Category: Alternative Reality

The Sweather

Nico was pretty sure his grandmother was a witch. After she gave him a quilt for Christmas last year, she started appearing in his dreams. “How are you, dear?” She’d ask. “I’m just checking in on you. Did you brush your teeth? How did your day go?”

Once, when he was really sick, his grandmother just knew without any one calling her. She brought over some medicine that tasted terrible. It was black and smelly and slimey and oozy. He was certain he’d throw it all up right away, but she insisted he drink it. He felt better before he put the cup down. It was amazing.

However, the biggest proof that his grandmother wasn’t normal was the sweather she gave him for his birthday last month. “A sweater?” Nico asked when he’d opened it.

“Of course not, dear,” grandmother said. “It’s a sweather. You’ll see.”

And he did. The sweather predicted the weather better than any weatherman. It was light with short sleeves on good days, but it changed when the weather wasn’t as nice. Some days it was thicker with long sleeves. Other days he came downstairs and the sweater part was on the inside of a waterproof jacket, lining it with wooly warmth that always smelled like sunshine.

The sweather never got dirty. It always matched what he was wearing. One day, it even saved his life. He came downstairs that morning and ate breakfast as usual, then drew a picture of the cat.   When it was time to go to school, he went to find his sweather. It was inside-out.

The sweather had never been inside-out before. What did it mean? “Mom, come look,” Nico said. “My sweather is inside out. Does it mean I won’t need it at all? Should I leave it at home?”

“I don’t know,” Nico’s mom said. “Let’s call your grandmother.” But grandmother didn’t answer the phone.

“Maybe it means there will be bad weather,” Nico said. “Can I have a ride to school?” Normally Nico and his mom walked to school together. Nico’s mom said the exercise was good for him.

Today, she looked at the sweather and her eyebrows were all wrinkled up together. “That might be best,” she said.   “Why don’t you draw another picture of the cat and we can send it to grandmother.”

“She likes my drawings,” Nico said. “I’ll give the first picture to my teacher.   I think she likes cats.”

While Nico was drawing the cat, there was a roaring, rushing sound outside the house. Nico’s mom ran into the kitchen and pulled him under the table with her. “Is it a monster?” Nico asked. “It sounds like a dragon.”

“I don’t know,” Nico’s mom said. The lights went out and then the house shook, just a little, when the roaring got louder. Then it went away. They waited in the dark a little bit longer, but nothing happened. They could hear sirens in the distance.

“Did the dragon set things on fire?” Nico asked.

His mother didn’t answer. She got out from under the table, and held out a hand. When he’d grabbed her hand, she pulled him up. “Where’s Fluffy?” Nico asked. “Fluffy!” He called, but the cat didn’t come. That wasn’t unusual, though. She never came when he called.

Nico’s mom led him to the front door. She opened it and they looked out. It looked like a giant had cut a swervy path through the neighborhood.   Trees and houses and telephone poles had all been tossed around and smashed.

“What happened?” Nico asked.

“I think it was a tornado,” Nico’s mom said. She took his sweather out of the closet by the door. It looked like a normal sweater.

“Today will be nice now,” Nico said.

“I think you should stay home, just in case,” Nico’s mom said. Nico didn’t mind.

“Mrow,” said Fluffy. She was under the couch.

“My sweather is amazing,” Nico said.

Nico’s mom smiled. “We should write your grandmother another thank you note,” she said.

11-15-sweather

Sam, the Great and Terrible

Australia continues to suffer greatly under the reign of Sam the Terrible. The refugees who managed to flee the island nation give accounts of her reign of terror that leave the world horrified. No one is certain how she was able to seize power so quickly, but all will agree that her ascent to her golden throne was unexpected.

Less unexpected, the name Sam was completely wiped from baby name books within days of her coup. Both Samuel and Samantha joined the ranks of Ghengis or Adolf.   Requests for name changes arrived on desks of government officials around the world.

However, there were some that decided to risk keeping their now unpopular name. One of these is Samuel Bates, insurance agent. “My name was already unlucky, now it is doubly unlucky. It’s almost funny. Luckily, people don’t really care about their insurance agent’s name.   Most people don’t even notice. I usually just introduce myself as Mr. Bates anyways.”

It has been reported that in retaliation, Sam the Terrible recently changed the names of all her citizens to either Samantha or Samuel.   If this is true, it is difficult to imagine how that would work in daily life. Presumably, nicknames, middle names, and last names will be used for personal identification.

Psychologist Herbert Flaven said in a recent interview, “Sam the Terrible is attempting to further demonstrate her control over even the smallest detail of her subjects’ lives. By taking even their names, she is demonstrating that they have no personal control over anything that they once thought of as their own.”

Sam the Terrible’s spokesperson, Samuel Marks could neither confirm nor deny the reported name changes. However, as his name in his last report was Franklin Marks, it is difficult to avoid drawing the obvious conclusion. It has not been confirmed whether or not the name change affects all Australian citizens.

This is of course only the latest of the shocking reports since Sam the Terrible crowned herself “Queen of Everything” in the former Sydney Opera House now known as The Palace. After ordering all dissidents expelled from the country, her first decree was that all citizens were required to cut their hair short and dye it brown.

In addition to the more usual tyrannical decrees, Sam has also outlawed all forms of education and closed the public libraries. She reportedly oversaw basketball tournaments to determine hierarchy in her new government. Possession of green vegetables of any type results in immediate imprisonment. Just last week, she ordered that all teddy bears were to be thrown on a bonfire.

Professor Sarah Hintle of Harmack University says, “Looking at the major policies of Sam the Terrible’s government, it is clear that she has been planning this coup for a long time, possibly since her childhood.   I don’t understand why no one saw the warning signs before it was too late. Now whenever I see a little girl dressed up as a princess, I shiver. Perhaps one of these little girls is already making plans to be the next Queen of Everything.”

Experts say that determining Sam the Terrible’s next move is difficult. In light of Professor Hintle’s observations, perhaps they should ask a little girl what she would do if she were the so-called Queen of Everything. It may be that everyone will be required to wear pink or never brush their teeth. Maybe vaccinations will be outlawed.

In any case, even if Sam’s reign is short, it will take decades for Australia to recover. It may take even longer for the name Sam to recover its former place in society, if it ever does. Sam has achieved a place in history that few ever obtain. Her name will live on in infamy.

11-15-sam

A Halloween Party

“A Halloween party in November?” Jared asked.   “That’s different.”

“The Mortimers always have the scariest Halloween parties, but they hate how commercialized Halloween has become.   They say they like to keep their party separate from all the candy and the store bought costumes,” Carl said.

“I guess that makes sense.” Jared checked the calendar. “Things are a lot less busy now, too. I’ll come.”

“Great. Wear the scariest costume you can think of. This isn’t a kiddie party,” Carl said. “You’ll see.”

Carl came to pick Jared up on the night of the party.   He’d grown a short beard and mustache and was wearing glasses with round lenses. He rolled down his window. “Tell me about your mother,” he said.

“Freud isn’t scary,” Jared said.

Carl pointed at Jared. “And your toga is? What are you supposed to be?”

Jared adjusted the fake knife at his belt as he sat down. “I’m a backstabber,” he said.

“Oh. That is a little scary,” Carl said. “Let’s go.”

Jared had never met Mr. Mortimer. Carl introduced him at the door. Mr. Mortimer looked rather ordinary and didn’t seem to be wearing a costume. Jared didn’t ask why, but he did think it strange.

Carl told Jared to go on ahead while he talked to Mr. Mortimer. Inside the house, everything seemed pleasant but normal. Most of the guests were dressed for a nice dinner party. There were flowers everywhere and classical music playing.   Jared felt completely out of place.

Jared found an empty chair next to a rather large arrangement of lilies and rosemary and sat down. The man in the seat next to him, brown hair, brown suit, brown shoes, turned and smiled. “Hello,” Jared said. “I’m Jared Hombard. Who are you?”

“Hmmm,” the man said. He smiled a little wider and wrote something in his notebook. “Jared Hombard. Got it.” He looked up. “Oh, sorry. I tend to use gatherings like this for a little research.   Can’t seem to leave the job at the office,” he said.

“What do you do? Are you a writer?” Jared asked.

“Oh, nothing interesting like that. I’m an auditor for the IRS,” the man said.   “But enough about me, tell me more about you.” The man held his pen ready to write.

“I need to go,” Jared said. He wandered around the party, meeting a divorce attorney, a bill collector, and a local politician. He was avoiding his evil sister-in-law who really should be out-of-state and not at this party, when he bumped into Mr. Mortimer.

“Oh, sorry!” Jared said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Are you enjoying the party?” Mr. Mortimer asked.

“Um, actually I think I’ll be going soon. I can walk home if Carl’s not ready,” Jared said.

“Don’t you live rather far away?” Mr. Mortimer asked.

“The exercise will be good for me,” Jared said.

“That’s true. I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy my party,” Mr. Mortimer said. He clasped his hands together and looked at Jared as though he was trying to see something written on the inside of his skull. “To make up for it, I’ll give you a tip.   Cut down on the sweets.   Complications from diabetes is a terrible way to go.”

“Oh, are you a doctor?” Jared asked.

“No, I’m death,” Mr. Mortimer said.

“I’ve got to go now,” Jared said. He walked straight home and threw all the rest of the Halloween candy in the trash.

“So, what did you think?” Carl asked when he called later.

“That was the scariest Halloween party I’ve ever been to,” Jared said.

11-10-et-tu

The Bake-off Winner

The judging for the final round of the nation-wide bake-off was televised. People watched from around the nation as famous and not-so-famous bakers competed to earn a spot working in the royal kitchens. The announcers told heart-warming stories of struggle and toil about most of the contestants.

However, one of the contestants wore a long coat with a hood up in the hot, hot kitchens where everyone else had their sleeves rolled up to try to cool down. He had sunglasses and gloves and a bandana over half his face. The announcers knew his name and the high compliments the judges had given his work so far in the competition. No one knew anything else about him.

His final entry was a complex pastry that required precision in both the timing and a number of subtle temperature changes.   His work was masterful, almost as though he had some sort of magical control over the oven temperature. He easily triumphed over his distinguished peers.

The head of the judging committee eagerly called him to the podium to accept the trophy and the certificates and the other paraphernalia of victory. The audience roared in approval for Dr. A. Jones.   The head judge shook his hand and peered closely at what was visible of his face.

“Dr. Jones! What a green, scaly face you have!” The head judge said.

“It’s a skin condition. It’s not contagious, but it’s meant that I’ve had a difficult time in life,” Dr. Jones said. “Many people have been unkind.”

“Awww,” said the audience.

“That’s terrible,” the announcer said. “Isn’t it wonderful he was able to rise above all that and win the competition?” The audience roared.

“Dr. Jones, you have such an unnaturally deep voice,” The head judge said.

“I’ve often been told I should record audio books,” Dr. Jones said. “But alas my passion lies with baking instead.” The announcer and audience laughed.

“Are you a medical doctor?” The head judge asked.

“No, I have a doctorate in philosophy,” Dr. Jones said.

“Ah, of course,” the head judge said. “And what does the A. stand for?” The head judge asked.

“Alex,” Dr. Jones said.

“Just give the man his award already!” The announcer said. “He’s more than earned it.”   The audience roared again and stomped their feet and the head judge handed over the trophy and certificates and such.

“Thank you,” Dr. Jones said, waving at the audience. “This is a dream come true!”

“Awwww,” the audience said, and then they clapped and whistled and roared in approval once more. The other judges and contestants came over to congratulate the winner. The baking competition had been a remarkable success.

Dr. A. Jones began working at the palace a month later. He was quiet and good at his job, and the nation soon moved on to watching a gardening competition. The winner would be on the landscaping team at the royal holiday home. When a contestant was found smuggling in illegal fertilizers, the nation was horrified. The lovely young lady had been a favorite up until then, and many had sworn they could see flowers grow when she sang to them. Dr. Jones and the baking competition were completely forgotten.

A year later, the nation had reason to remember Dr. Jones. Somehow, in the year that he’d worked at the palace, he’d managed to steal the heart of Princess Gertrude. The two had run away together. Gertrude had left a defiant note, and somehow the two had managed to slip past security and fly away together into the night.

On a whole, the nation approved of the match. Dr. Jones clearly treasured her, and as the youngest princess, Gertrude wasn’t involved in the political arena. The King considered sending one of the knights to rescue the princess from her folly, but a scandal on the set of the competition for a substitute royal barber ended up needing his focus.

By the time the investigation was complete and the barberous spy prosecuted for bribery and theft, the king decided to let his daughter stay with the dragon who had stolen her away. After all, the competition for an assistant to the secondary royal launderer was underway.   He needed to keep an eye on that.
11-10-dragon-in-people-clothing

Monster Bedtime

“How was work dear?” monster mother asked at dinnertime.

“I loved it! I am so lucky to have a job in customer service. So many customers called to complain and shout at me. It was easy to imagine them dying terrible deaths.   I left work in such a good mood,” monster father said. “How was your day?”

“The daycare kids tore through the house like little hurricanes. It was music to my ears. I sent them all home covered in finger-paint and crumbs.”

“Can I have more cardboard and old shoes?” the older monster child asked.

“Of course Jamie dear. Remember to chew with your mouth open,” monster mother said.

“Me too?” The younger monster child asked.

“You haven’t eaten the laces, Taylor,” Jamie said.

Taylor growled. “I was going to play with them before I ate them,” he said.

“That’s fine then. Perhaps just a little cardboard, dear,” the monster mother said. “Then it’s off to bed with you both. Taylor, do you need any help brushing your teeth?”

“Yes,” Taylor said. He finished eating and brought out his toothbrush and a bar of soap. “Make sure it lathers really well, mom. I like the bubbles,” Taylor said.

Jamie started running a cold bath. “Dad, can you bring me some ice cubes?” she asked.

“Of course,” the monster father said.

After cold baths, with their teeth nicely brushed, the children piled onto the couch. Their father read them a scary story about a tax collector. Their mom sang them a beautiful, frightening song about forgetting to turn off the lights when you go to bed.

It was early when the monster children went to bed, just like they liked it.   They were neatly tucked under their beds with their lights off and their curtains firmly shut. “Mom,” Jamie said, “do you think there might be a tickly spider under my bed tonight?”

“I hope so darling,” the monster mother said.

“Dad,” Taylor said, “Do you think we’ll have socks and lima beans at lunch tomorrow? It’s my favorite.”

“Mine too. I especially like it when the socks don’t match,” the monster father said.

“Me too. I hope we do,” Taylor said.

Finally the kids were in bed. Monster mother and monster father decided to spend some quality time together paying bills. “Look at this one dear,” monster mother said. “It’s for three and a half dollars. Shall I write a check?”

“Of course. But make sure to use yellow ink. It’s really hard to read. And try to make your handwriting extra messy,” monster father said. “We want them to continue to do business with us.”

“Here, this one is for over twenty dollars,” monster mother said, pulling out another bill. “Let’s pay it in pennies.”

Just then, they heard a shriek from upstairs. “I don’t think that was happy-scared,” monster father said. “It had the distinct tone of unhappy-scared. I’ll go see what’s wrong.”

“I’ll wait to count the pennies until you get back,” monster mother said.

Monster father went down the stairs to the basement.   Jamie was snoring loudly under her bed, the picture of a peaceful and happy monster child.

Taylor, however, was sitting up next to his bed looking sad. “Dad, I had a bad dream,” he said.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” The monster father asked.

“I dreamed there was a teddy bear on my bed,” Taylor said. “When I woke up, I didn’t see it, but I know it’s there.” He sniffled a little.

“If there is, I’m sure it’s a vampire teddy, and that’s why it’s invisible,” the monster father said.

“Oh. That’s okay then,” Taylor said. He snuggled in under his bed and started to snore.

“Back to the bills,” monster father said. He smiled. What a great day!

11-7-bedtime-for-monster

The Painting

Billy inherited a painting of a cottage from his grandmother. It was a nice, friendly painting, with sun-dappled gardens and tall, sheltering oak trees cradling a little brown house with white shutters and a shiny black door. It looked like a pleasant place to live.

The note that Grandmother had left for him said that it was her favorite painting and that for some reason it always made her think of him. She said to hang it in an out of the way place that needed a window. Billy liked the painting and missed his grandmother, so he decided to hang it in his bedroom instead of somewhere out of the way.

Billy hung it on his wall and kneeled backwards on a chair while he looked at it more closely. There was a little girl looking out the window, and a lady with a yellow dress and bright red apron was out in the garden, mostly hidden behind a rose bush. Billy took a picture of the painting with his phone.

That evening, after school, he checked his painting again. The little girl was sitting on the steps and there was a puppy sitting on the path. That wasn’t right! He pulled out his phone and checked the picture. Wasn’t there supposed to be a lady in the garden?   And wasn’t the girl inside? He was certain he didn’t remember a puppy.

He found the picture on his phone. He couldn’t see the girl or the woman in the picture.   Just the house and the garden and trees.

“Mom!” he yelled. “Come look at this.”

She came in a few minutes later, her finger in her book to mark her page. “What is it, Billy?’

“I think the people in my painting are moving,” Billy said. “Look!”

“All right, where are they?” She asked. She bent closer to look. “Billy, I don’t see any people.”

“What? They were right there,” Billy said. But, when he looked at the painting, he didn’t see anyone either. The people had moved again.

He kept checking the painting. Sometimes he’d see the little girl, or the lady, or a man, or the puppy, but they never showed up on his phone when he took a picture.   They were never there when his mom came in either.

One day he decided to catch them moving. He sat in front of the painting where the man was weeding the garden and just watched him. The man was gone when Billy blinked.

The next morning, there was a sign in the yard of the little house. It said, “Stop spying on us!” Billy took a picture. He checked his camera, but the sign wasn’t in the image. When he looked back at the painting, the sign wasn’t there either.

Billy found his mother in the kitchen writing a letter.   “Mom, the people in the painting don’t like me watching them,” Billy said.

“Do you think they’d like the guest room better?” his mother asked.

“As long as we don’t go look at them too often, I guess,” Billy said.

They moved the painting. Billy still checked on it sometimes, just to see how the family was doing. They didn’t seem to mind that.   After a while, he forgot about the painting.

He grew up and started dating a woman that seemed familiar the first day he met her. They got married and bought a house that looked just like his grandmother’s painting. He brought the painting home from his parents’ house and hung it in the living room.

His wife was amazed. “It looks just like our house! That’s eerie.”

“I know, isn’t it?” Billy said. He didn’t mention the people. He didn’t see them again, either.

It was after his daughter was three that he was certain that it wasn’t all a coincidence. She looked too much like the girl from the painting. He bought her a puppy the next year for her birthday.   A month later, he was out in the garden weeding and felt like someone was watching him. He couldn’t see anyone. It was time.

He put a sign out in the front yard that night.   His wife saw it in the morning.   “Honey, what’s that all about?” She asked. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, I was just answering one of those questions I had as a child. I’ll bring it in now,” Billy said. Life had come full circle. He never did find out how the painting had allowed him to look into his future, but he was grateful for it all the same.

11-7-future-sight