NOTAUSGANG: EMERGENCY EXIT, PURE SLUSH, VOL. 2: A REVIEW

24 stories by 23 writers, all based on the same overall theme:  Emergency Exit.  What image does that theme create in the mind?  Well, this book contains 24 possible ones.

Every story in this collection, while based on the same theme, is well-crafted, rich in the detail of countless settings, and full of interesting and unique characters, each with their own journey through life, with all its unpredictable twists and turns.

I'd love to include details about each story, but then I'd give them away, and that would be cheating each and every one of you out of the pleasure of reading them for yourself.  Definitely read Notausgang.  All the stories are short ones, yet each contains their characters' lifetimes and then some--each seeking some type of 'emergency exit' in their own way.

You'll like these characters, you'll fear them, you'll laugh with them, and you'll lose all hope right along with them.  This anthology will take you on an emotional roller-coaster ride and you'll enjoy every second.

FLASH FICTION FRIDAY, CYCLE 80: RALPHIE'S WAY

This week’s prompt was to use three words:  Frenetic, hobbit and cummerbund.  Quite the challenging combination, to be sure.  The genre was open and the word limit was 1,000.  Here’s my offering--a bit odd perhaps, but I hope you enjoy.

RALPHIE’S WAY

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

“I have a few minutes before I have to leave, so I’m trying to finish this crosswor…”

“SITTING THERE IN A TUXEDO WEARING A CUMMERBUND?  DO YOU HONESTLY BELIEVE YOU’RE GOING TO IMPRESS THAT GROUP OF MORONS WITH THAT OUTFIT?”

“Let’s see now.  Another word for excited--starts with f-r-e…”

“YOU PROBABLY WILL SINCE YOU’RE A MORON YOURSELF.  EVERY WEEK YOU WASTE MONEY ON A TUX, GO TO DAWSON’S, EAT CHICKEN FINGERS AND PASS OUT PLASTIC STATUES AS AWARDS.”

“Got it.  ‘Frenetic‘.  I think the ‘t’ is the last letter for the word ‘hobbit’.  Haven’t heard that word in a long time.  What were those?  Small hairy little creatures…”

“YOU ARE A HOBBIT.  IF YOU GO TO ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE SO-CALLED AWARDS BANQUETS WITH THOSE LOSER FRIENDS OF YOURS, I WON’T BE HERE WHEN YOU COME BACK.  ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME, RALPHIE?”

That’s when I shoved my pen in her eye.

“Carol Ann, I told you never to call me Ralphie.”

It wasn’t my fault.  She stuck her face right up into mine and she was screaming.  She did this every Friday night.  She knew how important our awards banquets are to me.  Members of my profession are not often recognized for our work, so we took it upon ourselves to do so.  From four counties come the members of our club, and we have dinner in the meeting hall at the back of Dawson’s Steakhouse and we present photographs of our achievements.  Everyone receives an award, which is only fair, since we are all artists of the finest caliber.

Carol Ann never did an artistic thing in her life.  Even the brownies she baked for me once a month always turned out lopsided.  Not a creative bone in her body, but I loved her anyway.  That’s why I stayed married to her for 45 years.  Well, almost 45.  Next week Thursday would have been our anniversary…

I know what to do.  I’ll put her in my studio for now, and clean up this mess.  She wouldn’t like me leaving the kitchen floor all covered in blood.  When I get back from my meeting, I’ll take care of everything.  She may not admit it, but in my heart, I know she’ll be proud.

I need to get moving so I’m not late for cocktails.  Deep breaths, Ralph, and try not to get all upset.  True, it was your favorite, but you can always get another pen just like the one in Carol Ann’s eye.

I knew being here this evening would take the edge off.  The attendance tonight is outstanding.  I had no idea this group would grow so quickly.  There’s so many more of us out there than even I realized.  What we do takes a great deal of training and I hadn’t known there was such an interest in this day and age.  Kids today, what do they know.  They all want to be rock stars…

Dinner was superb.  Dan Dawson’s mother has the best recipe for chicken fingers in the state.  It’s some special herb or spice she puts in the breading.  Dan’s a lucky man.  He’s got his whole family working with him.  His mom, Betty, is the cook, his daughter, Janelle, is the server, and his son, Winston, is the cashier.  It must be wonderful to have your family at your side, helping you with your career.

I wouldn’t know.  Carol Ann never took any interest in my work.  How many times I tried to get her involved, but she would have no part of it.  She did have her shows to watch and discuss with her lady friends.  I never minded that.  But still, it would have been nice if she had worked with me on one small project.  Oh well.  No sense crying over spilled milk, as my beloved mother always used to say.

Dessert, this evening, was another triumph.  Betty’s homemade apple pie.  Looking at everyone’s plate around the table, every slice is a masterpiece.  Each one exactly the same as the next, all the crusts level and equally browned to perfection.

I like when everything is aligned, be it the tires on an automobile or oatmeal cookies on a baking sheet.  There’s no excuse for being careless.  For instance, all it takes is a few seconds to make sure your canned vegetable labels are all facing front in the pantry.  Otherwise, valuable time is wasted picking up each one for identification.  How difficult is it to lead an ordered and symmetrical life?  Did I mention Carol Ann’s lopsided brownies?

I’m so proud of the award I received tonight.  I was the winner in the ‘most colorful’ category.  I do take pride in using a lot of color in my work.  When I get home, I’m going to go all out for Carol Ann; she deserves the best.  I’m not going to make the same mistakes that boy in the movies made though.  Putting his mom in the fruit cellar would have worked if he had just been able to resist putting on her dresses.  That won’t happen to me.  Carol Ann always wore pantsuits.

Well, time to run and much to do.  My colleagues asked if I’d like to take some leftovers home to the wife, and I responded that I‘d make sure she was completely stuffed when I got home.  Harry and Leonard laughed until they cried.  Most people don’t realize that we taxidermists have a sense of humor.  I have been known to be quite amusing, at times.

It’s sure going to be quiet around the old homestead from now on.  But there is that nice Widow Samuels from Church, who’s always smiling at me after service.  Maybe I could give her a ring after I tell people that Carol Ann’s run off with the handyman.  I’ll introduce myself as Ralph Simpson.  Ralph.  I really don’t like to be called Ralphie…

ANDREAS KALDIS: MY NEW BEST FRIEND

What’s that you said?  You don’t know Andreas?  Well, shame on you.  Andreas is the creation of Jeffrey Siger, and we’re first introduced to him in Murder in Mykonos.  We become further acquainted with him in Assassins of Athens.  So, what’s so special about Andreas Kaldis?  Let’s begin at the beginning.

Murder in Mykonos:  The story begins with Andreas Kaldis being ‘promoted’ to Chief of Police on the island of Mykonos (approximately 90 miles, by plane, from Athens).  In truth, the employment change was more a matter of ‘removing’ him from his position in Athens.  Andreas was getting a bit too close to the powers that be in an investigation, and powerful people don’t like it when detectives get too close to them or to their activities.  Removing the inquisitive law enforcement officer from the equation is the only solution.  He could be made to simply disappear, or he could be ‘promoted’.  The latter was the decision in Andreas’ case.

Andreas is described as a ‘hot-shot detective’.  Make no mistake.  Impulsive and irrational, he is not.  He is also not to be underestimated.  He may not behave in the expected politically-correct manner, but he gets the job done.  He’s smart, he’s methodical, and he’s not afraid to step on toes to get the job done.

So, his new career as chief ‘dog-and-cat protector’ (as he sees it) begins with a bang.  There’s a killer in paradise.  A body is found under a stone slab in a church crypt that should have contained only bones.  The Greek Orthodox faith prohibited cremation, and due to a lack of cemetery space, the dead were buried in cemeteries for 3 or 4 years.  Then, they were relocated to a crypt under the family’s church, provided they were affiliated with one.

On top of these bones, however, was a fresh kill--two weeks deceased max.  It was a woman, and she was ritually restrained and posed.  And, she wasn’t the only one.  To add yet another complication to Andreas’ already full plate, the daughter of an Ambassador traveling in the area is reported missing.

Tassos Stamatos, Chief Homicide Investigator for the Cyclades, already haunted by his own personal demons, joins Andreas on the hunt for the killer and the missing girl.  Both of them give it all they’ve got in hopes they will find the girl before the killer does.

Assassins of Athens:  Old world traditions can be both charming and heartwarming.  Here, however, we discover that certain ancient practices can be based on vengeance and carried out with murder.

In Athens, Andreas begins his investigation of the murder of a young man, whose body had been placed in a dumpster.  Unfortunately, that was only the beginning of the nightmare.  What is happening runs so much deeper than parents losing their son.  There are powerful and dark forces at work and they are intent on making certain that their message is received and clearly understood.

Andreas’ ‘trust no one’ outlook is certainly a wise one.  To get the answers he needs, he has to deal with both sides of the law.  Sometimes, in order to catch the Devil, one has to pass through the gates of Hell and take him on in his house.  Andreas Kaldis makes that journey whenever necessary, and never takes the time to knock.

Can Andreas find a way to stop the impending collision of bad and worse  before more lives are destroyed?

Characters, plotline, pacing--all critical components in any story.  But, as in real estate, another three critical aspects are location, location, and location.  Here’s where you hit the jackpot.  The location is Greece, with all its old-world beauty and new-world intrigue.  The author lives in Greece, and he knows whereof he speaks.  The descriptions of islands, restaurants, hotels, side streets…all  rich and colorful.  You can picture every street corner, every shop window, every passer-by.  You feel as if you are shadowing each character throughout their journey and you can feel the rain, smell and taste the food, and shudder with their fear.  With such vivid depictions of settings, people and events, when you reach the end, you want to go back and experience it all over again.

If you’d like more information about Jeffrey and his books, check out his website here.  His blog is called Murder is Everywhere, and can be found here.

Not to worry if you’re tardy to the party; there’s no time like the present to join in the festivities.  Get all four books with Andreas (Murder on Mykonos, Assassins of Athens, Prey on Patmos, and Target: Tinos), and I know that he’ll become your new best friend too!

THE KNOWLEDGE OF GOOD & EVIL: A REVIEW

Faith is defined as belief that is not based on proof.  One can find joy in practicing their faith, and also find comfort from their faith in times of hardship.  But, what happens to that faith when tragic events occur that make it difficult, if not impossible, to blindly accept that what has occurred is all in the plan of a Supreme Being, a God who knows all, sees all, and tests that faith every second of every day?  Do we simply go on and hope that, through our continual assent, we’re passing said tests and that, when our time comes, an eternal reward awaits us?  Is it realistic to hope also that our reward will include, not only free access to the Tree of Knowledge which will enable us to understand the purpose behind all, but also enable us to reunite with any and all loved ones who have pre-deceased us?  One man had strong faith, but when life dealt him a horrific hand, he began to doubt and question, and decided to seek his answers in a most unusual and dangerous way.

The Knowledge of Good & Evil relates the story of Ian Barringer, who was an investigator of supernatural mysteries on behalf of a television show entitled Probing the Paranormal, that he and Dr. Angela Weber worked on.  Dr. Weber, a psychologist, in addition to being responsible for helping Ian try to deal with the loss of his parents through various types of therapy and analysis, was also Ian’s fiance.

Ian’s parents had been killed in a terrible accident when he was a child.  He was plagued long into his adult life with emotional difficulties concerning their death.  He was raised in an orphanage, and later entered the seminary and was ordained a priest.  Over the years, however, the trauma and doubt resurfaced and he left the church.  Even with all the years of treatment, the loss of his parents was something he simply could not move beyond.

All the obsessions and fears return, and he informs his fiance that he intends to seek assistance to resolve his emotional turmoil.  He assures her he loves her and wants to marry her, but cannot move forward in his life until he can resolve the issues surrounding his parents’ death, and the questions of faith regarding his fear that they are lost to him forever.  He travels to a monastery and initially keeps in touch with her on a regular basis.  The letters then become sporadic, and finally cease.  After no word from him for over a week, Angela receives a telephone call from a priest at the monastery who informs her that Ian is there, in the Caribbean, and that her help is needed to stop him.  She doesn’t understand what it is that she needs to stop him from doing, and she is informed that she needs to stop him before he kills himself.

Before you envision Ian sitting on a ledge threatening to jump, or locked in a windowless room, sitting in the bathtub holding a razorblade to his wrist, let me explain.  Ian has no intention of committing suicide--technically.  He does plan to die, yes, but not remain in that state.  He fully intends to return to the living.  Ian’s plan is to achieve clinical death, then journey to whatever afterlife exists, and return.  His purpose?  To find out what happened to his parents, perhaps even interact with them; basically, to find out the truth.  What happens after death--where does the soul go--is there a pre-Heaven interim location--is a sentence to Hell really eternal?  Now, if that isn’t enough to make you want to grab this book and get started, there’s more.  A secret faction of the Church is in no way supportive of Ian’s efforts.  There is doctrine that the Church wants its followers to know and then again, there are documents, events and occurrences that the Church feels are best kept behind locked doors.  This group will do anything it has to--and I do mean anything--to stop Ian from gaining the Knowledge and from visiting the various levels of Heaven and Hell.

We share his experiences with death and his travels through all the regions of Heaven and Hell, as Angela waits in the realm of the living and prays he is able to return undamaged--able to return at all.  Does he find answers to his questions--to the questions all mankind has been asking for centuries?  Is he able to finally come to terms with the death of his parents and find the strength to be able to move forward with this life?

The Knowledge of Good & Evil is a breathtaking thriller indeed.  Twist upon twist will keep you turning the pages until the very last.  The story will entertain you, the characters will intrigue you, the vivid descriptions of the realms and residents therein will terrify you, and whatever your personal beliefs are, it will leave you wondering.  I guarantee, once you begin, you will not want to put this one down.  I rate it Five Stars and then some.

The author of The Knowledge of Good & Evil is Glenn Kleier.  For more information on this book, Glenn, and his other works, check out his website here.

FLASH FICTION FRIDAY, CYCLE 79: WISH FULFILLED

I wish I could go back and change what I said that day. I just know things would be so different now. Haven’t we all said that at least once? Well, our challenge this week was to grant that wish, and give our protagonist the opportunity to make a different choice and show its result. The word max was 1,991 (perfect) and the genre open.

Would changing one decision really have that big of an impact on your future? Let’s see the result of one man’s choice.

YOU CAN’T GO BACK

"You're not serious, are you? I mean, you can literally send me back to a specific event in my past where I would be able to make a different choice?"

The old man simply nodded. He said all I had to do was explain where I wanted to go and why, and I could alter the future. I had to be prepared though, he warned, to accept the consequences of said decision. At Ronny's Tavern on the Lake, celebrating my promotion, my co-workers had presented me with a coupon for a free consultation, as it was apparently called. I'd passed this odd shop countless times on the way to my country place, but never stopped in before. I'm a grown man and now, a full partner in the county's most prestigious law firm, but frankly, the thought of going in there made me shudder. It had an air about it. Ominous. Creepy, even. But here I was, in the back with a man who appeared to be hovering at around 120 years of age, telling me how I can achieve peace in my heart. Go back and fix a mistake, he had said. As melodramatic as this sounded, there was one event in my past that weighed heavy on me. It didn't hold me back; I've done well. But, it's always been there--like a shadow. Maybe if I talk about it, which I never have before, I can finally leave it behind. Maybe the consultation angle isn't a joke after all. An hour of free therapy just might do the trick.

When I told him that if I could go back, it would be to a moment in the Vietnam War, he didn't flinch. I wondered if his lack of emotion was just for show, and he had a recorder under the table so he could attempt a bit of blackmail down the road. No matter. I could afford it now. So, I said to send me back to Kham Duc, in the Quang Tin Province, to May 11, 1968, around noon. I, and my best friend Ray, were Army engineers deployed to upgrade the local airstrip. Intel had been scarce and fucking wrong, and the Cong surrounded us. Some of us had been evac'd by the 834th Air Division, but Ray... Damn. We were under fire and running, but when we were almost clear, Ray took one in the leg. He fell, told me to go on, and started crawling toward some brush. I never hesitated--not for one second. I hauled ass and made the transport. Years later, here I am, successful, and in one piece.

It's true that he told me to go on, but I was wrong to listen. I could have carried him, dragged him, whatever it took, and we both would have made it. Found out later from one of the rescued POWs from my unit that the Cong took him prisoner, tortured him, and put his head on a stake. One of the later units was able to recover his…, it, and his tags to bury. I'd like to go back and make a different choice. I’d like to go back and do the right thing. When he says to go on, I want to tell him 'like Hell', grab him, and shove him into that plane so we can both go home. What kind of consequences could there be from that choice? I know one thing that would come out of this. For the first time since that day, I'd be able to get a good night’s sleep.

It's wild how that's stayed with me all these years. It's not like I'm remembering him every waking moment. It's only at night, when I'm alone, and I look around at all I have. That's when I remember my best friend, and how I left him behind to die. If only this mumbo jumbo was real...

* * * * * * * * * *

Damn, I hope I don't end up with a black eye. I'm due in court this morning. What an insane dream I had last night. Stupid alarm scared the crap out of me and I fell out of bed and clipped the nightstand with my face. Great. That's what I get for sitting in a candlelit room with a nutty old man mumbling chants and burning incense. That tea was probably drugged because I have no recollection of driving home or getting into bed. There had to be something in it because I was back on that airstrip, running with Ray. He took one hard to his right thigh, fell and told me to go. I picked him up and dragged him to the transport and pushed him in. I jumped in after and we took off.

Ray was pissed. He told me he'd probably lose the leg and end up a bum and it would be all my fault. I told him to shut the fuck up and let me know what corner his box was on so I could come and toss a couple of bucks in his tin can. He laughed a bit, then passed out. I slept. Soundly.

He did end up losing that leg just above the knee, but the VA fixed it with some company to give him a prosthesis for no cost at all. I visited him a couple of times in Rehab, but he made it clear he didn't want me there. I never went back. I was sure he was going to be okay. We take care of our own. We do. Right?

It’s wild how the old man got me to have a dream that seemed so real. I hope whatever he slipped me isn't addictive. So far, I feel okay, except of course for the header I took into the nightstand. I believe I'll keep my experience last night to myself though. Those clowns down at the office don't need to know any of this. Funny thing, though. I feel like a big weight's been lifted off me. Saying it all out loud, even to that weirdo, maybe was all it took. I may thank them for that dumb coupon after all.

That’s it. No more Mr. Nice Guy. I'm going to report that lazy good-for-nothing maintenance man when I get home tonight. Half the lights are out in this garage. Considering I pay almost $4,000 a month for my apartment and parking privileges, you'd think the jerk could get up off his ass and change a couple of light bulbs. What the fuck did I just step in? There's supposed to be a cover over this hole. Terrific. First a black eye, now a sprained ankle…

"Get up, and hurry up about it. Give me your watch and your wallet."

Maintenance and Security's asses are going to both be nailed to the wall. A masked man pointing a gun at me in this garage?

"I don't have all fucking day, bud." The man assumed shooting stance and aimed the gun at my face. He looked ex-military. Oh my God. The eyes. So filled with hatred. I know those eyes. I know that hatred. But it can't be... How could it...

"Ray? Is that you? It's me. Donnie. Ray, you remember me, don't you?"

"How do you know my… Ah, yes. Donnie. My best friend, right?”

He pulled the mask off and there, standing right in front of me, was Ray. The man I had seen get shot and crawl away while I ran for my life. The man whose head had been found displayed on a bloody stick with his tags stuffed in his mouth. The man who never made it out of…

“I always figured this world was too fucking small and now I know for sure it is. I thought I'd seen the last of you in that Rehab Hospital. You live here, huh, my friend? This joint takes lots of bucks. You got lots of bucks, Donnie, my friend?"

"I'm a lawyer now, Ray. After we got home, I went to law... No. What am I saying. After WE got home? You never made it home, Ray. The Cong took you out."

"You're crazier than me, my friend. The Cong took my leg, but you dragged my sorry ass to that transport and made sure I got home all safe and in pieces. They gave me a fake leg, as you can see, and tossed me out into the street. Not enough housing to go around. Not enough jobs either. Plenty of spit to deliver my way, though. Oh yeah, Donnie. We sure came home heroes, didn’t we? I‘m willing to bet nobody spit on you though, huh, my friend? You didn‘t end up sleeping in doorways, begging for quarters, digging in garbage cans for leftovers and even clothes. What did that suit set you back, my friend? Five, six grand, maybe?"

I'm still drugged. I have to be. I couldn't really have gone back to... It isn't possible to alter the past so the future... But, Ray's here... Now...

"Ray, let me help you. I can always use someone at my firm. The pay's good and there's benefits too. You can even stay at my place until you find something. Look, I want to help you. What do you say?"

"What do I say? I say, I've had about enough help from you already, my friend. I told you to go on, but you helped me right into a life of pain pill addiction and life on the streets. What was that you said to me way back when? Let you know what corner my box is on so you can slip a few dollars in my tin can?"

My God. This is really happening.

"Ray, you know that I never meant that the way it sounded. All I was trying to do was..."

I saw the smoke come out of the barrel when Ray pulled the trigger. Getting shot is not anything like they make it seem in the movies. You can hear the gun go off, and you can feel the bullet rip through your insides right before it all goes black.

Word to the wise: Let sleeping dogs lie. Because some? They've got a helluva bite...

NOTAUSGANG - PURE SLUSH VOL. 2 - AVAILABLE NOW!

The second print volume from Pure Slush is now available.  It's called Notausgang, aka Emergency Exit.

There are 130 pages with 24 stories from 23 writers-fiction and non-fiction.

I have a story in here, and am very proud to be a part of this exciting project.

Click here for a taste of Notausgang.

Click here to purchase your copy.

FLASH FICTION FRIDAY, CYCLE 78: MEETING THE IN-LAWS EDITION

This week, in 1500 words, we were to tell about meeting the parents.  Relationships can be a very complicated thing, and when you add in-laws and other family members into the mix, well, sometimes we really must learn to accept those things we cannot change.  I’m not sure where this one came from, but some questions are perhaps best left unanswered…

BECOMING

Marcianna.
Long blond curls.
Picture-perfect smile.
What my Mom calls ‘a nice girl’.
Yepperooni.
My kinda gal…

Marcianna’s family moved into the Yager farm at the South end of town.  You know, the property that’s bordered on three sides by dense woods and has a pond in back of the barn.  I remember how none of us kids wanted to go there at noon, much less after dark.  Old Mr. Yager lived in that big house all by himself because he was a zombie and ate little boys’ brains raw.  I knew that was true because Jimmy McDougal told me and my friends all about it.  Jimmy was in his 7th year of high school then, so we knew he was real smart and knew just about everything.

Last spring, folks in town started talking about how the Yager place was empty and how old Mr. Yager just up and disappeared.  We figured maybe he had some of his zombie friends over and they ate him up by mistake.  Whatever happened, there was no trace left.  I know, because my Pop sells places and he was there and saw it all.  He was surprised though afterward since he said the house was kept up real nice.  Huh.  Guess even zombies know how to use a broom.

Anyhow, he sold it to a Mom and Pop and daughter.  I’m sure, by now, you guessed the daughter was Marcianna.  We went through the last year of high school together and now that we graduated, we plan to get married.  I’m going to start as an apprentice with Donnie Dixson over to the prison.  He runs the electric shop there and makes real good money.  Somebody’s got to keep the lights on so those fellas can read their books and get their diplomas all squared away before their time comes to sit in the hot seat to get cooked.  Donnie has to keep the electricity on to that chair 24/7 too.  They’re always executing at 2am or some such time.  Geez.  Who wants to get woke up in the middle of the night just to get juiced.  That’s just mean.  I’m not for that.

Marcianna and I, we’ve got our lives all planned out.  I’ll work out at the prison, and she wants to stay at home and have lots of babies.  It’s going to be terrific, except there’s only one small bridge left that we have to cross.  I still have to meet her Mom and Pop.  The good news is that it’s going to happen later tonight.  She told me not to be put off because they might seem a bit odd.  I told her all kids believe their Mom and Pop are odd, and that I was sure hers were no odder than mine or anybody else’s.

My sweetie said tonight would be the perfect time since this was the night of her becoming ceremony.  I asked her if that was like a confirmation, and she looked at me funny.  I said I was sorry and to never mind.  Guess my altar boy is showing.  Marcianna explained to me that her becoming was when she came of age and was ready to take on a mate for life.  She said her parents would be there, aunts, uncles, cousins, the whole gang.  First, we would share a special meal that had taken all day to prepare, and when the clock struck midnight, she would become.  I needed to be there so she could select me and then it would be official.  I would belong to her.  Forever.  Now, some may run scared at the sound of that, but my Pop said only a real man is completely faithful to his woman.  Till death do you part and such.  I’m all for that.

I got to Marcianna’s at 6:30 exactly.  If I was going to impress her family, I needed to start right out by being punctual.  Mom always said not to keep a lady waiting.  Real men aren’t rude.  I used the knocker since they didn’t have a bell like we do.  It was strange looking, not like the ones over at Dan’s Do-It-Yourself Hardware.  This looked made to order--sort of like some kind of animal with long teeth.  Guess they get ready for Halloween a few months early.  Marcianna opened the door and took my breath away.  She was wearing a long, strapless black gown with sparkly stuff on it and her hair was all down with kind of a wind-blown effect.  Her lips and nails were bright red, and she had a gold band on each finger.  Her black heels made her a good three inches taller than me.  No Siree Bob.  This wasn’t like a confirmation at all.

She led me through the house and out to the backyard, where her family members were circled around two large Bar-B-Q spits.  Whatever they were cooking smelled delicious, but I couldn’t quite place it.  I do know those roasts were the biggest I’d ever seen.  I took a step closer to see if I could figure out…  Oh my God…  Couldn’t be…  Those pieces of meat on the rods are…

“Marcianna, is this your young man?”

The old lady startled the Hell out of me. Her face was the texture of my Uncle Nate’s pickup’s upholstery; same color too.  I put her age at maybe 128?

“Yes, Grandmama,” the woman I knew I loved, but wasn’t sure I really knew, said.  “This is Daniel.  Daniel, I’d like you to meet my Grandmother on my mother’s side.  That’s my Grandmother on my father’s side over there adding sauce to one of our entrees.  If you don’t keep adding sauce, the meat ends up being so tough.

Do you prefer white or dark meat, dear?  We have both.  One of these hitchhikers Daddy picked up obviously spent lots of time on the road.  That’s why he was already a lovely shade of golden brown.  The other was new at it, I think.  Started out quite pale with a small cluster of freckles even.  Don’t worry though.  They’ve both been marinated for hours, so I’m sure either one will be quite tasty.”

Okay.  So they pick up hitchhikers, bring them home, soak them in spices, grill them, and serve them up with corn on the cob and slaw on the side.  The Lord did say ‘judge ye not…’ and I’m all for that.  I do believe, however, I’ll just fill up on veggies this evening, and I thought I saw some rolls on one of the tables.  I can always ask Mom to fry me up a couple of eggs when I get home…

Dinner was great.  Everyone seemed to really be enjoying themselves.  Once you get past their dietary peculiarities, these aren’t bad people.  They asked me lots of questions about my plans for the future, and mine and Marcianna’s plans for our family.  I may have had one too many glasses of punch though because I’m starting to see double and everyone’s voice sounds like an echo.  I’m used to a beer or two down at Rusty’s, but this stuff’ll sneak up on you.  Fruity taste, but it sure packs a powerful punch.  Hope a headache doesn’t find me in the morning.  I’ve got to be out to the shop at 7.  Don’t want to be late on my first day.

Marcianna’s Mom and Dad are such nice people.  They helped me into the house and let me lay down on this nice bed in their spare room.  I never knew they sold black sheets and pillowcases in town.  Those must have been ordered special, what with Halloween coming up in a few months.  Just until my head clears, I told them.  Her whole family must be worried about me because all of them are standing around the bed looking down at me.  I think I’m going to love being part of this family.

I can hear the clock chiming.  Must be midnight.  Her aunts helped me sit up and put pillows behind me.  They don’t want me to miss Marcianna’s special moment.

I can see her now, coming through the door.  She’s dressed the same, but there’s a long black veil covering her head and face.  Kind of like a Goth communion thing.  I feel like giggling, but I’d better not.  Mom did always say that real men aren’t disrespectful.  Her family members move aside and now she’s at the foot of the bed.  Her two cousins remove the veil and I sense a difference in her.  She’s a bit fuzzy, but there’s something.  I just know it.

Marcianna.
Those long blond curls are now a short black tangled mess.
Those soft blue eyes are now nothing but two bloodshot slits.
That picture-perfect smile is now a jagged fanged sneer, covered with froth and drool.
That ‘nice girl’ is now crawling toward me on all fours, claws tearing the spread, panting, snarling, and dripping with sweat.
Yepperooni.
My kinda gal…