The Virtual Storytellers Campfire

Whew, edgar! You could give a person nightmares!
I'm gonna regret reading that right before bedtime.
(shivers)

Sorry, eva.

I'll get over it, edgar.
GREAT writing, though! You are so talented.

Edgar, I am in the middle of self preoccupation, but I read the story quickly and stopped thinking for a quick -


yes.

I was inspired by Edgar's dark story to submit one of my own, which I posted on another site under the psuedonym of Vilhelm Flugheim.

I use the Flugheim name when I write some of my darker material. (People wouldn't believe that Ratzenhofer was capable of such horror.)

A cautionary note: If you have a weak heart I suggest you stop reading now. I would hate to be responsible for causing a heart attack in a member of A2K.

And now.....


Blood on the Putting Green
Octogenarians in Plaid Pants Attack

By Vilhelm Flugheim


My putting was killing my golf game. My drives were excellent, the short irons working fairly well, and the mid to long irons, not spectacular, but adequate. I knew if I was to win the upcoming tournament I'd better have my putter ready. That's why I was on the putting green at 6:00 on Wednesday morning.

I had been putting for about twenty minutes when I first noticed them. Three old guys in plaid pants and fishing caps were mingling at the far end of the putting green. I figured them to all be in their early 80's. The one in the yellow shirt was staring at me. When my gaze met his he casually spit some tobacco juice on the ground and gestured menacingly at me with his putter.

He was obviously the ringleader. The other two laughed when he shook his putter at me and then they began to separate. The one in the yellow pants walked directly toward me, the other two strode to the edges and begin to move.

I've been around wildlife long enough to recognize predatory behavior. They were stalking me!

The putting green butted up to the side of a cliff so I had no way out. I tried to scream but only managed a hoarse whisper.

Now they were almost upon me, their putters held over their heads.

I'm in my early thirties, in fairly good shape, but my fighting skills are not that great. I decided to run. I charged straight toward the ringleader and then veered to the left as his putter whizzed by my head. The old timer on the far side moved in and skillfully swung his putter, breaking my arm in two places. I collapsed to the ground and curled up in the fetal position as they converged and began their deadly assault. All I could see were plaid pants and the blurs of putters as they struck.... again and again.

I was at the point of passing out from the pain when I heard a horn. The horn caused them to momentarily stop the assault and look up.

Coming toward us were sixteen golf carts filled with boy scouts. I've never been so happy in all my life as when I saw those familiar brown uniforms with the neat little yellow handkerchiefs.

The octogenarians took flight. They jumped on their golf cart and took off toward the back nine, the boy scouts in hot pursuit. I watched as the golf carts disappeared over the hill. Then silence.

Just as I begin to struggle to my feet the first gunshots rang out. There must have been a thousand shots; the sound was deafening. As quickly as it started it stopped.

Looking up at the hill I noticed one of the boy scout carts coming into view. And then another, and another. Soon they were all lined up in a row. They cut the engines and just sat there in silence, staring at me.

Finally, the one in the middle cart raised his arm and the engines all roared to life as the carts took off down the hill toward me and then veered to the west.

I could see the octogenarians bodies tied to the back of one of the carts. They were shot up pretty bad. All of the bodies bounced in unison, leaving a trail of blood, guts, and grecian formula in their wake.

I never did see those scouts again and I never saw any mention of the incident on the news or in the newspaper.

I'm beginning to walk without a limp again and the doctor says I may be able to play golf in another year or two.

I'm counting the days.

He he he he he he he he he he he he he he
Ho ho ho ho ho ho Ha ha ha ah ha ha
Good one, gus.

Thanks, Edgar, but why are you laughing? This was a horror story. You should have been stricken with fear, speechless. The fact that you were able to type is, frankly, astounding.

AAAAAAAAAARRRRGHHH!!!!
nq3ew ioxc89 q34 5jkw9o8v d8cqnw.......

My wife was tickling my toe as I typed, gus. I was horrified to the extreme.

Jackie's story was true to life. Had me remembering experiences with my own three daughters.

Gus, I can't help it, your story made laugh...because it's funny! Good job.

Hi Edgar-
I am glad you relate to my little story. I sure like yours... VERY well written.
And gus... you have the dark humor down!! I like the idea of the 'bodies' tied on the back of the carts like dried Christmas trees in January- headed for dump. ---


A Tale of Wiser Heads.

Three were in the car as I walked toward it to get in. Levi was driving, Carrie was tucked under his right arm... because... I saw there was another guy way over on the right side of the front seat. I had seen him around- he was 'Jimmy' - and I couldn't help but notice the guy in the back seat was rather handsome.
I just hated that flushed feeling coming over me when someone new was around. This was my blind date. Carrie had motioned for me to get into the back seat with him.
"Pat, this is Bob-- Robert Dinney if you want to be formal" she chuckled out a silly grin- " and Bob, Patsy. Or just Pat her if you want." She continued to snicker as we teens did.
Boy, did I feel ill at ease! Bob was dressed casually but sharp and looked older. I felt like a little kid at a grown-up's barbeque. I know I was very rosy, as I said hi, and took hold of the well manicured hand he thrust at me. "Well, hi Pat. Aren't you just the pretty little thing?! I am so glad I said I would come!"
Well, now. That is better. I was warming up to the picnic already. And I did not even ask if Jimmy had a date. Apparently, he did not- for we headed straight for the wooded creek-side Carrie and Levi had found.
The guys were all laughing and joking and Bob was so "friendly"- already had his arm loosely about my shoulders and holding onto one hand possessively.
During this small talk, I had heard mention of drinking. Oh My! I had drank a Pabst Blue Ribbon with a guy on a date once, but I did not think we should drink. I kept quiet... but-- good grief-- this guy who had asked me for this blind date was a bugger! First thing I knew he lifted my chin and put a soft kiss RIGHT ON my lips! That is when I smelled a hint of liquor.
Inside, I shook a little. I think I even prayed a little bit too. I HOPED we could have a good time, eat a hot dog and go home in the same day we came.

I was laughing and running around with Carrie when we got out of the car, and the guys were building a small fire in the rocks. They brought the food ---- we did not have anything to do but look at the brook. I saw them passing around a bottle. It was an UNMISTAKABLE bottle of liquor of SOME kind.
Something up at the campsite exploded like a bomb!! I was scared to death, and Carrie was yelling "What the hell...??" (she had a flavorful manner of speaking) Suddenly the guys were laughing and clowning and yelling at Jimmy while he stood sheepish, feeling stupid. "Oh the nut put the can of chili right into the fire... dumb nut... " Levi was laughing. "Aw, what the hell, we will eat the hot dogs without chili".
While Bob and Levi pointed out to Jimmy that he needed to poke a hole in the top of the can and prop it over the coals- Carrie and I began putting the hot dogs together. Bob yelled from over by a tree- "Hey Jimmy, if you want some chili, here's a blob on this tree.... haahahahha"
We could all laugh now, I was not shaking anymore.

Before I finished my chips, Bob was handing me a small shot glass. "Here, doll, have a few sips of this". "What is it?" I pretended to be interested. "Bourbon, you will like it. See-- you just put this little glass about half full, and throw it down your throat like this, and take a sip of the coke." "I don't think I want any", I grinned, "I am not used to drinking". "Oh, come on," he soothed, "a little taste will make you feel good".
All the teaching I had from everyone who loved me came back. I am seventeen and a good, virtuous girl--- I thought to myself. I may never see this man again... I don't know who he is, and I need to get out of this!! I was too shy to be outspoken, and too scared to beg.
"Maybe in a minute," I said. Then, "Go on, pour a bit for me". I sniffed and sniffed at it smiling. "Lookee here" he yelled to Levi. "I'm feeding the doll liquor".
While Bob had his head toward Levi----betcha it was not over 3 seconds.... I flipped that liquor over my shoulder, and put the cup to my lips, pretending to drain it and get every drop. "Hmmm, I told him" shuddering my shoulders a little at the strong taste, "It's not TOO bad".
WELL. That guy was thrilled, and in a few minutes he wanted me to do it again. Carrie was staring at me blankly. She knew I did not drink. "Girl, you better watch yourself with that stuff," she warned. "You'll get sick and I don't want pukin' all over the car." "Hey---" Bob told her, handing her the bottle, "You have some." "NO way", Carrie sputtered. She grinned as she said, "Drinking makes me sick". "Anyway, I'm high all the time, ain't I, Levi?" They made kissing noises at each other.
(I thought I was going to puke anyway... and not even sick).
After awhile, when I had thrown my third half/shot in the bushes- (I probably had drank about a half shot in the process) I began to feel a little light-headed. Boy, just like a light bulb, my mind 'came on'. I began to act like a drunk little girl. I wobbled, acted silly and begged for more to drink. Of course, they would not let me have it. "I can't be out here after dark" said Bob- " I got to see a man about some thangs"- "We got to be seeing you home, gal".

I wasted another half hour going to the bathroom in the woods with Carrie. While we were beyond earshot and past the creek, I told her what I was doing. Her eyes were BIG, and she said, "Well, I was going to tell you later anyway, that I chewed Levi for getting you this date. This guy is married and he just wanted a young girl for you KNOW what."
"I kinda figured that. Makes me mad, though- he's so good-looking and so polite and sweet to me."
"I guess so," she chortled, "at least till he gets what he wants". Ha ha hahaha.
We wove our way to the car, and Carrie told them..."Pat is sick. We need to take her home. She is going to be throwing up and everthin' if we don't get her on home." The guys loaded in, and I fell over, still pretending to be sick-drunk. But Bob insisted on propping me up against his shoulder and making sure he is getting a feel-job on my chest. He kept trying to kiss me and rub me all over, and I kept whining softly, "I'm too sick". Once or twice, I even made a heaving sound, being sure to add a 'gurgle'. He got away from me then, and rolled down a back window. "Put your head in this breeze, gal. Do you have any chewing gum. You smell like a brewery". Someone got me some gum, and I straightened up.

Before dusk, we pulled up in front of my house.
"I had a good time", I giggled- and Bob reached down out of everyone's sight and pinched me on the leg. "I'm gonna see you again next week, gal. You take care now."
I walked slowly to my house until I was sure they could not see me anymore, then I broke for my room and to change clothes. Luckily, I did not see anyone until I brushed my teeth and got an apple.
"What did y'all do today?" Mom asked while she was preparing supper.
"Oh, we had a picnic- and hot dogs and saw a really neat creek. But I told them I had to be home before dark. I don't like woods in the dark"
Mom just went on stirring... and I just kept on munchin' and a hummin'.... (and being thankful).

Jackie
I like that story very much.

So do I, Jackie.
Went through a similar experience myself when I was about 15. Brought back long-forgotten memories. You've gotten the emotions just right.

Very good Jackie. It brings back memories of my teen years...so long ago.

Jackie, this is indeed a small world. I read your story and something about it seemed vaguely familiar. Then it dawned upon me -- I was the guy feeding you the liquor!

We're talking about the creek behind old man Bertelson's house, aren't we? Back in '34, if I remember correctly. You were clad in a white skirt and pink blouse and underneath you were wearing one of those torpedo bras.

I clearly remember those pointy appendages!

Once I saw that blouse being strained to the limit, the flimsy material screaming as it was stretched to the breaking point, I knew I had to have you.

I did have a moment of guilt pass over me as I thought of my wife, and I even reached into my wallet and pulled out her photo in a feeble attempt to erase my lecherous thoughts.

But then you threw your head back and laughed at some joke Carrie was telling. Your silhouette was amazing, the twin lethal projectiles thrusting outward in such a fashion as to cause me to silently shred my wife's photograph and toss the fragments into Bertelson's creek.

I watched the shredded pieces of paper slowly drift away as I reached into my pocket and extracted my shot glass. I watched you, like a friggin' vulture, as I poured a lethal combination of Jack Daniels and Kool Aid into the shot glass.

Then I approached you, my eyes never leaving the points.

The blouse continued to strain.

I continued to sweat.

You took the shot glass from my hand and said, "Thank you, Gus. (I went by the name Bob on that fateful night, in order to remain anonymous)

I watched carefully as you raised the shot glass to your lips. You hesitated, and then, thinking you were being clever, tossed it over your shoulder, where the sweet nectar which I had assumed would turn you to putty and collapse into my waiting arms, harmlessly wetted the blades of the grass, and then, in the ultimate tragic moment, evaporated into the mist.

I knew then that I wouldn't be laid that night.

We drove you home and I still recall the treachery to this day, the contrived sounds you made, the ridiculously shallow attempts at "throwing up" and pretending you were drunk.

We dropped you off and you scurried away, toward the safety of your mother.

As our car careened down the gravel road, farther and farther from your house, I clearly remember looking at Carrie and Levi and growling, "you two ever set me up with that broad again.... I'll kill you."

I went home to my wife on that fateful night. She was sleeping. I was still burning with passion and I gently nudged my wife, hoping for some relief.

She rolled over, looked at me, and said, "I smell the whiskey on your breath, you bastard! Have you been pursuing the wenches with the pointy bras again?"

She then rolled onto her side, away from me.

We were divorced shortly after that.

She got the house and the tractor.

I got the bicycle. The one with the flat tire. That's all.

So, Jackie, the years have spun by since our encounter down by Bertelson's creek. You have gone on to marry a stockbroker, while your own medical practice is doing quite well. Your children laugh as they play in the back yard of your palatial estate. You and your husband have your arms around each other as you gaze out the window at your children. Your are happy... content. Life has blessed you.

I, on the other hand, sleep in a cardboard box under a bridge. My possessions are few: A couple of sandwiches, a feather pillow stained by the rain and my tears, an issue of Sports Illustrated from May 14, 1968 (the one with Mickey Mantel on the cover) and a faded photograph of you, wearing the flimsy blouse and the torpedo bra with its contents pushing forever outward.

Such is life.

I hope you're happy.

Sniff. Sob. Boo hoo hoo. I think I shall cry my eyes out for your poignant memoire, gus.

Gus it is a small world...you picked up the story where Jackie left off...it's so sad that you can't overcome what might have been.

I would like to take a moment to thank both of you, Edgar and colorbook, for feeling my pain, for being there for me.

Friends are few.... you two are my pillars.

I propose to do a biography of you, gus. I would like for you to submit to a series of interviews with myself, Cav, dyslexia and BumbleBeeBoogie, that we might chronicle your life, much as the way Celini was immortalized by his exemplary autobiography. Any royalties to be split equally among the authors. Any chance?