Darkening Sturgeons: Chapter Twenty-Three

After a brief sci-fi holiday break, my continuing blog fiction continues...
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DARKENING STURGEONS

Chapter Twenty-Three

by John L. Harmon

    “Too late for what, Stickler?” Chief Deputy Clyde Woodhouse demands as he steps up beside his superior, confronting his childhood boogeyman face-to-face.

    “I see there is no need for introductions,” Eugene Raymond Stickler half chuckles in his deep, deliberate tone.

    Sheriff Benjamin Straker, eyes locked with the seemingly refined gentleman, formulates his own question.  Working back to Lawrence resigning and then his empty house, to now with the parked moving van and Stickler mentioning the former sheriff’s name, it all adds up to one thing for Ben.  “Where is Lester Lawrence?”

    Not even a flicker of recognition or fear passes over the face of Eugene Raymond Stickler, as if nothing can faze him.  “I see you’ve been through quite an ordeal to get here,” referring to Ben’s disheveled clothes, “so, perhaps you should all come inside.”  He turns around with the expectation to follow, “For I have nothing to hide anymore.”

    The law enforcement duo enter first, followed closely behind by the scientific duo.  A comfortable entryway greets them, complete with a coatrack and numerous shelves and pegs for shoes, purses, and the like.  Their guide, after silently motioning for Ben to relegate the beige hat of Lawrence to a peg, takes them through to an expansive living area full of ornate fixtures and paintings.  All of which are dusty, neglected, and deemed unimportant to the owner.

    Eugene Raymond Stickler begins a deep, deliberate explanation of sorts as they continue to walk through the living area.  He mentions how Lester Lawrence, while no genius, managed to connect the dots from his yearbook.

    “How did you change the color of that sturgeon, if you don’t mind me asking?” Dr. Samuel Dwyer interrupts, aching to know the answer.

    “It was all merely smoke and mirrors,” their guide answers matter-of-factly, “but it impressed the hell out of those judges.”

    Samuel nudges up his glasses, feeling rather disappointed at the mundane answer.  A quick glance at Dr. Christine Abernathy’s smirking face shows she assumed as much.

    “Yet, that trick inspired me,” Eugene Raymond Stickler continues, entering a long, narrow hallway.

    “But where is Lawrence?” Ben asks again, determined for an answer.

    “He came here all in a tizzy about the disappearance of Bob Kinney, swearing he had never heard of such a thing, that is, until he remembered my little science fair project.”

    “You are not answering my question, Mr. Stickler.”

    “Oh, but I am Sheriff Straker,” he states with an air of familiarity, proving there was truly no need for introductions.  “Lester Lawrence demanded to know what was happening, so I told him…and showed him.”

    As if he designed the scene for added punch, Eugene Raymond Stickler opens a door at the end of the hallway and escorts them into a room.  A massive room that can be best described as a laboratory with an impressive television monitor to one side.  He stops in the center and proudly turns to gage his expected guests’ reactions.

    Christine and Sam stare in awe over the mixture of old and new scientific technology surrounding them.  Clyde is in a near trance-like state staring at the familiar scenes flashing on the television monitor.  Ben, without taking his eyes away from Stickler, swiftly pulls out his gun, clicks off the safety, aims and fires a question.

    “For the last time, where is Lawrence?”

 

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Click CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR to continue.

Until next time, Readers, be well and Freak Out,

JLH

 

 

'Twas the (Whovian) Night Before Christmas

This is a little something I cobbled together a couple of years ago for family and friends.  I thought it appropriate to dust it off and put it out there for others to enjoy, especially with the upcoming regeneration. 
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'Twas the (Whovian) Night Before Christmas

or A Visit from St. Nicholas
by Clement Clarke Moore

(with some doctoring by John L. Harmon)

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the flat
not a creature was stirring, not even a Cybermat.
The Daleks were hiding by the chimney with care,
in hopes that the Doctor soon would be there.

The kitties were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of canned food danced in their heads.
And Sister in her nightgown, and I in my sweats,
had just settled our brains for a long winter's breath.

When out on the lawn there arose such a wheezin’,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the reason.
Away to the window I swam like a bass,
tore open the curtains, and pressed my nose to the glass.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the lustre of midday to objects below,
when, what to my wondering eyes should show,
but a rackety blue box and eight companions in tow.

With an old/young driver, so lively and odd,
I knew in a moment it must be a Time Lord.
More rapid than yeti, his coursers they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

"Now Ian! Now Barbara!
Now, Zoe and Jamie!
On, Tegan! On, Turlough!
On, Rory and Amy!
To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!
Now Zig-Zag! Zig-Zag!
Zig-Zag Plotter all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky
so up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
with a TARDIS full of rooms, and the Doctor too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
the grinding and wheezing of each materialization poof.
As I withdrew my head and was turning around,
down the chimney the Doctor came with a bound.

He was dressed like a geek, from his head to his foot,
and his suspenders were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of alien gadgets he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes--how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll big chin was drawn up with a bow-tie,
and the fez on his head was the color of strawberry pie.

The stump of a sonic screwdriver he held tight in his teeth,
and the light it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a long face and very little belly,
but it shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of Jelly Babies.

He was tall and thin, a right goofy Time Lord,
and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his fez
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
neutralizing all the Daleks, then turned with a smirk.
And laying his sonic screwdriver aside of his nose,
and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his TARDIS, to his companions gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he dematerialized out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Whovian night!"

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Farewell 11...

Click LIBRARY for more adventures in space and time.

Be well and Freak Out,

JLH

 

Darkening Sturgeons: Chapter Twenty-Two

Another week, another chapter of my blog fiction...

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DARKENING STURGEONS

Chapter Twenty-Two

by John L. Harmon

    “I know Old Man Stickler came from a wealthy background,” Chief Deputy Clyde Woodhouse muses, as he peers through the massive gate, “but I’ve always imagined him living in a crazy person’s shack.”

    “He can definitely afford to be crazy,” Dr. Christine Abernathy opinions with just the right touch of levity.

    Beyond the tall, ominous, rusted metal gate stands a somewhat rundown home that still puts all other homes in Sturgeons to shame.  Some may call it a large house.  Some may call it a mansion.  Some may even call it a fortress.  No matter what the accurate description is, the structure remains impressive.

    Made of red brick, it towers at four floors high.  On areas doused with heavy sunlight, for there are no trees in close proximity to the home, vines creep unadulterated up the bricks.  On generally shaded sides moss has struck a homestead claim.  Solid bars frame every window and a few of the multitude of windows have plywood for glass.  To top it all off, the roof has seen better days and the remnant of a massive chimney peers out of one side.

    “We’ve wasted enough time,” Sheriff Benjamin Straker announces, moving to the front and pushing on the gate.

    The heavy rusted metal parts in two, splitting the large ‘S’ down the middle.  Ben slips inside and faces the others.  Dr. Samuel Dwyer enters next, surprised how easily the gate opened.

    “It appeared rusted shut.”

    “This gate is used more often than it looks,” Ben suggests and then points at a tire track.  “See.”

    “Are we really going to just blunder into who knows what?” Clyde asks, as he hesitantly enters.

    “This is where the last energy reading occurred and we all have a need to investigate,” Christine responds, as she joins the others.

    “Dr. Abernathy is right, Clyde, and there isn’t time to strategize.”  With that, Ben adjusts the beige hat of Lawrence and heads for the Stickler Family home.  The others follow close behind.

    Between the gate and the front door are a few unkempt shrubs and sporadic areas of a forgotten gravel drive.  Nothing bizarre or unusual is seen until Ben notices the moving van parked way off to the side.  It is a peculiar sight and one that fills him with nameless dread.  Before he can think too much about it, they reach the front door, and it is slowly opening.

    An older gentleman, with a shock of pepper hair, steps out, dressed in a brown pinch-back suit.  His voice is deep and deliberate, “Lawrence said there would be others, but I am afraid you are too late.”

 

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Click CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE to continue.

Until next time, Readers, be well and Freak Out,

JLH

 

   

Darkening Sturgeons: Chapter Twenty-One

My continuing piece of blog fiction, well, continues...

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DARKENING STURGEONS

Chapter Twenty-One

by John L. Harmon

    “This is Straker,” Ben answers the cell without checking the incoming information.  Initially his ear is met with static, but quickly a determined voice sporadically struggles through the crackling interference.

    “—slie Johns checking in to—eed of assista—”

    “Leslie,” the Sheriff speaks loudly, “you’re breaking up.  Please repeat.”

    Officer Leslie Johns appears to have not heard his instructions.  “—eadquarters with Joe—what to d—”

    “Leslie, can you hear me?”

    “Norris and Cartwri—down—all others—pletely abandon—”

    Listening to his churning gut, Sheriff Benjamin Straker shouts into the electronic chaos, “Officer Johns, take Joe and vacate Sturgeons immediately!  That is an order!”

    Silence greets him as the call is unceremoniously dropped.

    “What’s going on, Ben?” Clyde quietly inquires.

    Ben slowly shoves his cell deep into a pocket.  “I’m not completely sure.  Leslie is at Headquarters and from what I could make out…”  He shakes his head in disbelief.

    “What is it?”

    “Officers Norris and Cartwright have been injured or worse.”

    “Should we go back?”

    Ben, listening to his churning gut once more, answers with somewhat faltering bravery, “No, Clyde, we need to push forward.”

    Samuel and Christine give each other a helpless look, uncertain of what to say, and then turn in unison.  Clyde gives Ben a silent nod and they continue to follow.  All conversation concerning the yearbook and the strange science fair project is put aside as the four walk through the densest part of Stickler Woods.

    Clyde focuses on nothing in general as he mentally kicks himself.  He feels a fool for allowing the thought of Old Man Stickler to bother him so while Officers Norris, Cartwright, and Johns were dealing with real troubles.

    Christine stares stoically ahead, while inside she struggles.  She could see the fear and pain in Clyde at the tragic news of his colleagues.  This surprisingly complex Chief Deputy touches something inside of her once again, only deeper and stronger this time.

    Samuel nudges up his black frames and focuses on the destination shown on the gadget in his hands.  Since there is no bandage for the emotional pain Benjamin is experiencing, this is the only thing he can do for him at the moment.  To arrive at the last recorded location of the energy reading as quickly as possible.

    Ben keeps his head down, looking at the ground beneath him.  An evacuated town, citizens lost, Officers down…it is too much to think about.  Keeping eyes on the earth stabilizes him and soon gives him something else to dwell on.

    He notices that they are now walking on a trail of some sort.  Not a hiking trail, more like a forgotten or disused road.  The most fascinating aspect of this overgrown road is the fairly fresh tire tracks that have been imbedded in the sporadic areas of dirt.

    “We’re here,” Samuel announces, as the scientific duo comes to a halt.

    Before them stands a tall, ominous, rusted metal gate with a large ‘S’ at its center.

 

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Click CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO to continue.

Until next time, Readers, be well and Freak Out...

JLH

 

Darkening Sturgeons: Chapter Twenty

Yet another chapter of my continuing blog fiction...

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DARKENING STURGEONS

by John L. Harmon

Chapter Twenty

    Two questions hang in Stickler Woods unsatisfactorily unanswered.  “What yearbook?” from Clyde and “Seriously, who is Old Man Stickler?” from Christine.  Samuel, nudging up his black frames and holding the equally black gadget, simply suggests they walk while they talk.

    Sheriff Benjamin Straker, for the sake of the out-of-county scientific duo leading the way, begins with who is Old Man Stickler.  He explains that the Stickler clan was one of the first settlers in the area.  The fact they settled in these woods barely needs touching upon, but Ben doesn’t want to neglect this information.  While he cannot run through the extensive and wealthy Stickler family tree, he can name the last known branch.

    “Eugene Raymond Stickler.”

    “Our local boogeyman,” Clyde interjects his previously stated opinion in a disgruntled tone, “that no one has seen hide nor hair of in decades.”

    Ben, admitting he never really paid attention to the outlandish stories concerning Old Man Stickler, gives what possible facts he knows.  That Eugene Stickler was a genius in his youth.  That after losing his parents in a car accident, Eugene Stickler spent less and less time in town and more time in his home in the woods.  And that Clyde is right; no one has seen Eugene Stickler in at least two decades.

    “Probably dead,” Christine theorizes practically.

    “Hopefully dead,” Clyde states, giving his childhood fears a voice.

    The Chief Deputy goes on to explain how parents and other authority figures use Old Man Stickler as a warning to make children behave.  He purposely neglects any personal insight into such trauma.  There doesn’t seem to be any point of dredging up his drunken father’s threat of Old Man Stickler will get you, boy, or how then young Clyde would be forced to listen to precisely what Old Man Stickler would do to a short, chubby brat like him.

    “As far as I know, there has never been an official death report,” Ben mentions, unaware of Clyde’s childhood emotional abuse, “which means Eugene Stickler may still be alive.”

    After a few feet of silent contemplation, Clyde asks about the yearbook again.  Ben describes the empty house of Lawrence.  Empty, except for an old yearbook and the note to Ben.  Then the Sheriff explains how he flipped through the pages last night and saw a spread about that year’s science fair, and how first prize was awarded to Eugene Raymond Stickler.

    “What was his project?” Samuel inquires, curiosity peaked.

    “According to the yearbook, he physically changed the color of a sturgeon.”

    The scientific duo stop dead in their tracks and turn, nearly causing a bodily crash with the law enforcement duo.  Nothing is said as the four stand, facing one another, digesting this odd piece of information.

    Suddenly, and quite loudly, Ben’s cell rings, making them all jump.

 

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Click CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE to continue.

Until next time, Readers, be well and Freak Out,

JLH

 

Darkening Sturgeons: Chapter Nineteen

Another chapter of my continuing blog fiction...late as usual....

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DARKENING STURGEONS

by John L. Harmon

Chapter Nineteen

    The scientific duo’s large white van comes to a sudden halt in the middle of Stickler Woods, nearly causing the law enforcement duo’s generic grey police cruiser to rear-end it.  By the time the Sheriff and the Chief Deputy unbuckle and exit their vehicle, the two doctors stand together, waiting.

    “The energy has dissipated,” Samuel, holding the black gadget, quickly explains before harsh driving words can be exchanged, “but we triangulated the location.”

    “Which way do we head?” Benjamin asks, trying to suppress the tragic thoughts of Tommy Schroder and Tracy Newcastle.

    Sam nudges up his thick black frames, glances at the gadget, and then points to his left.  “This way.”

    “Very scientific,” Clyde mumbles under his breath, slightly disappointed that no one heard his sarcasm.

    Deeper into Stickler Woods the four souls venture on foot.  Christine and Samuel lead the way in their usual unison fashion.  Clyde and Ben follow in unconscious imitation as they turn together at the top of an incline.

    As they move through the dense trees, Ben’s currently chaotic mind hits on a memory that clicks quickly into place.  Before he can explain it to himself or to the others, a name surfaces from his lips.

    “Old Man Stickler.”

    “What did you say?” Samuel stops and turns, facing the Sheriff.

    “Old Man Stickler,” Ben repeats, becoming fully aware of why this name came to him.

    “Who is Old Man Stickler?”  Christine inquires, folding her arms together tightly.

    “The local boogeyman,” Clyde mutters, turning away from what he considers absurdity.

    “His was one of many names an angry crowd spouted off last night at Gordon’s,” Ben explains, glancing at the back of Clyde’s head, at Christine’s doubting face, and finally at Samuel’s understanding eyes because he was there.  “Names of people whom they believed responsible for the disappearances.  Maybe Old Man Stickler knows something.”

    Clyde faces the stationary group, trying to hold back the childhood nightmares spawned from that name, and growls low, “Complete and utter bullshit, Ben.”

    “No, there is…” Sheriff Benjamin Straker reaches and nudges the beige up to scratch an itch.  To scratch the itch clawing at the back of his mind that there is something he is missing or forgetting.  Suddenly another memory clicks into place.  The last gift from Lawrence, now carelessly cast aside and out of reach at Sturgeons Police Headquarters, “…the yearbook.”

 

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Click CHAPTER TWENTY to continue.

Until next time, Readers, be well and Freak Out,

JLH

 

Darkening Sturgeons: Chapter Eighteen

A short chapter of my blog fiction, but it is better than nothing...
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DARKENING STURGEONS

Chapter Eighteen

by John L. Harmon

    The engine of the large white van, followed by the generic gray police cruiser, cuts through the silence of Sturgeons.  It doesn’t seem possible that over 4,000 people have either fled or vanished, but the palpable stillness makes the unbelievable disturbingly real.

    Evacuated buildings of the downtown business district zip by as the scientific duo try to focus on their work at hand.   With recent developments this is difficult to accomplish.

    “Did he live up to your uniformed daydreams?” Dr. Christine Abernathy can’t help but inquire from behind the steering wheel.

    “He seems sweet and honest, so we shall see,” Dr. Samuel Dwyer answers, looking up from the black gadget, while nudging up his glasses.  “So, were you truly expecting to see your date again?”

    “No, and now I don’t know what to think.”

    Evacuated businesses give way to abandoned houses of the residential area as the law enforcement duo try to stay focused on the road and the white van ahead of them.  This is easier said than done.

    “Do you trust him?” Chief Deputy Clyde Woodhouse asks, glancing at the contrary image of his passenger’s clean, bandaged face and torn, dirty uniform.

    “I think so.  He seems sincere and thoughtful enough,” Sheriff Benjamin Straker answers, briefly touching the bandage near his left eye.  “Do you trust her?”

    “I did Saturday night, but now I don’t know.”

    Abandoned homes are fewer and farther between as the two sole moving vehicles in Sturgeons reach the city limits.  An occasional tree turns into a few, which multiplies considerably as they head out of town, but not too far.  Another half mile and the vehicles leave the smooth highway for a bumpy dirt road, leading them to the signal registering on the black gadget.

    Leading them back to Stickler Woods.

 

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Click CHAPTER NINETEEN to continue.

Until next time, Readers, be well and Freak Out,

JLH