BREAK ROOM ANTHOLOGY:
MYSTERY AND HORROR STORIES
by
M.T. O'Neil
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Published by
M.T. O'Neil on Smashwords
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
The contents of this book is fictional. Names, incidents,and characters are all fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or incidents, living or dead, is pure coincidence.
Copyright 2011 by M.T. O'Neil
http://mtoneil2011.blogspot.com
For Koala Kid and Dollface
(you know who you are)
I'm immensely proud
of you both,
and treasure your
love and friendship.
XOXOXO
My mom and dad are going to be so proud of me. I did a very grownup thing. I solved a problem without anyone's help, all on my own. Daddy would say that makes me responsible. He's always talking about people who are not responsible, mostly government people. He says they cause all our problems, because all they do is spend money that they take away from responsible people.
I get kinda confused about that part. I tried to ask him once why it's good to be responsible if that means government people get to take your money away. Doesn't that mean we could keep more of it if Daddy wasn't responsible? He got mad and sent me to bed without dinner.
We don't have much money. That's why I wanted to know. It was okay about dinner that night, I wasn't mad. Sometimes it's almost better to be hungry, than eat the same thing almost every day. Mommy makes hamburger gravy almost every night. I don't know why she calls it that. I may not be a grownup, but I do know what a hamburger looks like, even if I've never got to eat one. Hamburger gravy, if you want to know, is a lumpy brown sauce. Some of the lumps are meat, and some are flour that didn't blend in like Mommy wanted them to. We have that on potatoes or toast mostly every night, but sometimes she makes it special with a few peas or carrots on top. Then, I really do like it. I wonder if she's going to do that tonight? Maybe she will when she finds what a good thing I did. And maybe she'll even fry the potatoes, too!
Breakfast is always oatmeal or eggs. Except Christmas, when we got to have pancakes and sausage. That was at Grandma's house, so I guess that doesn't really count. But it sure was good!
Daddy
works all the time and gives Mommy the money to buy food. He says
it's because he's responsible. Mommy works at home taking care of me
and my two brothers. She says she's
responsible, and that's why my
clothes are always clean, even if they aren't new.
We get our clothes at the Goodwill store, and some kids make fun of me for that. I just tell them their clothes are “used,” too, the second time they put them on. So my mom is smarter than their mom is, because she spends less money on them.
You probably think I get in a lot of fights at school because we're poor. Actually, I don't. I talk sense, my mom says, and kids seem to listen to me. Or maybe it's just because I'm bigger than most of them. Did you know my dad is over 6 feet tall? He says responsible people always stand tall.
I didn't tell you what Mommy makes for lunch. Jelly sandwiches. It used to be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, or sometimes just peanut butter (which was okay with me), but now we only get peanut butter on the weekend. That's because they don't allow peanut butter in school anymore. That's because we got a new kid in school last year, who's allergic to peanut butter. I'm glad I'm not allergic to peanut butter – that's my very favorite food. I sure miss having it at school, too. Jelly sandwiches just don't fill you up.
You should see what some kids get to eat! Sandwiches made with cheese, tuna, chicken, baloney, egg salad!! Sometimes my friend, Tommy, lets me try a bite of his sandwich. It's always so good!!
Mommy says we don't have enough money to have any of those fancy sandwiches. She says we have to pay for our house first, and that I should be happy to have any food at all. So I try to be responsible and not complain. . . too much.
But then yesterday, Sunday, she said it was the last time we could have peanut butter in our sandwiches! She said since the school doesn't allow it, then peanut butter was one less thing she needed to buy anymore, and we were finishing the last of what she had!
I was really upset! I went to Dad to complain, but he agreed with Mom. He said it was not responsible to throw money away on things we didn't need. He did agree, though, that it wasn't fair that nobody in the whole school could have peanut butter sandwiches anymore. Just because of one kid. He said it was a problem, but it was my problem, and unless the kid changed schools, I'd have to get used to eating jelly sandwiches.
I know who the kid is, even though he's not in my class. He's a year younger than me. Jeremy Matthew Johnson is his name. Everybody knows who he is, cause of the peanut butter thing. He seems okay though, for a little kid. Short, too, but everyone (almost) is shorter than me. Especially now, cause I'm standing real tall, cause I'm responsible. Because I solved my problem, all by myself.
I didn't eat my peanut butter sandwich yesterday, because it was the last one, ever, if Jeremy stayed in school. It was so hard to save it, too, cause I was so hungry! I wrapped it up in some toilet paper and put it in my schoolbag. I didn't tell anybody about it, especially not my little brothers. I wanted to be able to surprise Daddy and Mommy and tell them myself. They're going to be so proud of me. I'm responsible.
Jeremy's mommy always walks him to his classroom door, even though the bell hasn't rung yet. Then she leaves. I kinda feel sorry for him, cause he never gets to play. I heard once that he gets sick real easy, too. Nobody else lines up till the bell rings. Why would anybody?
This morning, though, I went over to talk to him. I told him all about the special sandwich my mom made, that makes big muscles and makes me healthy. I told him it was a secret recipe and that's why I'm so tall, and can run fast, and throw, and kick balls so good. He looked excited and wanted to know if he could have some of my sandwich. Even just half. He said he'd give me his whole meatloaf sandwich for just half of my special, super power sandwich, and his cookie, too.
I told him it was okay, but he couldn't tell anybody, or else everybody would want it, and then my family would run out of it. He swore he wouldn't tell anyone, not even his mom. So I told him he could have the whole sandwich today, but he had to be sure he ate it where nobody could see.
Top secret. I told him to eat his lunch in a bathroom stall, to keep the secret safe. And to eat it fast, so it would make him stronger quicker.
That meatloaf sandwich was the best thing I ever ate, ever! I still have the cookie though – I'm going to share it with my brothers. They're going to be so proud of me, too, when they find out we can have peanut butter in school again.
Lunch recess was extra long today, because of all the firemen and policemen and the ambulance that came. I heard a teacher say we won't have classes tomorrow, cause some special teacher, a counselor, is coming to talk to us about Jeremy, who went to heaven.
I can't wait to tell Daddy and Mommy how responsible I am! I solved my problem, all by myself!
Carol grimaced as she felt her foot sink into the unnoticed pile of dog doo. It was like stepping onto a pile of gravyed mashed potatoes, the soft muck oozing up over the sides of her tan tennis shoes. It must have been left during the night, and she knew there would be more piles elsewhere in her yard. Just the day before she had spent almost two hours picking up a week's worth of the filth left by dogs who ran loose at night.
She glanced up and down both sides of the rural street she lived on. Weiser, Idaho had a population of just under 4,500, spread out over a large acreage that included many farms and ranches. Unlike almost all of her neighbors, she had not grown up here. Instead, she had chosen Weiser, Idaho as a nice, small place to retire to, and she had chosen a home midway between the “downtown” area and the many farms that surrounded it. She was, in fact, two blocks past the “city” limit, meaning she could have a horse on her ¼ acre home, if she chose to. There were no sidewalks this far from “downtown,” and many of her neighbors, all on quarter and half acre size lots, did actually have various farm animals.
She really did love the country atmosphere, and driving further from Weiser to larger, neighboring towns on occasion to shop, was a peaceful and restful drive past farmhouses and fields, over still used railroad tracks. Moving from the traffic laden streets of Long Beach, California had been the best decision of her life. She had spent 43 years teaching high school algebra, and 43 years struggling to pay her bills, knowing that her retirement funds would never be enough to stay in the area of Southern California in which she had spent most of her life.
Finding Weiser, ID to retire in, had been a remarkable and unexpected blessing. A colleague in the music department had mentioned that the town was famous for its annual Fiddle Festival. He had told her that it was a considerably cheaper place to live, and the more she had looked into it after that, the more inviting it had become. Her Social Security checks would stretch much farther, and she had even qualified to buy a small little house, with a mortgage payment that had been almost three hundred dollars cheaper than her rent! The wonderful, charming town had become the dream retirement she'd never thought she'd be able to afford.
It was a retirement she was content to spend alone after a bitter and childless divorce in her early twenties. But that was all in the past; nothing could cause her stress now . . . . well, almost nothing, she thought, as she swiped her shoe several times on the grass, trying to dislodge as much of the smelly goo as she could.
All of her neighbors had dogs, but she never noticed any of them running loose during the day. At night, however, it was a different story. Every morning there were new piles left as evidence of what had to be at least five or six dogs roaming her front yard. It had been in the winter that she had found enough paw prints in the snow to realize it was definitely not just one or two dogs.
Small though Weiser was, there actually was a leash law on the books, and she did often see an animal control truck drive up and down her street. But she had never seen it stop, as there was nothing to catch during the day. At night, however, damage done to her yard could be added to the evidence of paw prints and poo piles. Her tulip bulbs were dug up, long before they would've bloomed. Garbage obtained from somewhere in the neighborhood, could be seen gnawed and strewn across multiple yards on some mornings. The beautiful, lush front lawn she had labored over back in the fall, now showed several patches of yellowed, dying grass, the obvious result of dogs urinating on it.
Her neighbor across the street apparently felt the same way. His dog never left the front porch, and she had never seen the animal defecate or urinate on his own lawn. She had, however, heard Joe angrily grumbling about irresponsible dog owners as he shoveled piles from his yard. Joe initially seemed a surly man, complaining about various neighbors for a wide variety of things. Still, he had been one of the first to welcome her into the neighborhood, even offering to keep her yard work done for her. He had seemed friendlier to her than to many of the others in the neighborhood, and she never tried to avoid him. He always returned her friendly wave, not necessarily smiling, although that was probably just his personality. She wondered, briefly, if perhaps some were too put off by his lack of social skills to really give him a chance.
She finally removed her victimized shoe, taking it indoors to scrub it clean with a small brush and some bleach. Closing the front door, she thought about surrounding her front yard with a small chain link fence. It would solve the problem, but how much would something like that cost? The biggest challenge in retirement was to live within one's means, and that was probably beyond hers.
Maybe she should just ask some of her neighbors to be a little more considerate. But which ones? She might end up offending all of them, when perhaps the dogs were from two or three blocks away. She lived alone, she had no family, and the last thing she needed, would be to have her neighbors start shunning her. That made her think of Joe, and she thought perhaps she could make it her mission to help him befriend his neighbors.
Were the dogs really such a big deal? she asked herself. It was an irritation, yes, but it became greater (she suspected) just because it seemed to be a daily issue. But still, such a simple problem. She should be glad she only had simple problems.
Later in the day, the shoe long since cleaned and left drying, she sat in the old fashioned swing the previous owner had left hanging in the maple tree in her yard. The sense of peace and calm that washed over her was overpowering. A couple of children were racing their bikes down the street. The gentle breeze felt good after the heat of the day, and she could hear the leaves in the tree rustling with it. Moving here had been the best decision of her life.
The sun would soon be setting. If she started cooking her dinner now, she could come back out and enjoy it here, watching the colors changing in the sky as it did. How much more pleasant than any cliched television show with canned laughter and smart mouthed brats. She'd had enough of THOSE in her career.
She was less than three steps away from her porch when she felt her foot sink, again, into a fresh pile. This time she was wearing her sandals, and it oozed over the sole of her shoe and under the arch of her foot. Horror, revulsion, and anger engulfed her, yet she made no sound as she froze in motion.
Taking a deep breath, she reached down and released the back strap of her sandal, letting it fall where it was. She hopped to the water faucet, turning it on, and began rinsing her foot with the hose. She doubted she would ever get it clean enough.
Foot rinsed, she walked on tip toe into her house, straight into the bathroom where she stepped into the tub, and sat down on the edge. She ran the water as hot as she could stand it, soaping and washing her foot, over and over. The smell of the soap couldn't erase the smell that had arisen when she'd removed her sandal. It would be with her always, though eventually it would be a distant memory. She knew she would never erase it completely, and she would never get her foot clean enough. Was it possible that her skin may have absorbed some of the filth she had stepped in? That thought nagged at her as she scrubbed her foot, the skin on her hands and offending foot now a bright red from the hot water.
Something had to be done. She was a good woman, a patient teacher. She had always thought first of others, always been considerate. Drying her foot, she again worried about bacteria having been absorbed into her skin. She'd taught math, not biology. She reached for the bottle of rubbing alcohol she kept in the medicine chest, poured it into a clean washcloth, and began thoroughly disinfecting her foot, just in case.
Finally satisfied that she had done all she could, she went into the living-room to sit. The peaceful calm of only a few minutes earlier had left her, along with any appetite for dinner. She realized she was breathing heavier than usual, and her hands displayed a slight tremble. Carol wasn't used to feeling anger, and she struggled to relax.
It was a full hour before she felt more like herself. The anger was still bubbling under the surface a bit, but she was in control now. And as she became more aware of the darkening room, she became aware, too, that within a few hours she would likely have more to clean up in the morning.
Joe was right about irresponsible dog owners. If you wanted to have a pet, that was fine, but it belonged in its own yard. No one would turn an undiapered child out at night! Responsibility, that's what was lacking here. What if an animal were hit by a passing car? That could hardly be the driver's fault! The owner who didn't watch out for his dog would be the one to blame. And if some harm came to a loose dog in some other fashion, she thought, the owner had no one to blame but himself, too. Why, these dogs were just as much a nuisance as the mice she had had to deal with last fall. Bigger rodents, that's all dogs are. Dangerous, too, because they could bite her.
She'd dealt with the mice quite nicely, she thought. She hadn't wanted to set out those little traps that caught them, because she didn't want to have to pick them up. The poisoned bait had worked so much better. The little pests had come to eat their last meal, and then gone off to die. Come to think of it, didn't she still have some leftover bait in the garage?
One of the things she had loved about the little house was the attached garage with a door leading directly into the kitchen. As she went out to look for the bait, she remembered the defrosted ground meat she had in the refrigerator. She had planned to make a meatloaf with it, but her appetite had been ruined. Weren't most dogs always hungry? And didn't they love any kind of meat?
It was some time later that the browned and cooked meat was cool enough to add the poisoned bait to. She'd been afraid that any heat would have lessened the potency. She mixed it all together, then stirred in a cold can of beef gravy. At least the dogs who ate here tonight would have a delicious meal; she'd even added a bit of onion and garlic to the meat as it had cooked.
She spooned the meat mixture onto four metal pie plates, then peeked out the front window to see how dark it was. The light was still on at Joe's, as well as others' homes. Perhaps it would be best to wait a couple of hours before setting them outside. And she'd have to make sure she set her alarm and got up very early to remove the (hopefully) empty plates tomorrow. No point in inviting any altercations with angry neighbors. Although, again, she reminded herself, the one responsible for a dog's safety is the dog's owner. And keeping a dog or any other pet safe, means keeping them at home.
By eleven p.m. it was late enough that she wasn't worried about anyone being out. Aside from the fact that it was a school night, she had found that most in Weiser tended to turn in much earlier than folks in the city. Even nicer for her purposes this evening, there were no street lights in this part of town. The darkness in the countryside was much darker than anything in the city. She chuckled when she thought about the irony in that. Lights on city streets throughout Southern California made it so much easier for criminals to see, even though they were intended to have the opposite effect. If you really wanted to deter crime, have no lights at all, because if there was no moon out, it was so dark, so black, that no one could see more than two feet in front of them.