Juniorsky’s Secret Room

The village folk all knew Juniorsky was special. It wasn’t because he looked like a stork with his long neck and pointy face. It wasn’t because his eyes often looked dull and vacant and that he drooled constantly.

It was because Juniorsky could tell the future.

You may laugh and scoff at this wild claim but allow me to relate what I’ve seen with my own two eyes. There’s a village in the Carpathian Mountains in the Czech Republic whose residents both fear and adore a young man named Juniorsky.

In the course of my travels, I recently came upon a rural little village (which I later learned was called Kyselka) and I met a rather peculiar fellow who the residents called Juniorsky. I was sitting in a quiet hospoda having a warm pint of Pilsner Urquell served up with beef broth and goulash when a man sat down across the table from me with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. At first, I tried to ignore his rude behavior and took a healthy swig of beer. But when I sat my mug down, he was still there…noticeably drooling out of the right corner of his thin mouth.

“Well now chap! What can I do for you?” I politely asked.

His dull eyes seemed to light up and he quickly pointed at my beer.

“Pivo!” he excitedly exclaimed while wiping away his drool with his dirty sleeve.

“Very good. Servirka!” I called out testing my rudimentary knowledge of the Czech language.

When the waitress appeared she immediately nodded towards Juniorsky and clasped her hands together in a praying position. There was a look of awe on her face that puzzled me. I knew something was odd as I ordered a beer for my uninvited guest. When she returned, I asked if she knew the man across the table from me, and if so, would she be so kind as to formally introduce him to me? She smiled and said his name was Juniorsky and then skittered off toward the bar giggling along the way.

I couldn’t help feeling like I was the butt of some private joke, and it made me uncomfortable. We sat in silence. Me, eating and drinking. He, drinking and drooling. This went on for nearly two hours. I ordered two refills for him during that time. Finally, I decided to call it a night as he wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and it was nearly midnight. Standing up I put my hat on and my great coat that was draped over the back of my chair. I wished Juniorsky well and started for the door…

“Wait!

The high-pitched voice came from Juniorsky who had stood up and awkwardly shuffled up to me. He was the most animated since he sat down and wanted a beer. His screechy voice both fascinated and disgusted me for some odd reason. I felt a little dizzy but attributed that to the beers I drank.

“Do you want to know your future?

I was stunned by the question that just came up out of thin air. What was happening? Was I being teased? Were the villagers all laughing about the stupid stranger? Was this all a game? Juniorsky was no seer. He looked more like the village idiot than someone who could forecast the future. Despite that I decided to call his bluff.

“Sure,” I said with a tinge of mockery.

Ignoring the steady stream of drool that turned to spittle when he spoke Juniorsky said, “Follow me.

The full moon shone on the ancient cobblestone street as I warily followed him down an alley that dead-ended with a ramshackle two-story house in such a state of disrepair it didn’t look inhabitants lived there. One of the steps leading up to the front door was partially missing presenting a hazard to the unwary visitor. Juniorsky nimbly trod on one side and bounded up to the porch. A rickety rocking chair feebly vibrated with each step on the landing as I approached. I slowly sensed something ominous about the house. I wondered if it was haunted. I never discounted stories about ghosts, but I had never seen one. The front door was unlocked as Juniorsky swept it open and plunged into the dark interior. He reappeared moments later holding an oil lamp that threw shadows that danced across the living room as I entered. There was a small wooden table with two chairs in the center of the room. Juniorsky gestured to sit down as he joined me. His whole demeanor had changed. The drooling had ceased. His eyes were now a bright brown, and I could sense a hidden intelligence behind them.

“Do you want to know what your near future holds?” he asked me again in a deeper voice than before.

My skepticism had drained away and I felt awe as I replied that I really did want to know my future with no sense of mockery now. He studied me briefly as if sizing up how serious I was.

“Somewhere in this house there’s a secret room that will provide you a glimpse of your near future. You have until daylight to discover this room before losing your opportunity to see the future. Not everyone is successful. I wish you well.

He stood up (straighter than before) and walked out the front door. I looked at my watch. I had about four hours until daylight. Not wasting any time, I headed up the large staircase to the second floor. The odor of mold and rat droppings forced me to pull out my handkerchief and wrap it around my nose and mouth. Holding up the oil lamp that Juniorsky left I looked down the long hall and counted four rooms. None of them were locked and they were all empty. One had a broken window that let the night breeze in past tattered curtains. Getting concerned I went back downstairs and checked out the ground floor for a secret door. The time was running out. In less than an hour any hope I had to see my future would be gone. Frantically I started tapping the walls looking for a hidden room. Then I found it. As the wall slid open on silent rollers I peeked inside. In the center of the room there was what appeared to be a dentist’s chair with two headphones on the seat. Across from the chair there was a large white screen. A sheet perhaps. I allowed my instinct to take over and put on the headphones settling down in the reclining seat. After carefully pulling them on two things happened simultaneously; a picture appeared on the screen and there was sound.

The car I drove to Kyselka in, an Avia, appeared on screen and I could see myself driving down the twisting one-lane highway that led to the village. My car was suddenly picking up speed as I pumped the brakes that had completely given out! I managed to keep the car on the road for a couple of moments before it sailed off the road and down the cliff!”

“No!” I screamed out loud as the first rays of the day filtered into the once dark room. It was so real, I knew it had to be true. Before even eating breakfast, I visited the village mechanic and asked if he would check the brakes on my car that was parked outside the only hotel in Kyselka. I went inside and ordered two poached eggs and a cup of tea while I awaited the verdict. It wasn’t long in coming. The mechanic informed me that my brake pads in the front were very thin and one looked like it was metal on metal. I thanked him and arranged for him to fix them. I safely drove back to the airport (where I rented the Avia) and flew home.

You may think I’m just crazy, and this story is a stupid fantasy from a fertile imagination with nothing better to do. Not so. If you ever get a chance to visit Kyselka be sure to buy Juniorsky a beer. You won’t regret it.

-30-

A Deadly Game of Blackjack

I nervously eyed the dealer as I settled into my chair. It took all of my will power to resist wiping off the ribbon of sweat that trailed down from my high forehead. I knew Frankie and Sal were watching me closely. Looking for signs of fear. Their boss, Big Boy Roy Zizzi was sitting at a nearby table sipping Bourbon and playing footsies with a red-hot blond who laughed shrilly at everything he said. I waited for someone to explain the rules of the game I was about to play.

Finally Big Boy Roy Zizzi got up and ambled over to me. His girth stretched the dress jacket to the point of tearing as he bent over and said,

Myron my friend you’re a lucky man. I could have shot you in the back of the head and your body deposited in the desert by Frankie and Sal. But we’ve known each other for years before our little fall out here. You were my number one soldier. But your greed got the better of you. When I found out you were skimming money from two of my casinos. I had to take some swift action. The rules are simple. You get 10 chips. Bet any amount you want. But if you lose those 10 chips you get a free ride to the desert east of here.

Wait a moment! How can I win and save my life?

“You have to double those 10 chips. Your dealer tonight is Belinda who just happens to be the best dealer in both of my casinos. She has a great sense of humor. So, let’s get this party started!”

I looked up and caught Belinda smiling. She seemed to be enjoying herself. I looked at the card shoe next to her hand. It held four decks. It was better than playing against one deck in my experience. Especially if there were other players at the table. But now it was just me and Belinda. I watched her quickly deal the cards. It was like watching water flow in one smooth movement.

My face card was a king. My down card was a four. She had an Ace. Her down card could be anything. Her hand hovered over the shoe as she asked me what I wanted to do?

“Stand,” I replied.

She flipped over her down card. “Eight!” she almost purred. I lost the first hand and found myself staring down at the nine remaining chips with a mounting fear.

For 12 grueling hours I managed to stay afloat but was down to two chips. After a few hours I grew to understand that she could have won every hand but kept giving me last-minute reprieves. Frankie and Sal were slumped down in two chairs by the wall and Big Boy Roy Zizzi – to his credit – was still going strong at the table with his blond bimbo.

I took a chance and bet my last two chips. I was exhausted from the tension. Belinda’s mysterious smile gave me hope. My face card was a 10. My down card was a jack. Her face card was a seven. When she turned over her down card it was a six. She drew another card. It was a queen. She busted!

Let it ride,” I told her. And I won the next hand. And the next. I was up to 16 chips and flush with excitement when Big Boy Roy Zizzi broke away from his blond bimbo and waddled over to our table. He looked at my 16 coins. Then at Belinda. He nodded. She nodded and smiled at me. I lost.

-30-

The Sea Cook’s Cat

Baily, the ship’s carpenter, reluctantly sat up in his hammock, nearly missing his head on the wooden beam that stretched across the cramped quarters. As usual he was in a foul mood and didn’t want to work in the Captain’s cabin building more shelves. As he got to his feet a big black cat shot between his legs like a blinding flash in pursuit of an enormous rat.

“You devil!” he squawked while pulling his shirt on. “Startles me every time” he grumbled to himself as he trudged up the stairs and onto the deck. The blinding sun made him swear an undecipherable oath as he pulled his tricorn hat down over his brow. Seagulls screams told him they were getting near land. He didn’t have time to eat. The captain expected him at eight bells and he knew the penalty if he wasn’t there on time. The whip. Just the thought hurried his pace.

Jason the cook was sitting on a stool peeling potatoes (it was early in the voyage and the ship’s food supply was still well stocked) when a black cat sauntered in with a grin. Jason smiled because he knew Lucifer had recently dined on a rat. He stopped peeling long enough to pet the huge cat who was brushing up against his legs.

Lucifer was Jason’s cat. He paid good money for him at the last port because he was special. He was a polydactyl cat. His front paws both had eight toes each which he used to his advantage in catching prey. His prior owner said he was retiring from the sea and needed the money. A prized cat like Lucifer could make life a lot easier on the whole crew. Food containers were rarely breeched because the wily feline never stopped hunting. Day and night. But, for reasons Jason couldn’t understand most of the crew, and the captain, seemed to fear him. Some, like Bailey, just hated Lucifer and would have gladly killed him if he didn’t think the crazy cook would cut him up into shark chum. He’d seen Jason fight with a butcher knife when two pirate ships tried to capture their ship the USS Ohio near Port au Prince, Haiti. His eyes were glazed with blood lust as he lopped off pirate limbs with such savagery his own mates gave him wide berth in battles. No. It was best not to antagonize the cook.

Sailors in the 18th century were a superstitious lot. So it was no surprise that the crew aboard the USS Ohio thought a black cat brought bad luck, unlike the British and the Irish who wanted black cats and considered them good luck. The fact that it’s name was Lucifer didn’t help. It was also common knowledge among the crew that if a ship’s cat fell, or was thrown overboard it meant trouble. The act would summon a terrible storm to sink the ship and that if the ship were able to survive, it would be cursed for nine years. So no one bothered Jason about his black cat. Only Bailey dreamed about killing Lucifer.

Daniel had the devil to pay. He was caught stealing another man’s gold chain and given the worst task aboard the ship. The devil was the ship’s longest seam in the hull. He was given pitch to caulk that seam while squatting in the filthy bilges. He’d already received a good flogging – ten lashes – and endured the stinging saltwater thrown on his bloody gashes. The task could take days, but he couldn’t come up until it was completed. His moans of pain echoed eerily in the semi-darkness as Lucifer watched him with his curious yellow cat eyes. The lone candle flickered, almost going out, before returning to a steady glow that caused shadows to frolic in the filth. Then Lucifer came up to him confidently and asked, “Do you believe in God?

Harry and Spencer we’re enjoying a rare moment of rest by the scuttlebutt – a water barrel with a hole cut in it so that sailors could reach in and dip out drinking water. Rumors about what happened to their mate Daniel were rife among the crew and even officers. After a day of paying the devil the bosun’s mate had came down to check on Daniel. He let out a gasp of horror and vomited when he saw him. Daniel’s eyes were gone. Plucked out and sitting on his lap. His hair had turned from brown to pure white. He was peacefully chewing on his right arm, exposing bone as he ripped off gobbets of flesh. Nearby, Lucifer was curled up and watching the bosun’s mate scream for help.

The incident left all hands on board shaken. When Daniel’s condition was brought up to the captain he crossed himself and walked away without commenting. When they got to port a day later, Daniel was dead. The ship’s surgeon had sawed off his infected right arm but it was too little, too late. The ship’s log recorded seaman Daniel Phillips died from an infection from a self-inflicted wound. There was no mention of plucked-out eyeballs. Or his white hair. They stayed in port for two days unloading cargo and onloading new cargo. During that time one of the sailors deserted. A mate of his said he feared Lucifer more than getting strung up on the yardarm for desertion.

His work finished in the captain’s cabin, Bailey was below decks working on the wooden gun carriage that had been cracked in the last battle when he heard something, “You’re next,” a silky voice assured him. He gripped his hammer tighter and called out, “Show yourself, coward!” There was a rustling among the small oak barrels that held gun powder. Piles of rags and cannon swabs near them shifted with unseen movement. A sudden cold wind blew past him. The normally stifling hot gun deck seemed to cool down a few degrees as he listened for more movement.

“I’m not afraid of you Lucifer!” he screamed, sure now that the cat was indeed the devil.

A dark pall fell over the entire crew, with the exception of Jason who went about his normal day, content with the companionship of his cat.

A feeling of foreboding kept everyone nervous. As the days turned to weeks the crew’s fear’s were palpable. Strange little incidents were happening daily. Rope knots would inexplicably come loose causing close calls for sailors climbing the rigging. A bad case of “the trots” affected half the crew who squatted below decks over wooden pails for a week. Moral got lower every day. Rumors about Lucifer were passed around in hushed whispers. Meanwhile, Bailey had enough. His hate for Lucifer was white hot. It burned his brain and his patience, causing him to formulate a plan to kill the demon feline. He had to wait weeks, but the opportunity finally came.

He pulled out the wooden cage to capture Lucifer with from its hiding place. It was solidly built to hold the black devil captive long enough to throw him overboard. Everyone below deck was asleep so Bailey was careful not to make any noise. When he got to the base of the stairway leading to the main deck, he positioned the cage on it’s side with the door propped open with a piece of string leading to his hiding place by the scuttlebutt. Inside the cage was a live rat Baily had caught the day before. Using tough twine, he made a halter for the rodent that was tethered by a nail on the side of the box. The rat was on a short string stopping it from scurrying away. He waited for an hour before Lucifer struck! It was over in an instant. Bailey pulled the cord and the trapdoor came down on the startled cat who had the rat in his mouth. Dropping the half dead rodent Lucifer screeched so loud it woke everyone up. The sounds coming from Bailey’s box were blood curdling.

Moving swiftly he went topside and threw the box into the calm sea. Jason, who was asleep in his own little cubby was locked inside that night by Bailey. By the time he battered the door down Bailey had returned to his hammock. No one knew why the cook was rampaging around the room and what caused the screeches that woke them up.

A day passed before Jason decided something bad had made his cat howl like a lost soul, and the crew was complicit. The first thought that came to mind was he’d poison all the bastards. That way he’d be sure to get the perpetrator of Lucifer’s disappearance. It turned out that he didn’t have to do anything about it.

A terrible storm come up from the north causing massive waves that battered the ship like a toy for hours before it broke apart and sank with all hands on board.

With the exception of Jason who clung to a wooden box.

Miraculously, the seas were calm the next day when a ship came by and Jason was spotted by a sharp-eyed sailor. He clutched the wooden box securely to his chest as they helped him get in the row boat. Once on deck of the ship, the USS Vermont, Jason opened the box and pulled out Lucifer. To a man, the crew crossed themselves.

The end.

The Delivery Man

Clint’s apartment offered a panoramic 10th story view of Portland which could be enhanced if one desired by looking through the telescope on the deck.

The telescope was a Gskyer 70 mm with lots of interesting attachments. He could watch ants climbing up a lime tree in someone’s backyard five miles away if he felt like it. His favorite attachment was a 5×24 Finderscope and mounting bracket with cross hair lines that helped locate objects and subjects. He spent many pleasant hours looking at the world unfold outside as he sipped 18 year-old James Buchanan’s Special Reserve Blended Scotch Whiskey.

He was single and a successful day trader who worked from home. He didn’t like being around other people. Crowds made him uneasy. He didn’t mind one-on-one conversations with friends or strangers however. He was well-educated and graduated top of the class at Webster University, a national top ten business college. His soft spoken voice could calm people in distress and hold people’s interest when he told a story.

His rugged good looks turned more than one female’s head in admiration. Yet Clint never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. Never. His adopted parents never pressured him to date and often went out of their way to help him avoid large gatherings… like school. His adopted mother was a special education teacher who home schooled him when she came home from work. He absorbed knowledge like a sponge, but seldom showed emotion. Joy, or anger. Grief, or elation. Happiness, or sorrow. It was his poker face that made some people a little uneasy when around him. That, and his pale blue eyes, which seemed to sparkle with an unknown energy that suggested an icy presence lurking inside.

Money was no problem for Clint. He was very successful at investing his money in the market, and had over a million dollars in savings. His problem was entertaining himself. The television and the internet provided entertainment up to a point, but the day came when it wasn’t enough.

Clint adopted the persona of a deliveryman. He would bring surprise packages to houses, apartments, motel and hotel rooms, and businesses. He purchased numerous deliveryman outfits with different company names on the back and his front pocket. He wore fake glasses. The contents of the packages varied; some were bombs, some were piles of cash, some were just pranks using jack-in-the-boxes. He always felt calm about his deliveries regardless of their contents. It was a strange feeling for someone who experienced very little human traits.

One day while peering through his telescope, Clint watched a little drama going on a few miles away and near one of the many bridges below. One of his talents was lip reading. Despite turning their heads away from him at times, Clint pieced together what they were fighting about in minutes. It was enough to inspire him to deliver a special package to the house later that day.

He pulled up to the house in his General Delivery van and brought his package to the front porch of the house. It was where he saw them arguing. He calmly drove back to his apartment and went outside to his telescope. After lighting up a joint he inhaled deeply, savoring his favorite strain of cannabis, Grand Daddy Purp. Grinning in anticipation, he peered through the 400mm lens he had substituted for the 70mm and settled in for a long wait.

Two hours later the occupant of the house, a woman, stepped out onto the front porch. She peered around as if looking for someone, but the street was deserted in the growing dusk. Then she looked down and saw the package. It was the size of a shoebox and was wrapped in brown paper with a yellow ribbon and bow. There was no card. Her name wasn’t on it. She looked around again, straining her eyes against the withering light. Eyes back down. A step towards it. Clint imagined how hard her heart must be pounding as she neared the package. She hovered for a moment over it then bent down. Fear and curiosity crawled across her brow as she contemplated the package.

Finally she reached out and pulled the ribbon…

This was the part Clint enjoyed. Life, or death? What would it be? He knew she was risking everything. If the package killed her she’d never come up with the ransom money for her only child, a daughter. Still, in her desperation she hoped the package contained good news.

Clint watched, squinting in the growing gray sky, as she opened the top and pulled out the wads of money. Twenty-five thousand dollars in cash! Enough to get her daughter back.

When the man came for the ransom she had it. A moment later her daughter was freed from a car parked nearby. The man left without a word. As he got into the passenger seat of the car Clint took several photos with his wireless camera attachment to his Gskyer telescope. It would help him find the man so he could send him a package too. One without money in it.

The end.

Investigating a Disturbance

He was eating a burrito when the call came in that there was a disturbance at a local Inn…

… the odd thing you see, was the Inn was no longer occupied and hadn’t been for over a half of a century, which poised a mystery to Officer O’Reilly…

the Inn was once a landmark of fame where the wealthy came, but had hit on hard times many years ago, it’s interior splendor disguised by dust and rust, a sad and forgotten tableau…

Officer O’Reilly read the report by a citizen who walked by the Inn that night claiming he heard noises and saw an eerie light…

approaching the front door O’Reilly remembered the local lore that told of a hidden horror lurking there forevermore…

and peeked into the window instead, hoping he wouldn’t see the walking dead, when he suddenly saw a head and let out a moan of dread, because it was moving until it disappeared into the dark interior…

flashlight pointed straight ahead O’Reilly kicked in the front door and plunged into the dark gloom rapidly moving his flashlight around the room…

when he saw a man with an old-fashioned lantern in his hand, barely able to stand, O’Reilly called out and asked why he was there, but all the man did was stare…

deciding he was a harmless old vagrant seeking shelter he let him stay for one more day, and he went on his way when the old man had nothing to say, unaware he disappeared the moment he walked away.

****

Truth and Consequence

When Harold saw the thing slithering out from beneath his bed he felt both vindicated and horrified.

His parents wouldn’t listen to him the first time he became aware of it’s presence. That’s why he wasn’t on the bed tonight and hiding behind his chest of drawers with a baseball bat.

When the thing slithered on top of his bed and wound itself around his pillow, he rushed out and smashed it into a bloody pulp!

The next morning.

“Have you seen a boa constrictor around?” his mother asked. “Billy next door said his pet boa escaped.”

No,” he lied. 


Faker

Zack pulled out the canvas bag of specially selected scat and poured it out. He picked up the two wooden sticks with extra large feet and carefully walked them away from the scat  while disguising his footprints with a tree branch.

He hid in a tree so he could see the reaction of the Bigfoot hunters that he knew where nearby. Years playing the game watching men make idiots of themselves looking for a mythical monster. It was good for local businesses, like his.

The hunters came into view the same moment a powerful hairy arm choked Zack to death!

War of the Worlds

Raymond turned away from the radio in time to see his Mother’s worried eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “This is just nostalgia radio with Orson Wells narrating War of the Worlds.”

Suddenly static. Sounds of people panicking. A man’s voice “This is not a drill” Fading. Static.

“It’s not for real, Mom. It’s from a 1938 broadcast.”

Static stops. A man’s voice. “The president was able to flee in Air Force One when…”

“Son! When Franklin Roosevelt was in office in 1938 there was no Air Force One!

They both turned to the window in time to see the mushroom cloud.

Instinct

Sgt. McGruder realized two things; he wasn’t going to get back to the base in time, and he couldn’t keep driving in the near white-out conditions.

He saw a Burger King. Went inside. It was empty except for one nervous counter clerk. He ordered a burger. Out of the corner of his eye he saw shadowy figures outside the glass door.

They came in. Two Hispanic teenage boys with desperate eyes. One reached into his pocket. McGruder’s instincts kicked in.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, watching the teen’s concealed hand.

“Si,” they echoed, as one pulled the stump from his pocket. 

(Author’s note: this is my first attempt at writing flash fiction in 100 words. Quit a challenge. Props go to The Drabble blog site.)

 

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