Grandmas Goulash

The sun was warm that June day. Surely there was no need to wear a hooded jacket to ward off the cold. It's purpose was concealment and who could have guessed what was hidden beneath? He walked silently through the peaceful woods. He seemed oblivious to the twittering birds or the paddling of the beaver's tail. Emerging at the back of the house, he crept quietly towards it. No need to pick the lock. The door had been conveniently left open. The house kept his secret. No sound shattered the neighborhood's tranquility as he quickly finished his work. His crime was perfect. No one would ever know. The detective thought otherwise, as he quickly followed a trail of blood to the assassin. The criminal was a wally. Only an amateur would neglect to wipe the cleaver before placing it back inside his jacket. Nessa at the Chrysalis Stage is hosting a new meme called Tales on Tuesday . This week's theme is Leave It To Beaver. Hope you'll head on over an...

Mary Smith hurried past her mother and headed to her bedroom. It was the easiest way to avoid questions about her day. Not to mention the freshly baked cookies. Bad enough that she was plain, she didn't need to be fat too. Her day had not been good. Like her life, it had been average. Average grades, average looks, average friends. What would you expect when a clerk named Jane Brown married Bob Smith, auto parts associate? Just what they had. A small rented bungalow in a tired neighborhood. Homemade clothes. Vacation trips to the local beach. And an average child named Mary. Why not Tiffany or Crystal or Jewel? Girls with those names lived differently. Homes resembling small mansions. Designer clothes. European vacations. Looks, brains, popularity. As if some leprechaun had sprinkled them with enchanted gold dust. Why couldn't she be a golden girl? . Suddenly inspired, she grabbed a blank pad of paper and stretched out on her bed. I, Mary Smith, hereby change my name t...

"Grandma, your house is so old and creepy. Do evil spirits live here?" Jenny tried to sound nonchalant, but her voice trembled. Her younger brother, Will, was quick to join in. "I don't want to sleep overnight, Grandma. I'm scared." "This is an old house and sometimes it makes a lot of strange sounds. But nothing evil has ever happened here, children. Grampa and I had a lot of fun here over the years though. Did you ever eat popcorn made in a fireplace?" "Can we Grandma?" Grandma breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Their parents were out of town, so going home was not an option. Turn on some cartoons, feed them some popcorn and distract those vivid imaginations. Soon they'd be relaxed and ready for bed. "Grandma! Something is crawling up the wall." "That's just a shadow, Will. See the plant that's hanging over there? It's casting it's shadow on the wall. Watch, we can make shadows...

Where could it be? Not behind the daybed nor in the storage area beneath. Not anywhere on the high bookshelves. Two small kitchen cabinets yield nothing but dishes. The tiny studio's single closet is the only remaining possibility. Trembling with apprehension, she approaches the narrow door. Tentatively, she touches the door handle, then quickly pulls back. She has heard stories. And she believes them. Struggling to control her terror, she approaches again and flings it open. How silly! There's nothing to fear here. Just floor to ceiling shelves, filled with the accumulation of ten years. The search might take a bit, but nothing to fear at all. Be methodical. Start at the bottom and work up. Begin with that large box. Stuck. Try again. Ah, here it comes. Avalanche. Tottering shelves hurl their contents. A large brass trophy jettisons from the pinnacle towards her head. Blackness. Endless blackness. It's what they'd predicted, but it's ...