I am nothing this noc
A rare disturbance
A human coil of turmoil
No one ever loved
They just whipped
A human cigarette butt
Burned up
Tossed away
I feel like a blank page
No words to scratch
Just crooked lines to scribble
Blood-spent quill
Scratching emptiness
Yet a rage inside
To be comatose
In a world on overdose
To be unfelt
To be unmatterable
To be but a thorn in someone’s eye
That is I
This warm noc.
When Paul awoke, he was just above the tree line and sitting in a scramble of rocks. He was surrounded by mountains. The air was bluish-white and crisp and smelled clean. He could hear it move. When he looked down, he saw the town of Chandelier, Idaho snuggled up in the valley floor miles away. A soft wind blew, and he heard the whispers of something else. He got up and some rocks shifted. He listened to the sound of them clicking together, small and rapid taps of stone on stone letting loose and sliding.
He breathed the air deeply. He turned around and studied the rocky peak behind him; massive slabs of stone crafted by Earth and time, a few patches of snow clung to the mountain here and there. He returned his gaze to the town below. It would be a long walk. “Or I could just fly,” he said aloud. It was fine if he talked to himself. No one was there. But then he wondered if any of it was real after all. As in, was this the real part of his life right now, or just a sliver, a glimpse, a fictional account. What about his visit to Sarrah? What happened? What led him astray? How did he get here? It was some sort of sudden displacement. He couldn’t rely on his memory at that moment.
Paul decided to make his way down the mountainside. It was getting cold. He slid at a side angle until he came into the cover of the trees, the forest, the canopy of deep pine green that smelled like true life. He picked up a path near a stream; it was a soothing sound of water flowing over smooth stones as he walked. He followed it until he came to the base of the mountain and one lonely dirt road. This he followed to a lonely highway which led to a less lonely highway which in turn brought him to town with the scatterings of traffic.
He went into an old western coffee shop on the edge of town. He sat in a booth near a window. He wasn’t even tired. He could walk for miles and miles if he wanted to. It just took time. Then he suddenly thought of Josiah. What had become of him, he wondered. He had to find this stray, he thought.
Bergen Baystone the State Farm guy snuck up on her quietly as she sat on the bench near the fountain in the park scrolling through her phone and severing a banana with her teeth. Something she read must have been funny because she smiled and laughed to herself.
Bergen became the bushes, the leaves, the limbs, and his eyes danced all over that Beverly from accounting. He wanted to jump out and yell “surprise!” Something broken inside him wanted to drop his tan pants in front of her, out in public, during the day. That would embarrass her, and that would be no way to gain her favor, he decided.
He thought she looked beautiful, just sitting there and full of breathing, beating life. The hand he was using to hold the bag of Chinese food shook. The bag made noise. Beverly stopped what she was doing and looked around.
He had no choice now. Bergen bounded out to reveal himself. “Surprise!” he yelled. He did not drop his pants, though.
Beverly was shocked and lost her drink. “God damn it!” she cried out. “Look what you did. What the hell are you doing here, Bergen?”
“I was out hiking in the park, and I just happened to see you.”
“You mean you were creeping around in the bushes watching me.”
“Yes,” he confessed. “I suppose I was being a bit of a Peeping Bergen.”
Beverly shook her head and started to pack up her things in a furious state. “You’re so fucking weird.”
“Where are you going?” Bergen wanted to know.
“Seriously? Do you think I want to stay here with you?”
“I was going to eat my lunch. Care for a crab Rangoon and some witty banter?”
“A what?”
“A crab Rangoon.”
“No. And besides, you’re the goon.” She stood up to leave.
Bergen stepped in front of her. “Wait.”
Beverly tried to step around him. “Get out of my way before I start yelling for help.”
“Please don’t do that. I just want to spend some time with you.”
“No! How many times do I have to tell you ‘no!’”
Bergen Baystone grabbed her arm. “Don’t treat me this way. I don’t deserve this. Show some respect.”
“Respect?” Beverly yanked her arm away. “If you ever touch me again, I’m going to break your jaw.” She aggressively walked away and headed back to the office.
Bergen resigned himself to sitting on the bench and eating his crab Rangoon dipped in sweet and sour sauce all by himself. But now he was worried. He had gone too far with grabbing her arm like that. She was going to report him. He couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t lose his prestigious position at State Farm. He jumped up, spilling his food everywhere and ran after her.
The cerulean rabbit drove without saying a single word. His paw-hand reached for the stereo, and he turned on some music. Classic 80s rock. He strangely moved his head to the beat of the music.
Josiah looked at him with wide eyes as he clung to the door gathering the courage to say something. “Where are we going?” he managed to get out. He winced, expecting a slap.
The rabbit turned to look at him, then back to straight ahead at the road. “The farm,” he said in that low, slow, warbled voice. “I’m taking you home.”
“Is that a costume?” Josiah asked.
The rabbit laughed. “A costume?… Do you seriously think I am not real?”
“Yes.”
The rabbit laughed again. “Touch me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Touch me!”
Josiah reached out his hand and put it on the rabbit’s arm.
“See. It’s not a costume. Can you feel the muscle and bone beneath this cerulean fur? Can you feel the warmth of my blood flowing?”
Josiah jerked his hand away. “I want to get out.”
The rabbit stomped on the gas pedal and the car jerked forward. “Not until we get to the farm.”
“And then what?”
“You do as Paul told you.”
“Are you part of Paul?” Josiah asked. “I know there is something different about him. Are you another dimension of Paul?”
The rabbit tuned to look at Josiah and grinned. “Perhaps we are all just another dimension of you, Josiah Peppercorn. Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, you are a very sick man?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it. I was the one who punched her.”
“Who?”
“You’re wife… I punched her. Repeatedly. In the hospital. But then again, maybe it was you. You’d already beat her at the house, or maybe that was me. We could be the very same thing; it’s just that now I’ve gotten out of you, and I am running around loose.”
“You’re confusing me.”
“You’re confusing yourself.”
They finally took the last turn and rumbled up the long drive at the farmstead. When they stopped, the rabbit got out and went around and removed Josiah from the car. He led him to the barn and threw him inside. “Enjoy your new life,” the cerulean rabbit said to him. “As I do the same.”
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I had a dream that I got bitten by a snake
Down in the Chicago rail system
That shining silver cacophony of teeth and steel
The people and the lights
The sounds and the smells of uncivilized civilization
Life hustling there
Love bustling somewhere high up
Fast, out of control
We’re out of control
Us people, us human beings, us savages
But the bite was not from a snake, after all
The bite was from the world and its hateful teeth
But I did not die inside
I rose again to the welcoming of the sun
A new day, anyway
We cannot back down
We real Amorikans
They cannot push us to the ground
With their idiocy and stupidity
Their uselessness and senselessness
Their resolute ignorance
But we real Amorikans shall pursue
Little pieces of rebellion
We shall build Uhtred’s shield wall
We shall protect and project
Little pieces of kindness and love
Call us woke
Better than being morally broke
Better than being the scum of the broken Earth.
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.”
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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?”
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