt he had tapped into the “thematic character of her being.”

Boy was he wrong. Sort of.

Josephine Elle did not go quietly into the night surrounded by fish and faltering oxygen bubbles. See she was most certainly on the edge. Within this quiet girl lie dormant a frustrated woman, and in this small town that hardly gave her a chance, she fucked with them in the worst way. Then that Daniel kid had to go and ruin it with his damn song. She thought.
Halloween night seemed like the best opportunity she thought to herself as she wandered through the streets looking for Daniel’s house. She could feel his sensitive spirit. She passed by children and their pounds upon pounds of candy and their ridiculously cute costumes. For all they knew she was in costume too. She could hear his goddamn acoustic from miles away.
She appeared through the wall of Daniel’s room, through his Bob Dylan poster. He was scribbling notes in a journal. “I wonder whose death he’s taking advantage of next,” she thought smirking to herself. He hadn’t noticed her yet.
“Hey asshole,” she said. He looked up startled at the floating corpse of Josephine Elle. He fell off his bed and threw his journal against the wall. The guitar hit the carpet with a clang. She grinned, satisfied he had wet himself, metaphorically anyway.
“It’s you!...Josephine…what…are you…doing here?” Daniel stuttered as he picked up his guitar. She crossed her arms and said coarsely, “How dare you presume what happened to me or what my life meant!”
“You…heard my song?” stammered Daniel. “Don’t be fucking cute, it’s playing everywhere in this goddamn town,” exasperated Josephine.
She paced around Daniel’s room dripping ectoplasm onto the plethora of guitars, ukuleles and keyboards. “Eeesh, watch out for those, some of them are rare and old!” cried Daniel as he wiped his instruments with a towel. “Hey! I’m a fucking Demon Daniel,” she grabbed him by the collar. She noticed he had slight erection. “Fucking weird,” she dropped him to the floor.
“What? I can’t help it, you’re really cute,” said Daniel innocently.
“Gee thanks,” she replied cynically.
“What are you doing here anyway? Are you trapped in this world because you have some unfinished business or….” Daniel grew excited at a theory grabbing Josephine by the wrists, “Were you murdered and did you come to me to get the truth out?”
“Oh, no, I wasn’t murdered or anything.” She paused, “To be honest, I don’t really know what’s supposed to happen.” She glided onto Daniel’s bed next to him.
“Why…did you kill yourself?” gulped Daniel.
She sat there for a moment staring at him and his dough-eyed naïve eyes. “Well, it certainly wasn’t for any the reasons as romantic as you describe in your song,” she sighed, “I just felt trapped in this bubble, but I don’t think I was going on to anything greater.”
“They said you didn’t leave a note or anything, no clues,” Daniel looked down at his feet, “It just seemed that maybe you were over this whole thing.”
Josephine’s eyes glow for a moment, “You know, maybe that’s it. I didn’t go down to the reservoir with any plans to kill myself; I just wanted to go for a swim. Somewhere in the middle of that lake, I didn’t try anymore and I just let go.”
Daniel thought she had given him a way out, “Maybe, we all just need to let go of the things that frustrate us in life,” He looked at her, then his guitar. He started to get up.
“Oh no boy, you ain’t getting off that easy,” She put her arms on his shoulders,

“You’re coming with me.”

The end.

13 Days 13 Shorts: Killer Potatoes

Welcome to the week leading up Halloween! This has been an extremely exciting last few days and reading these shorts has been nothing short of horrific joy. Just to give you an idea as to how this all came together, the writers chose the spooky subjects for their stories from a list that ranged from typical choices such as vampires to really out there ideas like... oh for example: killer potatoes. My very good friend Evan Koehne picked killer potatoes and ever since I personally have been highly awaiting the lovechild of this festival and such a ridiculous topic to write about. And let me just say, it was worth the wait. Without further ado:



THE GRUESOME AND UNWHOLLY TALE OF THE KILLER SPACE POTATOES!!! by Evan Koehne

Perhaps you have heard of a story so juicy
With bad B-movie effects no lover of film would ever go to see,
Called Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.
While that legends a lark, a nonsensical farce
Read along for a story with a little more starch;
Harken to the Gruesome and Unwholly Tale of the Killer Space Potatoes!!!

A short word of caution: if you are a person quite queasy
And horror and gore stimulate your gag reflex quite easy
Leave now or hold you peas, forever.
For this yarn of murderous space-alien mayhem
And the many side dishes that go so well with them
May turn vegetables into a most unwholesome endeavor.

'Twas long ago when Potatoes descended from the stars
Some say they came from Venus, others from Mars
But what is certainly known is their cunning and deception was bold.
They came long before man, riding meteor showers
Towards the earth they would one day devour
Little did we know our actions on them would be visited on us tenfold.

They landed many in the Land of Ire,
Observing humanity was their one desire,
In patches and gardens they did survive.
Though many were eaten
They could not be beaten
Killing one was like swatting one bee from the hive.

The potatoes were a race full
Of the most wise and the graceful
Asked to pass judgment upon all human kind.
But the humans were wasteful,
And to the spuds, seemed distasteful;
But they were merciful and pitiful for a very long time.

The battles we kept waging,
And the wars kept on raging
With us unaware of the taters that we sickened.
The spuds understood
A slow death would be good
"Make them suffer so they will see they are wicked."

It was potatoes who killed our most beloved brothers
Covering up by framing innocent others
Ghandi, Lincoln, and Martin Luther among us they killed.
By taking down the best of us
they hoped to best the rest of us,
But even then the insatiable urge for evil we still had not filled.

"That's It," they said in unison, "We gleefully decree
The only thing to cleanse this planet is an all-out killing spree."
So on the day that they snapped and took their stand,
Potatoes gathered, glass shattered,
Little feet ceased to patter; nothing mattered---
For the time of the Spudtotcalypse was at hand.

They took forks and knives and ate people alive
From all of humanity they seeked to derive
The same mad pain we had inflicted upon the earth and their brothers
They ate us on kabobs of sishes
Made all of us crap right in our britches
The hearty ones in vats of wine they smothered.

Terror reigned in the streets of all metropolitan areas,
New York, Paris, Los Angeles and the Bay Area,
Seriously, it was like something out of Cloverfield.
Even Petersville, Virginia was not spared,
All the quaint townsfolk running around scared
Their candy-worn bodies freakishly tenderized and peeled.

Blood ran through the malls, the skies, and the fields
The very few survivors would never quite heal
Crying out to what Gods they had left and kneeling in piety.
The Spuds used their ray-guns, even AKs and bazookas,
And on many occasions decided to nuke us
Our own belov'd weapons the downfall of our illustrious society.

And finally, to leave satisfied,
They flew out in their spaceships and fixed their eyes
On our planet before stuffing it into a creamy Shepard's Earth Pie
They baked the whole world in their intergalactic space cooker
Cooked it till light-golden brown, then ate us for supper,
They made absolute sure every last one had died.

Then they stole off into the far dark reaches of space
And a newly cleared void with nothing in it's place
Wondered why it wasn't spinning, like it should have been.
And just think how disappointing the fate of the world is,
That despite all our knowledge and innovative inventions
Some fucking potatoes got us in the end.

I know what you're doing. You're saying,
"That's bull! I won't believe you!
Because it hasn't happened yet and that can't be true!"
You say it's not true, fine, that's your opinion.
But I suggest you just wait and see.
For just because it isn't true now,
Doesn't mean it won't be.

-Brett Whiltmann, From Some Distant Planet
Year 2343, 125 A.S. (After Spudtotcalypse)

13 Days 13 Shorts: Ghosts

I hope everyone is enjoying their Sunday! During this calm before the festive storm, here's my good friend Sabir Pirzada's short about ghosts. I am so excited about the different formats and styles that are occurring in this year's 13 Days, and this short is by no means an exception. Enjoy this mind bending read!

GHOSTS by Sabir Pirzada

It’s all a blur, really. I remember dying and then seeing my mother, or maybe it was the other way around. I think there was a knife. Someone shouted. There was red everywhere.

“Who are you?” a familiar voice said, though I couldn’t hear it. I sensed the thought nearby yet impossible to reach.

I attempted to speak the words but I had no voice. “My name was Adam,” I wanted to say.

“Stop shouting,” the voice said. “I can hear you just fine. Now, tell me plainly why you are here.”

“I am here precisely because I don’t know why.”

“But then, you do know.”

“Hmm… I suppose you’re right.” This contradiction put me at ease. I felt a calm wave of acceptance take me in. No sooner had I found solace than I had been thrust upon a dark and dangerous place. They called it “earth.” It was home to me once, years ago. Now, it was a prison.

The sun was too blinding, so I always hid in the shade until night. Then I was free to roam wherever I pleased. The best times were when the morning fog would roll in, and the sun would be pleasantly blocked so that I could see the world as it was meant to be seen, small and empty.

As I knew I had to, I went to visit my mother. She cowered in fear at the sight and sound of me, though there was nothing to see or hear.

“…Adam?”

“Yes, mother, it is I.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. I am here and always will be here with you like a good little son.”

“Please, Adam, leave me in peace.”

“Like you left me in pieces?” I was not sure of the truth or accuracy in my accusation, but I felt no guilt. I felt nothing, save the coldness of my own presence.

Suddenly the red came back. I held the knife and my mother was the one shouting. She told me to take my own life, or perhaps she told me not to. Then, like a fog, the memory faded.

My mother closed her eyes, hoping I would leave. Her son entered. I couldn’t remember his name. He saw and heard nothing, which was as it should have been with him.

“Mother, is everything all right? I heard shouting. Abel was frightened.”

“And what of your other mother?”

“I know not what lies in the hearts and minds of women.”

“No matter. Tend to your brother, then, and think nothing of me.”


We were again alone. Curiosity violently overtook my essence.

“What am I, Mother?” At this, Mother began to weep.

“You are nothing, Adam. Just a ghost left to haunt me. Without purpose, form or matter, you simply are.”

“Why?”

“Because the time is not right yet, and I have no more use of you until then.”

“Will you at least, then, grant me company until that time arrives?”

At this, the son entered once more, carrying the red on his fingers.

“Mother, why are you crying? Is it because of me?”

“No, of course not. You are my son. My reasons for crying are my own, but tell me, why do you carry the red on your fingers?”

“I am as you made me.”

“Indeed.”

A fog arrived. With its disappearance, I was no longer on earth or anywhere else. A presence loomed within me or about me.

“Who are you?” I asked. He attempted to speak the words but he had no voice. “My name was Abel,” he shouted without a voice.

“Stop shouting,” I said. “I can hear you just fine. Now, tell me plainly why you are here.” Thus began Mother’s recurring nightmare. She wept often.

As for me, I lie here with Abel and others, condemned to the darkness and the fog, forever lurking.

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