Month: January 2025

Southern Naked Dolls (1)

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A man named Bevin Elderberry peered through the window of an old antique shop in the downtown of a southern town named Sinawee that sat by one of the biggest lakes in South Carolina. It was early, the air was already warm. There was the smell of honey and flowers in the air. Magnolia blooms were the size of wedding cakes. Birds made noise. The sound of a boat engine whirred in the distance.

The sign on the shop’s door read CLOSED. He put his face closer to the large display window and shielded his eyes with his hands as he peered into the store, faintly lit by the dawn’s early light.

There inside on stacked shelves, he saw rows of muted, creepy dolls basking in the dust. They were all naked and without any anatomical features. He grimaced at the sight of them. The dolls looked unruly, with oddly bent limbs, and crazy hair and eyes.

“You like them dolls?” came a man’s voice from behind him.

Bevin was startled. He startled easily. “I wouldn’t say I like them. Just curious.”

“Well, come on inside. I’ve got just the thing.” The old man with a drawn, pale face and a straw hat on his head extended his hand. “The name’s Slim Jim. I own this place. Was just about to open up if you want a closer look at them dolls.”

He was slim and he looked like a Jim.

“Sure,” Bevin said. “I’ll check them out.”

They entered the store. It smelled of oldness and lost time. Slim Jim turned on some lights. “Follow me, he said. “Into my room of curiosities,” and he made a weird gesture with all his fingers fondling the air.

The dolls weren’t only on the shelves, once deeper into the room Bevin saw that they were lined up along the floorboards, a massive gathering among the other trinkets and charms.

“That’s quite a collection,” Bevin said.

A proud smile formed across the face of Slim Jim. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and rocked back and forth on his heels. “They just keep coming. It’s a stream of refugees, I tell you. From where, hell I don’t know. Sometimes I find a few straggling around out back before I even open. Other times they come in the night and are just here when I step inside the room. It’s almost as if they just slipped through the glass unscathed.”

“You’re saying they come here on their own?”

“That’s right. They come in and go straight to this room to be with the others.”

Bevin chuckled and scoffed. “That’s quite a fantastical thing you got going on here.”

Slim Jim’s expression suddenly changed. “You don’t believe me?”

“It just seems a little odd is all. How do they just come in here? Do you call them?”

Slim Jim’s steel gray eyes narrowed. He showed his somewhat crooked teeth. “Maybe I do. Not on purpose, though. It just happens. Guess you could say I’m like a lightning rod.”

“But why don’t they have any clothes on?”

“They don’t like to wear clothes,” Slim Jim answered. “They tell me.” He tapped at his head with a fingertip. “In here… So, I strip them of their Earthly bindings and set them free. Not that I’m some weird pervert or anything. That’s what they instruct me to do. And I think they appreciate it.” He presents a hand toward all the dolls. “See how happy they look.”

Bevin scanned the dolls with his eyes. None of them looked happy. If anything, they all appeared hopelessly depressed and deranged.

Slim Jim stepped past him. “I tell you what. You pick one out for yourself. I won’t charge you. I just want you to see for yourself what they are.”

Bevin slowly looked over them once more. Then his eyes fixed on one with a clown’s head. He wore a rumpled hat, and his face was painted white with a big red nose in the center. There was a ring of black around his mouth, and the underside of his eyes had a black smear as well. His hair was yellow and stuck out in coils from under his hat. The rest of him was naked. Bevin pointed to it. “I like that one. It reminds me of childhood for some reason.”

Slim Jim slapped his hands together. “Oh brother! That one is Jiggles the Clown. He’s one of my favorites, but you can have him because I already said so.” He went over to the doll and plucked him from the crowd. He handed it to Bevin. “Here you go. I hope you enjoy him. Are you planning on sticking around for a few days?” Slim Jim asked.

“I am. My girlfriend just dumped me. Again. I’m going to go hiking and then drink at the hotel to deal with my personal problems.”

Slim Jim eyed him up and down. “Okay… But before you head out of town, why don’t you stop back in and let me know how things went with Jiggles.”

“Sure. I can do that.” Bevin went to the front door of the shop and walked out. He stopped in front of the glass window and waved to Slim Jim who was still there in the room of curiosities. Bevin held up Jiggles the Clown and made him dance from side to side in the air. He laughed about it as he walked away.

Slim Jim moved closer to the window and peered out. He sneered, and then whispered to himself, “It won’t be funny for long.”

By
Aaron Echoes August

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Labyrinth Milk Rinse (1)

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People don’t understand why I wait at the last exit of the corn labyrinth. The labyrinth is in a weird place in the middle of Ohio. It isn’t technically a labyrinth; they just call it that because it sounds more mysterious. According to the British, a labyrinth has one path that leads to a center. A maze on the other hand, has multiple paths leading to multiple endings. I once suggested to my employers that they just call it a labyrinth-maze, but they thought that idea was stupid. The corn “labyrinth” rests deep in an orange and green forest near an old farm out on the edges of the world between a place called Ashville and a place called Circleville.

I was considering buying a mansion in Circleville. It was a pleasant white fixture of the neighborhood with neat grass and bushes and flower beds out front. There was even an ornamental wrought iron fence the colors of gray and green mixed together that held it all in.

The Realtor led me through the majestic front door and the inside of the home was a totally different story. There was a deep dark feeling about it and much of the décor was slathered in blood red. There was a fireplace on the main level with green tiles set into golden stonework. That was one of the nicest things about the place. There was a study set off from the main living room, circular, mostly empty and dim. There were empty bookshelves and dust and time-worn memories inside that room. There was also a lone chair with an elegant upholstery that sat in the middle of the room and pointed toward the windows.

The air inside the home seemed heavy to me, almost like a wet shirt strung over a line. The lighting was dark and opiate. The cranberry and gold drapes over the windows were mostly closed to keep out any prying eyes. The staircase to the upper level curved and was carpeted. It had fine wood finishes, a dark walnut perhaps, like other areas of the house. The upstairs was mostly like a square. A bedroom in each corner. A sitting area in the center. The master was larger and had a turret with a very pointy top that had been turned into a nice nook with a window looking out onto the tree-lined neighborhood. I imagined putting my writing desk there. The master also had its own bathroom, and there was another one out in the hall with one of those old claw-foot tubs. The lighting in that bathroom was a yellowish red. It needed fresh paint and a window, maybe even a skylight. And this may sound strange, but something inside that bathroom was alive in a dead way. I don’t know exactly what, but if I could put it into words, I would say “elevated.”

The Realtor (her name was Regina), and I went back downstairs. The kitchen was at the rear of the house. It was large with many uncurtained windows, so this room was much brighter than the rest. There was a large space in the center reserved for a table and chairs. The counter space between the gaps where the appliances would go was plentiful. The vinyl tops were a cosmic white with a blue trim. The cabinets were painted white, their doors squeaked when I opened them.

The kitchen looked out pleasantly upon a good-sized yard with T-shaped poles in which to string a clothesline, and then an alleyway with trash cans lined up like military guards at their posts. Beyond that, was someone else’s yard and a big yellow house with a red roof. There was a woman outside there with shocked blonde hair, and she was just staring at us, but I didn’t understand how she could even see us.

One thing that harmed my decision about the house at first was when I followed Regina out the back kitchen door to look at the yard, the garage, the gravel driveway. She was talking up a storm and I was sort of drifting away from her words. I happened to look up at a window in one of the four bedrooms. And I know I saw it. I really believe it. But there was a human head in that window. And there were eyes that were staring down at me. Then there was a slow-forming and menacing smile. My heart thumped. I must have had a weird expression on my face because Regina bent her head and looked at me funny and said, “Are you all right, Mr. Jemison?”

“You can call me Alden. Mr. Jemison was my grandfather. Old Mr. Jemison indeed.” I turned away from the window. “I thought the house was vacant.”

She scrunched her face in further puzzlement. “It is vacant. Didn’t you see that it was?”

“No one else here?”

“No.”

I just stood there thinking about whether to say something to her. My tangled, hallucinating brain told me not to. “Right. I must have been thinking of someplace else.”

“I have shown you a lot of houses,” Regina said with a big, fake Realtor smile.

I looked up at the back of the house again. The windows were clear and clean. “But this one,” I said to her. “This one is different.”

She looked at me funny. I could tell she liked me. I can always tell when a woman likes me. I have a very strong intuition about things. The whole world should know that, as well as this: I’m just a writer trying to write in a world that doesn’t value words anymore. Instead, we speak in blurbs, shouts, grunts, violence, hate, noise, symbols, whining and idiotic posts on social media. I just want some peace and quiet in a big old house that might just have living memories walking around in it. I want to look out secret windows at the people strolling along the sidewalks, but I never want to talk to them. I want to sit on the couch and stare into space while things light up and float around me, and there’s strange music coming out of my hi-fi system.

She smiled. Her mouth lit up. “I have a feeling you like this place.”

“I do.”

“May I ask you something, and I’m not meaning to be rude.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“It’s just that I haven’t seen you at any of the Orange Masses.”

“I don’t like to go to those things,” I said.

She looked confused. “But, what if they find out?”

By
Aaron Echoes August

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Uber Amorika

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I took an Uber to downtown Reykjavik on a Friday night

The guy’s car was like a spaceship inside

I just had to leave Amorika

The sick nation

The ignorant nation

The blind nation

The nation of ludicrously inept leadership

A leader…

Can’t say leader

A president…

Can’t say president

A human being…

Definitely can’t say human being

A shell of a man with a daily drive to hurt people, even his own supporters

Lies, lies, lies

You people voted for lies

You people voted for untethered incompetence

You people voted for violence and hatred

You people voted for the destruction of democracy

All with God as his crotch rocket

I just don’t understand why

Why would anyone want this?

I’ve been banging my head against the wall

I’m so upset, pissed, and worried

I feel like Nazi Germany is unfolding before us

I see glimpses into Gilead

But what can I do?

Be the better person?

Sometimes you have to just stand up against this idiocy

I’ve been trying to lessen what I see and hear

Because I can’t take it

I don’t watch the news anymore

I limit my time on Facebook

I walk away, walk away

But I still know that I can be the better person

Even when I don’t want to be

I still know that there is a whole world out there that feels the same way as I do

Other people, other nations

That’s support to me, for all of us who know better

Better…

We could have had so much better than this

So much better

But Amorika, you chose the worst possible thing

Best of luck to you with that liberty and justice for all thing

I’m at a cat cafe in Iceland

The walls are pink

There are wandering cats

There is coffee

And there are windows with much better views.

By
Aaron Echoes August
Dinner Plate Behind You (2)

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Lady Elaine Fairchilde

A famous My 600-Pound Life nurse, halfway to looking like that creepy puppet Lady Elaine Fairchilde from Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, opens the door of the waiting room and calls out, “Shelby Grace.”

Shelby Grace struggles to get out of the chair almost as much as she struggled to get into the chair. “Help me, Lawrence,” she says. He yanked on her arm and there was a friction-fueled pop sound. “Lordy, they need to make these chairs bigger,” Shelby Grace said.

They followed the nurse into the room where they weigh the patients.

“Please wait while I reset the scale,” the nurse says. Moments later. “Go on and step up on the scale.

Dramatic and impatient music plays in Lawrence’s head as he watches the digital display on the scale blink.

Then … “You’re weight is 540.”

Lawrence releases a shocked sigh. “Damn, Shelby Grace.”

“We’re going to room 5,” the nurse says.

Once inside the examination room, Shelby Grace begins to cry. “I just can’t believe it. How did I let this happen?”

“How?” Lawrence says. “I should have videotaped you on this road trip. Eating like a damn hippopotamus with wooden teeth, that’s how.”

There is a light knocking and Dr. Now walks in. “Hello, how are you all doing?”

“Good,” they say in unison.

“Where you all coming from today?”

“Charlie Brown, Tennessee,” Lawrence proudly boasts.

“Charlie Brown, Tennessee, huh. Do you have towns there in Tennessee called Peppermint Patty and Pigpen.”

Lawrence chuckles. “No, but we got plenty of towns that look like pigpens.”

Dr. Now doesn’t think it’s funny and turns his attention to his patient. “Okay. So, you must be Shelby Grace.”

“Ye, sir.”

“Says here you are 540 pounds today.” He moves his head around as he and looks her up and down. “Seems like most of that is in your rear-end. How did you let this happen?”

Shelby Grace wipes a tear away with a finger, sniffles. “I don’t know. I just love to eat. I suppose it fills some sort of void in my life.”

“So, you’re an emotional eater,” Dr. Now says.

“I guess I am.”

“Okay, so what are your eating habits like?”

“Too much junk,” Lawrence blurts out. “She eats like a hippopotamus with wooden teeth.”

Dr. Now looks at him, displeased with the answer. “I don’t think hippopotamus has wooden teeth, but I do wonder who brings her the food. Is it you…”

“This is my cousin Lawrence, Shelby Grace says. “Don’t listen to what he says, he’s an idiot.”

“Okay, okay,” Dr. Now begins. “We are not going to get anywhere with your weight problem by calling each other names. I sense a very dysfunctional dynamic here. But let’s get back to your eating habits. What do you usually have for breakfast, Shelby Grace.”

“Well, mostly some yogurt with fruit.”

Lawrence bursts out laughing. “Bullshit! You don’t even have yogurt in your house. It’s more like a platter of eggs, bacon, biscuits, hash browns, breakfast burritos, ham steaks, sometimes regular steak, cheese puffs…”

“Okay, okay. I get the picture,” Dr. Now says. “And who is bringing you all this food?”

“I live alone, except for my dog Testicles.”

Dr. Now holds up an aged hand. “Hold on. You have a dog named Testicles?”

“Yes.”

“I think that is gross and suggest you name him something else,” Dr. Now says. “I’m going to set up an appointment with a therapist while you are here in Houston to help you work through your emotional problems that lead you to eat too much.”

“Okay.”

“So, who brings you the food?”

“I usually cook it myself or have Door Dash bringing me something.”

“Okay, obviously you are obsessed with fast food. That has to stop starting today. You are killing yourself with food… So, what is your daily routine?”

“I get up, shower, cook myself breakfast. Then I go to work.”

“Where do you work?”

“I’m a pharmacy technician at a hospital.”

“So, you must be up on your feet all day running around.”

Shelby Grace shrugs. “Not really. I’m no Jennifer.”

“Is Jennifer a friend of yours?”

“Yes.”

Lawrence chuckles. “She has no friends.”

“Hush up, Lawrence,” Shelby Grace snaps. “I do so have friends. You don’t know everything about my life.”

“I know you don’t have any friends.”

‘Okay,” Dr. Now steps in. “Lawrence, you need to settle down or I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room.”

“I’m sorry. But she shouldn’t be lying.”

“I’m not…”

“That’s enough you two… Now listen to me. I’m going to give you some materials that I want you to read every day. It will have information about proper diet and exercise. Over the next three months I want you to lose 90 pounds. If you can do that, I will consider you for weight loss surgery, and you can start making plans to move to Houston. All right? And in the meantime, if you need anything just give me a call.”

The therapist’s waiting room smelled like disinfected brains. Shelby Grace sat alone, spread out over two chairs. Lawrence was waiting in the car. A door opened and a little man with glasses and a nice gray sweater came out. “Shelby Grace?”

“Yes.”

He extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Dr. Paradise. Come on in.”

Shelby Grace went into his office and sat down on a comfortable rich man’s couch.

“So, tell me about Shelby Grace,” Dr. Paradise began. “Why are you here?”

“There’s not much to tell?”

Dr. Paradise glances at her body. “Well, you are obviously here for a reason. Why don’t you tell me why you think you eat so much?”

Shelby Grace shrugged. She looked all around his impeccable office, and then back to him, the small man in the chair. She thought it was all very weird. She was uncomfortable. “I think I eat so much because I’m trying to fill a void in my life.”

“Okay. Describe this void you’re talking about.”

“I’m not married, obviously. Why would anyone want to marry me? I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Do you have any close friends or family in your life?”

“My family all live in Alabama. We don’t see each other much. But there’s my good friend Jennifer. We work together at the hospital. We’re always cutting up and laughing. She’s so much fun.”

Dr. Paradise smiles and nods his head. “Okay. So, you’re working. You have a good friend at work. Those are two very positive things in your life. And those are the things I really want you to focus on. Look away from the food, and look at the good things in your life… What else.”

“I have a nice little apartment where I live with my dog Testicles.”

“Wait a minute,” Dr. Paradise says, holding up a small hand. He smiles out loud. “You have a dog named Testicles?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well. Obviously you are able to support yourself and maintain a home and care for a pet. Those are three more positive things. But the name of the dog.” He laughs. “You should probably change that.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Fair enough.”

“Are we almost done?”

“Sure. But my homework for you is to keep a running list of all the good things about your life. I want you to hang it up somewhere and every time you are down and want to reach for some junk food, look at the list. Tell yourself you are worth it, tell yourself you are better than having a rear end the size of a dumpster.”

Shelby Grace stood up as he did, and they shook hands. His hand felt so tiny in hers. It gave her the timber shivers. “It was good meeting you, Shelby Grace.”

“You too, Dr. Paradise. Thank you for the five-minute therapy session that will end up costing me 400 dollars.”

By
Aaron Echoes August

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The Inappropriate Architect (2)

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She didn’t know where to look the moment she stepped inside Fidel Architect the architect’s glamorous home and its modern mid-century rustic vibe. Her head nearly twisted off. She was stunned by the indoor waterfall and the size of the kitchen and all its shiny toys to cook and clean with.

“You really live here?”

“Yes.”

“By yourself?”

“I have a cat.”

There was a meow, as if on cue. The girl had found him and was petting him roughly. “He’s a nice kitty,” she said.

“That’s Bergen,” Fidel said. “I named him after the coastal city in Norway where I have a summer house.”

“You have two houses?”

“I mean, yes. I make a very good living being an architect. But the home in Norway is much smaller.”

She rolled her eyes and half-smiled. “Must be rough.”

The cat ran off and soon the girl was up and chasing it around, all the while screaming.”

“Hey! Don’t do that, and you better not break anything,” Fidel called out after her. “If you do, I’m going to break you! And be quiet and don’t hurt the cat.”

“You don’t need to talk to her like that. She’s just a little girl.”

“So…”

“You’ve got some nerve.”

“Yes I do. Lots of them in fact. All over my body. I bet you could set some on fire.”

She scoffed, turned away in embarrassment, and that’s when she noticed the wall of picture frames. Family photos, she thought, and went to take a closer look. But upon further inspection, she realized the pictures were all of Fidel. Every single one. Thirteen of them to be exact, and in each one he was striking a different pose, a different expression, sporting a different hairstyle, and wearing different clothes. He had an entire wall dedicated to pictures of himself.

“What is this about?” she asked him, pointing to the photos.

“Ah, yes. I see you’ve discovered my wall of self-admiration.”

She laughed. “Are you serious?”

Fidel’s face became non-expressive. “Yes. I am. Don’t you like it? It’s a collage reflecting my life as a human being. It celebrates my highs and lows, my successes and rare failures, and how my expressions react to diverse situations. I’m going to add more over time.”

“You’re going to need a bigger wall.”

“I sense that you think it’s stupid,” Fidel said.

“It’s just that I’ve never seen someone hang pictures of just themselves. It’s kind of arrogant if you want my honest opinion.”

“Arrogant? It’s not arrogant. It’s me being proud of the person I am and wanting to display that for all to see,” Fidel said.

“Get many visitors?”

Fidel thought about it for a moment. “Usually just hot prostitutes.”

She moved away from him. He had been uncomfortably close to her. She figured he must have some kind of disease. “Congratulations?”

“You’re mocking me. Fidel doesn’t like to get mocked.”

“It’s just kind of weird, but hey, to each his own, right?”

“That’s right. Please don’t judge me for just being who I am… And by the way, who are you? What kind of a name do you have?” Fidel asked her.

“Kind of name?”

“Yeah. Is it a stupid name?”

“It’s Angela, and I don’t think it’s a stupid name.”

“Angela… You must be an angel.” He signaled with one finger for her to be quiet while he reached for his phone. He play dialed it. “Yes. Is this Heaven? Good. Well, I just wanted to let you know I found one of your angels on the loose. But don’t worry, she’s about to be in my arms.”

He set his phone aside and pulled her to him. He kissed her. She surprised herself and kissed him back.

“Eww,” the little girl said from some hidden spot. “Mommy! You just met him.”

They both laughed out loud like human Cheez-Its.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can spank you, too,” Fidel said to the girl with all seriousness. “Seems like your mother here doesn’t really know how to discipline you or teach you not to run around like a wild dog in a stranger’s house. You need to learn some manners.”

The girl quieted down. Angela looked at him with subtle outrage. “I’ll discipline my own daughter how I see fit, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay, okay, baby cakes. I was just trying to get the kid to settle down. What do you feed her anyway? Cocaine?”

Angela rolled her eyes at him and scoffed, but she enjoyed the kiss too much to cut her visit short. She was overwhelmingly unsure about the whole thing. But she still needed something in her life. A spark. An interest. A project. “Why don’t you go outside and play,” she told her daughter. Something besides just being a struggling single mother.

“Just don’t trample over my ornamental garden beds,” Fidel said to the girl. “I’ll throw you over a wall and onto the interstate if you do.”

The girl was scared of him now. She went to her mother and wrapped her small arms around one of Angela’s legs. Angela petted her head to soothe her. “Go on. Go play.”

The girl scampered off toward the lower patio doors. Fidel went to help her open them. “I’ll be watching you,” he said before she slipped out. He closed the doors and locked them. The girl outside turned to look at him. Her face was peppered with concern. Fidel slid two fingers across his throat in a menacing slicing manner. The girl ran off and Fidel laughed out loud.

When he returned to Angela, she had a beer in her hand. Heineken. “Ever hear of asking first,” he said.

She took a long pull on the green bottle. “You know, sometimes that straightforwardness of yours can come off as rude.”

“It’s not rude. I’m honest. Why is everyone so afraid of honesty?”

“Honesty doesn’t need to always spew out like lava.”

“Lava?”

“Like, hot and burning and destructive.”

“I’m not destructive.”

“You are. You totally destroyed my daughter earlier with the way you talked to her. I’m not cool with that. I’m not sure I want to stay.”

He reached out and took the beer bottle from her. He put her now empty hand on his crotch and pulsed his bulge. “Are you cool with that?” he said to her with a sly look on his face.

She waited a moment before she pulled her hand away from the throbbing warmth. “You’re moving way too fast for me. I’m getting uncomfortable. Maybe I should leave after all.”

She started to walk away toward the patio doors to call for her daughter. Fidel went after her and jumped on her back, forcing her to the floor face first.

“What the fuck are you doing!” she screamed.

He turned her over and pinned her down with his knees. “Are we having fun yet?” he grinned.

She tried to kick him between the legs. He laughed at her useless effort. “You’ll never hurt me, baby cakes.” He grasped one of her breasts and squeezed it. But then Fidel looked up and saw the little girl on the other side of the glass. She was crying and trying to open the heavy sliding doors.

Fidel grinned at her like an evil clown. “Mommy and I are just wrestling, honey,” he yelled through the glass. “Don’t worry. We’re playing.” He ferociously tickled Angela in a torturous way and her entire body convulsed, and she cried out. “Stop it! Stop it!”

The girl pounded on the glass with her tiny fist. “Mommy!” she called out in a voice muffled by the barrier.

Fidel finally moved off of her. He reached out a hand to help her up. She clasped it. “You’re an asshole,” she said.

“I was just playing with you.”

“Didn’t seem like playing to me.”

She went to the doors and let her daughter in. The girl clutched her mother as she cried. “I want to go home.”

“We are, honey, we are.” She gathered her things and made her way to the front door.

“Hey,” Fidel called out. “No police, okay. I have a reputation to uphold.”

She gave him a confounded look and shook her head. “You’re sick, bro,” she said.

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

“Thank you. Thank you for what?”

“For a great time, the beer, letting you squeeze my penis.”

“You’re a pig.”

“There’s that word again. Pig. Why do women keep calling me a pig?”

“Probably because you are one.”

“Well, I suppose you’re entitled to your opinion.”

“Fuck off,” was the last thing she said to him before her and the girl walked out.

By
Aaron Echoes August

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