The Virtual Storytellers Campfire

rbj ~ There are eight shifflett's listed in canada. AB/ON
Shiflet ~ 2 ON/BC
A whole ten listings. Intresting.

By the By, I've enjoyed reading the whole thread. Wonderful stories. There are some very talented people here.

Many, many years ago when I was a freshman in college I met this guy in one of my classes and we became friends. Oddly, I remember his given first name: George. But that is not the name he used, I can't recall what it was Even then, no one wanted to be called George.
He was from the mountains of Tennessee and he wanted to become a surgeon...and he did become one. At Emory in Atlanta, I recall.
Anyway, at the age of 15(!) he began running with the Rescue Squad in his community back in TN. Rescue Squads and Fire Departments in many parts of the US are staffed by volunteers and when George got to college he signed on and, later, he got me to do so.
I spent the Spring and Summer of my 18th year in training. I learned a lot about emergency medicine but I also learned that I could not handle accident scenes.

Bear with me. This will tie together at some point.

About ten years ago, maybe eight, I was visiting some friends down in Nelson County, about 40 miles from home. I ended up sleeping on the couch and the next morning, around about 5, I headed north on Rt 29.
I had a police scanner in the truck and there came this call across about a child coming down out of one of the hollows. A kid who was hurt.
The really main roads have two or three digits: 29 or 250, for example. The rural roads have high-three digits (871); and then the really backroads have four (2341) before disappearing into dirt paths.
I happened to be near 871 so I headed up. I met them a couple of miles up the hill. The child turned out to be 16 or so and he was on a mattress in the back of a pick-up with an appendix that was about to burst.
We made it to Rt 29 just as a Virginia State Trooper pulled up. We put the Shiflet in the back of his car and, with Mom and me on the floor of the back-seat, with Dad in the passenger seat, and with the young officer (did I mention that he was black?), we took off.
I don't know how fast we drove to UVA. I know that things were whizzing by mighty fast and the kid's dad said it looked to him like the speedometer was well over 100.
We made it. The doctors were waiting. The removal was successful with about 15 minutes to spare.
My truck was up in the hollow, up around 2341. I went and got it later that day. And that's when I met more of the people from up there. -rjb-

I am loving this, rjb. Can't wait to hear more...

Like Clockwork

Joe was young and in love. He and Sally had been seeing each other for just 6 months, but they were already making plans. Sally lived about 20 minutes away from Joe, but they were both saving up to buy a house together. Joe was also saving money for a ring.

Joe drove a truck, the night shift. The money was good, his expenses were low, and he had almost enough money saved up to buy a ring. There were two things Joe loved about his job, calling Sally at 9 PM sharp every night he was on the road, and frequenting his favourite 24 hour diner, not just for the great coffee, but also for old Rita, who ran the place, and was a hoot to talk to.

Joe pulled into the diner like clockwork. "Hiya Joe."

"Hey Rita."

"The usual?"

"Yeah, love that coffee."

"Joe, no offence, but you're looking a little skinny. Here, I'll make you a sandwich, on the house. You can't live on coffee."

"Sure Rita, I'm not too hungry, but serve it up. You're a fine lady."

"Sheesh, I haven't been a lady since I can't remember. Hey, you look happy today, what's up?"

"I'm gonna propose to Sally. I've got almost enough saved up to get the ring."

Rita poured coffee and fussed with the sandwich. "So, you're really in love then."

"Rita, she's the one."

"Heh, love....I was in and out of love more times than I can count while you were still in diapers. Trust me....pouring coffee, slinging hash, talking with nice regular folk like you...that's the life."

They both chuckled. "Hey, Rita, easy on the mustard, gives me heartburn."

"Mustard's good for you. Eat it."

"Rita, how about you just put some on the side for me. I'll eat it later."

"I know you better than that, you ain't gonna eat it, but for you, okay."

"Thanks Rita."

Joe sipped his coffee and savoured the sandwich. He thought of Sally, and all their plans. "Oops, Rita, lost track of time, it's almost 9. I gotta get back on the road and call my sweetie. Here, keep the tip."

"Thanks Joe. See ya tomorrow?"

"Absolutely, Rita."

Joe pulled the truck back on the highway and dialed Sally. "I can't believe my fingers still tremble when I call her..." he thought.

"Hello?"

"Hey babe..."

"Hiya lover...what's up?"

They talked of plans, of love and sex, and they talked about nothing at all. It was just pure bliss for them to have a connection when they were not together. Joe checked his watch. It was 12:30, and he was near his destination. "Hey, man, I still can't get over how we can talk for hours....I gotta go, babe. I love you so much...can't wait to see you tommorrow."

"Love you too....I await your triumphant return breathlessly."

"Ooo, slow down, can't get too excited while driving, heh heh."

"Kay lover. See you tommorrow."

"Okay, bye."

Joe finished his shift and arrived back home just before the sun rose. He hadn't had more than 3 hours sleep when he was rudely shocked out of bed by the doorbell. "Ahh crap....gimme a few minutes, I'll be right down!"

Joe pulled himself together and blearily answered the door. It was the police. "Are you Joe Simmons?"

"Umm...yes..."

"Are you acquainted with a miss Sally Roberts?"

"Yes, she's my girlfriend."

"Sir, we have to take you down to the station to ask you a few questions."

"What questions? What's this all about?"

"Sir, please don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

Joe was confused, but compliant. At the station, they corralled him into an interrogation room. "Officers, I need some answers. Why am I here?"

There was a long pause. "Mr. Simmons, it is our regret to inform you that Sally Roberts was found murdered this morning."

Joe sat there, in that dismal room for several minutes, as his entire world collapsed around him. "What...how did this happen?"

"She had her throat slit, and was stabbed multiple times. I'm sorry sir, but we do need to ask you some questions."

"What kind of f---ing questions?? I'm a suspect?"

"It's all routine, Mr. Simmons. We just want to eliminate you as a suspect. Please try to understand our position here. Now...where were you last night?"

"I was driving my truck."

"When did you last see Sally?"

"Umm, last night, but I called her at 9 PM sharp, like I always do when I'm on the road."

"9 PM? Are you sure about the time?"

"Absolutely...it was sort of our 'thing', to be together when we're not together, if you know what I mean."

"Sir, we will have to confirm your whereabouts with your employer, and we will need access to your cell phone records."

Joe was becoming increasingly incensed. "Screw it, go ahead, here's my employer's number, and here's the number for my cell phone account. Call them, I give you permission. Take a friggin' blood test if you want. So what, am I under arrest yet?"

"You're free to go. It might be best if you stayed in town. We'll contact you if we have any more news."

Joe nearly went insane as the weeks went by during the investigation. The phone rang. "Hello?"

"Is this Joe Simmons?"

"Yes..."

"Mr. Simmons, we have more information on your case. We would like to send an officer over to update you."

"Umm...sure..."

Joe waited anxiously for over 2 hours. Finally, the doorbell rang. "Hi Mr. Simmons, may I come in?"

"Sure...make yourself comfortable."

"Well, the good news is that you are no longer a suspect."

"Well, that's a relief, but hardly a comfort."

Joe listened to the officer as she told him how his employer confirmed his shift, and how his phone records completely exonorated him. Sally had apparently gone for a quiet drink and a chat with a girlfriend, and when they parted ways, an unidentified man had followed Sally home. "So, you don't know who did this, do you..."

"At this point, no." The officer looked perplexed. "Sir, there is one thing that we can't quite figure out."

Joe sighed. "Okay...what is it?"

"Well...the coroner has confirmed that Sally Roberts died at 8 PM on the night she was killed."

Death Came With Gentle Jaws


Death came in with gentle jaws to steal away the life of Billy Delaney. The time was minus by a few moments half past three. The arthritic old patchwork dog on the floor stirred an instant, but did not wake up. The Mrs. Delaney - Margie - snored ever more loudly, cunningly erecting a palpable wall of sound between herself and the visitor near the bed. Death's presence in the room magnified the importance of the clock, in the kitchen ticking, remorselessly, fixing the bigger hand on the six, then toiling on with endless pointless purpose. Billy gently sighed, and was no more. The air that stirred a moment was still. In that perfectly punctuated instant even Mrs. Delaney's snoring subsided. Almost at once a dream opened within her like a luminescent flower conjured out of the night mist. In it, Billy Delaney, once again young, thin and hail, came riding on his bicycle into her yard, pausing, doffing his hat. He rode circles around her, sitting backwards on the handlebars, while Margie sat smiling with a lap full of roses, some pink, some red. The dream folded into the darkness and Margie turned a bit but slept on.
She would awaken by about six, needing a bladder empty, but she would not discover her husband's disposition for at least another hour afterward. Rising would be slow. She would first sit for a time along the edge of the hard mattress. Then she would slip carefully to the floor and work her feet into some loose old house shoes. She would inch glacially across the carpeting, her shoes scarcely clearing the nap at each step; finally she would hike up her gown and plop herself down backward onto the commode. Peeing, she would be taking stock of the coming morning's tribulations: She would insist that Billy call Dr. Foster about the strange sensations he'd been experiencing, though she expected the request to be met with stubbornness. Such a man, Billy was: a thorn in her side anymore, always with the corrosive remarks, the wheedling, the whining. On other topics: She would hope the repairman would finally come to fix the television. (Wiping herself with great wads of tissue). Three days since it went out. She needed also to try to compose a letter to her son. That would be a chore. She should demand a reason why he never answered her back. (Flushing). She would negligently leave the bathroom without washing her hands. And put a battered aluminum pan filled with water on to heat in the kitchen. Then take down two oversize cups from the lower right cupboard. She'd take a jar of coffee crystals from the pantry. Remembering the sugar and going back to the pantry to get it. Remembering the spoon and opening the drawer to take it. Closing the drawer only part way. Then in the living room she would absently turn on the television set and be reminded it was broken.
Say a disappointed "Oh."
Sitting, dejectedly.
Shortly, the water would boil and she would get up to make her coffee. It always took Margie a very long time to transfer the water from the pan to the cup, creating as she did a flow scarcely more than a drip. Then it just took half a spoonful of the crystals and half a spoonful of sugar to make the coffee the way she liked it. Briskly she'd stir and, after, she'd carefully lay the forty year old spoon on the saucer beside the cup. The raggedy hair dog, still groggy from sleeping, would stand yawning before her as Margie carefully made her way into the living room and the couch, bringing in the steaming brew and the spoon out of which to sip it. The dog would follow and lie at her feet to sleep some more.
She would first blow gently on the coffee, then sip it gradually from each spoonful, industriously spooning and blowing and sipping until she'd finished all of it. She would arise immediately and take the utensiles into the kitchen to wash them out in the sink and lay them out to dry on a dish towel.
Margie would next look in on the great manatee-like form, beached, covered by a blanket, and contemplate dragging Billy out of his sleep. She would be sorry she had been critical of the poor man a while earlier. "Must be nice and fix his coffee and a toast, with margerine and apple butter," would flit through her mind. She would look at the top of his head, poking out of the closely tucked cover, picturing him fiercely animated as he so often became when discussing trivial subjects he nevertheless held so dear, and she would be taken back to times of whirlwind romance and exciting trips of discovery; a time when Margie was so young and naïve, when Billy taught her so much. The night on the porch when he offered her a ring and proposal, when she cried and said, "Yes! Oh, yes." Despite the trials and travails, looking back on over fifty years of being in love and working together, it had all been worth it. She so would want to kiss Billy and to hug him.

Very good Cav! I like the way you added the supernatural twist.

Great story Edgar, such vivid details. It reminded me of how we sometimes take life for granted.

Hi, colorbook. Thanks for your good words. It seems the older I get the more I relate to these kinds of people.

I absolutely love the lush description edgar, and the message.

And I love your writing, too, cav.

This thread is my favorite of any now running. I wish it could get more participation.

Edgar, I have a rather tragic story involving the loss of my hands. Once I get the hang of this typing with a pencil in my mouth, I'll compose the story.

Ouch! (damn pencil poked the roof of my mouth)

You been watching Mr Ed again?

I love that horse. Damn funny creature he is.

Hey, Edgar, are those pesky bikers still making all kinds of noise across the street?

You need some help? Give me a holler.

They're gone. The elder of the clan got indicted on defrauding an old lady and the rest moved out of state - but not before their son loosened a wheel on my pick up. Problem we got now, there's this guy up the block on his hoverround, revving it at odd hours of the night and day, making milk of magnesia runs to the corner grocery every day - I tell ya. Life in this neighborhood is rough.

I was out for dinner a few weeks ago, and noticed a motorized cart parked on the sidewalk at a meter, and money had been put in. It made me curious about the owner....I'm still trying to put a character to the object, but I think it could be interesting.

I've seen these people crossing busy intersections. They are much too trusting.

I must admit, my first thought was to take it out for a joyride.

Seamus hadn't set foot on Irish soil for over thirty years. He had been employed as a carpenter in the States, and he and the wife socked away a little money over the years to come back to Ireland and retire. Now that the ould girl had gone, it was just him making a bittersweet return.

The family home was located in West Cork, overlooking the sea. Walking along the rocky cliffs and through the woods was one of Seamus's most prized childhood memories. Seamus walked into the prim farmhouse and sighed. "It really does feel empty now."

He brewed a pot of tea, and watched the tide roll in as the sun set. Something in the seafoam, and the sound of the wind whistling through the trees beckoned him. "Ahh, never too late for a walk."

Despite the fact that he had not been home for so long, Seamus remembered the lay of the land like it were just yesterday he had tromped across the cliffs and into the forest. The trees swayed with a subtle "Shhhhh" and it indeed seemed that some kind of magic was in the air. "Me bones aren't what they used to be. Perhaps I'll rest out here tonight." He wasn't keen on returning to that empty house.

Seamus made up a makeshift bed under a willow and fell asleep. Some hours later, he was awoken by a strange voice. "Seamus….Seamus…it's me, grandmamma."

Seamus was suddenly possessed by a strange fright. He looked at his grass-green bed only to find that a faerie ring had grown around him. "What form of faerie mischief is this? This is not possible, surely…."

"Seamus, it is me. Look…"

The apparition moved closer. "Tis you, but as you looked when in the first bloom of youth….surely this is some trick, or dark magic."

"It is no trick, Seamus. You must come with me, it is time to go."

"I will not go anywhere with you, witch. Begone from my sight!"

"Here, let me show you. It is time."

"Witch, tell me what it is time for, or I shall not move another inch."

"It is time to go home, time to claim your rightful place among the High Kings of Tara."

"You lie…"

"You never knew, we hid the truth from you, but you are the last in the line of the High Kings. Come, come to the great Hall with me."

Seamus rose hesitantly and took the apparition's hand, hypnotized. In the blink of an eye he was transported to Tara's great hall. He walked among the pictures of great Kings and heroes in amazement. At the end of the hall was a portrait of himself, dressed in royal fashion. "Is this a dream?"

"Seamus, you are the last of your line. Now, you have come to join your ancestors, you have come home. Look, your queen awaits you."

Seamus heard a familiar voice behind him. "Hello my king."

He turned to see a vision of his wife, as she was when he first saw her, and fell in love. "Look, look at yourself, husband." She pointed a soft finger towards a large, gilded mirror and Seamus looked. Gone were the wrinkles, the thinning hair, the poor bones. Gone was every sign of age. "I…I am young again…."

"Come, husband, the High Kings of Tara await your presence at table."

Seamus took his wife's hand and smiled. He was indeed home. Somewhere in the earthly darkness below, a banshee wailed, and the good people of Cork knew that another fine soul had been taken.

I was a little frightened by the banshee wailing at the end of the story. Could you replace that with "Somewhere in the earthly darkness below, a pig grunted, and the good people...."

You see what I'm saying? You're still getting the point across, but the reader isn't frightened by a banshee. Instead, the soothing grunt of the pig carries the reader softly to the end of the story.