When Ed Jenkins decided to retire to Florida, he had one goal in mind: finding a house with a beautiful lawn. This was non-negotiable in his mind. After years of condominium living in the big city, he wanted grass. Lovely, velvety, lush green grass. And so he engaged Liz Hall, his realtor, in an extended search for the perfect property. Some had too many trees. Some too much ground cover. Some too much patio or pool. He didn’t know how to describe the perfect lawn. He could see it clearly in his mind but found himself unable to wrap the right words around his vision. Perhaps that’s why it took so long to find “the” house, six full months before they pulled up in front of a small, ‘50s style home with a sparkling emerald carpet out front. His heart lurched. His breath caught. As soon as he confirmed that the back yard was as pristine as the front, his decision was made. Ed had found his home. And Liz, patience worn raw, heaved a huge sigh of relief the day they closed the deal. Continue reading “Lawn Maintenance”
“What the fuck?” I whipped my head around and glared as the front end of a grocery cart bumped my backside. How was I supposed to know some frail old woman was using her cart for support and had momentarily lost her equilibrium? It wasn’t personal, simply a reflex reaction on my part. But there she was, face all aquiver, clinging to the handle of her cart as if her life depended on it. I meant to apologize. Okay, maybe I didn’t. Continue reading “Karma”
The little mole lay on the bicycle path in front of us, stiff in death yet oddly appealing. Chico, our Chihuahua-Dachshund mix, strained at the leash while Tiffany, my six-year-old, squatted down and stretched a finger toward the corpse.
“No, honey,” I said, “don’t touch it. You can look at it but don’t touch it.” Continue reading “The Zombie Mole”
As I sit at my desk and write these words, the light from a glorious moon illuminates the garden outside my bedroom window. The hall clock struck midnight a few seconds ago. I fear what may be lurking in the night. Terror has become my constant companion; dread drives the flutter and race of my heart. I cannot find the knife! If it comes to pass that I should not live to see the morning light, I am now resolved to record the madness of the last few months in my journal here. May I find the strength to complete my tale before it is too late! Continue reading “The Demon Knife”