I really need to get back into my posting regime on this blog.  I’ve been slacking big time.  How about something from a super rough draft of yet another dream I had, this one involving werewolves.  I woke up with such a strong urge to write this one down that I couldn’t resist it.  There aren’t any werewolves in this particular part but the overall premise is that this boy moves to this town where it’s all werewolves.  I actually ended up switching from first to third POV further along in the writing.  It demanded it.

I’d seen these types of places in the movies and one of two things always happened – nothing or something.  It’d either put you to sleep (or make Mom cry and Dad bored) or make you afraid of the dark.  There was never a middle.  There had to be a reason those movie people did that, right?  I mean, they’re not called stereotypes for nothing.  It’s like urban legends.  They had to start somewhere.

The fact that we’d driven through a tunnel drilled into the side of a mountain was the first clue.  The second was that the valley we’d driven into looked like a giant had carved it out with an ice cream scoop.  I bet my dad my Jeter rookie that if he kept driving we’d have to go through another mountain tunnel to get out.  The third clue (you know the kind that slap you in the face) was the welcome sign.  There was the mountains with some clouds below the peaks and the town below that.  There were some plants and animals drawn on it and the average family with two point four kids (I wish someone would take that literally  and, for once, paint half a baby or something) waving us in, standing next  to the same sign painted in it.  It’s the Brady Bunch mirror from Hell.  And the mirror said, ‘Welcome to Drayden, circa 1847, population 1200.’

1200.  I think there were more kids in my school than in this town.  At that point my goal was to figure out if this was a nothing or something town.  If it’s nothing, I knew my Mom wouldn’t be the one crying.  But knock on wood and all that black cat stuff, I almost hoped this was a something town.  At least then I wouldn’t be bored into a coma.

“Chenzie, sweetheart, I think Jax needs a pee.  Take him out, would you?”

“But Ma, we’re almost there.  He can hold it.  And it’s Vinny.  I’m too old for Chenzie.”

“Chen–Vin, that dogs pees in the car, you’re going to clean it with your toothbrush.  Leash him.  Now.”

Dad was the word of god this time.  Him and Mom split the throne whenever they needed me to do something, or punish me for something.

And I swear I’m going to start wearing a sandwish board that says, ‘It’s Vinny’  so they get it.  Vincenzo’s a cool name.  You’d think Vinny’d be the default nickname.  No.  Not Vinny.  Not Vin.  Not Chenzo.  Not even Chaz.  Chenzie.  Sounds like what a yuppie’d name their Labradoodle or something.  I needed them to start calling me Vinny before I started to grow a vagina.

Jaz was gnawing on his leash when I grabbed it and clipped his collar.  Mom said something as I hopped over the seat and Dad popped the trunk.  I think she said something about a monkey but Jax was pulling too hard for me to care.

I hate it when Mom’s right.  Even about dog pee.  I’d like to think I know my own dog but I guess I don’t got his bladder timed like it should.  As he watered the grass, I looked around.  From where I stood, it looked like a whole lot of nothing.

I’d never seen mountain peaks like that before except when I was flying over them.  From the air they always looked brown.  From here they were kind of gray.  The tops were the same white though.  There was this weak haze over everything, like it was trying to burn off but was too lazy to go all the way.  I could tell the sky was blue and the sun was out but the fog glared it out.  This was why people weren’t meant to see morning this early.  The earth wasn’t even awake yet.

Jax had finished with his grassy toilet and started taking me for a walk.  I just followed him.  It was easier that way.  He knew where he needed to go.  I wasn’t the one pissing on the grass.  It was only when I’d felt the tug that I realized I’d dazed again.  I looked back and Jax’s paws were planted and his collar was wedged up under his chin.  He wasn’t moving.

“What the hell, Jax?  Come on.”

“Chenzie, don’t swear!” came Mom’s voice from the car.

“Vinny, Mom!”

“Only when you stop swearing.”

“Shit,” I mumbled into my sleeve.

Jax was whining now and had actually laid down, his nose between his paws.  When I started walking to him he stood up and wagged his tail.  When he started walking the other way, I stopped and let the leash pull.  He turned around and tugged.  When he saw I wasn’t moving, he laid down again.  When I started walking, the whole thing started again.

Weird dog.  We walked for a few more minutes.  I kept trying to pull him back to where I was standing but he wouldn’t go.  Went all non-violent protester on me again.  So I walked him further into the field and tried to turn him.  No dice.  He looked at me as if to say, ‘You think I’m stupid, don’t you?’

It wasn’t until I saw Mom flagging us back to the car that I realized that Jax wouldn’t cross the invisible town line.  I eyeballed the path of the sign to me and stepped over it.  Jax sat down.  I tugged.  He tugged back and started to whine.

Definitely a weird dog.  What should I expect from something that only ate half of those little green men when I was a kid?  Always the heads.

I crossed back over the line and he got up and was all normal.  Dogs sensed things and all that.  Maybe this was going to be a something town after all.  If for nothing more than it made my dog all sorts of weird.

I tried to climb back over the seat but Mom squealed and Dad had to pop the trunk again.  I had to take the long way to put the dog back.  And then we were off again.  I thought my dog was being weird in the field.  As soon as we’d crossed that sign line, that’s when Jax started to bark.  Bark and whine.  Really weird dog.

Here’s the final draft of the Halloween short I posted last week.  At least the beginning’s tighter.

Jack looked into the pillowcase. A sugar high yelled back. The lady in the doorway smiled. You’re too old. Jack looked at his friends. No they weren’t.

‘Thanks.’

He stumbled to the street. He opened the sack again. Everything was twitching. The Twizzlers had a hole in it. Something was growling.

The pillowcase started swinging. It whapped Jack in the leg. He already lagged behind. No one could see his candy spazzing.

The pillowcase wigged out more. The snarling got louder. Jack cringed thinking of hugging it to his body. He couldn’t let his friends see.

Little candy bars jerked and twitched against his stomach. Each poke made his guts flop. Jack shivered. The wet on his neck made the cold worse.

Jack looked behind him. Then in front. The streets were darker. Porch lights were shut off. There were fewer houses to turn to. Jack’s friends still laughed and shoved. Jack shivered.

Pain dug across Jack’s stomach. He sucked in cold air getting colder. It hurt his teeth. He looked down and moved the pillowcase. There was a spot of blood on the sack. The one on his t-shirt oozed bigger.

Home was a green sign on the corner. It flashed at Jack. He beelined down the street. The pillowcase still squirmed. His friends didn’t notice.

Every house was dark. It wrapped around him as he zipped by. It slowed him down. His porch light was on. Ugly orange mums were out. His gut churned.

The curb grabbed his toe. The shadows pulled the sack out of his arms. The dewy grass yanked his knees down. The wet soaked through his jeans. The cold got colder.

A gust blew. Snickers skin slapped his face. The pillowcase was in front of Jack. The shadows gnawed half of it. It bled Milky Ways on the grass. It was still.

Jack’s heart knocked at his ribcage. It pulled at his throat. It beat in his ears.

The blood spot on the sack glared back. Jack touched his finger to his stomach. He cringed. He looked down. He pulled the t-shirt up. The gouge stared back. It was polluted with t-shirt fuzz.

The pillowcase was still.

Jack’s street was stagnant. The shadows stole the noise.

Something poked his calf. Jack swat. He looked at his leg. It was nothing.

Something poked his back. Jack hit. The sting echoed. His hand was heavy. He looked. It was nothing.

Nothing pricked up his arm. He couldn’t look. The back of his neck tore. Pain played dancing stars in his eyes. Skin popped. Little daggers ripped. Nothing was out of breath. Nothing snarled in Jack’s ear.

Nothing stopped Jack’s scream. Jack’s face hit the ground. Babe Ruth crinkled. She caught his fall. Ugly orange mums were out. Jack’s porch light was on.

Jack’s porch light went off.