“Our packages start at one thousand and go all the way up to ten Mrs. Palmer,” Damien Horrerend, CEO of Damien H. Enterprises, wore a black suit with a red tie.
“And what comes with the ten thousand dollar package?”
“That’s the mighty one which comes with five days of torment with live streaming for your viewing pleasure and you get to pick three creatures out of our best-in-show list.”
Glee stretched Mrs. Palmer’s eyes wide open when she flipped the folder over and viewed the best-in-class list of creatures.
“Mr. Palmer's infidelity has made me look like a fool for long enough so I’ll be moving forward with the 10k package.”
Written by Stephanie Evelyn
Every Sunday, after church, she stopped at Maple’s Grocer. Dinah Sanders was forty-seven and the lack of fat on her body wilted her clothes like shriveled petals burning in the sun. Her pale face yearned for color and her golden blonde hair faded away long ago with her twenties. She wore her hair in a low, dismal ponytail.
“Afternoon Miss Sanders. How was your Sunday with the Lord?” Jeb said.
Jeb Riley started as a bag boy at nineteen years old. At twenty-three, they moved him to the meat department and by twenty-five he was the butcher. Jeb was now fifty-four years old. He woke up at the same time each day. He drank his coffee black, liked his toast burnt, and before leaving to work every morning, he picked up the framed photo of his beloved wife and kissed it.
“Afternoon Jeb. Everyday is a day with the Lord. Church is just a way for town folk to show their faces after six days of ignoring Him.”
“I do admire your faith Dinah. What can I get you today?”
“What I get every Sunday, twenty pounds of your brisket.”
“I’m sorry to tell you but we’re all out,” said Jeb.
Dinah’s movement and breath seized to that of a statue. The presence of her stare left the store, glazed over with worried thoughts.
“Dinah? Dinah? You okay?”
She was shaken back to the present by Jeb’s voice.
“I’m sorry Dinah. With today being Mother’s Day, I guess folks all had the same idea to cook up a brisket.”
Dinah raised her voice enough to turn people’s heads, “Mother’s Day don’t mean nothin. You should be more responsible and not allow all the meat to be taken because of some damn invented holiday.”
“We might have some other-”
“You know damn well I come in here every Sunday after church to get twenty pounds of brisket. My family has been supporting this grocer since before I was born and you better believe my yearly donation to the Farmer’s Market will be forfeited.”
Jeb tucked his lips into his mouth, forced a smile that puffed his cheeks, and nodded to her.
The cessation of teller’s ringing up groceries and people talking and moving about, delivered a silent blow to the air around but this didn’t bother Dinah Sanders one bit as she stormed out. Once she was out, the light bustle of activity resumed.
Nancy, one of the teller’s, continued to ring up groceries and shouted to Jeb, “You okay over there?”
“She doesn’t bite, just has a bit of a sting,” Jeb said.
Nancy shook her head and said out loud, “That Dinah has never been right since she lost her boy. It’s sad but she’s never been right.”
Nancy rang up a six pack and Earl stood in front of her, “I’ll get a pack of Marlboro Reds too. You talkin about that Leper?”
“His name was Bobby. He was such a nice boy. That’ll be twelve fifty,” Nancy said.
The dirt underneath Earl’s nails outlined his fingertips as he pulled out his torn and faded wallet.
“That diseased boy had no business here anyway. The Lord knew that and so does Dinah.”
“That ain’t no way to talk about people Earl. Have a heart. It is Mother’s Day. I’m sure she thinks about her boy every single day and today especially,” Nancy gave Earl his change.
“She’s not the only mother hurting out there. Our world is filled with the broken hearts of mothers who spend their entire lives giving with nothing to show for it except empty eyes and a back ache. Anyways, ya’ll know where to find me and Happy Mother’s Day Miss Nancy,” Earl tipped the bill of his cap to Nancy.
“Don’t smoke em all in a day,” she lifted her hand but didn’t complete a full wave goodbye.
Jeb took off his apron and walked over to Nancy, “I need to head out and pick up Millie. She’s done getting groomed and is expecting me. I’ll be right back.”
“No problem. I don’t think I’ve known anyone to love their dog as much as you.”
“Got her when my wife passed eight years back. She saved me,” Jeb said.
“Saved you?” said Nancy.
“Yep. Saved me from myself.”
Jeb walked across Pine Street over to Happy Paws Dog Grooming.
“Hey Jeb, Millie’s all ready for you. She was a pleasure as always,” said Tom.
“That’s good to hear,” Jeb took out his wallet.
“Don’t worry about it this time Jeb. Rosie told me how you helped her with her car the other day. This one’s on me.”
“I’m always happy to help,” said Jeb.
“Let me get Millie,” Tom said.
Millie’s curled, fluffy tail whipped back and forth and her big blue eyes shined with adoration when she spotted Jeb. Like all Siberian Huskies, she continued to be energetic and playful in her older years.
“There’s my girl. How’s my Millie doin? Look at that pretty pink bow” Jeb got down on his haunches and rubbed his hands around her neck with ear rubbing in between.
“Millie was such a good girl we wanted to doll her up with a bow,” said Tom.
“It’s quite nice. Thank you.”
“Anytime Jeb. Hey, by the way, I saw Dinah walk by earlier, more like stormed by. She was not happy,” Tom said.
Jeb stood up, “Yep. She made quite the scene at the grocer because we ran out of brisket. You know how people are, it’s never really about a simple matter. There’s always something deeper stirring at their insides.”
Tom nodded his head,“She has never been the same since Bobby. She was so different when he was alive. She seems to be getting more nasty every day.”
“You know me. I always try to see the good in people when they are not in their right state of mind. I will never know a mother’s pain who has lost a child. That’s a type of hurt that’s not measurable and that I wouldn’t even wish upon my greatest enemy.”
“Well we all know you have no enemies Jeb. It’s always a pleasure seeing you and working with Millie.”
“Thanks and tell Rosie I said hello.”
Jeb held the door for Millie and they walked out. He crossed the street and went back into Maple’s Grocer with a big smile because Millie was back by his side. What he didn’t know and what would have wiped his smile away, was Dinah Sanders had been watching him the entire time.
Millie trotted in with her floppy tongue hanging out and a wide mouth grin that stretched ear to ear.
“Let’s get a good look at that Millie,” Nancy peered over her register.
“Millie, you stay right here. I have to get back behind the meat counter,” Jeb said.
“Don’t worry about her Jeb. Everyone loves her.”
Shouting from outside on Pine Street baited everyone to the double doors at the front of the store.
“What in God’s name,” Nancy said.
Millie did exactly what’s in any husky’s primitive nature. Tilting her head back with her snout pointed up, she howled.
“Millie, it’s okay girl,” Jeb rushed over to the storefront windows.
“Looks like something at Tom’s,” Nancy said.
Someone shouted, “Tom’s shop is on fire.”
Jeb looked Millie in the eyes, “Millie, you stay. Stay girl. Stay.”
Everyone except the howling husky left Maple’s Grocer to inspect the commotion at Tom’s shop Happy Paws Dog Grooming. Millie stopped howling when she was left alone and stared out from behind the double doors with purked, pointed ears.
Town folk crowded in front of Happy Paws as the Miltonville Fire Department rushed inside.Tom sat out front with his head down.
“Tom, thank God you’re okay. What the hell happened? I was just here,” Jeb said.
Tom shook his head and held his hands in his hair, “I don’t know. I just don’t know. It happened so fast. I was in the back and next thing I know, I smelled smoke.”
“It’s going to be okay Tom. The fire department will get to the bottom of it. You’ll recover,” said Jeb.
“This is my life Jeb. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I have bills to pay.”
“This town will help you through it.”
A Miltonville fireman spoke to the crowd, “Alright folks. I know you’re concerned but everything is under control now. We’re going to figure out what happened so don’t worry. I need you all to get back to your business so we can do ours. Please.”
The crowd slowly moved apart and staggered down Pine Street, stopping every few feet and turning around to check the scene. Jeb grabbed Tom and with Nancy they walked back to Maple’s Grocer.
“We’ll do what we can to help Tom. I’m so sorry,” said Nancy.
The double doors slid open and Nancy offered Tom a water. Jeb walked off into the store calling for Millie. He returned quickly and in his hand he held Millie’s pink bow.
“I can’t find Millie anywhere. I found her bow and that’s it. It’s not like her to just run off,” Jeb said.
“You sure she isn’t in the stock room?” said Nancy.
“‘I checked. I’m going to look for her outside,” said Jeb, holding Millie’s pink bow in his hand and dangling it against his leg.
“What a night. What a God awful night,” Nancy put her hand on Tom’s shoulder.
The sun was tucking itself away behind the horizon getting ready to bid the day adieu as Dinah drove into her driveway. She popped her trunk and dragged Millie out with a mussel around her mouth.
“I’ll show them, running out of brisket,” said Dinah.
She walked into the kitchen, opened the basement door, and held Millie down, “Bobby, baby, I brought you dinner.”
Shuffling sounds echoed up the basement stairs and were accompanied by a grunting noise.
“Momma’s comin. I went down to Maple’s and they ran out of brisket. Can you believe that? With everything you and me give to this town,” she forced Millie down each step.
The bottom of the stairs were swallowed by the absence of light. As Dinah approached the bottom step, a scratching sound made her stop.
“Bobby, I’ve told over and over that you shouldn’t be moving about on your own. You know it’s bad for your condition.”
She pulled the string above her head to turn on the light, a small bulb that cast sharp shadows down on them.
Bobby moved into the light and reached his hands out to his mother. His disfigured, fingers pulled at her shirt. The nerve damage caused his knuckles to stay locked, his fingers curled like claws ready to attack. Three fingers on his left hand were just short nubs rounded off at the tips.
“Please Bobby, you’re poking me. Calm down.”
From his hands up to his arms, pink sores bubbled over his skin and moved up his shoulder. His face, once smooth freckled skin, was raw like cooked flesh. Red, wet moon craters scattered across his cheeks and over his forehead. The right side of his nose was caved inward leaving just one nostril instead of two.
Millie tried to pull away from Dinah. The basement floor was slippery and Dinah fell, her hands landing in something wet.
“What the hell is this?” She smelled her hand.
“Gasoline. Bobby, what happened here? I’m always cleaning up after you and I’m getting tired of it. Lord help me. Take this dog,” said Dinah.
Bobby reached his stiff hand out and Dinah wrapped the leash around it while she sat in the gasoline.
“What am I going to do with you Bobby Sanders? I will always love you but I will never understand why the Lord dealt us this hand.”
She started to get up. Bobby held his arm down the best he could to get the leash to fall off. He hobbled his arm up and down and once it fell to the floor, Millie darted up the stairs and out the basement door. In the living room, the window above the couch was open. Millie jumped onto the couch and pushed herself out the window and ran back to Maple’s Grocer.
“Bobby, look what you did. Do you know what I went through to get you that bitch for dinner? You have no idea. I think you need to go hungry for a few days to learn your lesson.”
Bobby reached in his front shirt pocket and struggled to get something out.
“What are you doing? Help me up. This floor is too slippery.”
From his pocket, he pulled out a matchbox, fumbled, and dropped the first match.
“You good for nothing-”
He didn’t drop the second match.
He stood over his mother and threw it down. Flames crawled over the gasoline. Bobby stood there and watched his mother scream on her hands and knees. Her saggy clothes melted into her flesh, eating away at her skin. She flailed on the floor and couldn’t stand up. Her eye sockets and open mouth were black holes behind burning light. She crawled violently on the floor. Bobby watched as both of them burned alive and for the first time in a long time, he tried to smile. Only the left side of his lips moved, pushing his cheek up while his right side drooped down.
Jeb turned back down Pine Street and saw Millie in front of the grocer. He ran over to her.
“Millie? What is on your mouth? You poor thing, who did this to you?”
He kneeled down and took the mussel off her and stared at it in his hands. She licked his face and wagged her tail. He stayed kneeled down next to his dog and pet the top of her head as the sun disappeared behind the horizon.
Written by Stephanie (Sterp) Evelyn
Title: Monsters in Disguise
“They are monsters in disguise and they want to hurt you.”
“But I love them,” said Charlie, clutching his teddy in his arms.
Above their heads, Charlie’s light projector created a night sky with shining stars spinning on the ceiling.
“Charlie, I know your grandmother in Heaven and she sent me to give you the message to kill the monsters.”
The conversation was silenced and its floating dark eyes that loomed then vanished when Charlie’s mom opened the bedroom door and said, “Charlie, who are you talking to?”
Written by Stephanie (Sterp) Evelyn
Title: One of a Kind
“Thanks for dinner,” Allison said, as her silky blonde hair danced above her waist.
"I have a lovely Cabernet if you’d like to come in,” said Henry Wilson.
Walking into the living room, Allison’s attention was met with hundreds of delicate, porcelain dolls each wearing a different dress.
"What a collection and they all have blonde hair," Allison said.
Henry Wilson closed the front door, locked it and said, “This is my doll collection and they are one of a kind because I give them human blonde hair.”
Written by Stephanie (Sterp) Evelyn
I was a light sleeper. I always had been. My anxiety made it worse. The story goes, every night, I would try to lie down for some sleep, battling my insomniac brain. When you suffer from insomnia it just means you were born to live in darkness. You were born to roam the desolate streets when everyone else is asleep. It’s great in theory but not so wonderful when living in a mediocre world where the majority of the population find their productivity during the daytime. Who even came up with those rules?
I would awake from anything. The slight creaking sound from a foot meeting the kitchen floor downstairs. The sound of leaves crunching under a shoe down the block. A cabinet shutting close in the bathroom or my parents starting the shower downstairs and water rustling through pipes inside the house.
I hadn’t got a good night’s sleep in a long time. I woke up about four times a night and sometimes I couldn’t fall back asleep for 45 minutes. I looked up some remedies for being born to live in darkness, remedies that could help with pretending mediocrity but I only found the Deep Sleep Earplugs. That would have to do plus they had a five star rating on Amazon so there’s always that.
The earplugs came in on a Friday and I couldn’t wait to test them out that evening. It was a normal Friday night for me. I curled up in bed and watched Nightmare on Elm Street, the first one. I took a sleep aid, a fitting thing to do given my current movie of choice. Deep down inside, I hoped that maybe I would meet this infamous Freddy. When I started to doze off, I grabbed my Deep Sleep Earplugs and shoved them as deep as they could go. All sounds muffled out. I don’t know when I fell asleep because I drifted away into such a deep sleep that I slept through the entire night without ever waking up.
I woke up and looked at the time. I slept in until 11, something I also hadn’t done in a long time. Usually my parents would have called me down for breakfast. That was strange. I stood up, took out my earplugs, and stretched. I held the earplugs in my hand and headed downstairs to show my parents my awesome new find on Amazon. I opened my bedroom door and stood at the top of the staircase. I stopped to listen. The house was silent. Had my parents left?
I walked down the stairs, still waking up from my long night’s rest. As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I couldn’t believe what I saw. The couch had been gutted and white cotton covered the floor. The flat screen had been pushed off the entertainment center and thrown onto the floor.
Was I dreaming?
I walked into the kitchen and it was worse than the living room. The white kitchen tiles were smeared with streaks of blood. Every tile was covered. Someone had gone out of their way to smother each square. Footprints ran across the blood. They were small, dainty, and bare of shoes. Our kitchen knives were laid out on the center island, lined up neatly like a buffet. In the line up, there was one spot, the fourth from the right, that had a knife but it was missing. Through the kitchen, my parents’ bedroom door was open and I could see the bright sun rays that shone through their window shooting across their doorway. Someone had opened the curtains to their room. I walked toward the doorway and could still only see the brightly lit entrance from the natural sunlight from that Saturday morning.
I peered inside and just like the couches, my parents had been gutted. Blood was everywhere. The bed sheets were so soaked it looked like someone dipped them in a swimming pool of blood and put them back in the room. My dad was laid out on the floor at the end of the bed and my mother was on the bed.
I stared down at my hand and opened my fist, my Deep Sleep Earplugs lay in my palm. I had slept through the brutal murder of my parents and all I could think was, damn these earplugs are great and at least I finally got a good night’s sleep.
Hope you enjoyed and thanks for tuning in,
It all started one normal and dull day. It was hot outside, the kind of heat that makes you hate yourself and hate your life. The only thing you can do to feel better is sleep. I eventually did but before doing so I went downstairs to make my morning cup of Joe. My bare feet hit the kitchen floor tiles and the sticky residue of weeks gone unclean pressed into my skin. I grabbed a coffee mug, the type that is supposed to make you feel better about your shit life. Cursive typography to make you feel fuzzy inside. This one read: Dare to Dream.
I filled my cup with water and opened up the back of my Keurig. I was about to pour the water into the machine but stopped and noticed a tiny, almost microscopic, black object move along the surface of where the water enters. I leaned over to get a better look. It was an ant. I got a paper towel and wet it in the sink and then wiped up the ant, squishing it inside the paper towel, being sure to crush its dreams. I picked up the Keurig and about six ants scurried out from under it. There were no food crumbs nearby, nothing I could imagine they wanted. I wiped them up too.
If you’re a coffee addict than you know any amount of seconds or minutes that get in the way of making your coffee add to your increased irritation from not having fresh coffee magically at your bedside every morning upon waking up. I poured the water into the Keurig and as I poured I saw one of those little marching assholes get swooped up by my water wave and pulled down into the ocean of water that would become my fresh coffee.
Dare to Dream. Fucking A. I put a Keurig cup into the machine and pressed brew. I hoped that maybe, just maybe, the little marching crapper would be sizzled by the heat inside and maybe it would vanish into a crisp. I was wrong. My coffee came out in a single straight stream. Steam danced around the top of my cup and the smell entered through all openings, my eyes, my nostrils, and my mouth, hitting that nerve that waited every morning for that coffee goodness.
I looked at my coffee and there it was. The dead little shit was spinning around in the center of my fresh brew. I used my index finger and thumb to quickly pinch it out. I missed the first two times then got it. My coffee definitely tasted different but as a coffee addict I didn’t care. My mind kept thinking about those ants scurrying out from under the coffee machine, all in different directions as fast as their tiny legs could carry them.
I went upstairs and it was already too hot. You might be thinking, why not iced coffee? There is a difference between coffee addicts and those who drink iced coffee, similar to die hard Tool fans and those who listen to A Perfect Circle, if you get my drift. Coffee addicts are also notorious for being able to sleep, any time of day, even after drinking coffee.
I laid down on my bed and looked at my black nightstand. I saw a movement. I lifted my upper body with my hands. There was a single line of ants. I looked across the nightstand, no food, no crumbs, nothing but my coffee cup. Why? What could they want? There’s nothing here.
I grabbed my coffee and stood up, moving it onto my desk across the room. I marched downstairs to get the Raid. I didn’t care if I sprayed it right next to my bed. I didn’t care if I sprayed those chemicals onto my pillow. I just wanted the ants to go away. I pointed and sprayed the nightstand. The sweet, candy like smell of the Raid hit my nose. Strong but sweet. I laid back down. I was sweating from the movement and frustration of dealing with these turds all morning. I laid back down and before I knew it I was out.
I awoke to a strange sensation. It felt like someone tickling my entire body with their long silky hair. My eyes stayed closed while I itched my left arm then my right thigh. The feather like sensation on my face wasn’t going away. I opened my eyes but could not see clearly. There was something crawling into the bottom part of my eye lid. I could feel it moving quickly inside my lid and against my eyeball, tickling it and causing my vision to blur. Was I dreaming? Daring to dream?
My eyes widened. In my peripheral I could see black dots covering my arms and moving around aimlessly. Ants. Ants were all over my body and crawling into my eyes, ears, and mouth. I sat up and spit from my mouth over and over again. I tried to use my hands to wipe the ants off my arms but they were everywhere. They roamed in every crevice of my bed sheets and resided in every crease in my body. There were too many. I looked over at my bedside and could see the black and blue bottle of Raid. I reached over to try and grab it. Ants rushed over the surface of my skin. They crawled into my ears and brushed against the thin hair inside. I stuck my finger inside my ear and wiggled it, piles of ants crushed against my earwax.
I reached for the Raid again. Without thinking, I stood up and sprayed myself all over. The Raid hit my face, soaking it and dripped down my cheeks, the smell burned my eyes. It tasted sour. The black spots instantly stopped moving and just hung onto my skin. Ants covered my bed. I pointed the Raid and held the nozzle down, not letting it up. I stopped and saw a movement on the nightstand. A trail was coming from behind the nightstand and I was hesitant to move it and look behind it.
I pulled the nightstand away from the wall and peered down. More ants hit my feet. I jumped up and stomped around. I peered back at the wall and it wasn’t just one trail. There was a pile of ants stacked on top of each other. A large black hill of tiny, massive nonstop movement. I grabbed the Raid and sprayed my feet and the ant hill. There were so many that only the top layer lay dead from the spray and the ants on the bottom moved underneath the ant corpses on top. I looked around and spotted a lighter on my desk. I grabbed it and went back to the ant hill. I lit that bitch on fire. I stood and watched with bright eyes as we all went up in flames and took one last drink of my coffee.
Do you like stories about cult leaders? Check out the beta chapters of my novel, Freedom House.
As always, thank you for tuning in,
It finally happened. I have been taking the light rail to work for the last few months and its been life changing. No traffic, no silly drivers, I get lots of reading done, and have been very productive with work. Then one day it just happened. My phone was on the seat under my leg a bit and when it was my stop, I got up and walked off. While the light rail doors closed, I paused to get my phone out and then realized I had left it...when I turned around to face the light rail it was off to the next stop.
I stayed calm, realizing there was not much I could do in that current moment. I walked down the street to the office and when arriving immediately went to my colleague in Operations (the guy who everyone goes to when they have something to fix or figure out.)
I walked right up to him, "I left my phone on the light rail and I don't know what to do." (BTW, before I even finished this statement, Anthony had the VTA light rail website pulled up and was already dialing their customer service number.)
And this began our 2 hour journey to find my phone...
What happened next I will never forget.
We are now on hold with customer service. I then go to another colleague and use her phone to call my phone in the hopes that someone will answer my phone. No answer. It rang and went to my voicemail but no answer. I continued to call it but no luck. Anthony got VTA customer service on the line. I explain to them all details of what happened and they assure me that they will contact the light rail driver to try to locate the device. I give them my contact info and they said they would call me back either way.
Another colleague steps in (a technical guy) and tells me to log into Find my iPhone. I do this and now we can see my phone making its way through San Jose on the light rail, riding along beating the Silicon Valley commute.
I continue to call my phone from my colleague's phone...and low and behold someone finally answers! The conversation went like this:
"Hello, I left my phone on the light rail. I am a good person, a mom of a 3 year old. Please meet up with me so I can pick up my phone. I will go where ever you are."
"Why hello, I do have your phone. Don't you worry, your phone is safe with me. I will be at the Homeless Clinic in about 20 minutes next to the Lexington Brothers hospital. I have a blue bike. You'll see my blue bike out front. Don't you worry."
"So you will be at the homeless clinic. I will meet you there. What's your name?"
"I will have a blue bike. My name is Michael Brennie. B-R-E-N-N-I-E. I'll be at the homeless clinic. I have your phone."
"Alright I will see you soon. Thank you so much."
And we were off! My colleague Anthony and I were on our way to the homeless clinic to meet up with Michael Brennie, B-R-E-N-N-I-E. On the way, I stopped at the bank and took out $40 to give him for being such a grand citizen.
As we drove to the homeless clinic, I was praying that this man was telling the truth about everything. We parked the car. As we walked toward the homeless clinic, I spotted something that reassured me, a blue bike right out front. We walked into the homeless clinic, passed folks who were definitely struggling with just living. We asked the reception where we might find Michael Brennie and she pointed us toward the waiting room.
We popped into the wait room where 4 characters sat, dazed, exhausted from sleepless strung out nights, and in need of something.
My colleague shouts "Is there a Michael Brennie here? Michael Brennie?"
We turn to our right and there sitting, slouched down with a green worn t-shirt, baggy pants, and white shoes that have seen better days, is Mr. Michael Brennie. He says "I'm Michael."
"Are you Michael Brennie?"
"Michael Brennie. B-R-E-N-N-I-E."
"Hi Michael, oh my goodness, you have my phone, thank you so much!"
"Well, actually, I don't have your phone."
"What?! What happened?"
"The VTA light rail security guard confiscated it from me."
"Oh, well that's okay. I really appreciate you helping me out. I got this for you." I hand him the $40.
Brennie says, "Oh wow, I really need this. Thank you so much." He looks over at the spaced out woman to his right. "See what happens when you do right and do good things."
My colleague then steps into the hallway and gives me a whisper. We huddle in the hall and he has me log into Find my iPhone so we can corroborate Mr. Brennie's story. I crossed my fingers and the app GPS'd to my phone...and what do you know - my phone was traveling again along the San Jose light rail line. God Bless Michael Brennie.
I walked back to thank Michael and he then asks, "Can I get a hug?"
"Of course you can!"
Brennie asks, "What's your name?"
"My name is Stephanie."
"Oh, I used to date a girl named Stephanie." (He breaks into song.) "Myyyy babyyy Stephanie, darrrrlin Stephy. Oh you smell like roses."
"Thanks again Michael, God Bless."
And that was it. I met Michael Brennie. We were now off again and this time chasing the light rail. My colleague stops at an intersection and we see a light rail stopped. He puts his car in park, hops out of the driver's seat before I notice, and shouts to me to drive his car. I quickly hop into the driver's seat and can't reach the pedals. Of course the light turns green and I have to quickly adjust the seat while driving and wearing heels.
I park his car and run over to where he is. Now he's on hold again with customer service and is talking to the VTA security guards. They inform us that my phone is now headed to Milpitas - really getting the most out of its trip.
We rush back to the car and get a VTA person on the phone. They know exactly where my phone is and we schedule a time to meet the VTA driver who has my phone in downtown San Jose.
We then head downtown to catch the 10:53 light rail driver on his route.
When the light rail comes to the downtown stop, I knock on the driver's window.
I immediately say, "You have my phone, I'm Stephanie."
The light rail driver, "Well, good morning to you," with a big friendly smile.
And that was it, my phone was returned to me and I got to encounter good ol' Michael Brennie.
Tune in next time for my wild shenanigans,
I am Sterp. I write dark fiction and have a very unhealthy obsession with disturbing narratives. I am the author of The Cult Called Freedom House: Sophia Rey Book One. My short story The Lost Tea Cup is in Issue 26 of The Literary Hatchet. I am also a painter.
HORROR PODCASTS I LOVE
AUTHOR/WRITING PODCASTS I LOVE