The Creative Chronicles of Dave Stancliff

They said it was a Game

Lost in a maze, adventure turns surreal and haunting.

There’s nothing funny about being lost in a maze. Especially on a moonless night that was darker than a Raven’s wing. The cold monolithic walls of giant blocks carved from black tourmaline were damp to my touch. They were so high they disappeared in the stygian sky.

I cursed myself for being an idiot for the thousandth time.

I should have just ignored the guy’s challenge, but they kept calling me a spoil sport. The beer flowed freely and George and Freddy kept buying rounds for all of us at the Lucky Bar last Friday night. I have to admit that it doesn’t take a lot of alcohol to get me drunk. My senses slow down and my speech slurs after my sixth beer. But I’m always game. The guys at the bar know this. When I show up on Friday nights the betting money flows like a green stream as people place their wagers on the results of a challenge, I accept that evening.

Most of the challenges were laughably easy for a fit guy like me. 100 pushups in three minutes? No problem. I could do a one-armed headstand on the bar while clutching a mug of beer in the other hand. I’m not just all about brawn, however. I still hold the record for eating the most pickled eggs in five minutes. Even when my brain is pickled with alcohol, I still have a semantic memory involving general facts and knowledge.

So why expose myself to the risks involved with endless challenges coming from drunken co-workers? The attention is nice. But it’s something else that’s harder to explain. Recognition? Maybe. A shallow victory in a life of drudgery. A way to transcend my daily mediocracy. All of them and more.

It was Bob who brought up the maze challenge. I heard him and Freddy talking about a maze deep into the country that was ancient and explorers were always disappearing while attempting to navigate the snake-like corridors. George said it was an old wife’s tale and then gulped the rest of his beer down like he was making a point. One of the younger guys, Lewis, bragged he could find his way with a compass. I couldn’t help myself and casually asked if anyone wanted to bet that I wouldn’t get lost and in fact could map out the maze for future visitors. Joey the bartender could barely keep up with all the bets that poured in that night. It was agreed we’d all hike out to the maze that weekend.

None of us could believe something that gigantic existed so near to where we lived. There were legends. I think National Geographic did a piece on the mysterious maze a couple of years ago, but the details were sketchy. At least that’s what Freddy said. We all walked up to the entrance and could see the light from the sunshine fighting to illuminate the black tourmaline walls that echoed with age.

We all agreed that if I didn’t come back in 24 hours the rest would seek help. We passed a bottle of good scotch around to take the chill off of the morning. I checked out my watch, compass, flashlight, and cell phone. Bob offered me a canteen of water which I appreciated. At that moment I felt alive. I was rising above my meaningless existence to go on an adventure.

The compass worked great at first, and I was able to tell that I was going in a southerly direction. Then something strange happened. The compass started spinning and wouldn’t stop.

I looked at my watch with its fluorescent hands and discovered only an hour had passed. The lighting above shifted as I followed the endless corridors that twisted sharply at times. I finally got the urge to call Freddy and whipped out my trusty cell phone. No signal. At first, it didn’t register in my brain. How could that be? Then my flashlight fluttered like a wounded bird as its glow danced erratically on the rough black walls. No, I muttered. This is not happening.

Then I saw a light at the end of a long corridor and walked towards it and saw long dead family and friends who greeted me happily.

From the Universal Travel Headquarters:

Alpha Centurian Sector Monthly Report

“Another male human has passed through the portal,” the chief operator wrote in the thick travelog.

“The relocation seems to be slowing down lately,” he sighed while checking the control panel for new activity.

-30-

Puny Parades & Golden Grifts

look at me

I’m Washington D.C.

a whore now

to a dick (tator)

and desecrator

with puny parades

patriotic charades

with gold gilded upgrades

to colonnades

that echo another

country’s glory days

look at me

how did it

come to be?

-30-

Graffiti In High C

Graffiti In High C

Batter Up!

As he waited for his turn Raul’s thoughts turned to Puerto Rico where he grew up playing baseball bare-footed and on sandy lots that often doubled as junk yards.

He slowly rocked the bat back and forth in a pendulum movement as he prepared himself to get in the zone and send the ball over the stadium wall and high into the bleachers where fans would scramble to get the prize. He tried not to pay attention to the umpire who was barking out calls like a drill sergeant addressing new recruits. He was aware of the huge audience staring down at the field like forward observers in a military unit exercise. He imagined his mother’s voice calmly telling him to relax and to focus to the task at hand.

It was high noon and the heat of the day was well on its way to hitting a record temperature in the high nineties for this time of year. Sweat beaded up on his brow, and he automatically wiped it away as he watched two of his teammates on base – second and third – who were inching away from the plate to get a quick start when the crack of the batter’s bat sounded off like a gunshot.

Raul took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Then the batter made contact with the ball and sent it high into right field where it was easily caught. That meant there were two outs. That also meant that the fate of the team rested on his shoulders here in the 9th inning. He slipped the weight off of his bat and purposely strode to home plate. His face was a mask of concentration as he took his position and waited for the first pitch.

It came in at 100 mph and low inside. He struck at it and missed the ball by an inch. A murmur went up in the restless home crowd. The umpire barked, “Strike one!“

Time was suspended for a moment while Raul thought about all of the sacrifices he made to get to play professional baseball. Today was his first game in the big leagues. His grip tightened on the bat as the pitcher wound up and hurled another heater toward the plate. His eyes tracked the ball’s velocity and height and when he swung, he made solid contact. His joy was quickly replaced by concern when the ball went out of bounds. He had one strike left before the game was over. He knew it would be the rookie’s fault if the game were lost. His teammates would look at him with scorn and wonder how he ever got a professional contract.

The doubts hovered over him like banshees haunting his thoughts as he watched the pitcher wind up while saying a silent prayer. He was aware of the catcher making a sign in his glove when the ball came at him like a rocket.

The crowd cheered lustily as Raul’s double careened off of the center field wall and the fielder’s throw didn’t make it in time before both of his teammates passed home base. He looked up at the sky and thanked his mother who’d been in heaven for three years now.

-30-

Bird Sightings

An owl flies across the growing dawn’s dim light heading in the protection of the dense forest that stretches ahead as far as the human eye can see. The mighty oak trees silently welcomed the owl who lives among their many boughs.

At high noon in the Sahara Desert three hungry buzzards are circling two men who appear near death. They are crawling in the hot sand blindly looking for water. Their time is getting close. When they stop crawling the buzzards decrease their altitude and lazily soar closer to the day’s lunch.

Two Red-Breasted Robins playfully dodge in and out of the Flowering Dogwood’s majestic canopy on a mission to eat any insects lurking among the fragrant pink blossoms. Two tourists stop and take their photo.

A pandemonium of parrots pours out of the thick foliage surprising the exploration team busily digging up Mayan artifacts from a ruined city that once housed thousands of people. They shriek and curse the intruders before disappearing back into the dense jungle.

The Peacock unfolded his iridescent tail feathers for the nearby Peahens to admire. He starts shaking his feathers in an age-old ritual that drives the girls crazy. While not as clever as Parrots, Peacocks use spatial awareness and are smart enough to survive in the wild.

A mating pair of Blue Jays are enjoying taunting a dog who can’t reach them on the tree branch. They call the dog, a beagle named Gus, rude names and threaten to poop on him if he doesn’t stop barking.

A murder of crows circles the battlefield before the fight starts. It’s a bad omen for the superstitious soldiers who scornfully try to pretend they aren’t worried but are secretly praying to their pagan gods to help the survive the upcoming bloodbath.

A squadron of Pelicans swoop down to visit the fishermen on the busy dock. The hang around preening and sunbathing between shrill calls begging for fish guts and human snacks.

-30-

Superstition is Patient

like a scarab beetle hiding in a pile of dung there’s an area of the brain that lurks just beyond conscientiousness

superstition

it lurks in the dark alleys of homosapien’s minds

sometimes surfacing in real time

a crippling fear of the unknown combined with stupidity

superstition is patient

it waits for its prey

like a panther hiding

in the dark fringes of human consciousness

waiting for an opportunity

to challenge reality

-30-

The Silence Suddenly Screamed

in the dead of night, the crickets crawled across the graves taking care not to rub their legs together and disturb the stillness and soundlessness of the ancient graveyard

at the end of the road a dim figure strode towards the last resting place for humanity taking care not to upset the serenity of the humid night

the moon slowly rose in the sky above the place where people went when they died

silhouettes of lost souls strolling in the eerie quietude of endless tombstones overgrown with mantles of moss flitted through the overgrown grass unaware of the stranger

phantoms of the past paraded over the marble mausoleums of the rich and famous with impunity born from being deceased for millenniums

the young husband approached the recent grave of his young bride, while raising a pistol to his head and calling out her name though she was dead

The silence suddenly screamed…

-30-

Wisdom Waiting

There are shelves full of secret books

filled with words of wisdom

standing silently and securely

in a hidden room

waiting for humanity

to come of age

but the age of heroes

has sadly passed

and only ignorance

exists in the void

-30-

The Voice

The voice in Duke’s head spoke to him one day when he was five years old.

It wasn’t a high voice or a low voice. It was a pleasant voice that immediately reassured him after he got punished for kicking the family cat. “It’s not your fault,” the oily voice consoled him. That was the day the voice took up permanent residence in Duke’s head.

As the years passed Duke learned to listen to the voice’s advice. It made him feel secure and confident. He quickly learned not to speak out loud when he talked with the voice. People would look at him funny when he did. He didn’t like that look so he kept his conversations within the safe confines of his skull. But as he grew older the conversations became contentious in sudden unexplained outbursts that came and went like storm clouds. After the thunder, lightning and the rain, the sun came out and the voice would tell a funny story.

During Duke’s teenage years he realized the voice wasn’t always right. It was a shocking revelation. It also provided fuel for their quarrels. About that time the headache’s appeared like thieves in the night blinding him and robbing him of his senses. Sometimes they lasted for days. He could go weeks without an incident and then the headaches suddenly returned with a vengeance. His doctor treated him for migraine headaches by giving Duke Rizatriptan to take during episodes. At moments of weakness, he almost told his doctor about the voice but thought better of it. He’d send him to a shrink and that wasn’t acceptable.

There was only one person that Duke really trusted and could confine in. That was Joey. They met when they were freshman attending Washington High School. Joey was in Special Ed and when he wasn’t attending special classes, he passed out fresh towels in the boys Locker room during PE classes. He was also the victim of mockery by almost everyone in the school. Everyone but Duke that is. He befriended Joey and stuck up for him numerous times when other boys bullied him. It wasn’t long before Duke had a reputation of someone you don’t mess with. Joey, who was always smiling, would share his lunch with Duke when he didn’t have one. Which happened frequently because his mother was a mean drunk that resented having him and his sister.

Just before graduation day Duke decided to tell Joey about the voice. They were at Joey’s house trying on their graduation gowns and caps when he nonchalantly asked him, “Do you ever hear a voice in your head?”

Without hesitation Joey replied, “Sometimes...”

“Have you ever talked back to that voice?” Duke casually inquired.

Joey looked confused for a few moments like didn’t understand the question. Then a sly look appeared on his narrow face, and he looked around the bedroom to make sure no one else was there. He shut the door and turned to Duke with a look on his face he’d never seen before. In a low solemn voice that was the opposite of Joey’s tenor said, “I’m Joey’s celestial companion. Pleased to meet you.”

Before Duke could reply to the question the voice in his head answered… out loud! “Greetings fellow traveler!”

-30-

The Storyteller

Gordy’s Uncle Leon was known for telling tall tales and for setting a Guinness World Record in 1964 for swallowing the most live goldfish in five minutes. Most of the adults in the family treated Uncle Leon like he was a benign imbecile. But Gordy loved him and never grew tired of hearing his stories.

It bothered Gordy that his dad showed such little respect for his own brother who was mentally challenged but not a total idiot. They were twins but somehow didn’t have anything in common other than their looks. Gordy’s dad, Alan, was a successful businessman who owned several businesses. His mom tolerated Uncle Leon and was generally nice to him. She was a timid woman who was dominated by Gordy’s dad who had a mean streak. She never questioned anything he did and put her energy into being a good housewife. She loved Gordy but seldom stood up for him.

When the twins parents both died in an automobile accident Alan and Leon inherited a large sum of money. Alan who became Leon’s conservator handled all the finances and gave him an allowance every month. Leon lived in a two-bedroom house that once belonged to their parents before they won a multi-million lottery in Arizona.

Unfortunately, they only got to enjoy their new house in Malibu, California for a year before their fatal car accident. Gordy was ten years-old when his grandparents died. During the funeral Leon was crying uncontrollably while Alan remained stoic and calm. He did not wear his feelings on his shoulder like his brother. Gordy noticed that and it bothered him. Afterward the memory clung to him like an unwanted barnacle.

Gordy was eighteen-years old when Uncle Leon had to be put in an assisted living facility. He had dementia and couldn’t take care of himself any longer. He was seldom lucid, but Gordy didn’t let that bother him when he came to visit every week. On one of those visits he was surprised to see a group of patients who were sitting around in the day room intently listening to Uncle Leon tell his story. Apparently, he had regular audiences and staff members could often be seen while on their breaks listening to Uncle Leon spinning a tale. I was amazed the first time I witnessed the scene. At other times he would sit almost comatose and stare into space with a blank look. When he was able to recognize Gordy, he would smile and tell him what a good boy he was. He would ask about his parents sometime wondering if they were going to visit him. Uncle Leon was in and out of reality and in poor physical shape. He was as thin as a reed. He had a thyroid problem and his eyes bulged out whenever he got too excited.

The last time Gordy saw his uncle alive he was shocked by his clarity. He seemed to have come out of a dream – a bad dream – and he had to tell Gordy all about it. His bulging eyes had an intensity that Gordy hadn’t seen in years. His voice cracked and he coughed before saying, “He cut the brake line…”

Gordy’s eyes opened wide in disbelief. “Who cut a brake line?”

“Your dad.“

“Why would he do that?” Gordy pleaded with tears running down his eyes.

Leon coughed again and his raspy reply froze him, “Money!”

“Why didn’t you tell the police or someone,” Gordy sobbed.

“No one would believe me…” His voice grew fainter.

Gordy left the care facility in a state of shock. His own father killed his grandparents! It was more than his mind could bear. He went back to his grandparent’s old house where he’d been living the last year since graduating from high school. His dad had kicked him out of the house and told him to get a job. He let Gordy stay in the old house but made him pay rent. When he got there the first thing he did was open a bottle of expensive tequila he’d been saving for a special occasion. His world was turned upside down and alcohol seemed like the only answer. He hated his dad. He hated the fact that he got away with murder. As he passed out a word kept trolling him…justice…justice.

A week later while on his way to the office Alan hit his brakes but his Tesla kept going right into the back of a semi-truck that had also hit its brakes on the busy freeway. It was a closed casket funeral. Gordy watched his mom mingle with other mourners and noticed she had never looked so happy.

-30-

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