THE HOUSE AT THE END OF THE BLOCK. A short Story.

THE HOUSE AT THE END OF THE BLOCK

     Sam Loward's funeral was a very short one and there was only a few mourners beyond Loward's mother and his cousin Lisa. Sam really did not know many people.

     He really did not care to know many people. Lisa was glad that it was finish early in the day.

     Aside from wanting to get away from the depressing atmosphere of the funeral home she wanted to get to the business of cataloging the artwork of her cousin Sam.

     She wanted to get it over with as soon as she could.

Sam Loward's small home was at the very end of a dead end street in one of the older parts of town. It was all alone there since the other houses around it burnt down to the ground in a huge fire that swept through the neighborhood about five years ago. It was a strange miracle that Sam's house was not touched by the flames.

     The other houses were not rebuilt due to a series of on going lawsuits over the fire. Loward did not seem to miss having neighbors at all.

     Lisa drove into the driveway. She sat in the car for a little while. She was feeling strange. She came to this place about once a month over the years to look in on her cousin Sam. She felt it was a duly as a close relative to check up on him. He almost never left the house except to go to work. It seem odd to her to be there knowing that Sam would not be home and never would be there again.

     An odd feeling came over her. It was the same feeling she felt during the funeral.

     She got out of the car and walked across the unkempt lawn of dry dead grass and walked up to the door of the small house of white peeling paint. In all the time Sam lived there he never painted the house. Know Sam she thought he just never cared that the paint was peeling or that the grass was dead. Those were not things he cared about.

     She had no real wish to be there if Sam was not there. She was there only as a favor to her aunt. For more than ten years Sam had locked himself in this little house and worked on his paintings. Those paintings were his whole life. He left the house only to work and worked only to pay rent and buy art supplies. Sam's mother had never liked Sam's paintings which she consider unwholesome and wanted them out of the way as soon as possible. Had Lisa not talked her out of it she would have had all the paintings burned in one large bonfire.

     Lisa being an artist herself could not allow the paintings to be burnt. It was unthinkable to her to destroy the lifetime work of any artist. Beside it was her cousin Sam who taught her to draw. She owed it to him to save his artwork. They were the only things that had matter to him.      He really had nothing else. He really wanted nothing else.

     Lisa unlocked the door and after a half a minute of thinking it over she walked into the house. It was like walking back into the funeral home.

     Inside she found the living room as always bare of furniture except for a chair and a large wood table. On the table was a pile of art supplies and paints just sitting there waiting in vain for Sam to come and use them again.

     Lisa made a mental note to herself to take them for herself before she left.

     Other than those few items the room contain hundreds of paintings. They were piled one against the other along the walls of the living room. A dozen of the best were framed and hanging on the walls of the living room and the other rooms in the small house.

     Most of the pictures were only in black and white. Some had a little gray and maybe some red. Only a few were in full color. All the pictures were of monsters. Demons, giants,werewolves, and many indescribable. No people.            Sometimes something half human appeared in Sam's canvas fantasies.

     Lisa thought back to the time her cousin Sam first started those paintings. He was about 13 and she was eight.      Sam as a young man use to watch reruns of the old black and white monster movies on television. As far as Lisa knew he never bother to go out to see a movie in a theater. He never seem to leave the house.

     He taught her to draw the monsters he drew. Over the years Lisa practiced her artwork and became a commercial artist. Sam never progressed beyond drawing the monsters.        He did not want to. The monsters were his one obsession in art and in his life. From between the age of 13 he rarely left his home except for school. He would not have gone if he had not had to.

     He never went out on weekends or out for dates. Lisa wondered if he ever wanted to go out on dates. She could not imagine him talking to a woman.

     Day after day as a young man he sat in his room making sketches of monsters. After sometimes 20 or 30 sketches he would slowly make a painting from those sketches. He would work and rework a painting till he got it just the way he wanted.

     At age 20 he moved away from his mother's home. She wanted him to stop painting and take some interest in life outside of painting. She wanted him to travel and meet people. She felt his artwork was a sick substitution for a normal life. She was right of course.

     But he did not care about leading a normal life. And he did not want to listen to her nag him about it.

     He wanted no one to interfere with his painting. He got himself a job dish washing at a restaurant and rented this small house so he could paint in peace.

     His mother rarely saw him after he moved away. Once a year he would mail her a card on Mother's Day. He only lived six blocks from her. The post office where he bought his stamps was seven blocks away.

     Only his sudden death in that bus crash could make him stop painting. Only his death could separate him from his artwork. When his life flashed before his eyes in those last few seconds he most likely saw his paintings. Lisa could feel Sam's presents in the small living room. Lisa did not believe in ghosts. But she did have a strange feeling as if he was in the room with her. As if he was unwilling or unable to part from his paintings. They were his whole life. He would have never willingly left them behind. Only death could make him do that. They should be out where the public can see them. Lisa thought. When an artist dies his work stays behind to tell the world he was here.

     Lisa then went about the business of cataloging the paintings for the art dealer. She hoped Sam's paintings would find their way into the hands of those who would enjoy them. Otherwise they would end up in the back of Lisa's garage.

     After hours of sorting through the paintings she was surprise to find one painting that was not of a monster. It was hidden alone in a closet as if Sam did not want any one to see it except for himself.

     It was a painting of Lisa as a young woman. 

 THE END.

Copyright 2015 By Teel.

THE UNDERSTUDY. A short Story.

THE UNDERSTUDY

     The Old World Theater was running a production of Hamlet. The Old World Theater was known through out the state for it's fine Shakespearean productions.

     Tony Franklin was the director of the play. He was unset this evening. It was ten minutes till the curtains went up and Johnson Synblood the star performer was nowhere to be found.

     Franklin was not only upset that Synblood had not shown up. He was worried also. He had never known in all the plays over the years he worked with Synblood of him ever being late. He wondered if something had happen to him.

     He could not imagine anything short of death stopping Synblood from being there. Franklin could imagine a gang of kidnappers holding Synblood captive. Franklin figured that only that would keep Synblood away.

     Ben Freekson who worked as Synblood's understudy

was getting ready to take synblood's place. To said that Freekson was thrilled would be a gross understatement.          Never in the six month run of this production of Halmet had missed a single performance. He even worked the daytime shows that usually featured the understudies. Many people believed that Freekson resented Synblood for never giving him the chance to play the lead role of Hamlet. It was very lucky for Freekson that Synblood did not show up for the last performance of the play. It was his very last chance to play the leading role. A role any actor would kill for as the saying goes.

     The curtains went up on time with Freekson playing the role of Hamlet. Many people felt that Freekson did a good job in the role. But no one thought he was as good an actor as Synblood in the role. Many ticket holders asked for a refund because they were disappointed that Synblood was not performing.

     After the play a cast party was thrown by the backer of the play and the entire cast and crew was there. That is everyone except for Synblood and Sam Porter who worked as the prop man for the play.

     As Franklin was downing his second drink Sam called him over to look at something. At first Sam tried to pretend that he did not hear him. But Franklin realized that Sam was upset. Though that was not really unusual.

     "What is it Sam? Is there something missing again?" Sam took pride in keeping a close eye on all the props. Sometimes the crew would hide props from him to tease him.

     "Look at this Tony." Sam said as he pointed to the skull used in the 'Alas, poor Yorick' scene of the play.        "Well what about it?" Franklin could not understand why six months after the show started that Sam would be pointing out the prop skull to him. Franklin wanted to go on to his third drink.

     "It's not our prop skull. In fact it's a real one."

     "A real one?" Franklin took a closer look at it.

     Franklin was not sure what a real skull would look like. He was pretty sure what a bullet hole would look like. There seem to be one in the head of the skull over the left eye.

     A few days later the police matched the dental x-rays of the skull to the dental x-ray charts of Johnson Synblood.

     His headless body was found buried in the cellar of Ben Freekson's home. Synblood who had never missed a performance was there after all.

THE END

Copyright 2015 By Teel.

THE DEMON IN THE NIGHT. A short story.

THE DEMON IN THE NIGHT.

     The sun had just come up and the shadows were still long across the landscape.

     It was early in the morning. Tony always got up early when he went out to look for cans. He knew of at least three other caners in the area who were also looking for cans and would grab them all up for their selves if he did not get started before dawn. Of course Tony kept all the cans for himself too.

     Today Tony was looking for cans along the train tracks. His large plastic bag was almost half full with mostly still damp beer cans people had left behind after a night of partying out here where there was not one to check IDs.

     He found the cans one at a time for the most part. Then he came across a pile of beer cans along the side of the tracks. He placed his bag down and started to flatten the cans underneath his worn out dusty shoes.

     As he picked up the cans he notice a dead cat. It seem to have just died. The blood was still fresh around it. It looked as if it was gutted.

     Tony picked his bag back up and walked on. Very shortly he came across another dead cat. Then another. Then there was a spot along the tracks where there was about three or four more dead cats lying around. Tony was wondering why there should be so many dead cats in one spot. His wondering was interrupted by the sound of something running toward him. He turned around.

     The only thing he saw before he died was the large yellow teeth wrapping their selves around his face.

     The creature was spitting out blood as it ran along side the tracks. It had eaten too much and was feeling sick. The was sun was up and it was afraid. It always stayed hidden in the bushes in the daylight so no one would see it.

     It ran across the tracks and got behind the bushes where he had been hiding since he came to this place.

     A train drove by the bushes a little while later. As the creature watched the train cars drive by it dozed off to an uneasy sleep. It dreamed of home.

     The police picked up the pieces of the dead tramp and carried them away in plastic bags. They looked at all the dead cats and decided that a pack of dogs had killed the cats and the tramp looking for cans had also been attacked by the dogs.

     The owner of the dead cat disagreed. She told the policemen that the dead cats and the man could have only been killed by a group of satanists. She told them that they should not be blinded by the Devil. That all good Christians knew the works of the Devil. And she was a good Christian.

     The policemen told her that they will put it down in their report.

     For the next week the policemen would crack each other up by doing imitations of the woman.

     As the creature laid behind the bushes it dreamed of home. It dreamed it was home again. It was back in it's hut with it's mother and sisters and brothers. Outside the window of the hut the two suns shined brightly. It was never dark at home.

     It enjoyed the dreams of home and often was sad upon awakening from them.

     At the church bake sale Karen Toseli told everyone about how demon worshipers killed her cats. She told about how demon worshipers needed good Christian cats in order to do their evil rites against good people like herself.

     The new preacher tried to get Karen to calm down. She was frightening the children with her talk of demons and the end of the world coming soon.

     She told him that she was doing God's work and if he was a good Christian he would be warning people there about the demons around and among them.

     She told the preacher that the Devil made him blind to the truth and that he had no business being a preacher.

     After she walked away from him she stop to shake the dust off her shoe. Just like they said to do in the Bible when leaving unbelievers.

     It had a nightmare. It dreamed about the weird people who caught him in a net and put it into a cage. It dreamed about being in a darkroom wondering what was going to happen. Then the flash of light and then the fire. It dreamed of running away from the wreckage of the spacecraft. The horror of finding itself on a strange unknown world. The horror of not knowing the way back home.

     When the creature awoke it was dark again. It hated the dark. But the dark was the only time it could roam around free without being seen. The weird upright creatures here frighten it and it wanted to avoid them. The creature walked along the train track. It was hoping to find some more of the small furry animals to eat. The large weird creature he ate tasted terrible.

     It heard the meow of a cat. It ran toward the sound. Suddenly a loud blast filled the air. It fell across the train tracks dead. A large shotgun wound across it's chest.

     A few minutes later the police came out and found Karen carrying around a shotgun. She told them that she shot the demon the satanists called up. She then started to meow like a cat.

     She was going to tell them about how she got the demon to come to her by making cat noises but they were not listening to her anymore.

     They took the shotgun away from her and drove her to the mental hospital. They told the doctor that she was meowing like a cat and waving around a shotgun.

     A train ran over the body of the creature. The rats took care of the rest. There was nothing after awhile except for bones for anyone to find. That is if anyone cared to go looking for the demon that Karen Toseli kept ranting about.

     On a planet far from Earth a mother wonders whatever happen to it's youngest offspring. The other mothers of the village warn their small ones to beware of the strange creatures from beyond who would take them away from their home.

THE END

Copyright 2015 By Teel.