NEVERMORE...OR LESS

Submitted by Infinitee on Sat, 06/22/2019 - 02:31
NEVERMORE...OR LESS

It occurred to me that the most prolific horror writers really know how to make an exit...leaving mysterious legacies more intriguing than stories in print. Case in point...on October 7, 1849...Poe finished dinner with Dr. John Carter at Saddler's Restaurant...grabbing his Malacca cane..with sword concealed at the tip..on his way out the door...leaving behind a copy of Moore's Irish Rhapsodies. His body was discovered around 3 AM that same night and it was determined that his beloved cat..Catterina..had expired simultaneously. A group of unnamed city officials later crashed the wake...quite anxious to retrieve a lock of his hair. - Now...my chief concern is that they will find me doing endless loops on the Ferris Wheel at Big Frank's Funland...face smeared with chocolate cake...impure thoughts of kilted firemen lingering in the air. Ah well...In any case..I thought I'd introduce a few of the ladies from WINGMAN tonight...

1. Candy Cadillac ~ Torrential rains lashed against a stream of cars inching into the overcrowded lot at PSC, only to end up scrapping for street parking several blocks away. The Candy Shoppe swelled past capacity with the usual Friday night free-for-all of rowdies and bad boys on weekend work release, hell-bent on at least two deadly sins. As advertised, she danced on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, and when Candy danced it was like spinning in the pull of a F-5 tornado..and she was the eye of the storm.
Candy Cadillac cat-crawled in a silken slide down the length of the bar in a short red plaid skirt with matching patent stilettos, pale slender legs melting seamlessly into her sensually rolling hips. Clean, shiny hair twisted into a bouncy ponytail, one distracting strand was tucked pixie-like behind her ear. Black-framed Catholic schoolgirl glasses drew attention to deep pools of restless fire simmering in her eyes, crinkled with genuine amusement at the edges. Glistened with perspiration, Candy drifted to her feet like smoke in a sensual sway of liquid lightning, sparking a deafening cacophony of cheering and applause that completely eclipsed the locomotive rumble of Van Halen's Hot For Teacher.

Charged by the fantasy, sweating fans gravitated closer like a school of fish...tossing cash like confetti...

2. Dr. Abby ~ Dr. Abigail Westcott Thorn, graduated top of her class at Harvard with Masters in Psychiatry, Chemistry and Behavioral Science, preferred to be addressed as Dr. Abby rather than being trivialized by colloquialisms like "Mom" Dr. Abby was a piranha with the instincts of a Cruise Missile. Lustrous chestnut hair pulled severely back, never a strand out of place, complimented her manicured nails, buffed and polished to match elegant designer ensembles carefully selected for each occasion. Her movie star glamor was marred only by a constant dissatisfaction, evident in the slight crease across her white, porcelain brow. A judgmental downturn of full pouting lips harbored a tongue capable of slicing through the ego like a Ginsu knife, allowing others to feel in charge while manipulating every conversation with calculated prompts that left them groveling in an effort to please her.

3. ??? ~ His presence was comforting, long, black frock neatly buttoned from grizzled cowboy boots to the starched white collar around his neck. "Nasty weather out there," his warm voice was honest and non-judgmental, "Can I help you, son?" Jack hesitated, something about this guy said that, maybe, he actually could, "I think I'm in trouble Father. I done unspeakable things, foul things...They're catching up to me and I doubt even God can save me now." Father Haldren nodded calmly, his clear voice deep with concern "Twenty-three years as a Navy Combat Chaplain, fifteen years in parking lots like this..loneliness, suicide, rape, murder...if I haven't heard it...it hasn't happened. There is good in every man, God designed it that way." He pulled a second folding chair next to the first. A warm thrill rushed through Jacks body, like maybe he COULD be saved, start over! Knees weak, he slumped into the chair, head bowed. Father Haldren sat down beside him and made the sign of the cross, "In the name of the Father..the Son..and the Holy Spirit. May the Lord be in your heart and help you to confess your sins with true remorse. How long has it been since your last confession?" Jack inhaled shakily and opened his mouth to speak.

Thunder cracked, shaking the trailer when another inundation of relentless rain pinged against the tin like bullets forcing the door open. It banged repeatedly against the wall in a drumbeat as ferocious winds thrashed the room and a half-naked woman, clothing in tatters, stumbled in and collapsed on the floor. Weeping and bloody, she struggled to her knees, hands clasped in prayer, "OH GOD! HELP ME FATHER PLEASE! HELP ME NOW!!" Jack shot from the chair like he'd been scalded, dodging Father Haldren's grasp in a panic to cut his losses and run. Outside, he inhaled deeply, taking a moment to revel in the scent of her blood and tears. What the fuck was he thinking, he'd almost bought into all that mumbo-jumbo. Feeling ridiculous, he lit a fresh smoke and jogged briskly back toward Scattergoods. He had a set to play and a after-hours buffet of starry-eyed groupies to tend to.

Saddened, Father Haldren closed the door and wrapped the shaking woman in an army surplus blanket, his kind tones betrayed nothing of his disappointment, "Tell me your name child." Face turned to the wall, a smug, cat-like grin played at the corners of her mouth...