Category: Fiction Factor

The principal’s office at Albert Bacon Fall Middle School was quite welcoming, its mustard yellow walls decorated by pictures of smiling students, colorful world maps and red and gold pennants featuring the ABF Teapots’ short and stout mascot.

Even the chairs reserved for parents were a cheery blue, and situated in front of a modest, laminate desk covered with knickknacks. So, to see the school principal – Dewey Kankle – with a serious frown on his face certainly changed the vibe.

Michael and Mary Smith had been called to his office to discuss some artwork rendered by their son, Michael Jr., who everyone called Mike. The youngster had been a model student since joining the school at the start of the year, making straight A’s and managing to be well-liked among just about all of his classmates whether they were in the sixth, seventh or eighth grade.

His parents couldn’t imagine what prompted the meeting – and the principal’s concern.

“Mr. and Mrs. Smith, thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me today,” Kankle said while shuffling several drawing papers. “I’m sure you’re both busy, but I just felt it was important to address this now and head off a potential problem before it becomes a full blown crisis.”

Michael, with a confused look on his face, leaned over in his chair.

“I don’t understand, Mr. Kankle. From everything we hear from Mike, things are going great here. I mean, he’s never made anything less than an A, has he? Plus, he does a lot of extracurriculars and has quite a few friends.”

“Oh, he’s a magnificent student,” Kankle said. “Smart as a whip. And according to his science teacher, his knowledge in that particular discipline is off the charts – far beyond that of most 12-year-olds. But as upsetting as it might be, you need to look at these drawings.”

Kankle handed several sheets of paper to the couple, who looked at them one by one.

“Well,” Mary said. “this looks like a pretty representative sample of what Mike draws in his spare time. He really enjoys detailing the figures, and he prides himself on making freehanded circles. Is he doing this in other classes and causing a disruption? Do his teachers think he’s not paying attention?”

The figures had large, winding horns, long, black tails and cloven hooves. The circles encased a five-pointed star.

Kankle’s eyes widened as he looked at the parents.

“Do you … do you seriously not realize what your son is drawing?” he asked, incredulously.

“Yeah, I mean … sure,” Michael said. “He’s just drawing figures and geometric symbols. He’s been doing this for as long as we can remember, and he’s getting really good at it.”

“Figures? Geometric symbols? Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” Kankle said, his voice rising, “What your son is drawing are demons and pentagrams. Now, far be it from me to tell anyone how to raise their child, but once his art teacher saw these and passed them to me, it raised a huge red flag. To you, it might seem harmless – drawing figures and symbols, as you say. To me, however, it’s planting the seeds of Satanism. Today, he’s just drawing. But the next thing you know, he’s listening to Black Sabbath, disemboweling cats and sacrificing virgins.”

Mary and Michael burst out in laughter.

“Oh, my goodness, Mr. Kankle,” Mary said. “We don’t mean to laugh – or be disrespectful – but you’ve got it all wrong. That’s not what he’s drawing. At all. Of course, now that you mention it, I could see where you’d make the mistake.”

“There’s no mistake!” Kankle huffed. “Show this to any human, and they’ll tell you what’s on that paper are demons and pentagrams!”

“Fair point,” Michael said. “Look, we might as well be honest with you, Mr. Kankle. Humans might mistake these for demons and pentagrams, but to inhabitants of Fundor – I think your astronomers call it TOI-715 b – these images represent something else entirely. The creatures you say are demons are actually Corbin Beasts, which populate a large portion of our planet. They’re also great pets, similar to your dogs and cats. Here, this is the one we have at home, Goobus Boo.”

Michael raised his right hand, squeezed his seven fingers together and produced a hologram – one which showed an image of Mike and Goobus Boo throwing an orb back and forth.

Kankle sat in stunned silence as Michael opened his hand and the hologram disappeared. The Smiths then got up and moved toward the door.

“Oh, and about the pentagram thing …” Mary said. “That’s just what the underside of our spacecraft looks like. What you think signifies demons is just a transportation symbol to us. But you can see for yourself on Sunday night around, oh, 10 o’clock … that’s when the invasion begins, so a whole fleet will be filling the skies.

”Anyway, don’t worry about Mike. He’s a good kid.”

Duff and Lifesaver huddled at the bottom of the stairwell, which, Duff figured, was probably the safest place in the house.

A tornado warning had been issued, and all those in its path were urged to take immediate cover. The voice coming through the television was insistent.

Stay away from windows, go to a basement if you have one, or shelter in a hallway, closet or bathroom if those are your only options. This is a serious situation.

The stairwell leading to the garage at Duff’s house was 13 steps deep and covered by walls on either side. The bottom step was a favorite spot for Lifesaver, a small, ginger cat who was mostly fearless but always put aside his bravado during inclement weather. The first clap of thunder would send him slinking to his safe space, where he would curl into a ball and rhythmically twitch his ears.

When that happened, Duff would lean over the railing and talk to the cat in a calm, soothing voice.

“It’s OK, buddy,” he’d say. “We’ll take care of each other just like we always do.”

Duff’s wife had been gone for 10 years, and Lifesaver came along three years later. As the calendar kept flipping, Duff was less inclined to go out and socialize, and instead preferred the company of his feline. Once he became a “cat person,” he couldn’t imagine life without a furry friend.

And the kitty seemed to like the arrangement, too. He loved shadowing Duff as he went about his daily routine, and always snuggled beside him when the old man reclined in his easy chair, cracked open a cold one and watched baseball.

As the wind howled mercilessly and the hail pounded the metal roof, Duff gently stroked Lifesaver from head to tail.

Take immediate shelter. If you are in the counties of Douglas, Lincoln and Buchanan, you are under a tornado warning. Extensive damage has already been reported.

“I guess we should probably go to the garage, but I really don’t want to,” Duff said as Lifesaver looked up at him and slowly blinked. “Nah … we’re gonna stay right here unless we have no other choice.”

Duff had groceries delivered and used a ride-hailing service when he went out, so his 2009 CR-V had been sitting idle for several years. It most likely still ran just fine, but now it was simply 3,500 pounds of melancholy. When Duff looked at it, he thought of that spring day in 2018 when he grew so despondent he decided he didn’t want to see another day.

With the garage door closed, he planned to get in, crank it up, close his eyes and quietly slip away.

But as he opened the door and plopped down in the driver’s seat, he heard a noise coming from the corner where his tools were stored. He walked over to inspect, and saw the head of a small kitten peering at him from behind the mud-caked blade of a shovel.

Duff reached in and grabbed the puff of orange fur, who just barely spilled over the palm of his hand.

“Where did you come from, little one?” he said as the cat meekly mewed. “How did you even get in here?”

Duff pulled the kitten close to his chest, kissed it on the head, and then walked over to his car and closed the door.

Since then, the pair had been inseparable, and Duff figured this was the ninth or tenth time they had ridden out a tornado at the bottom of the stairwell.

Just as Lifesaver rolled over to get a belly rub, the hail stopped, and the roaring wind had settled into a whimper.

The tornado warnings for the counties of Douglas, Lincoln and Buchanan have been lifted. The tornadic activity has moved to the west and these counties are now under a severe thunderstorm watch. The dangerous weather should be moving out of the area within the hour.

Duff stood up and Lifesaver took a big stretch. Both headed up the stairs.

“We survived another one, buddy,” Duff said. “Why don’t we celebrate by watching some baseball.”

The old Queen Anne-style house situated just off the Highway 149 was definitely a fixer-upper, almost to the point of being an eyesore.

The dark grey eaves were in immediate need of major repair, with the edges frayed like a block of cheese that had been nibbled by a rat.

The faded white wraparound porch seemed fine at first glance, but a closer inspection revealed badly damaged spindle work and several rotted boards that made for hazardous walking. The porch columns needed reinforcement, and at least one had to be completely replaced due to a large crack that started at its base and ran all the way to the top.

Some of the bay windows were broken, all of the window treatments were a mess … there was a laundry list of  renovation and restoration needs. Frankly, it was a miracle that a This Property Is Condemned sign hadn’t been tacked to the door.

Still, the house could certainly be restored to its original glory, but it wouldn’t happen overnight. It was going to cost a whole lot of money – and countless hours of work – to make it both presentable and livable.

Frederick and Nettie were hopeful, though; they had seen a realtor come by twice in the last week with two different parties. Whether the potential buyers were looking for a place to live or a place to flip didn’t really matter to the couple as long as someone fixed it up and moved back in.

“It’s been what, 12, 15 years since the Williams family lived here?” Frederick wondered aloud.

“Fourteen years,” Nettie said. “They moved out on March 17, 2011. I hated to seem ‘em go. I’ll never forget waving goodbye to that little girl – Marcy was her name. Such a sweet child. The whole family was good people.”

“They were, they were … Jane and Daryl Williams,” Frederick said wistfully. “Remember that funny dog they had? Dipper. Ol’ Dipper would just stand there and bark and bark at us and Mr. and Mrs. Williams never could get him to quiet down. But Marcy would walk over, look at us and smile. When she did that, Dipper would walk away and go about his business. Course, the next day it all started up again. I guess dogs have short memories.”

A car slowed down in front of the house, and both the driver and the passenger leaned in to take a closer look. They talked among themselves briefly, pointed at the property, then slowly eased back onto the road and drove away.

“Don’t guess they were interested in buying,” Nettie said. “You never know, though. That’s how the Carters found this place, you recall. They rode up in that fancy looking Packard Caribbean and she had on those big sunglasses and that polka dot bandana, and her little bitty husband was gobbled up in that velvety sport coat. It tickles me to even think about it. She walked right up on the porch and decided right then she wanted the place and he just laughed.”

“Oh, yeah, Dee and Desi Carter,” Frederick said. “Now, he was plenty nice and friendly but she was something else … she was something else entirely, and I mean that in a good way. Lordy, she loved to have those big parties, didn’t she? All those people would come around from all over, dressed to the nines, drinking whiskey sours and having a big time. Thing about her, it was like she knew what kinda music we liked and wanted to make us part of it, too. Every Halloween she’d put Down Hearted Blues and Memphis Blues on the gramophone. Every single Halloween, long about midnight. It made me think about those days when you sang and I played and we toured all over the country with W.C. Handy and Bessie Smith. That was awfully nice of her, I think. She’s another one I miss.”

Several families had come and gone, all making an impact on the couple one way or another. Nettie peered outside one of the windows on the second floor and watched as several more cars whizzed by – but not one gave the house a second look.

“Frederick, you think maybe it’s the stories that keep people away? You know, the stories about the murders. Everybody had pretty much forgotten about it, but then those ghost hunter shows started popping up and the next thing you know people start talking about the evil in this house. It ain’t right.”

Frederick glided over to Nettie and put his arm around her.

“Well, sugar,” he said. “The man that killed us was evil, but he’s gone now … went to prison first and now I’m pretty sure he’s in a place I don’t think anybody wants to go. But you and me? We’re just regular ol’ spirits, and this is where we belong. Little Marcy knew it. Mrs. Carter knew it, too. Don’t think anybody was ever really afraid of us, except maybe ol’ Dipper.

“No, this is a happy place. It’s our happy place. If we can just get another family in here, you and me will make sure they’re looked out for. Our house seems more like a home when we have company.”