Sunday, December 20, 2009

Christmas

The Church Bell

Joyce Peterson

The boy stayed awake until it was after eleven o'clock. He was too anxious to wait any longer. After all. he was 10 years old, he should be able to do this. His mother was asleep. She slept soundly because she had taken on 2 jobs. Since his Father had been killed in the war, she was tired and sad most of the time.

He crept downstairs, so he wouldn't fall and wake her, closed the door quietly. The old church was only two blocks away. It was old because no one went there any more. Last summer the new church was opened in the suburbs and everyone, well, almost every one went there now. He and his mother had gone until she took the Sunday morning job, now, they couldn't. Jimmy spent Sunday mornings remembering the good times he had there in the past.

He put his hand on the brick wall and drew it along until he turned the corner. The steps leading into the church were in the middle of the front of it. The light on the corner showed him that there was an old man sitting on the steps. He wondered if he should sit down beside him. Mom had always warned him about strangers. But he didn't think she meant an old man.

Sitting down beside the man, the boy thought there was something familiar about him.

The old man looked at him and said, "You're Davy Sampson . You used to go to this church, didn't you?"

Recognizing the old man, Davy almost shouted, "Pastor Rigby!! You were the minister for a long, long time, weren't you?"

"Twenty-five years, but when they built the new church, I knew it wouldn't be the same. I'm Pastor in a different place now, but this old building, with the bell ringing at midnight on Christmas Eve, drew me back. I know the bell won't ring tonight but we can imagine, can't we?" the Pastor paused before he said, "I was sorry to hear about your Dad, Davy. It was just about the time they opened the new church, wasn't it?"

The boy sniffed and tried to keep from crying. "Yes. My Dad always rang the church bell on Christmas Eve. After the service, everybody left before 12 o'clock. Mom let me stay up so I could go with him. One time, when he rang the bell, I asked him why. You know what he said?" Pastor Rigby shook his head. "He told me that as long as we could hear the bell at midnight on Christmas Eve we would know that everything will all right. I know it won't ring tonight but, like you said, we can imagine."

As Davy was talking, the Pastor had pulled keys from his pocket and was going through them. "By golly, he said "I've still got it."

"What?" Davy asked.

He held up a single key. "I still have the key that I had so I could let myself into a side door when I wanted to go into the church." Davy was looking at the Pastor so intently that he patted the boy on the head as he told him, "We can make the bell ring tonight, Davy."

Davy was overjoyed. "Then the whole city will know that everything will be all right. Let's go."

The man started to go around to the other side of the building. "The door is over here."

Pastor Rigby shuffled, and the boy ran to wait at the door for him. It would be great to be able to run up the steps to the Bell Tower.

The old man slowly followed the boy who had run up the stairs. He was already there, holding the rope that pulled the bell. When he saw the old man, he tugged at the rope but couldn't budge it.

The Pastor took a deep breath as he looked at the illuminated dial on his watch. "Hold on, Davy. We've got a minute to go," he said. "Bells in the new churches can be rung…" He searched for a word.

Davy asked, "Technically?"

The Pastor laughed. "It takes you youngsters to know words like that." After he felt he had enough breath, he placed his hand on the rope as he checked his watch. "Let's do this together, son. I didn't climb all those stairs for nothing. Now, let's both pull as hard as we can."

They both pulled on the rope and, after a few tries, the bell rang so loud, Davy was sure the whole city would hear. They rang, and rang until the Pastor said, "I think that should be enough and you better get back home. If you mother heard, she's probably looking for you." He took the boys hand and started for the stairs, but Davy pulled away.

"Wait," he called as he headed for one of the open spaces around the tower. Looking up, he thought he saw a star wink at him.

"Did you hear that, Dad?" He shouted. "We rang the bell." When he heard the Pastor call to him from the bottom of the stairs, he looked again at the stars and said, "I better go now. Mom will be worried if the bell woke her up. But won't she be surprised when I tell her how Pastor Rigby and I did it?"

Davy rushed down the stairs calling the Pastor's name but when he reached the bottom, the old man had gone. "I'd better get home in a hurry, " he thought as he closed the door to the church and took off in a run.

When he got home, his Mother was waiting at the door as he entered.

"Where have you been? I've been looking for you," she scolded him. "I heard the bell ring. Someone must have got into the church, somehow."

"It was me, Mom. Me and Pastor Rigby. He had a key and he helped me." Davy tried to explain as he climbed the stairs to their apartment.

His Mother stood in the open door and looked at the sky. "How do I tell him, Dave? How do I tell him that Pastor Rigby died this past summer, too? Who helped him ring the bell?" She saw a star wink at her and she laughed out loud for the first time in a long time.

Davy stopped and looked back at her, "It works, Mom. Everything is all right."



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Monday, November 23, 2009

Thanksgiving

TO SAVE A FRIEND

Clyde Haynes had bought the small farm, if you could call 2 acres a small farm, so that he and Lizzie could move there when he retired. But Lizzie, who had heart problems all her life, had died three years before he reached his 70th birthday. He had always promised her he would retire then. It made him sad that she couldn't share his retirement with him. They had never been fortunate enough to have children. Clyde felt the loss of both Lizzie and the kids they didn't have, especially now. He felt very much alone. His friends were too busy to visit him often. Life on the "farm" looked as though it were going to be a little lonely. He needed to find something to keep him busy.

Lizzie had always talked about having a garden and raising chickens. Maybe he should go ahead with her plan. He had always done things to please her. Then, he realized he didn't know how to start. He had been born and raised in the city. The only chickens he knew about were the ones that Lizzie had roasted or fried and put on their dinner table. He remembered visiting a farm when he was young and how the smell of the chicken pen had nauseated him. Still, there was the garden. Maybe he could do that but, where to start was a problem? Since he had moved in the last part of September, he had been here about 2 weeks now, for he had just turned the calendar to October. Could he start a garden?

When he had first moved in, Clyde had walked over and talked, just once, to the next door neighbor, a man who looked to be in his forties. Clyde had still been wearing a suit and tie. When the man had come to the fence, Clyde couldn't get any words to come out of his mouth. He didn't understand it. He had been in business all his life and head never had a problem with speaking. He guessed he couldn't "country speak".

The neighbor didn't seem to notice because he asked, "You the one bought the place next door?" Clyde nodded. The man continued, "Nice place for a garden and chickens. My mother takes care of that for me and my nephew, Jimmy. She could give you some pointers."

By this time, Clyde had smelled the chicken pen. "No chickens," he told the man. "But maybe a little garden. My wife would have wanted both chickens and the garden but she died a couple of years ago." Clyde heard the tears in his own voice.

"Sorry to hear that," the man said without feeling. "Mom's a great one to give out advice. Believe me, we know, don't we Jimmy?" A boy of about eight had walked up to them, followed by a turkey.

"This is my nephew. He lives with me. His folks are dead. Mom lives with me because Pop died." The man held out his hand. "Name's Ed Dudley. Better get back to cleaning up the yard. I work in town so I do what I can on the week ends."

Clyde realized it was Sunday. He had lost track of time since he moved to the "country". He saw he was still holding his neighbor's hand. Dropping it, he said, "Nice to meet you, Ed. I'll stop by another time to meet your mother." Looking down, he saw that Jimmy had his arm around the turkey. He told the boy, "I guess I'll be seeing you around."

The boy smiled. "Yeah. Me and Tom," he said.

That had been more than two weeks ago. Today, he had dressed in a pair of the jeans and the shirts he had bought for the way he lived now. Suits and ties were for other times and other places. While he was putting the furniture where he imagined Lizzie would put it, he had caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. He liked what he saw. He was sure he could pass for sixty, not that anyone would notice. His hair had grey, streaking through the brown. He was tall and straight. When he noticed the little paunch, he reminded himself to get back on the exercise program that he had practiced for so many years. Liz had always reminded him. When he lived in town, it was easier to remember . Out here, he couldn't visualize Liz, sitting at the kitchen table, saying, "Time to exercise. Get going." He still missed her in so many ways.

The furniture was all in place in the new house. He decided he would tell himself, "Time to exercise." Having a garden would help. He would go next door again, this time to get advice from Ed Dudley's mother. He had seen the boy Jimmy, walking the turkey down the road, almost every day. The boy always waved and the bird gobbled. Clyde had started looking forward to it.

He walked down the road, then up to the front door of the Dudley house. He rang the bell but, when no one answered, he walked around to the back. A woman was in the garden, leaning over, pulling up weeds.

Clyde called out, "Hello." When she stood and turned around, he was surprised to see a tall woman who looked almost too young to be the mother of the neighbor he had met before. Clyde told her, "I'm Clyde Haynes, your next door neighbor. I was looking for Mr. Dudley's mother. He said she would give me some advice on starting a garden."

The woman laughed. "Well, I'm it on both counts. Right now I'm trying to get rid of some weeds, but I'll come out and get us some lemonade. Don't know if I'm such a good authority on gardening but I do make a reasonable glass of lemonade."

She sounded friendly. Lizzie had always had a knack for making people feel comfortable. Clyde liked that in a woman. He also saw that Ed's mother had black hair that, like Clyde's, had grey streaks. When she got close, he noticed that her eyes were blue. The blue jeans and flowered blouse she wore seemed to add to her natural charm. Her eyes twinkled when she held out her hand and told him, "I'm Caroline. But everyone calls me Carrie."

As he took her hand in his, the warmth that ran through his body was something he hadn't felt for many years. He followed her through the back door into a sunny kitchen. "I didn't mean to take you away from your gardening."

"Anyone who takes me away from gardening can visit any time they want. I just started about two years ago when Jimmy and I came to live with Ed." She stopped abruptly to take a deep breath, then continued, "Jimmy's mother was my daughter. She and her husband had been on a business trip and asked my husband to pick them up at the airport when they got back. Jimmy stayed with me while they were gone. On the way back from the airport, the highway was slippery from a rainstorm. They ran off the road. All three were killed." Her voice had trailed off.

Clyde took her arm and helped her into a chair at the table. "I'm sorry. We can do this another time if you would rather."

She took a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped her eyes. "No, no. I'm fine. Sit down" Clyde took a chair next to her and turned to face her. She laughed as she told him, "If you can stand the sniffles, it will be good to talk to you."

She seemed to have recovered, so, Clyde decided to stay. "You two live with your son?"

"Yes. His wife had left him not long before the accident. We decided it might be best if I sold our place and came here with Jimmy. It's been good for the boy to have a man around. They get along fine, except for the turkey. Ed keeps telling Jimmy we have to have the turkey for Thanksgiving."

Clyde had become so accustomed to seeing the turkey with the boy, he couldn't imagine their being separated. "Aren't there other turkeys?"

Carrie sighed, "No. Along with some chickens, Tom was hatched in an old incubator I had found at a flea market. A neighbor, up the road, gave Jimmy 3 turkey eggs to put in with the chicken eggs that I bought from him to put in the incubator. Tom was the only turkey that hatched. It took to Jimmy right away and follows him everywhere. Ed doesn't think chickens or turkeys should be pets. He told Jimmy that at Thanksgiving, Tom has to go. Ed thinks of himself as Jimmy's Dad. Even though he never had children of his own, he believes that the Dad always gets the last word. However, Thanksgiving is still over a month away. Maybe he'll change his mind."

"Ed looks like a good man. I'm sure he'll change his mind." Clyde told her.

Carrie's face betrayed her negative feelings, as she answered, "I hope. But ever since he was a little boy, when he makes up his mind, it's been hard to change it. Jimmy doesn't argue with him any more. Ever since you came, in fact."

Clyde liked looking at her. She brought out feelings that he thought had been lost forever. He remembered why he was here. "Your son told me that you might help me get started on a garden. I need something to keep me busy and maybe get some exercise along with it."

She laughed as she said, "Well, I'm afraid it's a little late to start a garden this year. I can tell you all the mistakes I made a couple of years ago and help you get started next year. First, in the spring, you will have to get someone to plow up a garden spot for you. I have the name of a man who can do that . As for planting, decide what you want to raise, get some seeds and read the instructions. For some things, it would be best to go to a nursery and get the plants. There's a great nursery in Collington, the little village you passed through before you got here. I'll go with you, when it's time, and help you."

When Clyde thought of escorting Carrie any place, he felt a sudden joy. "That would be great," he gushed.

Carrie smiled as though she could read his innermost thoughts. To cover the blush he knew was turning his face red, he added "I'll have to buy an exercise machine to help me through the winter."

She held up her hand, "You don't need to do that. Why don't you help me keep the weeds out of my garden?"

"Yeah, then maybe Tom and me could play with our friend Kenny instead of helping in the garden." Jimmy and Tom had magically appeared and Clyde wondered how much the boy had heard. Not that anything had been said, but Clyde knew his thoughts had got a little out of hand.

That was how Clyde, Carrie, Jimmy and Tom got to be good friends. Clyde told them all about Lizzie and why they had bought the "place next door". Carrie seemed to be glad to talk about her family. Jimmy told Clyde, in detail, about his Uncle and what he wanted to do to Tom at Thanksgiving. By time Thanksgiving was only a week away, they had shared many happy hours, weeding and drinking lemonade. Of course, as the weather got cooler, there was not much left to weed. Instead of lemonade, Carrie had started serving cider, the soft kind since Jimmy liked to share in the conversation. It was a good time.

Clyde wasn't sure whether the good times would last when, one morning early in Thanksgiving week,, Jimmy didn't walk by with Tom but brought him into the yard. Clyde had been watching and had the door open before Jimmy had a chance to knock. He had grown very fond of the boy. Tentatively, he asked, "What can I do for you, Jimmy?"

When Jimmy looked up, he saw the tears in the child's eyes and heard them in his voice when he answered. "Not me, Mr. Haynes. It's Tom. I want to give him to you."

Clyde was caught off guard. He stuttered, "You…you…want to give me your friend?"

The boy started to cry as he told Clyde, "You're my friend, too. I know you would be good to him. You wouldn't kill him for any old Thanksgiving dinner…would you?"

Clyde wasn't sure how to handle the situation. Maybe the truth would be a start. "I've never killed anything in my life, Jimmy." He hesitated before he asked, "But what about your family, do they know you want to do this?"

Jimmy nodded his head, "They know." He paused before explaining. " Well, when I went out the door this morning I told Grandma. She didn't say I couldn't. At least I didn't hear her say anything before I closed the door." Clyde smiled as he pictured the scene.

Jimmy had leaned down to put his arm around the turkey. He looked up at Clyde. "You've got an old pen in the back. The people that lived here before had chickens. It might need a little fixin' up but I could help you."

The boy was looking up at Clyde with such wide, hopeful eyes that Clyde felt he had to say something. "Maybe we should to look at it."

He let Jimmy bring Tom through the house and all three went into the backyard. The chicken pen did need some "fixin' up", but it would probably hold Tom for the time being. He rubbed his hand through the boy's blond curly hair as he told him, "It looks pretty good, Jimmy." Clyde knew he would have to talk to Carrie. He hoped he could find out what had happened without causing Carrie any concern. He stooped down to talk to Jimmy. "Why don't you take Tom for his walk. Stop on your way back and we'll see if Tom would like to live here."

The boy turned away from him."I know what you're gonna do. You're gonna call my Grandma," Clyde could hear an accusation in the childish voice. "I don't care. Call her. If you won't let Tom stay here, he'll be our Thanksgiving dinner and it will be your fault. C'mon, Tom. Let's take our walk." Clyde followed the boy and Tom through the back door.

When Tom had to stop in the kitchen for nature's call, Jimmy pulled a tissue and a little plastic bag from his shirt pocket, cleaned it up with the tissue and put it in the plastic bag. Clyde took it when he saw Jimmy looking around. He'd have to show Jimmy how to take Tom around the outside of the house.

"I'll get rid of that for you," he said as he disposed of the bag in a nearby trash can. "You take Tom for his walk. Don't forget to stop by on the way back."

Jimmy sounded a little hopeful as he answered, "O.K. Maybe it's good that Uncle Ed isn't home. If you call, you'll have to talk to Grandma. She always liked Tom." The boy and his friend went out the front door, then down the road.

Clyde knew he had to call Carrie. He hoped he wasn't going to cause trouble in the family. The phone was picked up as soon as it rang. "Hello." Clyde could hear the concern in her voice.

"Carrie, this is Clyde," he told her.

"I know, or I hoped you would call. I watched Jimmy when he left. He had just said he was going to give Tom to you and he rushed out the door. What happened?" Carrie sounded like she had been crying.

"He offered but I didn't know what to tell him."

Carrie was crying. "Last night, he and Ed had another argument about having Tom for our Thanksgiving dinner, Thursday. That's only 3 days away. Jimmy went to bed mad. Ed just said that kids have to grow up sometime and he went to bed. I worried all night. After Ed went to work, Jimmy went out the door and came to your house with Tom."

Clyde wished he were close enough to put his arms around her. He tried to sound comforting, "How about letting Jimmy leave Tom with me, at least until after Thanksgiving. Maybe we can work something out with Ed. If we can't, I guess Tom could be a permanent guest. I can't stand by and see both you and the boy crying."

Carrie asked, "Are you sure?" When he answered in the affirmative, Carrie sounded like she was going to burst through the phone to give him her thanks. "By the way, unless you have other plans, you're invited here for Thanksgiving. I think maybe we should have ham this year. I just hope Ed isn't mad about the turkey staying with you. After all, Tom belongs to Jimmy . He should be the one who decides where he lives."

"Let's hope Ed sees it that way." Clyde didn't want trouble with Carrie's son. "And, I don't have other plans for Thanksgiving. If I did, I'd cancel them to be with you." He meant it

Carrie laughed as she told him, "I can't think of anyone I'd rather have next to me at the dinner table. If Ed gives you any trouble, I'll have Jimmy bring me to your house, like he has Tom."

Clyde would have tried to tell her more but he could see Jimmy and Tom coming back in the yard. "I see Jimmy and Tom coming back. I'll see you Thursday. Maybe we could…talk some more." He heard her laugh as she hung up.

When he told Jimmy that Tom would be staying with him, Jimmy wanted to hug him but could only hold out his hands. Clyde picked him up and felt the thrill of having a child hug him about the neck.

"I knew you were my friend," the boy said as Clyde lowered him to the floor.

"By the way, your Grandma invited me to your house for Thanksgiving. I guess I'll have to leave Tom in the pen here." All of a sudden, Clyde realized he had taken on a responsibility. "You'll have to give me some food for Tom until I can get to the store. Maybe you could go with me to be sure I get the right stuff. Tomorrow OK?"

Jimmy nodded. "Maybe you could bring Tom over for Thanksgiving. Just don't come until dinner is ready. Uncle Ed wouldn't have any reason to kill him then. He could stay in our pen. At least he'd be close so he wouldn't get lonely."

"Sounds like a good plan, Jimmy. Go put Tom in my pen then go home and make piece with Carrie…I mean, your Grandma..for running out on her like you did today."

Jimmy started for the back door. "Thanks for everything, Mr. Haynes. See you tomorrow."

Clyde and Jimmy spent much of the next day shopping for turkey food or mending the pen fence. Tom pranced around the pen as if he knew it was his new home.

The next couple of days seemed to go too slow as Clyde waited for Thanksgiving. He didn't know what would happen with Ed Dudley. He knew what he hoped would happen with Carrie. When he had asked her what he could bring for dinner, she had said "just yourself". However, he did buy a bottle of champagne and a bottle of apple cider for Jimmy. If things went well, they could have a toast.

Thanksgiving Day was clear. The weather was not too warm. Clyde was glad because he had decided to dress in a suit, shirt and tie. He had asked Jimmy to call him when dinner was almost ready so he could come over with Tom.

The phone rang. When he answered, he heard Jimmy whisper, "You and Tom can come," and hang up.

Jimmy had sounded like a conspirator. Clyde felt like one, himself. With what he had in mind, he hoped he didn't end up with egg on his face.

He and Tom went to the back door of the Dudley house. Ed opened the door. "You can put your friend in the chicken pen. Mom's got every thing ready to go, so, come on in, when you're finished with Tom." Clyde was glad that Ed had, at least been polite. He put Tom in the pen then went in the back door. Since it opened into the kitchen, he saw Carrie. She was a beautiful woman. She had on a grey turtle-neck sweater and dark gray slacks. As she turned around to welcome him, she wiped her hands on the apron she wore. He set the bag with the champagne on the counter. When, she held out her hand to him. He took it and drew her to him and kissed her. She returned the kiss with more fervor than Clyde could have hoped for.

"You don't mind?" He asked.

She laughed. "I thought it was about time."

Clyde felt that his plan had been the right one. He kissed her again as Jimmy came into the kitchen. Ed was behind him and pulled the boy back into the dining room.

"Jimmy," Ed said, "Have you finished putting the napkins on the table?"

"I'm all finished. I was just going out to tell Tom "Happy Thanksgiving"." Jimmy pulled away and went out the back door.

Carrie looked at her son. "It's OK, Ed. I've been a big girl for a long time now." Ed grunted as his mother gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Everybody carry something in to the table. Ed, you take the ham since you'll be doing the carving. Clyde, Jimmy and I will bring everything else."

It was a great Thanksgiving dinner, the best Clyde had had in a few years. Ed wasn't too grumpy. Jimmy had to excuse himself a few times to see Tom. Clyde felt that he and Carrie were in a world of their own.

When the last bit of pie was gone, Jimmy and Carrie started to take the dirty dishes to the kitchen. Clyde started to help but she pushed him back down in his seat. "Guests don't do dishes in my house. Jimmy and I will get the dishes in the dishwasher." She laughed as she told them, " You and Ed can tell each other what great guys you are."

When just the two men were left at the table, Clyde felt the "cold feet syndrome" almost take over. Then he cleared his throat and statrted, "Ed, uh, uh.." He wasn't sure but he thought he saw a little smile on the younger man's face as he continued. "Your mother and I, well, we don't have as much of our lives left as you do." He hoped he could get the words out before Carrie and Jimmy came back.

Ed was actually smiling a broad smile. "I know, Clyde. Mom reminded me of that just today."

Clyde laughed, "I didn't think this would be so hard to do. Maybe I should just say it. Do I have your permission to ask Carrie to marry me?"

Ed looked pleased. "You heard Mom say she's a big girl, so you didn't have to ask me. I do appreciate that you did. Of course, you have my permission."

Jimmy and Carrie had come back into the room, "He has your permission to do what?" She asked,

Clyde hurriedly told her to bring have Jimmy bring Tom in, "To be with us when we have a toast to that delicious Thanksgiving ham. Jimmy can get Tom, I'll get the bottles, and your Uncle can get some special glasses out of that China cabinet in back of him." Clyde and Jimmy went back to the kitchen.

"You better get those glasses," Carrie muttered. "That ham must have been pretty special to get its own toast."

Ed told her, "I guess Clyde appreciated having ham. You can tell he has grown fond of that old turkey."

When Clyde and Jimmy returned with the champagne and cider, Tom followed them. He had a ribbon around his neck.

Jimmy looked at Carrie, "It's all right, Grandma," he patted his shirt pocket. "I've got things if he has an accident."

"It's Thanksgiving, Jimmy. All the family members should be here." When she saw the ribbon around the turkeys neck, she pulled it up and saw something attached. It was a ring box. Clyde took the ring out and held it up.

"Don't make me put this back in the box. I could never go through this again." Clyde looked at her.

"He wants to marry you, Grandma," Jimmy shouted.

Carrie smiled, "I certainly hope so," she said as she held up her hand. Clyde placed the ring on her finger and kissed her.

Ed got up to shake Clyde's hand. "I'll give up my Mother but I think the turkey should come home to be with Jimmy. Of course, Tom will always be one of the family." He looked at his Mother and Jimmy.

Carrie took Clyde's hand. "Looks like I'm being traded for a "old turkey".

"A very valuable turkey," Ed teased. "What I was trying to say is, I think I should be Jimmy's father. Maybe we could have a wedding and an adoption ceremony at the same time, if Jimmy doesn't mind." He held his arms out to the boy.

When Ed picked him up, Jimmy hugged him around the neck. "As long as Tom is always a family member and not Thanksgiving dinner."

Ed pulled him close. "It's a promise."

Jimmy looked serious as he asked, "I won't have to call you Dad, will I?"

Ed shook his head, "Not if you don't want to."

When Ed lowered him to the floor, Jimmy went to his Grandmother. "If Gram marries Mr. Haynes, she will be close enough to watch out for me. It sounds like every thing is working out just fine." He took Carrie by one hand and Clyde by the other as he said, "And at the ceremony, Tom could be the ring bearer."

Tom gobbled his approval.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Halloween

1 BLANK SCREEN

Joyce Peterson

Howard sat in the darkened room and looked at his computer. What he saw was a blank screen. Damn, Damn, Damn!! His publisher had given him a measly $10,000 advance but, now, the money was gone and so were the words. He was sure he could do another novel, but, so far, he was wrong. He heard the rain pelting against the window pane. Somewhere in the neighborhood there was a dog howling. He felt a sudden hate for anyone who would leave a dog out in the rain. The ringing of the doorbell brought his thoughts to the Blank Screen. If he could only get started. For him, starting was one of the hardest parts of writing a novel. The bell rang again.

He didn't know why they should give out candy to the little "devils" and "angels" who did nothing but break their windows by batting balls when they didn't know how to hit a ball with a bat, or ruining their flower beds by riding trikes and bikes through them because they had never been taught how to guide them.

They had gone through this last Halloween. Ellen had said, "They're just kids. I'm sure our kids have irritated our neighbors playing ball or riding bikes. Halloween's supposed to be a fun night. Just hand out the candy in the bowl on the table near the door, while I take the kids out for trick or treat." That was last year, when Howard wasn't occupied with writing a new novel. The doorbell rang again.

"ELLEN!!," he called. There was no answer. Damn, damn, damn, again! Ellen had probably gone out with the kids to pilfer candy from the neighbors.. She might have told him, but he had been too occupied to hear her. He got up and made his way through the family room and started through the darkened living room. Ellen always liked to darken the house and put the porch light on. She thought it made the kids feel welcome. He could see the porch light was on by its reflection in the door window.. Then, he fell over the footstool. After a few more cuss words and kicking the stool out of the way, he got to the candy. He took a piece, unwrapped it and put it in his mouth.

The sweet taste helped soften his attitude and he threw the door open with a hearty, "Well, who have we here?" All he got in return w=as mist, from the rain, in his face. He looked up and down the street, but there was no one. He pushed the doorbell to be sure that that was the sound he had heard. It was. He hoped Ellen and the kids had taken refuge with one of the neighbors. He was sure that Ellen would call if she wanted him to pick them up.

He closed the door and started back to his computer. The light from the computer in a far corner of the family room brought on more anxiety about the novel. When he sat down, he could see there was something on the screen. He knew there were some of his computer literate friends who probably had the knowledge to break in on his screen. Blazoned across it were the words, "It was dark and stormy night…" When lightening and thunder lit up the windows and shook his house, he thought, "Boy, did they have that right."

Looking at the words again, he knew they were familiar but he didn't know why. He clicked on "Google" then typed in the phrase and told the computer to search. The first thing that came up were excerpts from an old English book. "It was a dark and stormy night" had been the start of it. He read a bit of the story that had been published there, but gave it up. "I don't have time to read someone else's words, I need to get started on my own."

Then he thought, "That was a great beginning for the 1800's, but too cliché for today. Maybe I could rephrase it, bring it up to date. It still seemed more familiar than a quote from an old book he had never read before. However, just having a thought, for a beginning sentence of the new book, made him feel better.

The door bell rang again, and again, and again. He got up, reluctantly, and made his way through the dark, picked up more candy and ate it. This time he opened the door slowly. He got more mist, from the rain, in his face. He looked up and down the street again. A bolt of lightening showed him there was no one, any place.

When he got back to the computer, something had been added to the beginning words. Now, it read, "It was a dark and stormy night and all the boys were gathered 'round the campfire." As any writer would, he thought, "The first words have shown me how I might start, maybe I could use this part, too." Let me see, I don't write about boys but they could be men gathered around a campfire. Why would men be gathered around a campfire? They would probably be gathered around a pool or the bar closeby, having fun while the company would list it as a get together to talk over last year's failures and, hopefully, successes for the new year. Then he remembered that the government had really frowned on those long distance get-togethers paid for with company funds. Why couldn't a company comply with the new low budget gatherings and do it at a campsite?

Howard suddenly remembered his Boy Scout troop. That was why the words were so familiar. They had sung them when they went camping. He tried to bring back more of it when the door bell rang again.

He thought, "When I find out who is doing all this, somebody is going to have Hell to pay!" No matter, he still made his way to the front door, had candy, opened the door to feel the mist on his face and saw no one. Actually, he was almost anxious to get back to his computer to see what the screen had to say. this time. Something new had been added, it read, "It was a dark and stormy night. The boys were gathered around the campfire and, Jack, the Captain's son came running in. They all said, Jack, tell us a story and he began."

That's IT, he told himself, "The men are gathered around a campfire when someone runs in to give them some terrible news. I can make it a mystery. I'll be able to go from there." He kissed the screen. He had his face against the screen when he heard someone call his name.

"Howard, Howard, are you all right?" When he looked up, Ellen was standing over him.

"Are you back? Why didn't you call me? Is it still raining out?" He asked her.

"Back? Call you? Raining out?" Ellen sounded confused. Howard could certainly understand confusion at this point. Who had sent the screen messages? Who had rung the doorbell? He would try to straighten Ellen out before he told her about the messages. He asked, "Did you get to do any trick or treating in the rain? Who did you stay with? Why didn't you call me? I would have come for you."

Ellen laughed. "Lover, I just came in to tell you that the kids and I are just starting out for Trick or Treat. The candy is by the door for you to give the little angels and devils who will come by. I'm going as a very happy wife in the fur coat you bought me from the proceeds of your last novel. Donny is going as Caspar, so I don't worry about him. He can wear a coat under his costume, but Frannie is a Prima Ballerina and I had to promise to take her to her friend's party later so she would wear a coat while we're trick or treating. As for the rain, there is none, hasn't been any, and won't be any according to the forecast. You must have been dreaming. Maybe, while we're out, you'll be able to get started on that new book you promised the publisher, if you don't have too many kids coming by."

As she started toward the front door, she called, "Come on, you two goblins. Let's get this show on the road."

"But, but," Howard muttered as the three of them left. "I must have been dreaming but it seemed so real. It doesn't matter because, now, I know how to start and how to proceed. But, I was hoping for a little help with the mystery," he thought. He laughed at himself and the blank screen as he sat down before it.

Then, he heard the rain splash against the window. He heard a dog howling. The doorbell rang as the words began to take shape on the screen,

"IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT,"



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Sunday, October 25, 2009

New

1 BLANK SCREEN

Joyce Peterson

Howard sat in the darkened room and looked at his computer. What he saw was a blank screen. Damn, Damn, Damn!! His publisher had given him a measly $10,000 advance but, now, the money was gone and so were the words. He was sure he could do another novel, but, so far, he was wrong. He heard the rain pelting against the window pane. Somewhere in the neighborhood there was a dog howling. He felt a sudden hate for anyone who would leave a dog out in the rain. The ringing of the doorbell brought his thoughts to the Blank Screen. If he could only get started. For him, starting was one of the hardest parts of writing a novel. The bell rang again.

He didn't know why they should give out candy to the little "devils" and "angels" who did nothing but break their windows by batting balls when they didn't know how to hit a ball with a bat, or ruining their flower beds by riding trikes and bikes through them because they had never been taught how to guide them.

They had gone through this last Halloween. Ellen had said, "They're just kids. I'm sure our kids have irritated our neighbors playing ball or riding bikes. Halloween's supposed to be a fun night. Just hand out the candy in the bowl on the table near the door, while I take the kids out for trick or treat." That was last year, when Howard wasn't occupied with writing a new novel. The doorbell rang again.

"ELLEN!!," he called. There was no answer. Damn, damn, damn, again! Ellen had probably gone out with the kids to pilfer candy from the neighbors.. She might have told him, but he had been too occupied to hear her. He got up and made his way through the family room and started through the darkened living room. Ellen always liked to darken the house and put the porch light on. She thought it made the kids feel welcome. He could see the porch light was on by its reflection in the door window.. Then, he fell over the footstool. After a few more cuss words and kicking the stool out of the way, he got to the candy. He took a piece, unwrapped it and put it in his mouth.

The sweet taste helped soften his attitude and he threw the door open with a hearty, "Well, who have we here?" All he got in return was mist, from the rain, in his face. He looked up and down the street, but there was no one. He pushed the doorbell to be sure that that was the sound he had heard. It was. He hoped Ellen and the kids had taken refuge with one of the neighbors. He was sure that Ellen would call if she wanted him to pick them up.

He closed the door and started back to his computer. The light from the computer in a far corner of the family room brought on more anxiety about the novel. When he sat down, he could see there was something on the screen. He knew there were some of his computer literate friends who probably had the knowledge to break in on his screen. Blazoned across it "It was dark and stormy night…" When lightening and thunder lit up the windows and shook his house, he thought, "Boy, did they have that right."

Looking at the words again, he knew they were familiar but he didn't know why. He clicked on "Google" then typed in the phrase and told the computer to search. The first thing that came up were excerpts from an old English book. "It was a dark and stormy night" had been the start of it. He read a bit of the story that had been published there, but gave it up. "I don't have time to read someone else's words, I need to get started on my own."

Then he thought, "That was a great beginning for the 1800's, but too cliché for today. Maybe I could rephrase it, make it up to date. It still seemed more familiar than a quote from an old book he had never read before. However, just having a thought, for a beginning sentence for the new book, made him feel better.

The door bell rang again, and again, and again. He got up, reluctantly, and made his way through the dark, picked up more candy and ate it. This time he opened the door slowly. He got more mist, from the rain, in his face. He looked up and down the street again. A bolt of lightening showed him there was no one, any place.

When he got back to the computer, something had been added to the beginning words. Now, it read, "It was a dark and stormy night and all the boys were gathered 'round the campfire." As any writer would, he thought, "The first words have shown me how I might start, maybe I could use this part, too." Let me see, I don't write about boys but they could be men gathered around a campfire. Why would men be gathered around a campfire? They would probably be gathered around a pool or the bar closeby, having fun while the company would list it as a get together to talk over last year's failures and, hopefully, successes for the new year. Then he remembered that the government had really frowned on those long distance get-togethers paid for with company funds. Why couldn't a company comply with the new low budget gatherings and do it at a campsite?

Howard suddenly remembered his Boy Scout troop. That was why the words were so familiar. They had sung them when they went camping. He tried to bring back more of it when the door bell rang again.



____________________________________________________________
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Blank

1 BLANK SCREEN

Joyce Peterson

Howard sat in the darkened room and looked at his computer. What he saw was a blank screen. Damn, Damn, Damn!! His publisher had given him a measly $10,000 advance but, now, the money was gone and so were the words. He was sure he could do another novel, but, so far, he was wrong. He heard the rain pelting against the window pane. Somewhere in the neighborhood there was a dog howling. He felt a sudden hate for anyone who would leave a dog out in the rain. The ringing of the doorbell brought his thoughts to the Blank Screen. If he could only get started. For him, starting was one of the hardest parts of writing a novel. The bell rang again.

He didn't know why they should give out candy to the little "devils" and "angels" who did nothing but break their windows by batting balls when they didn't know how to hit a ball with a bat, or ruining their flower beds by riding trikes and bikes through them because they had never been taught how to guide them.

They had gone through this last Halloween. Ellen had said, "They're just kids. I'm sure our kids have irritated our neighbors playing ball or riding bikes. Halloween's supposed to be a fun night. Just hand out the candy in the bowl on the table near the door, while I take the kids out for trick or treat." That was last year, when Howard wasn't occupied with writing a new novel. The doorbell rang again.

"ELLEN!!," he called. There was no answer. Damn, damn, damn, again! Ellen had probably gone out with the kids to pilfer candy from the neighbors.. She might have told him, but he had been too occupied to hear her. He got up and made his way through the family room and started through the darkened living room. Ellen always liked to darken the house and put the porch light on. She thought it made the kids feel welcome. He could see the porch light was on by its reflection in the door window.. Then, he fell over the footstool. After a few more cuss words and kicking the stool out of the way, he got to the candy. He took a piece, unwrapped it and put it in his mouth.

The sweet taste helped soften his attitude and he threw the door open with a hearty, "Well, who have we here?" All he got in return was mist, from the rain, in his face. He looked up and down the street, but there was no one. He pushed the doorbell to be sure that that was the sound he had heard. It was. He hoped Ellen and the kids had taken refuge with one of the neighbors. He was sure that Ellen would call if she wanted him to pick them up.

He closed the door and started back to his computer. The light from the computer in a far corner of the family room brought on more anxiety about the novel. When he sat down, he could see there was something on the screen. He knew there were some of his computer literate friends who probably had the knowledge to break in on his screen. Blazoned across it "It was dark and stormy night…" When lightening and thunder lit up the windows and shook his house, he thought, "Boy, did they have that right."

Looking at the words again, he knew they were familiar but he didn't know why. He clicked on "Google" then typed in the phrase and told the computer to search. The first thing that came up were excerpts from an old English book. "It was a dark and stormy night" had been the start of it. He read a bit of the story that had been published there, but gave it up. "I don't have time to read someone else's words, I need to get started on my own."

Then he thought, "That was a great beginning for the 1800's, but too cliché for today. Maybe I could rephrase it, make it up to date. It still seemed more familiar than a quote from an old book he had never read before. However, just having a thought, for a beginning sentence for the new book, made him feel better.

The door bell rang again, and again, and again. He got up, reluctantly, and made his way through the dark, picked up more candy and ate it. This time he opened the door slowly. He got more mist, from the rain, in his face. He looked up and down the street again. A bolt of lightening showed him there was no one, any place.

When he got back to the computer, something had been added to the beginning words. Now, it read, "It was a dark and stormy night and all the boys were gathered 'round the campfire." As any writer would, he thought, "The first words have shown me how I might start, maybe I could use this part, too." Let me see, I don't write about boys but they could be men gathered around a campfire. Why would men be gathered around a campfire? They would probably be gathered around a pool or the bar closeby, having fun while the company would list it as a get together to talk over last year's failures and, hopefully, successes for the new year. Then he remembered that the government had really frowned on those long distance get-togethers paid for with company funds. Why couldn't a company comply with the new low budget gatherings and do it at a campsite?

Howard suddenly remembered his Boy Scout troop. That was why the words were so familiar. They had sung them when they went camping. He tried to bring back more of it when the door bell rang again.




____________________________________________________________
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