INTRODUCTIONS

Greetings and welcome to Captain Howdy’s House of Ramblings. I am your host, Captain Howdy. I’ve started this thread because… well, I’m not too sure why I’ve started this thread. It’s certainly not because I feel my literary genius must be recognized. I am a writer, admittedly a very amateur one. I write to the best of my abilities. And I recognize the lit forum doesn’t see a whole lot of action. So uh… I guess I’m just doin’ this for the hell of it. Y’know, for shits and giggles.

A little about myself. I was born on the sunny beaches of northern Siberia. My mother was a freelance housewife. My father manufactured surgical hot pants. My brother sat in his tree house and dreamt of someday going to America. Which he eventually did, on felony drug charges. Growing up, I was a terribly optimistic child. Again and again I would throw myself off the roof of my home with the complete belief that I could fly. And again and again my little body would be left broken in the garden below. But as a true optimist I never lost my conviction that I would someday take flight. And as my bones knitted, I would wait eagerly for the next opportunity to try again. But of course it never happened. My aspirations, like my fragile frame, were always left dashed. Eventually there came a point where I needed to separate fantasy from reality. My dreams of soaring the vast open skies would never be realized. I needed to be logical. I had to understand it was because… Jesus hated me.

Y’see, one time me and Jesus were at this shindig in Monaco. Nothing too big, just a little something thrown together by Prince Albert II. Anyway, I suppose I had one too many cocktails that night cause when Jesus swept into the room and proclaimed, “Look everyone! Do you like my new robe? It’s a Versace original!”, I couldn’t help but say, “It looks like a dress!” The son of god was obviously offended. “You take that back, Captain Howdy! My Versace original does NOT look like a dress!” And I smiled and slurred, “Yes it does. It looks like a dress and you look like a girl. A big girl in a big pretty dress.” The savior’s face turned bright red, speechless, and he stormed from the room.

I’m pretty sure that’s why I can’t fly.

INDEX

(You'll notice that most of the time I don't title my work. I just don't have the knack for titles. :B)

Howdy's Storytime #1
A girl, a boy, young love... and something in the basement. My attempt at an urban legend.
Page 1 ~ Posts #3-5

Howdy's Storytime #2
A magical evening spent in a pond... with the Queen of England.
Page 1 ~ Post #6

Howdy's Storytime #3
A special day... with a special visitor.
Page 1 ~ Post #7

Howdy's Storytime #1

I wrote this for another site for a 'Create an Urban Legend' contest. I also entered it in Alexander Linden's 'Halloween in July Story Contest'.

WARNING
Though I think a small baby warning. This story contains tiny, innocuous fragments of naughty language and violent imagery. Tiny from my standpoint, anyway. Viewer Discretion is Advised. (I always wanted to say that.)

...

Natalie Alburn was beautiful and sweet and every boy’s dream. And while she filled the slumbering thoughts of all the young men at Redfield High School, only Alan Hodgson had the honor of calling her his own. Natalie (perky, blonde and stunning Natalie) was head cheerleader and Alan (tall, rugged and handsome Alan), was, of course, her senior varsity football hero. A right set of bookends, don’t you think? Yes, they both sat atop the high school totem pole, looking down at all the world beneath them.

Now daddy was a wealthy man, the big boss down at the Redfield town bank. Mommy, an attractive socialite, had a full time job of keeping up appearances. Princess Natalie was their only daughter, their pride and joy, their pretty little debutante. And what princess wanted, princess usually got. But, despite all that was lavished upon her, Natalie wasn’t such a bad egg. She said her pleases and thank yous and always adjusted her skirt nicely before coming home from a date.

And Alan… Alan was a jock. In fairness, not your stereotypical, dumb jock. But still a teenage boy, brain choked with testosterone. … His parents are irrelevant.

It was a stormy, Halloween night when our tale begins. Quite fitting, I think. Natalie and her beau Alan had decided to forego all festivities and spend the evening… alone… at her parents’ house. Mommy and Daddy Alburn were away for the week, which gave our young couple ample time for some hardcore kanoodling. And though there was no candy present, there was much trick or treating to be had.

Alan nibbled lightly at his love’s neck while softly caressing the curves of her body. It did nothing for him, but foreplay, he thought, was a necessary evil. Natalie’s perky, little brain swam in a dreamy state of ecstasy, when suddenly her eyes jerk opened.

“Alan!” She quickly breathed.

“Hrmph.” He mumbled, still nuzzled at her neck.

“I heard a noise.”

“It was nothing. Ignore it.”

“But… but… I really heard a noise.” Natalie insisted.

Alan was just at the threshold of reaching up the back of Natalie’s blouse and finding the magic button to heaven, so he was a wee bit impatient. “It was probably just some dumb kids screwing around outside with their Halloween crap. Don’t let it bother you, baby.” … Smooth, ain’t he?

“But it didn’t come from outside,” pushing him away from her, “it sounded like it came from downstairs.”

“Ugh.” He sighed. “Baby, it’s just your imagination.”

“Go look and see what it was.”

“But we were just getting started.” He whined. Oh, the frustrated teenage libido.

“Please Alan, go and look for me.” Adopting an octave only dogs could hear. “Your wittle Snuggly Bear wants her big, stwong Panda Pooh to go and wook for her.” … Yeah, you heard right. Panda Pooh. … “And when he gets back, she pwomises to do whatever he wants.”

“Whatever… I want?”

“Whatever you want.” She smiled.

And really, what man or boy could pass up the offer of a seventeen year old nymphet? Not our Alan. So flattening the angles in his jeans, ehem, he left the pink sanctuary of Natalie’s bedroom and set off downstairs on what he considered to be another round of foreplay.

While she waited for her knight in varsity jacket to return, Natalie brushed her golden hair and thought about things that girls like Natalie think about. (Which is beyond me.) But amidst the grooming of her long flowing locks, she suddenly realized that Alan had been gone for quite a bit. It had been near fifteen minutes, and as eager as the lad was he wasn’t going to waste a moment. So rising from the bed, Natalie stepped to the doorframe and shouted out to him. But there was no reply. She moved out the room to the hall banister and called downstairs, “Alan?!” Still nothing. Odd.

Leaving the safety of the second landing, she started down the carpeted stairs when suddenly in the distance…

“Help me!”

Natalie froze, her heart instantly jumping into her throat. It had been Alan’s voice, but far off and muffled. “Alan?!” She quickly called. The house was still though. Wide eyed, Natalie called again. “Alan?! Are you alright?!” Again nothing. Tentatively, she continued down the stairs but once more abruptly stopped.

“Help me, please!” The stifled voice of Alan pleaded.

Natalie gasped… and the lights went out.

As you can imagine, Princess Natalie led a charmed life, free from the stresses of your everyday person. And thus she wasn’t so good under pressure. She certainly wasn’t used to being scared. Anytime she and Alan had gone out to the movies it had been to see a romantic comedy or weepy love story, not the slasher thrillers that Alan was fond of. So saying that now Natalie’s nerves were beginning to get the best of her was an understatement.

“Alan, I swear to god, if you’re playing a joke on me, it is definitely NOT funny!” Stepping down off the bottom step to the front hall, Natalie stopped and listened, her pulse racing in her ear. “I mean it, Alan! Stop! I don’t like this!”

It was a moonless Halloween that year, so any light present came from the streetlamps filtered through the curtained windows, creating shadows that turned Natalie’s stomach with fear. “Alan…”

“Natalie… help me!” Came the same muffled cry. And then… “HEL…” Alan screamed!

Natalie did the same, tears beginning to form in her eyes. “Alan!” She shouted. Then from behind her, past the hall and through the dining room, she heard the sound of a door slowly opening. She recognized it to be the creaky, basement door that stood down a short passageway just off the kitchen.

Natalie silently scolded herself for not knowing where her father kept the flashlight as she gathered her courage and headed for the kitchen. Having no windows of its own, the narrow hall leading to the basement was a like a cave. But from the sparse light streaming through kitchen window, Natalie could tell that the door was indeed open. She approached, hesitating to step past the frame and frantically whimpered, “Alan!?… Alan, please! You’re really freaking me out!”

She strained to listen over her quickened breath, praying that Alan really was just playing a trick on her. And then from below, in the darkness of the basement she heard a shifting, the sound of movement. Natalie moved forward, closer to the top of the stairs. “Alan… are… are you down here? Are you all right?” And just as she dropped her foot down onto the first step, suddenly the basement door slammed behind her! Natalie screamed!

“No! Let me out!” She pounded at the door. “Let me the fuck out of here! Please!”

And then from the blackness beyond her lifted up a garbled moan, “….helllllllp meee….”

“No Alan!” Natalie sobbed. “Stop it! I know you’re playing a joke on me! But it’s not funny! So let me out! Let me out!!!”

Silence.

The cheerleader panted with fear, pressed against the door. Inside her chest her heart felt like it would burst. Frozen, Natalie quickly jumped to life, as there came the sound… the sound of someone, something, charging up the stairs. Overwhelmed by terror, a scream stuck in Natalie’s throat as she futilely pushed at the door with all her strength. And just as this unseen being caught up to her, she gasped, “No! Noooo!”… and the running stopped, plunging the basement into silence again.

Threatening to hyperventilate and her whole body shaking, Natalie reached out a quivering hand again for the doorknob. “…c…c’mon open… please open…”

It was then, gathered from the depths of her worst nightmare, a low voice whispered in her right ear, “Why didn’t you help him?”

Natalie shrieked! Horror pulsed through every sense! The basement entrance flew open and she ran! Past the kitchen! Through the dining room! Into the front hall! Nearly crashing into the front door, Natalie hands fumbled with the lock, but the door held fast! “Shit! Open goddamnit!” She begged. She turned and let out a guttural cry as from behind there came the roar of movement, crashing objects in the kitchen! Natalie abandoned the front door and tried in a panic to pry open the windows, but they wouldn’t budge! By now whoever was coming for her was moving through the dining room!

Moving on fear and instinct, Natalie raced back upstairs to the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. From the nightstand she grabbed her pink, princess phone and ran into the closet, shutting herself inside.

Her hands trembled so bad it was all she could do to dial.

“Redfield 911. What’s your emergency?”

“There’s someone in my house!” Her voice distorted by sobs. “I think he did something to my boyfriend!”

“Ma’am, try to calm down.” The operator continued. “What address are you calling from?.”

“I’m…” Natalie began but then froze, hearing the slow creak of her bedroom door. “Oh god… oh god…” She whimpered.

“Ma’am, please tell me where you are!”

“I’m at 743 Westbury Street!” She said in a terrified whisper. “Hurry please, he’s in my room.”

“I’m going to have a patrol car dispatched right now. It should be there any minute. Just try to stay on the…” And the phone went dead.

Natalie slunk down into the back of the closet, her eyes flooded with tears. “Nooo…” A moment passed with no sound, save for her breathing. And then the closet doorknob began to turn. “No!” She cried, grabbing the knob and pulling hard. The door violently shook as the person on the other side tried to force it open. “No! Leave me alone! Please! Leave me alone!”

… “Natalie, it’s me.” It was Alan’s voice.

Natalie sat silent, eyes wide.

“Natalie, it’s me. I’m sorry. I was playing a joke but it got out of hand. Baby, I’m really sorry.”

Releasing the knob, she began to weep uncontrollably. “Alan, why would you…”

The door flew open and Natalie screamed!

“And then what?!”

“The cops arrived only a few minutes later after the 911 call was cut off. When they couldn’t get anyone to answer the door they decided to break it down. The house was silent. The power was out and it seemed like no one was there. … But going down into the basement… they found Alan… dead… slumped in a corner. He’d been disemboweled.” Stacy grinned.

“Oh god!” Lisa gasped. “And what about Natalie?!”

“They went up to her bedroom,” Jacob added, “and found it torn apart. The closet door was closed. And when they opened it the whole thing was splattered with blood.”

“Yeah… but there was no sign of Princess Natalie.” Stacy continued. “They searched the entire house from top to bottom and even combed the woods on the east side of town, but they never found her.”

Lisa bundled her arms tighter around her, suddenly feeling the chill of the October air. “That’s horrible. … But wait… you’re so full of bullshit, Stacy. You’re just trying to scare me. If they both died, how could you know the details of everything that happened?”

Stacy stepped closer to Lisa, enjoying the fear she was inspiring in the other girl. “The next September, almost one year after the murders, Mrs. Alburn received a packet in the mail. Inside was a typed transcript of everything that happened on that night. The killer had sent it. Included was a photograph of Natalie sitting in her closet, her face frozen in terror. And even more horrifying, the killer left a note stating he’d be back next Halloween.”

“And did he?” Lisa stared.

“The Alburns moved out of the house as quick as they could. When Halloween rolled around state police set up an undercover watch to try to catch the guy. But he never showed up. They did the same thing over the next couple of Halloweens, still nothing though. But for a long time the cops thought this psycho might come back. When they combed the house for foreign prints right after the murders they came up empty. The same with that packet the killer sent in the mail. Keeping watch over the house was really the only thing they could do. So the town bought the old Alburn place and intentionally left it vacant.”

“But… how come I’ve never heard the story before?”

“It’s been a long time since then. Natalie Alburn and Alan Hodgson were killed twenty years ago.” Jacob explained. “After that nothing else happened. Everyone assumed that whoever the psycho was moved on. So most people stopped talking about it.”

“But,” Stacy said with malicious glee, “some think that the only reason there haven’t been any more murders is because no one’s actually been inside the house on a Halloween night.”

“You know guys,” the tremble in Lisa’s voice betrayed the nonchalant tone she was going for, “this is dumb. It’s just a stupid old house. And there’re better things we could be spending our night on.”

“You’re not scared, are you?” Jacob smiled.

“I’m… of course I’m not scared.” She said unconvincingly.

“Good. Then it’s settled” Stacy took Lisa by the shoulder. “Happy Halloween, 743 Westbury.”

…

“And there on the handle… was a hook!”

Lisa laughed. Stacy groaned. “Christ, Jacob. That story is so old!”

It was a little more than a half-hour since the three friends entered the house by climbing in through a side room window. Stacy had wanted to break her way inside, but Jacob, the more level headed of the two, found a thick tree branch nearby and managed to pry it open. Doing a quick sweep of the bottom level, it was just after midnight when they reached the top floor and the old bedroom of Natalie Alburn. Lisa asked how they knew the room was hers and Jacob pointed out that the closet door had been taken off the hinges. It was removed as police evidence years before.

Being in the room where the cheerleader had died sent chills up Lisa’s back. She intentionally averted her gaze from the darkened closet, standing open like an ominous maw. Of course, all the blood had been scrubbed out decades before, but still it frightened her. She looked at her watch and saw it was after twelve. Technically, she thought, it wasn’t Halloween anymore and the killer didn’t say he’d be back on November first, so they should be safe. But just as quickly as she thought this Lisa admonished herself for being ridiculous.

“Lisa might not have heard it.” Jacob argued.

“Everyone’s heard it.”

“Everyone has.” Lisa playfully agreed.

“Well… can you do any better, Stacy?”

“In my sleep, lameoid. But I’m hungry, gimmie a sandwich.”

“’Kay. Where’s the backpack?”

“I didn’t have it, you did!”

“I think you might have set it down when you helped me through the window.” Lisa added.

“Oh. … Crap,” Jacob frowned, “I guess I’m goin’ downstairs then.”

“Well, I’m hungry. So hurry back, Alan… oops, I mean Jakey.” Stacy teased.

“I’ll try my hardest not to get murdered while I’m gone.”

Lisa’s stomach turned.

Stacy and Jacob had been her best friends since she moved to Redfield two years before. Despite their differences, the three teenagers complimented each other nicely. Lisa herself wasn’t timid, but quite soft spoken. She was the sweet one, if you would, and unfortunately a bit naïve. Jacob was generally a good hearted boy and very loyal. By his own admission though he was a follower not a leader, and thus easily swayed by their leader. That would be Stacy. Stacy was brash, outspoken and a hair width away from completely crazy. But still she was a good friend. They both were.

The two girls were discussing an upcoming project for science class when suddenly from below them…

“Help me!”

“Jesus!” Lisa jumped. “That was Jacob!”

“Oh god.” Stacy rolled her eyes. “Very funny, Jacob!” She yelled.

The two waited for his response in silence, until again, “Stacy! Help me!” came the low, pleading moan. Lisa’s eyes widened.

Stacy sighed. “What a douche.” Picking herself up from the floor, she moved outside the room and shouted downstairs. “You are hilarious, Jakey boy! Now quit being a dick and stop fooling around!” But there came no reply.

“Maybe… maybe he hurt himself somehow.” Lisa stepped behind her friend.

“Lis, please. Really. We both know he’s trying to scare us and he’s not going to. C’mon.”

Following Stacy’s lead, they traveled back down the dusty, carpeted stairs to the bottom hall. “Okay, Jacob! Let’s hear it once more!”

“Stacy… please! Lisa!” Jacob’s distant cry came.

“Right on cue.”

“Stacy, what if…”

“No what ifs. He’s just trying to get a rise out of us. Well Jacob’s never been able to scare me before and he’s not about to start. So let’s go.”

“Where?”

“The basement. Where else?”

Moving past the empty hall, through the dining room and into the kitchen, Lisa cringed as she imagined the sort of fear that Natalie Alburn must have felt. But of course back then, even if Natalie wasn’t aware of it, the danger was real. And she was alone. This is twenty years later, Lisa told herself. She wasn’t alone and it was only Jacob playing a trick. That’s all. But the rising panic in her would not settle.

Unlike that night two decades before, the moon shone clearly and from the bare windows it’s light crept into the small passageway, showing the basement door standing open.

“Hmm, this all seems so familiar.” Stacy said flatly. “Clever prick even took the flashlight with him. Okay Jacob, enough of your bullshit!”

Silence.

“Okay, this is getting old real fast. I’ll be right back.”

“Where’re you going?!” Lisa barked.

“Down there,” she pointed, “to knock the shit outta ‘im.”

“Stacy wait!”

“What?!” Impatiently.

“Maybe… you shouldn’t. Maybe we should just…”

“Lisa, do not fall for this crap. Seriously. Grow a spine.” And with that, Stacy turned and marched forward past the doorway into the darkened basement.

Lisa stood with bated breath, waiting for her friend’s reply. After a minute of stillness, she called out, “Stacy!” No reply. Again, “Stacy!” Nothing.

She cautiously stepped forward. The moonlight just barely stretched to the entranceway before halting as if it didn’t dare cross it’s darkened boundary. Lisa’s breath came in short, quick gasps as she approached the doorframe. “Stacy… please.” Silence. Then…

“BLEHHHHHHHH!”

Lisa shrieked! Stacy jumped from the shadows and began cackling with laughter.

“That is not funny! You guys are such assholes!” Lisa shouted.

“Oh Lis, you are SO easy to scare.”

“That’s wasn’t funny!”

“Not from where I’m standing.” Stacy grinned. “C’mon Jacob,” She called over her shoulder, “mission accomplished! Fun time’s done! Let’s get the fuck outta here!”

There was movement from below and the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs.

“Trick or treat, Lisa Green.” Stacy teased in a singsong voice.

“I can’t believe you!”

“Oh, you know you loved it.”

”I swear to god, you two are…” She stopped, her eyes opening wide. Stacy stood facing Lisa, her back to the basement. The sudden shock on her friend’s face registered on her own just as from out the blackness shot a long, pale arm; the blade in his hand quickly glinting in the moonlight! In less than the span of a heartbeat, the arm wrapped around Stacy’s neck, slashing backwards, opening her throat from one side to the other!

“Stacy!!!” Lisa screamed as her friend was pulled back into the darkness! Her pulse pounding, heart throbbing, she instantly turned and sprinted out the kitchen! Through the dining room and past the front hall! The three had climbed inside 743 Westbury through the vacant sitting room at the back of the house. So Lisa continued past the living area into the room where they had entered. But the window was shut! She was sure they left it open! Putting all her muscle into it, she strained to force it open but the thing wouldn’t budge!

From beyond the room, the slow scrape of metal against the walls echoed throughout the house.

“Fuck!” Lisa cried. Thinking fast, she ripped off her jacket and wrapped it tight around her fist and arm. Pulling back and with all her might, she punched at the glass, shattering it! Behind her the sitting room door flew open, but she didn’t look back! She didn’t dare! In an instant she was through the window, howling with pain as a piece of glass cut into her thigh! She fell forward onto the grass, her foot still caught on the frame just as a hand grabbed it! She screamed again!

“And then what?!”

“Lisa kicked hard, loosening her foot from the killer’s grasp. Without turning back to see his face, she got up and took off as fast as she could. She ran through the street screaming her head off. A neighbor finally caught hold of her but she was completely frantic. By the time they were able to calm her down and call the cops it was a half hour later.”

“And what about the other two?”

“After Lisa was able to tell them what happened, the cops busted in and searched the house. Downstairs, in the basement, they found Jacob Camden… dead. In the same way Alan Hodgson had been found years before, his belly slit open from stem to stern.”

Jimmy’s jaw gaped. “And Stacy?”

“Just like Natalie Alburn, they never found her. Not a trace. A few months later Lisa and her family moved out of Redfield. They say she was on her way to regaining her normal life again, until…” Kyle dramatically paused and smiled.

“Until what?!”

“Until a mysterious packet showed up in the mail one year later. It was addressed to Lisa. She had just gotten home from school. Her mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner when she suddenly jumped as she heard her daughter’s screams. Her mom raced to the front hall to find Lisa on the floor hysterical with terror. Mrs. Green couldn’t imagine what had happened, until she looked down. Strewn about on the hall carpet was a group photographs, each showing the corpse of Stacy Morrison. Her dead eyes locked in a wild stare, her throat slit from one side to other.”

Jimmy tried to hold his hands still as he felt them begin to shake.

“Lisa was so traumatized by the photos that eventually she stopped talking. All she does now is sit in her room and she never leaves. … So what do think about that?”

“I… I don’t think I believe you, Kyle. I think you made that all up.”

“Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t.” The older brother grinned. “Are you scared?”

“I… don’t know. … No!” The younger boy slightly trembled.

“That was ten years ago tonight. Some people think it was just some random loony copying what happened thirty years ago. But some think it was the same person. And they say he’ll come back for anyone who dares to stay in the Alburn house on Halloween night. Still don’t believe me?”

“… …No.”

“Good, then you’ll have no problem going inside.” Kyle took Jimmy by the shoulder. “Happy Halloween, 743 Westbury.”

Howdy's Storytime #2

Nothing's been done with this thread since I started it, so I thought something new needed to be stuck in here. Not completely new. I haven't sat down to write in a while. :sweat: ... It's probably best you suspend any idea that this should make sense and just go with it.

TINY WARNING
Very mild language. We've all heard worse.

Frog Gigging is an American South and Midwest practice of hunting frogs with a gig, or spear. Frog gigging is often done with a four-tined spear. Flashlights are usually used to locate the frogs by the reflection of light from their eyes. This technique seems to stun or daze the frogs, and it definitely makes it less likely for the frog to see an approaching hunter, or the incoming gig itself.

- Wikipedia

...

So last week, me, Queen Elizabeth the II and my little brother, Burlap Face, went down to Old Man Mitchell's one night to do some frog gigging. Her Majesty, or Windy as I like to call ‘er, was in town for the weekend. I told her I knew the dry cleaner down the road and could get her a discount if she wanted to drop off some laundry. So she skipped over the pond on her royal jet, bringing some of Phillip’s shirts and some of Harry’s soiled, party boy knickers. Saved her a whole $1.53. That converts to like, I dunno, three thousands pounds or somethin’. So it was a good deal. She’d be pickin’ them up Monday morning and then heading to Amsterdam to attend the opening of the newly annexed Anne Frank House of Frozen Yogurt.

Windy and I had been planning to go down to Old Man Mitchell’s pond by ourselves. Y’know, pop open some brews, crank up the Skynard and gig us some frogs. But m’ mom said I had to let Burlap Face tag along on account she wanted to shampoo the carpets and he always wants to ride the shampooer.

I said, “Aw mom, do I havta?!”

And she was all like, “Yeah, you do.”

And I was all, “That’s bullshit!”

And she got all pissed and said, “You watch your mouth, mister! You’re taking your brother and that’s final.” … I frowned.

“Does your mother have this much trouble with you?” She asked Windy.

“Oh no Mrs. Howdy,” Windy replied, “Me mum’s dead.”

So yeah… we let Burlap Face come along, but he had to lie down in the back of the pick up. His real name is Evan but we call ‘im Burlap Face cause a few years back Mr. Donvey, the mailman, got a hold of some bad acid and thought Evan was a leprechaun. Shoved him in one of those big mail sacks and beat ‘im against the side of a dumpster. He was trying t’ make Burlap Face tell him where the gold was. Hit ‘im so hard the markings from the bag were permanently imprinted onto his face. We still get postcards from Mr. Donvey in prison. Makes my brother pee himself every time.

So we got t’ Old Man Mitchell’s. I untied Burlap Face, Windy grabbed the cooler and we made are way down to the pond.

-TWO SIX PACKS LATER-

“Y’know Windy,” I slurred, “Yer a pretty fuckin’ hot chick.”

“No, I ain’t.” She smiled and blushed.

“No, you… you like totally are.”

And then Burlap Face said, “I’m telling mom you said the f-word!”

And I was all, “Shut up, Burlap Face. No one’s talking to you!” Little punk.

Then me and Windy made out for a while. She wouldn’t let me feel her up cause she was still with Phillip an’ junk. But that was cool.

So some time after we were in the water lookin’ for frogs and Windy said, “Bloody ‘ell, but ain’t it ‘alf nippy. Freezing me bum off, I am.”

And I was all, “Dude, you think frogs like go to heaven and stuff?”

And she was all, “Cor blimey, tha’s somethin’ to ponder, ain’t it?”

Then stupid Burlap face was like, “Mr. Cochrane, my science teacher, said there’s no such thing as heaven. When you die, you DIE, and that’s it.”

And I said, “That’s stupid. Your teacher’s a homo.”

And Windy was all, “Yeah, they should call ‘im Mr. Cockring!”

And I was all, “Totally!” And Burlap Face got all mad and went to sit by the cooler.

“Cor, your lit’l brother’s a right git.”

“I know, huh?!”

The giggin’ wasn’t goin’ all that great. I dropped the flashlight in the water a couple of times so it stopped working. I looked over at Windy in the moonlight and goddamn if she wasn’t a sight. White gloves soaking wet, clinging oh seductively to her hands. Dress molding to the curves of her taut elderly form. Tiara slightly askew.

I asked, “So, everything good with you and your old man?”

“Phillip? We’re alright, I s’pose.” She said.

“That’s cool. But, y’know, if ever things should be, like, not so good… Not saying they would. But like, y’know, I’m always here and junk. And I think you’re pretty kick ass and, I dunno, I think maybe you think the same about me.”

She smiled, “You’ll be the first one I call.”

And that totally made me feel, I dunno, all good inside.

“What’re you guys talkin’ about.” Burlap Face came back.

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re too young.” I said.

“Aw shucks.” He frowned.

“’Ere! I think I got one!” Windy exclaimed, dragging a fat frog off her gig. “That’s a right beauty! Ain’cha frenchie?!” And kissed it’s little froggy lips. “I’m takin’ you ‘ome with me, I am.”

“See, I said this trip would be totally worth it. Ain’t just about dry cleanin’.”

And Windy said, “”Ow’d you get that discount any’ow?”

“Every Friday after school I give Mr. Louis the dry cleaner a handy in the back of his store.”

… And then I accidently gigged Burlap Face in the head.

Howdy's Storytime #3
This was originally written for my drabble thread, but I like the way it came out so i'm gonna post it here too. ;D

BABY WARNING
Very mild language. You can handle it.

It was Tuesday. Last Tuesday, just past 11:30 in the morning. It was a grey overcast day. Y’know, the kinda day where the sky borders on darkness. So the streetlights don’t know what to think. I’d come home early from my shift at the Olive Garden. Myself and the rest of the wait staff were getting ready to open when Mr. Rutledge, the day manager, stabbed himself with a steak knife. It wasn’t some sort of ill timed suicide attempt, just an accident. But he did spray blood across a whole section of tables and it was decided to shut down the restaurant for the day. Mr. Rutledge was rushed to the hospital. He was white as a sheet and kept repeating, "Tell my wife I love her!". The paramedics tried to reassure him that the wound wasn’t as serious as all that. Angela, the assistant manger, had asked some of us to stay behind and help clean up. I wasn’t one, for which I’m glad. I’ve never had the stomach for blood.

Living within a mile from work makes for a shot walk home. I stopped though at the Starbucks at the corner before making my way up the four flights of my apartment building. Bought myself a tall white chocolate mocha frappuccino and chocolate croissant. I usually don’t allow myself things like that cause, y’know, I don’t make a whole lot of money. But it was, I thought, a special day. And as it turns out, it was a special day.

It was Tuesday. The day I was visited by Jesus.

It was just past 11:30. Rain had been threatening since the early morning and finally the clouds begin to send down heavy showers. It was a nice sight, sitting there at my fourth floor window, watching the empty street. Everyone was either at work or had been driven indoors by the sudden rain. All was quiet save for the melodic tapping of raindrops against the glass. It was peaceful.

And then, from behind me, there was a sudden burst of light, like lightning had struck my living room, accompanied by a sound that I find hard to describe. It was at the same time both beautiful and frightening. I quickly turned and there stood a Man, bathed in a heavenly glow.

"Who are you?" I breathed, but already knew. And I fell to my knees.

"Do not be afraid," He said, "for I am the Lord, thy savior. The Son of thy God."

There was within me at that moment a sense of awe that I had never felt before. A feeling I’m sure I will never feel again. It was the sense of my own smallness combined with the mightiness and all encompassing love that radiated from Him. He spoke again.

"I have come to bring you a message, my son. A time of peace is quickly approaching the world; when all evils shall be driven from the shadows. A time when all nations shall come together as brothers and throw down their armaments."

Tear sprang to my eye. "Oh my Lord…"

"But it will not be an easy endeavor. I will need a vassal, someone to spread My word. Someone to dedicate their life to Me and the pursuit of peace. Only that one with an untarnished goodness, with a pure soul and a virtuous heart, only he is worthy to extend My message, to usher in this new ago of harmony. And to him, in return, will be given all the rewards of heaven! That vassal," The Lord, my savior, raised His arms, and the light around Him begin to swell. In my chest my heart raced, my breath quickened. The air was suddenly filled with the voices of a heavenly choir. And I knew then, that my whole life was merely in preparation for this moment. God had chosen for me a destiny far greater than I or anyone could imagine. Today, this special day, would be the beginning of my destiny, "that vassal is you… Alexander Marshall!"

… "Tom Baker."

The choir died. "What?" He looked down at me, confused.

"M…my name is Tom Baker."

The light faded and Jesus dropped his arm. "You’re not Alexander Marshall?" He said flatly.

"No, I’m… I’m not."

"Wait wait wait… hold on a sec. Isn’t this apartment 516?"

"No, it’s 416. 516’s the floor above."

"Oh… shit. Geez uh… Um… oh God!" Jesus stepped closer and put a hand on my shoulder. "Listen, Tim…"

"Tom."

"Yeah… I’m sorry about all this but I’ve made a huge mistake."

"A mistake?"

"Yeah, I got sent to the wrong place. There musta been some sorta mixup upstairs. You know, never send a seraph to do an archangels job." He weakly laughed.

"You mean I’m not the chosen vassal?" My heart sunk.

"I’m afraid not. But hey, I’m sure you’re still a nifty guy."

"But… but no, my Lord, couldn’t I be the one?! There must be a reason you were brought to me! Doesn’t all things fall into God’s plan?!"

Jesus slightly rolled his eye. "Uh, God’s plan, yeah. See, thing is, a lot of the time my Dad just wings it."

"But all my life I have been a good person and I’ve followed your teachings! I have always had nothing but love and compassion for my fellow man! Please… give me this chance. I won’t fail you."

"Aw Tim…"

"Tom."

"Yeah… Believe me, if I could I would. If it were up to me, you’d be in. But, y’see, my hands are tied. The paperwork’s already been filled out and notarized. And it’d be just a big hassle to undo all that. I’d have to go stand in a line and I just know the Holy Ghost would be all on my ass."

"But… but…"

"You wouldn’t want the job anyway. Long hours. You’d have to work weekends. And plus the rewards of heaven aren’t really what they’re all cracked up to be."

"But… but…"

"But hey, Tim, don’t think you’re not a primo guy, cause you really are." He pulled up the left arm of His robe to look at His watch. "Listen, I gotta go. I gotta take care of this thing and then I’m meeting Buddha for lunch." He began to raise His arms, the glow reappearing, but then stopped. "Y’know, maybe I’ll just take the stairs."

The front door closed behind Him and He was gone, leaving me alone, on the floor, with only the sound of the rain outside. … Leaving me to ponder all I have known and all I will ever know.

"… … … Fuckballs."