Stories

I asked ChatGPT to create a procedure for inter-dimensional travel and this is what I got.

I literally typed, “create a detailed procedure for inter-dimensional travel”. My Mac’s internal fan ran so high it shut down completely. When I rebooted it took at least five minutes for it to come back up. Below is pasted from the ChatGPT page once I was back online.

Successful Integrated Transport Procedure

A-3). Appropriate Location

The possibility of producing any level above the required level of tera-electronvolts within a confined circumference will not only result in a reduced amount of molecular energy, a common build up will not allow for accurate data collection of unwanted baryons proton in even the smallest subatomic structure. It is desired to adhere to this basic principal when defining appropriate locations while avoiding air born anomalies such as ‘ieee’ [REDACTED]x, ‘ieee’ [REDACTED]n and p=[REDACTED]log^(775).

B-1). Reconnaissance

Deemed ‘an essential necessity’ by the board of wellness, it is the recommendation of the council a ‘familiar’ is to be assigned to all travelers peripHeral and othEr. The primary roLe is secondary supPort during the initial stages of binary destabilization within mental substructures. Users should refer to section f-1e in the TransMission companion materials for additional instruction. It shall be notEd, a recon should occur within the standard of traditional common cycles.

C-9). Time Definitions

Due to the nature of the activity it is required that each participant complete courses I through M in the [REDACTED] master doctrine. It is also imporTant to note common time signatuRes will not trAnslate after the transPort is complete. As to not create an influx of sustainable pressures it is imPerative each auditioning candidate dEcipher common space realms No lower than five levels. One this is completeD it will bE satisfactory to move forward with expected procedures. We cannot stress this enough, all courses and deciphers must be completed. Retrieval from continuum spaces will depend on this knowledge.

D-4). Communication

It is not recommended that communications of any kind, especially those that require ‘ieee’ [REDACTED]x and ‘ieee’ [REDACTED]n be avoided one the transport is in full process. It is the duty of the familiar to ensure contact is maintained throughout the entire endeavor. Preferred and approved methods can be found in integrated transport handbook under index 7-a. It is important to understand that elevated costs will be accrued during communications therefore, it is recommended that a standardized outline is curated during the planning stages. NOTE: Communications will not be possible during initial entry and final stages of extraction.

E-7). Data Collection

It is the responsibility of the traveller to ensure biBliographic dAta is Collected using approved means. There will be no stocK transmissions available within the transpoRt space sO each team should (and required to) have developed unique prOcesses. Neural solutions are available through the [REDACTED] wellness center and it is encouraged to schedule sessions within the quarter. All teaMs are required to be prepared for a full data extract once TravelerS hAve bReached thEir perspective extRactions (sEe course ‘o-n’ in doctrine). It is the right of common society that our sponsorships hAve fuLl access and disclosure to all data collected. It is only through each candidate’s data that we can improve upon future transports. Please adhere to your duties as a citizen.

F-2). Post Examination

All parTicipants are required to report for post examination at the wellness center immediately after extraction. Buildings H and E will have thE appropriate staff for a complete examiNation. It is the responsibility of the familiar to ensure their traveller reports to post examination. Both familiar and traveller will be examineD so all wrItten and electronic documentation should be on hand. Preparation for thiS step will eNsure a timEly and thorough examinAtion. See section R in column 6.

G-0). Disclaimer

The process of an integrated transport, while both groundbreakinG and revOlutionary, is at its cOre an ongoing experiment. With that saiD, each traveller wiLl need to have oUtside counsel interpret the existing disClaimer document as it exists within our current stocK doctrine. Prior to any request for information regarding integrated transport procedures a conference will need to occur between all parties interested. This shall be scheduled prior to pre examination and will only take place within the main hall of the trajectories headquarters on level 5. All required records and identifications will be reviewed and investigated with extreme scrutiny.

Muffin Face

Eric was at one time my friend. Whether I’m proud of this fact remains to be seen. I guess you could say I’m paying a price for it.

Ever since grade school Eric has been called Muffin Face because, well, his face looks like a muffin. He’s, puffy. Puffy cheeks, puffy lips and double chin like he’s always in anaphylactic shock. This, combined with his heavy weight didn’t make thing easy for him. I can’t tell you how many times Eric was sent to the nurse because of teachers freaking out thinking he’s having an allergic reaction to something. A few times the fire department even showed up only to be bewildered by his strange muffin face and no allergy symptoms. He was like a walking circus freak show and everyone made fun of him. But I was fascinated.

I’d watch as he circled the perimeter of the playground at recess mumbling to himself or eating his odd lunch (I’ll get to this later) alone completely oblivious to the teasing happening all around him. Even in the classroom he’d keep to himself, the teachers always setting his desk away from the larger class. They just kind of let Eric be Eric. I’d like to think it’s because of his smarts and that he didn’t need the attention all of us morons did. But truth be told, he repulsed them.

I recall the cloudy day when I decided to talk to Eric the Muffin Face.

He was walking the perimeter of the playground one day and when passing by me on the basketball court I heard what he was mumbling. It was a really, really weird kind of language. Lots of “CH” sounds and sharp tongue rattles. The other kids were in complete shock that I actually approached him to ask what he was doing.

“Making it rain” he replied in his thin and squeaky voice.

I recall, as if on some kind of mysterious cue, the bell rang at that exact moment and we all trudged back to class. It was then I saw the clouds began to darken and a brisk cold wind pick up. By the end of the day it was a downpour. None of the other kids believed me after telling them what he had said. They brushed it off as me just adding to the intrigue of Eric.

How we became friends was out of pure curiosity. You see, after that day we spoke the rain poured steady for two weeks straight. This was difficult for me to accept as just coincidence. There was something oddly whimsical about Eric. A person of few words. A carefree approach to everything. Even when the entire school was chiming in to tease him he just let it fly right off his back. So, one day I mustered up some eight grade courage and sat next to him at lunch.

He was eating, as I mentioned before, an odd lunch. They were perfectly squared pieces not much larger than a typical Toll House cookie and looked like ham.

“What are those” I asked.

“Treats” he replied eating one after the other and humming to himself as if existing on a planet other than our own. I asked him about the rain. He simply grinned and said “no recess for you”. I should have moved to a different table right then and there, but what do you expect? I was a dumb and curious eight grader and instead of doing the logical thing I made it worse by following him home.

As all of the parent’s cars crammed into the pick up zone I saw Eric head across the playground towards the woods behind the school. Instead of catching my carpool I followed him in the rain.

I stayed a good deal behind, but just enough to keep him in my sights. My mind swirled with questions as I followed. Was he responsible for this rain? Did he somehow summon it with that weird language I heard him speak? And where in the heck did he actually live? Before I knew it we were a few miles away from school and headed directly into the ‘Black Hills’. This was a place totally off limits to not only us kids but literally everyone in town. Not that we weren’t allowed there it’s just always avoided if possible and is host to many sorted tales. Nevertheless, there I was following Eric the Muffin Face as he strolled carefree into the dead Oak trees that towered above us. When we reached his house it literally popped up out of nowhere. One minute was nothing but dead trees then all of a sudden, there it was, Eric’s house.

I halted and watched in hiding as Eric finished the last fifty yards to his home. Before he reached the door a woman came out to meet him, his mother. She began scolding him pointing her finger towards me. She sharply marched inside and slammed the door. It was then that Eric faced my direction and looked directly at me. I don’t know how but he knew I was there. I could do nothing but surrender. And so I did, in more ways than one.

I came out of my cover and hurried walking back home. I knew he’d see me but thought maybe it was far enough away for him to not know who I was. By now the rain was fiercely falling from the black clouds above disorientating me. It wasn’t long before I had become lost. Then, again out of nowhere it seemed, Eric’s house appeared and he was standing in front as if waiting for me to arrive. It’s possible I walked in circles within the dense trees and pouring rain but I honestly don’t remember. Before I knew it Eric and I were now face to muffin face.

“Mama want’s me to play with you” he said, glumly. I could tell by his tone that he didn’t really want to and was upset that I’d followed him home. Eric would have much rather been left alone.

We sat on the old wood floor in his bedroom and for what seemed like forever Eric just stared at me. His face looking as puffy as ever. I looked around his bare bedroom wondering what we could play with. Other than a run down bed in the corner and a broken dresser stuffed with clothes there was nothing. Eric seemed content just to sit and do nothing as if waiting this whole thing out. Then his Mother barged into the room.

She was a short and round lady that Eric closely resembled, albeit her face not quite as puffy, but almost. She ignored me and laid into Eric with a fierce scolding in a foreign language. There were lots of tongue rattles and precisely placed “KA’s” and “CHA’s” similar to what I’d heard Eric mumble on the playground. Eric sat on the floor and took this merciless verbal berating with absolute zero expression. He simply sat on the floor, motionless. After the verbal assault finally ended, and his Mother slammed the door shut, he finally spoke.

“You want some treats?” He asked in his squeaky and whiney voice.

Before I knew it Eric was moving his dresser forward to get something he’d stored behind as if keeping it hidden. He removed a small paper lunch bag and set it down on the floor between us. Inside were the perfectly squared bites he was eating earlier that day at lunch. He offered me one.

It was actually a tasty bite, maybe a little weird at first, a mix of shortbread cookie and a Spam meat like texture. There was also a juicy type element that comes with Spam but without the actual juice. In no time at all I was already two pieces in. I noticed Eric’s mood change as he ate his share of treats, mine had changed too. I felt happy and light hearted as if floating on a soft bed of fluffy clouds.

“Watch this” Eric said.

He put his hands on his muffin face and began to push around. After a short minute he removed them and there before me was the face of our Math teacher Mrs. Anderson.

“POP QUIZ!” he announced in his best Mrs Anderson imitation.

Startled, I threw myself back! I could not believe my own eyes. He’d turned his muffin face into our math teacher! Eric pushed into his face again and this time our principal Ms Ferguson was before me.

“Mr. Eric, as long as you’re in my school, you’re not to talk to anyone!” His Ms. Ferguson impression was spot on. I was dumbfounded. None of the kids at school would ever believe this and I was certain in that moment that I’d never tell a soul.

I sat on the floor for what seemed like hours eating treats and watching Eric change his face over and over. After the school faculty was done he moved onto students and that’s when things begin to change. He’d mush his face into friends of mine, the ones that would poke fun at him the most.

“Hey fat ass, eat this!”

He did friend after friend, repeating all of the nasty stuff they’d call him. I always thought Eric had let things roll off his back but sitting there watching this made me realize I’d been horribly wrong. My lighthearted and comfy feeling the treats gave me suddenly disappeared. I instantly felt an exact opposite. A sadness overwhelmed me and when Eric finally stopped his impressions I was emotionally exhausted.

“I’m tired. You should go now” Eric said after a long stretch of us sitting in silence. The rain, pounding on the roof like a fire hose, told me this was going to be a long walk back home. It was also getting dark and I wondered how long we’d been sitting there on that floor. I had completely lost track of time. A colossal anxiety fell over me. I was in trouble. Eric laid down on his bed as I left the room.

Once outside I noticed it wasn’t as dark as I thought and my anxiety had let up slightly. When I hiked into the surrounding forest the rain stopped and I began to feel good again. It was like the further away from Eric’s house I was the more normal things became. When I finally exited the forest and into familiar territory I was completely at ease. But later that night it was a different story.

I awoke in a pool of sweat as if I just had a horrible nightmare. I could feel it, something was terribly wrong. The dryness that coated my mouth made every swallow unbearable and to top it all off my face felt strangely numb. I went into the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. Both sides of my face drooped like heavy curtains. My cheek muscles had loosened making me look a pathetic sad face. I pushed my lifeless cheek back into place where to my complete surprise, it stayed in position. I began to stretch and mould my face into hideous configurations as if I was wearing a living and breathing Halloween mask.

For hours I stood in front of the bathroom mirror stretching my cheeks out like Silly Putty or pushing my hairline back until my forehead started at the top of my head. I was even able to change the shape of my eyes. It wasn’t until the slightest hint of morning light outside that I stopped playing with my face.

Thank God it was Friday because that day at school I was completely exhausted. I literally had stayed up all night contorting my face and by the time the morning bell rang my cheeks had become irritated and red. When one of my friends told me I looked “puffy” I began to panic.

Eric was absent that day but mysteriously showed up just as the final bell rang. As everyone filtered out of the hallways Eric was standing directly in front of me looking rather perturbed and blocking my exit.

“I’m out of treats” he said.

The moment he said ‘treats’ an incredible craving came over me. Suddenly nothing was more important than having some of his treats so naturally I was concerned that he was out of them.

“Well, how do we get more?” I asked optimistically, hoping he’d have a simple answer. He didn’t.

I found myself trudging through the forest back towards his house. Interestingly, the path taken was one I hadn’t recalled in the even the slightest bit. And sure enough, appearing out of literally nowhere was Eric’s house. I thought grabbing more treats would be as simple as getting some from a kitchen pantry. I wish it had been that easy.

Eric didn’t enter his house but headed to the tool shed. After a quick moment he emerged with two shovels to which he gave me one.

“Follow me” he said and didn’t utter another word until almost an hour of walking deeper into that dreaded forest finally arriving at our destination.

The space was an oddly cleared landing under the looming dead Oaks. There were curiously shaped rocks embedded into the soil and scattered throughout. It was dead quiet except for the sound of Eric’s shovel digging into the dirt. He looked over and pointed to a spot on the ground near me.

“Dig there” he commanded in a tone I’d not heard from him. It was desperate and angry. I sunk my shovel into the hard ground and started digging. I was already waist deep before I asked Eric what we were actually digging for. His tone was so startling and eerie I had just started digging without even asking. He was head deep into his hole when he stopped to answer.

“Ingredients” he replied.

When his shovel hit something hard,I hopped out of my hole and over to his. It was a old wooden box about the size of a microwave. An excited Eric frantically brushed away the dirt sitting on top. I could see that this box wasn’t old, it was ancient. He pried the top off like a madman. Inside was solid black dirt with a tinge of goop, like mud. It smelled like rotten garbage but with a hint of Eric’s treats. I instantly wanted some.

Eric dug his hands inside and scooped up large heaps of this stuff into a brown paper bag. He peeked over his shoulder to me observing him.

“GET YOUR OWN!”. His whiney voice echoed into the trees.

I grabbed my shovel and dug harder into my hole. I thrust the shovel into the ground and unloaded heap after heap until finally I hit something. I cleared the top of the wooden box and saw that it was distinctly different than the one Eric dug up. The wood was new as if placed there not long ago. I ripped the top off and inside was a small pig-like, thing. It was peacefully laying on its side with pink belly exposed. As I stood there in awe looking at this, thing, Eric came up from behind me.

“Lucky”, he said.

I paused just staring at this odd creature wondering what to do next.

“Dig in!” Eric said, standing behind me. He grabbed my hand and pushed it into the perfectly smooth pink belly. My hand went right through with ease and I could feel the substance inside. I took a hand full and pulled out an even goopier mound of black substance. The smell was ripe and stark compared to what Eric packed away from his box. Mine was, fresh.

“Get it all and put it in your bag” he instructed. That presented a problem because I didn’t have one. I began filling my pockets with this black gooey substance and after both front and back pockets were full I used my socks. When I was done there was literally nothing left inside this ‘thing’. It laid like a deflated balloon.

“Time to go” Eric announced. We made our way back to his house passing by a few other clearings all dug up and littered with fresh mounds of dirt. In the back of my mind I knew what these places were, but making these ‘treats’ was all that mattered. We had desecrated graves but the question loomed, who’s graves were they?

Back inside Eric’s tool shed we each emptied our black graveyard mass into large pots. I followed Eric’s lead stirring the mass in the pot and spitting our saliva into it. There was an immediate effect solidifying the black mass making it harder to stir. We dumped our pots onto large baking sheets and spread them out. Before my very eyes, the mass raised like bread and became the ‘treats’. Eric gave me a knife and we each cut up our bit sized morsels.

“Yours are better than mine” he bemoaned not too happy about how his treats turned out. In that moment it began to rain.

As soon as we were outside Eric’s Mother was standing before us. She launched again into her unidentified verbal assault on her son pointing at Eric and motioning to the rain as if he was to blame for the downpour. She continued to berate him even as he slowly crept toward his house. Before he entered Eric turned towards me one last time. He looked down to my bag of treats. “Lucky” he sloppily said, before going inside.

I had another night of face contorting, but this time was significantly different and much easier to mash it into whatever shape I pleased. I dug out the school yearbook and made myself look like everyone in my homeroom class. It wasn’t until the first signs of morning light that I became so exhausted I literally fell asleep on my bedroom floor. I awoke to a fierce rain and thunder storm.

I had a strong sense of someone watching me. Sure enough, as I peered out my window Eric was standing on the sidewalk looking right at me. I could tell he was angry, as if the rain and thunder weren’t already a sign. By now it didn’t even phase me that Eric could somehow make it rain. I was already down this rabbit hole with him. What more could I possibly encounter I foolishly thought. I already knew why he was standing out there in his pouring rain, he wanted my treats. The problem was, I ate them all. There was no other choice in that moment but to go outside and confront him.

“I want your treats” he demanded under his heavy breaths. I told him they were gone.

“Time to dig again” he sadly said.

I followed behind Eric with our shovels in arms heading once again into the depths of the Black Hills. A hunger began to fester inside of me. The thought of sinking my teeth into those chewy morsels made my nerves leap with anticipation. I knew right then and there, I was addicted. My thoughts then turned dark. Why was I there? How did I let myself fall into this situation especially with Eric the Muffin Face?! Eight grade class portraits were just a few days away and my face looked like I’d taken some sort of serious ass whupping. I had reached my breaking point and simply stopped walking. Eric noticed right away.

“No stopping” he declared.

I turned by back on him and started to walk home. I was done looking for treats. It started raining almost instantly before I was tackled to the ground as Eric began pummeling me. His rage seemed to fuel the roar of thunder and lightning that erupted as he mercilessly pounded me with his fat fists. By some miracle I managed to get out from under his weight and grabbed the only weapon I could find, the shovel. With one swing I stuck a direct hit right square in his muffin face. He fell backwards and down the steep embankment we’d been walking along. I watched as he tumbled down the jagged rocks for what seemed like an eternity. When he finally reached the bottom I knew, Eric was dead. But I had to find out for sure. And if he was, then what?

It took me at least an hour to hike down the ravine. On the way there were remnants of blood splatters where Eric had hit rocks and boulders on his way down. Once I reached the bottom my suspicions was true. I stood over Eric as he lay face down in the dirt. I had killed him.

I instinctively began digging a hole right then and there. I dug and dug until my hands bled, and then I dug some more. I didn’t stop until the sun began to sink behind the horizon. I rolled Eric inside and filled up the grave I had made for him. It took weeks for the blisters on my hands to heal.

Four years went by and no one had ever mentioned a word about Eric the Muffin Face. It was like he’d never existed. There were no police that came snooping around, no news reports of any kind. Simply put, nobody cared while Eric was alive, and nobody cared about him now that he’s gone. Only I knew where he was and what had happened. Every time I looked in the mirror I was reminded of Eric. My face, while for the most part was normal, had not fully returned to its once healthy state. I often looked red and on some days swollen. My handsome features seemed to had vanished. I thought if I could get my hands on some treats, maybe that would help.

Each time I thought about the treats my mouth would literally salivate. I knew deep inside I had this uncontrollable want for another taste of them. On some days this thirst became so bad that I ventured into the Black Hills to look for some but could never find those burial grounds that I had followed Eric to. I’d just give up looking, turn home and have to deal with my cravings that I could never tell anyone about. The only place I knew of that was even remotely related to these treats was Eric’s grave. I had fought tooth and nail not to go back there.

But what if, and this was a big if, Eric actually had some treats on him during that fateful day? Maybe hiding one or two of them in his pocket for safe keeping? He came to my house that day asking for my treats after all. What if he still had them? I sure could use some, especially now that my senior yearbook photos were nearing. One morning I grabbed a shovel and headed out.

It was the late afternoon by the time I got to the point of digging where I’d expect see Eric’s skeletal remains. But they weren’t there. Instead, there was the small pig like creature that we’d make treats out of. I stood there in his shallow grave bewildered but knowing there’s only one thing left to do.

I walked back home with all pockets and both of my socks filled with that lovely, lovely black mass. I wasted no time turning it all into tasty treats. As I sunk my teeth into that first bite the thought never occurred to me that I was most likely eating Eric.

That was the last time I had treats. And it was also the last time I had the most devilishly handsome face I could possibly smush it into. Of course it didn’t last long, but long enough for flawless senior yearbook pictures. After eating that last batch, I had become unrecognizable.

The years that followed saw me in and out of doctor offices with every one of them unable to determine the cause of my bloated face. Of course I knew the cause, but I dared not speak a word. Once I realized that no doctor on Earth could help me even in the slightest, I withdraw from the public eye taking the most out of the way jobs, working graveyard shifts and holing up in a long line of shitty apartments. I lived my life as a modern day freak of nature, only existing at night working after hours pushing brooms in building basements and storage rooms.

There was one day though that I decided to venture out in the bright sun of the afternoon. It was to a local park that I used to go to as a kid. As I sat there on the bench I had forgotten just how beautiful the daylight was, feeling the heat on my skin and seeing nature mill about. For a moment I thought that maybe this is a place I could come to and enjoy the sunshine without being noticed too much. I felt a collective sigh of relief and just as I sat back to fully relax a group of kids passed by. One of them looked at me.

“Hey guys, look at the Muffin Face” he boasted to his friends, as they laughed loudly frolicking down the path.

My heart sank deep into the bowels of my chest. I felt a darkened sadness that I would never escape. I had become a muffin face. I imagined to myself that perhaps this was the fate I deserved for sending Eric to his grave. An ultimate payback from a creature of the Black Hills, pretending to be human, but could never be.

And in that moment, out of nowhere, it began to rain.

My Mother has always considered me to be lucky. I don’t really know why she thinks that. Maybe it’s because of the time I won fifty bucks at the church raffle. Father Greg was so happy that I’d won. He said it was ‘well deserved’. Or the twenty dollars I scored from a scratch lottery ticket. Mother put it in my stocking last Christmas. She said it was from Santa. I went back to the store and spent it on my favorite beef jerky.

But the one thing we both agree, is that I’m not lucky with girls. And it makes me sad. Mother wants grandkids real, real bad. And she always says that it’s up to me. Sometimes though it made her so mad, she’d just yell and yell at me about how I’m not giving her any grandkids. I’m just not lucky with girls. Not at all.

But I am lucky with winning stuff.

I’d like to think this is why Mother decided to send me to Las Vegas for my fortieth birthday, you know, to win big. It wasn’t though. I didn’t even want to go. But Mother had spent all that money. We didn’t even have it in the first place. I argued about it, but as usual she won.

The Las Vegas hotel was nice. It had a king sized bed, a huge bathtub and a balcony. I didn’t know how Mother could afford this. She even gave me two hundred dollars to gamble with. It was pretty quiet besides Mother calling the room every hour bugging me to go out and gamble. All I wanted to do is stay in my room and watch HBO. It had HBO!

But I got bored of watching TV. I told myself I’ll find a quarter slot and that’s it. Maybe I’ll even have a beer. I like beer. I knew this would make Mother happy. I could just see her being so happy. She has big blue eyes. They get bigger when she’s happy.

I was surprised to see I’d already won almost a hundred bucks. The machine I picked was giving wins left and right. Mother always said I’m lucky, but I’ve never been this lucky. Then I remembered what Brad Pitt said in that George Clooney movie, “in this town, your luck could run out just like that”. I cashed out and decided to have one more beer somewhere. I’d get something fancy, for winning and turning forty. But the seat at the bar had a poker machine. I bet another twenty. I hit a royal flush.

And that’s when she came over.

She smelled like vanilla ice cream and cherry coke. A real knockout. She ordered a drink and sat next to me. She wasn’t as lucky as I was and lost her money fast but she stayed and watched me play video poker. She was real friendly. Kept asking me if I wanted to go to a party or something. I don’t like parties though.

The pretty lady got more drinks, this time one for me too, a beer. She said it was for my birthday. Funny thing though, I didn’t remember telling her that is was my fortieth birthday. But honestly, I don’t remember much of anything after the beer she bought me.

It was like one of them strange dreams. You know, where you don’t really know if it’s real or not. Or sometimes you just forget and don’t remember anything. You just fall asleep and wake up somewhere weird.

Like the time I woke up in Ms Anderson’s bed with half my clothes gone. Mother said I’d sleepwalked again. Ms Anderson was real nice about it. She even made me some breakfast and gave a ride home. Come to think of it, I woke up a few times in weird places. But waking up at Ms Anderson’s, that was one of the weirdest. I think too because it happened a couple times. And she was always nice about it, making me breakfast and taking me home. Mother didn’t think none of it neither. Her and Ms Anderson were always friendly. I think it’s cause Ms Anderson was by herself all the time. She had nobody. Mother felt sorry for her I think. But yeah, that was one of the weirdest places, at least until I woke up there in Las Vegas.

There was a loud banging on the door. It woke me up. I was on the hotel bed, had all my clothes on, but the funny thing was, it wasn’t my hotel room. The room was old and kind of dirty. It had one of those old fashioned TVs. I got scared. Thought maybe I was still dreaming. But I wasn’t.

They kept banging on the door. I answered and it was a cab driver. Said he was my ride back to the airport. He was kind of mad and said he’d been knocking for a few minutes. I looked for my luggage but it was gone. Only thing I had was my wallet and the plane ticket boarding thing. The hotel looked like it was shut down. Some of the windows were even boarded up. I thought, well there I go again, sleepwalking.

The cab drove me to the airport. I was pretty far out of town in the desert. It took us a long time to get back. I didn’t know how I got so far away.

I remember drinking the beer that pretty lady bought me. Then it was like that dream I was talking about. You know, I didn’t know if it was real or not. It’s not like I don’t remember nothing. I remember a different woman getting real close to me. She was older and not pretty like the other lady. It was like I was getting a massage or something. She had really cold hands. There was a man there too, in a business suit. He was on the phone all the time. Thought he owned a farm or something, kept talking about eggs, and keeping them fresh. He looked sort of familiar. Like the guy mother and I went to see for her small operation. She had something done to her private area. The man kind of looked like him, but not really.

I don’t remember the hotel though. Or how I got there. I just wanted to get home and hope Mother didn’t find out that I sleepwalked again or ask me where my suitcase was. She’d be furious at me for drinking beer and ending up somewhere weird.

Mother was happy to see me at the airport though. She didn’t ask me a thing and even took me to McDonalds on the way home. She’d been doing some decorating and totally cleared out the spare room. She said we’re gonna need it to be ready and have it look nice. Boy, was she was right. Like always.

Almost a year went by when Mother said we’d be going back to Las Vegas. This time though we’re driving she said. I was kind of excited. I like long drives. There’s lots of cool stuff to see on the way. But Mother said we weren’t stopping and maybe only once to get gas and pee. She was really excited to get there I guess. I asked why we were going. She just said it was a surprise.

We drove to Las Vegas and like Mother said, only stopped once. When we finally got there we drove right past the city and took some road out into the desert. We kept driving and driving. By now I couldn’t even see Las Vegas anymore. We ended up at some weird place. It was like a neighborhood but real, real old. Houses were locked up and some were falling apart. People were living in trailers right there in the middle of the desert. The place we stopped at was a house. It was one of the nicer ones.

Mother and I went inside. I could hear the babies crying from one of the bedrooms. Boy, there were a lot of them. Sounded like that time we went to the dog pound when we got Toby. He’s a good boy.

Mother went into the bedroom with a lady. She lived there I guess. She looked a little familiar, but I don’t know from where though. I could hear them arguing. I’ve never heard Mother so mad. They were yelling and screaming at each other about the babies. Like there was too many or something, and Mother wasn’t happy about it, but the lady kept saying it wasn’t on purpose and there’s nothing she could do about it. The babies were crying so loud. I was scared. Real scared. Then Mother come out holding two of them. The lady was behind her with two more. Mother told me to get into the car, we were leaving.

I got into the backseat and Mother gave me the two she was holding. Then the lady put the two she was holding next to me on the seat. They both went back into the house and came out with three more. Mother had them in a basket on the floor up front. I asked Mother whose kids these were.

She said they were her grandchildren.

It’s been three years since we picked up the kids. I can’t keep up with them. Everyday it’s nothing but crying, barfing and dirty diapers. Mother told me, before she died last year that I was lucky to have them in my life. I remember her smiling at me with her big blue eyes. But I don’t feel so lucky and I miss her being here. I miss her real bad.

But even though the kids are really hard to look after all by myself, sometimes when they’ve finally quieted down, it’s not so bad. It’s even kind of fun. Some of them sort of look like me when I was a small kid. It’s kind of weird. But I think the best thing about them is that they remind me of Mother.

They all have her eyes.

 

 

THE STARING CONTEST

She slapped me so hard, my eyes welled up with tears.

The sting rattled my left cheek while a deep red hand imprint made its mark. All day I had to wear this injury in front of the entire school. It didn’t start to fade until at least fifth period. But this wasn’t as bad as when she took a lighter to the top of my hand. To this day I still have the scar.

We would do stupid stuff like that. Make ourselves pass out. Sniff markers until we got a buzz. Have a slap battle. It was just something we did. Our little crew always did these kinds of things. I think at the start it made us feel connected to each other, like being in a gang. Us against them. And there were scores of them.

We always had some absurd reason for these acts of self torture, none of which made any sense whatsoever. We began to get more and more creative with what we would do next, which by the way, would need to be even more intense then the previous. It wasn’t uncommon for any one of us to have some kind of battle wound on any given school day.

There were four of us in our crew but I’m going to talk about Mindy, the only girl. Mindy was tough. And when I mean tough, I don’t mean ‘for a girl’ tough, I mean tough, plain and simple. I once saw her kick a guy’s balls so hard he cried like a baby. It was Mindy that I had received that punishing slap from that final stage of the slap off. And I won’t lie, her blow brought me to tears.

Aside from holding the title of slap battle champion, she and I were good friends. Looking back I think she had feelings towards me however, this wasn’t mutual. Maybe that’s why she smashed my face as hard as she did that day. But we still remained close through middle school until she left just us before high school. And I don’t mean that she moved away. Let me explain…

Once we began eighth grade our escapades became legendary. We gained a reputation of sorts for being stupid. It had got to the point where kids would come up and suggest different stunts we should do next, some of which we did, others we scoffed at. Keep in mind these were things well beyond the scope of jumping over trash cans with our bikes or smashing mail boxes. We had graduated to more serious endeavors, like glue every window shut in the entire school or start a grease fire inside the cafeteria. We soon gained respect from even the bad crowd.

Everything we did was on the down low at school. No one ever ratted us out or even hinted at knowing who it was that wreaked the havoc. I think it’s because what we did represented some kind of message, like an assault on authority. We developed an underground popularity that made us fearless and have big egos, especially Mindy.

And she wasted no time indulging in her new found fame, getting into fights almost every single day with both girls and boys. It wouldn’t be a normal day at school unless Mindy launched into some kind of altercation. She had become the top bad ass. Everyone knew her, even at other schools and she loved every minute of it.

I suppose this was how he picked her out.

The new kid Alex went unnoticed once he began attending the school at the start of second semester. I remember him start to show up in my homeroom but only in passing. He was the dirty kid with his clothes old and disheveled. His hair was unkept with a distinct lack of any style whatsoever.

I felt bad for this kid, but he was an asshole. A real nasty runt that seemed skilled at getting under one’s skin. It was easy to not feel sorry for him, and there was a part of me that wanted to. I just couldn’t.

Alex approached us one day at our secret spot. We had a hidden grotto deep behind the park that we claimed as our unofficial hangout. To see this kid here only meant one thing, that he had been following us. It was the kind of place that you had to know how to get to, it wasn’t somewhere you’d just stumble on.

The silver tongue Alex had wasted no time. He launched into a vicious recap of our anarchistic activities, debasing them and berating us in the process. We had no come back. It was as if the zookeeper had come to tame the monkeys. I remember having all that ego ripped from my soul and made me feel like the dumb kid that I was, that we all were.

Alex spoke well beyond his years as he dismantled almost everything we ever did. The reasons why we felt the need for attention. The paths we would take into adulthood giving us each customized details. For me, it was taking some steps away only to end up right back in our sleepy little town a lonely old man, telling stories that no one believes. For Mindy it was much more dire.

“You’ll just wither up and die”. His tone was both dark and joyous.

You’d think the four of us would have just pounced this boy, but we didn’t. We all stood there, angry and embarrassed. There was some truth to what he was saying that kept us at bay. Words, the deadliest of weapons.

It seemed to me his focus was on Mindy. I couldn’t tell you why for certain. He kept his eye on her while keeping on with his nasty monologues. And it’s here that he challenged Mindy to a most curious duel, a staring contest.

“You wouldn’t last even one minute” his vile, tiny voice spewed out.

This was something Mindy couldn’t pass up. It was different than just punching him in his stupid mouth, which I wish she would have done instead. This was a challenge to something much deeper for her. Maybe for once she wanted to prove her strength beyond the physical rough ups she’d been known for. It was a challenge Alex knew she couldn’t pass up. And he was right. But the contest wasn’t with Alex, it was to be with his little sister which I think added more insult to injury. Mindy of course, accepted.

On the way to Alex’s house I pled with Mindy to just let it go. Something deep in my gut was telling me this was a bad idea.

“Don’t be such a wuss”. Her answer to my pleads hit me right in the gut.
My concern, I recall was not because of what we were about to do, but more of where we were going. We followed Alex to the outskirts of town then down the ‘old road’ which led deeper into the dense country that surrounded our town. We’ve never ventured out this far by ourselves and for good reason. The stories we’d heard kept our main base of operations always within our town. Tales of crazy people, wild animals, ghosts even. These parts were only seen when driving to the big city with our parents. But there we were, marching deeper into the infamous ‘dark hills’.

Alex’s house was buried deep within the decayed black walnuts and decomposed oaks. There was no real road that led to his house and was even devoid of a driveway once we arrived. It was yard of dirt and gravel right up to the rotten wood slats of the front porch. By now we had lost our two other companions who had wised up and turned back. I don’t know why I stayed with her. She was tough enough to do this alone. Tougher then I was. Maybe because she called me a ‘wuss’.

Alex led us into his house where a strong odor of stew hit my nose. It was an aroma I’d never smelled before, and certainly not from my own kitchen at home. One of poverty, maybe even below it. This didn’t seem to phase Mindy at all but it gave me intense anxiety. ‘We shouldn’t be here’ I thought, for a childish schoolyard staring contest. But there we were.

The inside was just as rundown as the exterior however neat and tidy. The furniture looked as if handed down through generations. It was like going back in time with the only indication of modernisms lay within the television that sat in the corner against the lamps’ dulled lighting. The other missing aspect of the house were people. It seemed empty despite something cooking in the kitchen and the television on.

Alex led us through the house towards a back bedroom. He opened the door where a little girl played in the corner.

“Tessa”, Alex called her name.

She stopped to look at him. Her shoulder length matted hair complimented her tattered dress. Tessa couldn’t have been more the six or seven years old. I remembered her to have pale skin that made her deep blue eyes protrude from their sockets. Alex led her over to a chair where she climbed in to sit as if she already knew what was about to happen. Alex pulled up a chair for Mindy. The two were now squared off in front of each other. I heard Alex whisper soft words into Tessa’s ear that sounded like a foreign language. It was English, but with a guttural twang if you will.

“First one to blink loses” Alex spoke with a demented excitement.

They sat there for almost an hour staring at each other. Alex was fixated, a Devil’s grin painted across his face. Mindy shifted in her chair as time inched on. Tessa sat there without emotion, lifeless even. Within Mindy’s movements I sensed she was in pain, trapped. I didn’t know what to do as I didn’t know what was happening. I just felt a thick uneasiness fill the room as Mindy squirmed and writhed in her chair, staring into Tessa’s now darkened blue eyes. There was something familiar about them, the way they settled onto her small face. I realize now, she was blind.

Shadows caught my attention from the dirty window where I heard movement outside. I looked over and saw a pair of eyes peeking in from behind the grime and soot. Someone was watching us.

I’d had enough. It was time to get us out of there. I reached over to grab Mindy when she collapsed to the floor. I gathered her up into my arms. Alex stood over us laughing like a maniac.

“You lose!” he said, pointing his pale finger at Mindy, limp in my arms.

I pulled her up to her feet. I could tell right away she was, different. I looked over at Tessa still sitting in the chair, calm and blank. With Mindy under my arm I pulled us through the house and back outside. Once there I shook Mindy’s shoulders for a response. She looked back at me with a blankness that shook me right to my core. A long stretch of drool fell from her mouth. The Mindy I knew before was gone.

I muscled us back through the hills as the evening sunlight disappeared above the treeline. All the while I heard footsteps crunch into the dead twigs and fallen leaves close behind. I heard whispers of foreign languages taunt us as I struggled us back to our hideout. It was night by the time we’d arrived. Mindy seemed to come back but she was not herself. She was there enough to hold onto my waist as I rode us back home on my bike. I left her as she dazed toward her front steps.

The next day Mindy wasn’t at school and neither was Alex. I had a sick feeling in my stomach that I was about to find out something terrible. None of the other guys believed a word I said about what had happened the day before. They were convinced Mindy and I were playing some kind of joke and she was at home like a big faker. I wish that were the case. After school that day we found out Mindy had been admitted to the hospital for severe pneumonia. A week later she slipped into a coma. Alex never returned to school. When asked why, no one at the school had an answer or seemed to care. He was just gone.

In the months that followed I did my best to convince everyone what had happened to us. The story would always fall on deaf ears. It was to the point where my own parents punished me for disparaging the sudden illness that Mindy had succumbed to by telling my tale. It was dismissed as ‘disrespectful’ every time.

Over the years I’d hear stories about the illusive gypsy people that inhabited the hills beyond our town. Stories of cannibalism, incest, witchcraft, you name it. I spoke with a woman who claimed that a young man had come out from the dark hills and told her in detail about everything that would happen in her life, even the day she’d die. I wondered if one day there would be my story about a soul stealing blind girl and the staring contest. Sounds crazy right? I always thought so too.

The town hasn’t changed much over the years. A few more houses have been built. They put in a Walmart. The dark hills have made way to a few more roads but they still surround us, ominous and fierce. It’s been almost thirty-five years since I dropped Mindy off that night. Not a week goes by that I don’t pay her a visit. Every time, as I watch her lay there trapped in her coma, I wonder if she’s still locked in the staring contest hoping maybe one day she’ll win and return to us. But week after week she just lies there, withered up, and waiting to die. I can still feel the sting of her slap as if it were yesterday.
As for me, I’ve never been able to leave our fair town. There have been times when I managed to make it to the big city but this would always be short lived and fall apart. I’d find myself coming right back to where I started and telling this story that nobody believes.

 

IT WAS THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS

NEVER TALK TO PEOPLE WHILE WAITING IN LINE AT DISNEYLAND