[The Haunted Tryst]

The Haunted Tryst

Randy called it the castle but it was just a very big, dilapidated old house. It rose up higher than the street and the enclosed yard was completely over-grown with brambles.

I think boys are blessed with some sort of invisibility when they trespass, go through yards or invade empty houses. Like mice and rodents, boys leave damage but by the time it is discovered, they are long gone.

"No one's lived here for years." He told me he some old lady used to own it.

The paint on the old house had peeled away leaving it gloomy, grey and ominous. All the doors and windows on the ground floor had been boarded over.

His voice was hushed. "Tommy, this way."

I followed Randy around to a small enclosed back porch. Up a few the steps there were columns that were on either side of the door. I was under Randy's bad influence and I followed him, no questions asked. He climbed up one onto the small porch roof and once secure, he reached down and pulled me up. Beyond the porch roof was a window. It slid open and the two of us climbed in.

It was very quiet. The only sounds were from us. We stood in a large, mostly empty room. Randy stopped and proceed to pee in the middle of what used to be a dark green carpet. Chunks of plaster had fallen from the high ceiling leaving debris and long settled dust.

There were windows all around that let in lots of light but the room still looked stark and haunted like a place where something tragic had once happened. A few scattered pieces of chest furniture with drawers pulled out and upturned, were here and there.

"There's nothing good here like treasure or gold. It's all been stolen before I got here."

I kept close to Randy, almost touching him. I was doing my best to hide my fear.

There were two doors leading to a dark hallway that was in turn, surrounded with doors to other rooms. At the one end there was a large staircase that descended into the murky darkness of the boarded up ground floor.

At the top stair I immediately said "I'm not goin down there, you can go but not me!"

"We'll go next time. We have to find a flashlight that works and remember to bring it with us."

Opening one of the bedroom doors revealed a massive, black, drippy, skull and cross bones on the wall. It had been sprayed painted and it hung there like a demonic alter in a video game. The image was crude and defiant in this strange forsaken bedroom. On the floor, in the center of the room lay a pillow that had been slit open causing its stuffing to emerge like guts.

Sensing that I was creeped-up, he said, "Oh I forgot to tell you, the old lady that owned this place died here."

That sent a chill up my spine.

Randy continued. "Oh, it gets worse. When they found her she was totally covered with flies and maggots. It was so bad that the police left her here and she turned into a mummy. She's still in one of the rooms.

Grabbing Randy, I actually cried out with fear. My voice rose up an entire octave.

I said, "Let's get out of here!"

He was almost laughing and getting pleasure out of my distress. "Don't worry, they took the body away, I was just kidding you.

I admitted it, "I don't care, I am really scared!"

I had to exercise restraint to keep form peeing my pants.

He opened one door that was just a dark, narrow, stair case to the next floor up. Randy had to drag me by the hand. He told me that this was where all the maids and butlers lived. They had their own private stairway.

The rooms on this floor were smaller and not as creepy as the floor below. There was a white porcelain bathroom with a big tub that was filled part way with old sash weights. All the other rooms were small bedrooms and closets. In one room there was a collapsed bed frame and a small mattress on the floor.

Randy asked, "We could do it here?"

I said, " No way! Let's get out of here."

Randy responded, "Why?"

I told him I was afraid.

"Oh, like afraid of what?"

"Suppose we get caught or captured or maybe kidnapped or what if her ghost is real and demons are real and that there are vampires or we might be murdered."

"Shut the fuck-up!"

The afternoon had turned late and we could see that the sun was going down and we were up on the third floor of an abandon house.

"Randy, we better get out of here while it is still light."

"Why don't we stay here all night?"

"No way, you're crazy!"

"Tommy, it'll be fun."

It was getting dark. "I should have brought candles or a flashlight but a flashlight would never last all night."

"I can't believe it, you're fuckin serious. Randy, let's get out of here!"

"Oh yeah, like you want to go home to your mom and put up with her drunk asshole, boyfriend?"

"No, I just don't want to stay here."

There was a noise. Randy hushed me up.

We heard it again and it was coming from downstairs. My entire back stiffened with fear. Every horror movie I had ever seen was creeping through my mind. The window was just a dim amber and the open door to the hall was black hole.

Not a word was said but we knew we had to get out of there fast. We were trying not to make the slightest noise. Along the hall to the back stairway was bringing us closer to where we heard the sound. It opened to the main second floor hall that led to the room where we came in. Once in the room, we ran, slid open the window, jumped out onto the roof. Both of us jumped down to the ground and ran as fast as we could.

When we got far enough away, hot, sticky and out of breath, we laughed about our exciting adventure.

[Donald Trump's foolishness]

Beware the rise of a charismatic leader..

[The Fugitive Kid.]

My misinterpretation then. Sorry about that.

I took the combination of descriptors -- intense, fierce exterior, nose ring, anarchism, height, spitting, language -- to be the markings of a bully, but one who the narrator sort of sees through. Perhaps now I have a better grasp of things. Thanks. [beaming out]

ChrisR,

Don't be silly, no need to apologize. Cole is probably right.

[The Fugitive Kid.]

Spare writing of that sort demands interpretation from the reader. Not a bit surprising different people would have different impressions from what was there.

C

Thank you Cole...

You are right. If a single word isn't chosen carefully or it is somehow, wrong, the meaning or thought is lost or incomplete.

Spare writing of that sort could be apparent to those it is written for. A piece about 2 boys meeting isn't going to get much traction to person who has nothing in common with a similar situation. No amount of additional writing is going to help.

This was written 7 years ago and one of a handful that got into print.

I resist generic writing styles and I often make mistakes. I would hope that is what this forum is for. A place to try it out.

[Graffiti by Bruin Fisher]

Bruin Fisher's short story Graffiti, does what writing does better than anything. It uses fiction to provoke a revelation or a truth. Often that truth is hidden in plain sight and it takes a creative or sensitive writer to show us.

Bruin uses his main character's personal struggle and effort to avoid certain truths about himself. The futile act of irradiation is more to hide it from himself than hide it from the other boys.

But there someone else. A boy filled with the same self doubt. Their acknowledgement of each other is this story's wonderful reward.

http://www.awesomedude.com/bruinfisher/Graffiti.html

[The Fugitive Kid.]

But as I warily drew closer and examined his face I could see it in his glistening brown eyes: that fierce intensity on the exterior covered up a guarded sensitivity inside. I froze in place. I don't know how or why, but I was under his spell.

ChrisR, thank you.

Of course I appreciate constructive criticism and I am sure that was your intention but glistening eyes and fierce intensity would indicate courage and a readiness to fight.

This is not the case with the bike riding, Robin. He is depressed and defeated and he has just met someone who understands and may offer him the solace he needs.

One of the great qualities of love is that people can heal each other.

[The Fugitive Kid.]

The Fugitive Kid.

by Larkin

I couldn't tell that he was cute until I got up close and looked into his face. He was so intense.
Maybe it was the rough-cut hair destruction or the silver ring in his nose, I don't know for sure but I was under a spell.

His fierce exterior covered up a guarded sensitivity. I saw it in his eyes.
Taller than me by a foot, he wore ravaged clothes printed with images and symbols of anarchy.
He defiantly spat on the ground.

He said to me, "Little dude, you think you are okay but you are fucked up like everyone else."

He looked like he was sorry about what he had just said.

I said, "I know."

He didn't expect someone my age to give him an answer like that.

Robin swayed on his balance and then changed his position to secure stability by propping one foot up on a peddle and the other on the ground.

"Little dude, they are all assholes and they are lying to you about everything."

I didn't really understand what he was telling me but somehow I felt it was true.
His laugh was lonely and isolated. When I heard it I had no idea why but wanted to share what little I had with him. No one had ever affected me this way.

He twisted his mouth and said, "Ya know, I hate adults."

He paused for a moment and then said, "I can't help it. I hate all teachers, priests, psychologists and mothers. They are the jailers of the mind. The punishers of anyone who strays from their fake fucked up world."

I said, "They're not all that way."

He grudgingly said, "Well mostly."

I had never heard anything like that before. I didn't even understand it but it lit a fire inside of me. I wanted to believe him. He was cocky and contentious but I could see underneath, it was just a show of defiance.

From that moment on I knew I wanted to be with Robin and no one was going to stop me.
He didn't look like everyone else and he didn't act like anyone I had ever known.

He said, "Little dude, you don't wanna hang with me because I am seriously fucked up."

I said so he could hear me, "I don't care."

He nodded and said, "Okay, it's your funeral."

He looked at me and said, "Hop on." He meant the back of his bike.

When I did, like finding a lost puzzle piece, my whole world suddenly became complete. I put my arms around his waist and we flew down the hill. I had let myself be kidnapped, ...willingly.
Resting my head against his back I felt like I never wanted to let go. If his whole thing was an act, it worked because I was totally hooked.

I said his name silently to myself, "Robin."

Where do fugitive kids go?

We rode past strip malls, supermarkets, laundromats and rows of run down houses. From above, we were two boys on one bike in a sea of cars, trucks and lights. We passed under highway overpasses and through parking lots and then, finally down neighborhood streets. Robin's house was worn and unpainted. The front lawn was un-mowed and there was sign that said, "For Sale By Owner"

Inside the house it was dark and musty. We were very quiet. There was a man asleep on a couch in front of the TV. I saw the red and blue mandalas of Fox TV swirling perfectly.

We climbed creaking stairs.

Robin's room was small and stacked with cardboard storage boxes. His bed was in an enclosed corner. It was small, covered with old blankets and mismatched pillows. Unlike the rest of the house, this little bed was his home.

We fell down on it together as if at the end of a long journey. Robin's agreeable scent hung in the air. I didn't mind, in fact, liked it because it made me feel close to him. We had barely known each other more than an hour and he had become my closest friend. I needed to be physically close like when I was behind him on the bike. My intimacy with him was happening so naturally, that I wondered how anything could be wrong with it.

We talked in hushed tones.

He said, "Little Dude, you are awesome, I just met you and I feel so relaxed like we are best buds."

He continued, "Why would you want to hang with someone as fucked up as me? I mean like, everything I do is wrong or fucked up and I am always in trouble with someone or something."

I had no idea except that I wanted to be with him. I could not resist cuddling closer. He put his arm around me and I rested my head on his breast. I could hear his heart beating. He moved to get more comfortable and then moved again.

He whispered to me, "I can't help it, Little Dude, I gotta jerk off. It'll only take a minute, I promise."

Maybe I was too young because I had no idea what he was talking about until he opened his pants and pulled it out. I didn't move, I just lay and watched. I had never connected sex games with intimacy until this moment.

Robin said, "I always do this alone, it's so different when you have someone with you."

I didn't do a thing except cuddle up close to him. Barely knowing each other we formed an everlasting bond. His moans and cries made me fall so in love with him.

Afterwards he was embarrassed and apologetic.

I moved even closer and did something I had never done before. I kissed him. It disarmed him and he became exposed and vulnerable.

I didn't want to but had to go home.

[The Trial]

I confess that at the start I thought they were twins. A little further down that misconception was resolved..

The best part of your story is the lyrical quality of "Me and you" and how you use it. It make you envious of their relationship. Who wouldn't want to be a part of a "Me and you"

Well done ChrisR

[One Second]

For one that likes short stories this more than fills the bill.

It is like a haiku. In each line is a separate story, a painful recollection and longing for love lost.

God damn you!

[RUK AND SAMMY a hard rite of passage]

I found this one to be a great tale. We always read stories of good triumphing over evil, but this was more the reality of the law of the jungle. Certainly not slap-happy but a taste of the bitter brew that is sometimes life. Most artfully crafted.

Well Chris, I do appreciate this. I meant this to depict a life changing experience that shapes the way forward. People have them too and often, they are not pretty.

posted by Dude,-

This story was just not uplifting... I think that's what most readers had hoped for.

Powerful images - but distressing ones.

Dude has a right to his opinion and it is true that most people read for pleasure, but being, uplifting is also not a requirement and life lessons are not always easy. John Steinbeck's of "Mice and Men" is a good example.

[RUK AND SAMMY a hard rite of passage]

I liked the story. I don't think there's a rule in the book about writing that says a story has to have a happy ending. Or that a protagonist or leading character can't die.

Colin

Thank you Colin,

Most people prefer it, but a happy ending is not a requirement.

In this story, Ruk is the main character and Sammy is his friend. Sammy is killed by the pack but Ruk survives. The experience changes Ruk forever and instead of become a wolf who runs with the pack, Ruk becomes a lone wolf and strikes out on his own..

Ruk is the main character.

Sammy was a supporting character.

Sammy represented Ruk's potential for kindness that was tested and perhaps destroyed. Had Ruk joined the pack with his uncle Jasper, he would be no better..

But there is hope for Ruk because he resists the pack and strikes out on his own.

I'd like to think that in the end, Ruk will become a better wolf than the others who blindly follow the pack...

[The front-runner in the race for Republican presidential candidate - or global pariah?]

I think that they should ban all Muslims from entering the US and also consider deportation of the ones who are already living here.

And while we're at it we should consider all Jews for the same treatment..

Would banning Christians be going too far?

[Larkin needs short story help.]

Maybe I'm missing something, but I don't see a very strong story here. Does Josey WANT to undergo physical sex change procedures? Why? Is the whole story a speculation on whether Clark will still want to be with Josey afterwards? Will Josey decide not to do it if Clark seems to not want it? What will be the cost to Josey in that case? What are the stakes for these characters either way?

R

You'd be right to wonder.

It is a spoiler preface to give an editor an idea of what the story is about. There are 20k words to the conclusion. The story deals with issues that not everyone is interested in. If Sifi is your thing, you're not going to want to be bothered with reality or street culture.

Editing isn't just about spelling and punctuation. It can be about getting a perspective.

Editing can also be critical assessment concerning, story structure, characterization and plot development and more importantly, understanding the story enough to say if you are making or missing the mark.

[Larkin needs short story help.]

There are a number of people with the ability to delete threads that you could contact if you wanted that done, but I don't see any reason for it here. You're looking for someone to read and comment on your story. Because of the subject, you've realised that it's not going to appeal to everyone so you've provided the details needed for someone to make an informed judgement as to whether it's appropriate for them to help.

Personally, I'm not an editor (as my editor will be more than pleased to point out given all the errors he corrects). I'm also incredibly short of available time at the moment. I'm trying my hardest to work on my current novel and that's not progressing very fast so I can't in all honesty offer to review and comment on the story from a higher level, either. Sorry.

Graeme, It's not that serious, If I had it to do over again I wouldn't have made my appeal so embarrassingly blatant. For practical reasons, I still need an editor.

[No Title Yet]

Keep writing, a title will emerge on its own.

Character names are just as important. They should easy to connect to the character. Easy to pronounce and remember.

I am embarrassed to admit that I have used the baby name book.

Made up names should fit the character and..feel right.

If you change your mind, a lot of word processors allow you the change a character's name through out the entire text with a click..

[No Title Yet]

Reading your upfront bio,

I have been to the Channel Islands, Anacapa and Santa Cruz, a long time ago. I loved free diving in the Pacific. Just a mask, snorkel and a weight belt to give you zero gravity. I loved the kelp forests and the invertebrate sea life.

2 good books, Cannery Row by John Steinbeck and also the "The Log from the Sea of Cortes"

If you have taken this journey, you should read this book.

When I was in school my Bible was "Between Pacific Tides" It was about pacific invertebrates. I didn't know it at the time and it is still in print but it was written by Doc Ricketts, Steinbeck's close friend from the 2 books mentioned above.

[Joey's Mother]

Many thx Chris,

Flash fiction is a fragment.

Flash can be just the essentials. It can be the seed or the core of a much longer story.

Without realizing it, I guess most of my stories are flash. They are 3 to 7 pages with a beginning, middle and an end. Sometimes the end just hangs there, challenging the reader to project the ending on their own.

Isn't that showing instead of telling?

Joey is neglected. His mother is pre-occupied with herself, When Joey grows up, what will he be like?

[Incorporating real people into fiction]

There is an immediate problem with someone who is still living.. Unless, just passing through, just by being alive, the person will contradict or possibly be offended by your tale.

Unless your story is implausible from beginning to end, it's not a good idea.

[U.S. Lawmakers need to take note of this!]

Whether you are pro or anti gun this is shocking....

Australian Gun Law Update

Here's a thought to warm some of your hearts....From: Ed Chenel, A police officer in Australia

Hi Yanks, I thought you all would like to see the real figures from Down Under. It has now been 12 months since gun owners in Australia were forced by a new law to surrender 640,381 personal firearms to be destroyed by our own government, a program costing Australia taxpayers more than $500 million dollars.

The first year results are now in:

Australia-wide, homicides are up 6.2 percent,

Australia-wide, assaults are up 9.6 percent,

Australia-wide, armed robberies are up 44 percent (yes, 44 percent)!

In the state of Victoria.....alone, homicides with firearms are now up 300 percent. (Note that while the law-abiding citizens turned them in, the criminals did not and criminals still possess their guns!)

While figures over the previous 25 years showed a steady decrease in armed robbery with firearms, this has changed drastically upward in the past 12 months, since the criminals now are guaranteed that their prey is unarmed.There has also been a dramatic increase in break-ins and assaults of the elderly, while the resident is at home.

Australian politicians are at a loss to explain how public safety has decreased, after such monumental effort and expense was expended in 'successfully ridding Australian society of guns....' You won't see this on the American evening news or hear your governor or members of the State Assembly disseminating this information.

The Australian experience speaks for itself. Guns in the hands of honest citizens save lives and property and, yes, gun-control laws affect only the law-abiding citizens.

Take note Americans, before it's too late!

We all know, of course, that reports like this will have no effect on the actions of our legislators. They are, by in large, unable to learn from the mistakes of others. They are much more concerned about the monumental problems of gays marrying, women's abortion rights (or lack thereof), ensuring that big banks, auto companies, and other mega corporations are properly subsidized with federal funds that should be going to social security, eleviating homelessness, etc.

Okay, enough rant. Looking forward to the increase in reports of armed criminal activities here.

Let me preface this by saying that I have no desire to own a gun and will probably never seek to own one. However I think I understand why the right to bear arms was written into the constitution and I support it.

The right to bear arms is the people's check against the government should it ever become abusive.

In England and more specifically France who had a parallel revolution around the same time, outlawed gun ownership was to guard against insurrection and protect corrupt aristocracy.

Insurrection is the people's remedy for the purpose of removing a bad government. Today, government has insurmountable power but it is even more of a reason to cling to the 2nd amendment even if it is only symbolic.

[And you thought ISIS was bad...]

I did not click the link because I refuse to view executions.

I would remind you that our fondest ally, Saudi Arabia beheads a man, woman and sometimes even a minor every 2 days for trivial or imagined crimes. It has totaled over 150 this year alone.

You tell me who is worse, ISIL, who rumor has it, is being supported by the US or The Arabian Kingdom who is being supported by the US?

Does this constitute complicity.

[Ugly Americans]

Chris James, With the up most respect, don't you know pandering when you see it? At the risk of being impolite, whores, the lot of them.

[Joey's Mother]

Joey's Mother

The boy turned the key and let himself into the apartment where he lived with his Mother.

There was an unpacked bag of groceries sitting on the floor next to the refrigerator. Joey went over and began to distribute the items to where they should go. He pulled out a package containing a sticky sweet pastry and opening it, cut a piece for himself. Walking passed his daybed, he opened the door to the only other room in the apartment, his Mother's bedroom.

He saw one bare foot sticking out from under the blanket. He was relieved that it was just her and not some strange man with her. Finding someone with her could be unsettling. Sometimes the guys she brought home were ok but most of the time they were strange, nervous and even threatening men that she saw once and then never again. Joey was grateful that she was alone. He stuffed the last of the sticky pastry into his mouth and then climbed onto the blanket covered lump that was his mother.

She groaned and moaned. Finally she turned over and through squinty eyes, looked at her son.

"Oh, honey, let me sleep a few more hours. It was already getting light when I finally got home."

Joey was on top of her riding her as if she was a horse.

She mumbled from the pillow. "Did you get something to eat, I brought food home?"

Joey was softly bouncing up and down on her. Realizing that there was no getting him to stop, she turned over so she could look up at him and give her son at least a small amount of attention. She brushed pastry crumbs off of his dirty face.

"I'm sorry I was gone so long, were you okay?"

Joey looking unconcerned, shook his head yes.

"That's good. You might not believe it but I do worry about you."

Joey had heard it all before but he was glad that she was finally home. "Where did you go?"

"Joey honey, get me my bag over there please."

Sitting up she began to organize her thinking. "Oh lord, I went somewhere out on Long Island with a friend. I'd rather not go into it if you don't mind. I'm actually relieved to be home."

Joey gave her the Moroccan bag and rummaging through it she found her cigarettes and a lighter. The boy grabbed the pack and pulled one out for himself.

She lit his cigarette and said, "I really wish you wouldn't smoke. Eleven year old boys shouldn't smoke ya know."

He abruptly answered, "I'm twelve and anyway, how old were you when you started smoking?"

"Never mind about me, I am an all around bad example."

They both blew smoke into the small, cluttered and stale bedroom.

"I hope you know you can go to Tony or Peter if you need anything. What did you do while I was away?"

Joey studied her face when he said, "I stayed at Peter's"

He wondered if she might have any idea what her own son and Peter did together. If she did, there was no sign in her expression.

She said, off handedly, "That's good."

Joey didn't like to think about the things that his Mother did with the men she had sex with and yet... Did she or could she imagine what her son was doing while she was away? She reached into her bag and pulled out a small purse and opened it. In it there was a wad of bills and she pulled out a twenty and gave it to her son. He looked at it and without saying a word, put it in his pocket.

[Larkin needs short story help.]

Now I am embarrassed that I made my appeal so blatant. I'm an idiot. I wish I could delete the thread.

[Richie's Mother]

Richie's Mother

The door opened and there was a woman with long red finger nails. Between the two fore fingers of her hand was a long lit cigarette held up right. She was an older woman about my Mother’s age that looked like she was once glamorous but not quite so much anymore.

“Don’t tell me, you’re Conan! Yes, Conan Richard told me all about you. I mean, Hyperion.”

Her laugh was similar to his. She invited me into the small apartment and then still looking at me called out, “Richard!”

Hyperion appeared from out of his room.

“Conan, you want a tuna sandwich, I just made one for Richie, I mean Hyperion. I get his names so muddled up and as soon as I get use to it, he goes and changes it. “

Hyperion came up and stood alongside of her. “What did you call yourself last year?”

Hyperion looked irritated, he said, “Let it alone, Mom.”

She smiled and said, “See how he is? Conan, I’m making you and a sandwich anyway and if you don’t eat it, Richie will later on.”

We all sat around a table that was half in the kitchenette and the living room.

“Richie, will you take apart Frank’s weights and stow all that stuff under the couch for me please?”

She Looked at me and said, “Richie, I mean Hyperion’s brother left for the Middle East early this morning. I am going to be so worried about him. He was so proud to be going off to defend his country.”

I saw Hyperion roll his eyes.

His Mother adoringly stoked Hyperion’s hair and then said, “Richie, does your friend know that you’re gay?”

Hyperion stared at the half eaten sandwich and furrowed his brow in exasperation, “Mother! You are not supposed to do things like that! What is the matter with you?”

He had a shocked look on his face followed by an audible huff.

His Mother realized that she had upset him. “Well, I thought that’s how it’s done these days, you know coming out and all?”

Hyperion raised his voice and said, “I’m supposed to come out.”

He tapped his finger hard at his own chest and then said, “You're not supposed to drag unsuspecting people out into the open like that! And if you must know, yes, he knows!”

His Mother distracted herself by lighting another cigarette.

I found the whole exchange between Hyperion and his mother amusing. His mother was nice and well meaning if not a little loony.

She looked at me and said, "Do you watch Dr. Phil?"

I gave her an uncommitted smile.

She gathered up her keys, cigarettes and bag and said, “Well boys, I have to get to work. Richie, will you remember to take those damn weights apart before someone stubs their toe on them? Well, nice meeting you Conan, Richie always has the nicest friends.”

Grabbing a coat she was out the door.

Hyperion and I sat looking at each other across the table.

A smile slowly appeared on his face. “Guess what? When Mom goes off to work, this becomes our home. Just you and me and we can do anything we want.”

[How do you know if he likes you?]

It might be a little more fortuitus if his mother came to the door and said, "Oh that boy is so lazy, he isn't even up yet, why don't you go up an wake him"..