My blog fiction is a week late, but hopefully not a dollar short, whatever that means.
By John L. Harmon
Chief Deputy Clyde Woodhouse slumps back in an office chair, located in the back of Gordon’s bar. He then gracefully fills the pervasive silence with an F-bomb in all caps.
“Indeed,” Dr. Samuel Dwyer concurs, nudging up his thick black-framed glasses. He stands to the left of the seated Clyde.
“Single entity or multiple as one?” Dr. Christine Abernathy speculates out loud. She stands, hands in lab-coat pockets, to the left of Sam.
Upon the security camera monitor, they have just witnessed the apparent death of Gordon. The bartender of many years had literally been polishing his croquet mallet this morning when he noticed something off camera. Gordon sat his mallet down and moved to center frame.
That is when it happened. A darkness emerged from the side and grabbed him. Lifting Gordon off the ground, this darkness enveloped him, externally and internally, until he was no longer visible. Then nothing. The darkness dissolved or dissipated into the air, leaving an empty bar.
Clyde swivels the office chair to his right, “What do you think, Ben?” He is startled to find his superior absent. For a split-second, he panics that the unthinkable has happened.
“I noticed Sheriff Straker head to the restroom,” Christine coolly diffuses a complete Chief Deputy freak-out.
“This was probably too much for him to see,” Clyde states, standing up. “He considered Gordon a good friend.”
Sheriff Benjamin Straker stares blankly in the bathroom mirror at his haggard, dirty, bloodied reflection. He attempts to recall what he had been doing Saturday morning, before Bob Kinney had disappeared. Before any of this craziness started.
He remembers he had bacon and scrambled eggs for breakfast, but no toast. Then there was a shower and dressing for work, like clockwork. That was his morning. Clockwork. Extraordinarily ordinary, everything in its place.
What was he thinking about on that ordinary morning, before hell came to Sturgeons? Other than typical thoughts about what little things needed to be done, he only recalls thinking about Saturday night. How he was planning to watch a movie at home or finally finish the Dostoyevsky novel that had been holding down his coffee table for months.
“What is the point of all of this?” Ben asks his reflection.
Out of thoughts to think, the Sheriff notices that he continues to wear the hat of Lawrence. He reaches a hand up and, without looking, flings the beige across the room.
At the same moment, the bathroom door creaks open. Ben turns to the sound, expecting Clyde, but is somewhat startled to find Dr. Samuel Dwyer standing there.
Click CHAPTER SIXTEEN to continue.
Until next time, Readers, be well and Freak Out,