Category: Flashback Fridays

Flashback Friday: Lost But Not Forgotten

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This story was originally posted on August 19, 2017. I like this spin on the classic Orpheus story. I wish the original had a happier ending, too.

Melvo lived under Jason’s bed. He was pretty lucky. Most monsters under beds were lonely and lived on a diet of dust bunnies and half-finished homework. But Jason was different. When Melvo first moved in under the bed, Jason quickly made him feel welcome.

Jason had grinned. Instead of yelling or turning on the lights and banishing him back to the shadowlands, Jason offered him an odd sock. “Hi, I’m Jason,” he said. “I always wanted a monster under my bed.” The sock was soft, and covered in pictures of cartoon bats and ghosts.

“Are you sure I can eat this?” Melvo asked.   “This is a very nice sock.”

“I have lots of socks,” Jason said. “What’s your name?”

“Melvo,” Melvo said. He bit into the sock, and it tasted better than any dust bunny he’d ever eaten. Melvo smiled, and then remembered that monster smiles are scary. He frowned and looked down.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked.

“Aren’t you scared of me?” Melvo asked.

“Of course not,” Jason said. “Monsters aren’t scary. I know lots of nice monsters. We have a mummy visiting from Egypt next week, and my uncle is a vampire.   There’s a werewolf next door, but he thinks we don’t know about that.”

“Okay,” Melvo said. “So does that mean we’re friends?”

And they were. They talked in the evenings, while Jason recopied his homework so that Melvo could eat freshly done, high-grade completed homework. On holidays, Jason shared his socks and told him all about their traditions.

Melvo told him about dust bunnies. He tried to describe the taste of a good sock.   He told him about the shadowlands where there was nothing to do but sleep and wait and dream.

“What do you dream about?” Jason asked.

“Finding a home,” Melvo said.

“Is that a good dream?” Jason asked.

“It’s the best dream. I found a home and I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” Melvo said.   And he was very happy.

Then one day, Jason told him his family was moving.   “You have to come too, Melvo,” he said.

“How?” Melvo asked. “I know how to find your room, but if you move you’ll be somewhere else.”

Jason thought for a moment. Then he smiled. “I’ll put a box under the bed. Climb inside. I’ll close it while it’s still dark and not open it until we get to the new house.   Then I’ll open it under the bed.   That way you won’t have to go to the shadowlands until after you know where my new room is so you can find it again.”

“That might work,” Melvo said.

So, when the time came, Melvo climbed into the little box, and Jason sealed it shut. After a long wait, the box moved. There were noises and voices and the box swayed.

“The box is really light,” he heard Jason say.   “What if he isn’t in here?”

And then he heard the scrabble of fingernails on the outside of the box. There was the ripping sound of tape pulled back, just a little. The corner of the box lifted. For just a moment, he saw Jason’s face, framed by a brilliant blue sky, and then he was pulled back into the shadowlands.

The new family in Jason’s old house didn’t like monsters under the bed. So Melvo hid, and ate dust bunnies. Some nights he paced under the bed until the floorboards creaked so that the lights would go on and he could be sent back to the shadowlands early. He missed Jason.

And then, one evening, as he woke in the shadowlands, he saw a little dot of light. He’d never seen anything like it. Instead of following the well-worn path to Jason’s old room, he raced towards the little light.

It led him down a new path, and just before he caught it, he tipped over the edge into a new room. And when he looked up at the bed, he knew where he was. “Jason?” he whispered.

“Melvo!” Jason said. “I’m so happy to see you. I didn’t know if that would work.”

“What did you do?”

Jason smiled. “I wished on a star. Have I told you about stars yet? They’re pretty amazing.” And Jason told him about stars and gave him a sock with pictures of angry pumpkins. And Melvo was happy.

Flashback Friday: Candy is Poison

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This story was originally posted on August 24, 2017. I like to write about trolls. They can be simple or complex, and live alone or in groups. That gives a lot of room for different stories. They live on the edges of human society, which gives them an interesting perspective on people. As an added bonus, they usually have fun names!

The human laughed.   “Thanks guys for helping me carry this money from the bank to where I’d parked my horse. Now I can give all this money to poor people. Here’s your payment.”

He handed the trolls each a sandwich. Then, he started attaching the bags of gold to his horse’s saddle.   The poor thing looked really weighed down.

The trolls started eating their sandwiches. “No meat,” Gark said.

“Of course not,” the man said. “They’re mustard sandwiches. They’re very good.”

“Ok,” Gark said. He took another bite of his sandwich and made a face.

“It’s like stealing candy from a baby,” the man said.

“What’s candy?” Gark asked.

“Oh, sweet things that children eat. They’re very good.”

“Like mustard?” Gark asked.

“No, more like the opposite of mustard. Well, I’m off,” the man said. And he jumped on his horse and rode away.

Now that their job was over, the trolls wandered away to sit under their favorite bridges. Gark’s bridge was in a lovely park. There were lots of pigeons to eat and a fountain where people left money behind.   He fished out the coins at night for his hoard.

Today, as he dozed and listened to the children screech their high-pitched lullabies, he thought about candy. Mustard was terrible. Was candy wonderful? Wasn’t wonderful the opposite of terrible?

And just then, as he pondered this deep philosophical question, a child dropped his cotton candy onto the rocks beside the bridge.   “My sweeties,” the child wailed.

Gark turned and stared. Was this candy? The child said it was sweet. The child’s feet pounded across the bridge as he ran away. Gark darted out a hand, grabbed the cotton candy, and pulled it under the bridge.

It was very, very pink. And it looked like the part of sheep his mother said was not for eating. Gark was not sure about this.   It seemed like a terrible idea.   He reached out his tongue and touched the very tip of it to the candy.

His tongue was on fire. Gark tossed the cotton candy far away and dipped his head in the stream. It felt like his tongue was still burning. How could humans eat such things? If candy was the opposite of mustard, it was because mustard is edible and candy is not.

Finally, finally, Gark’s tongue stopped burning.   He started to brush the water out of his fur, only to stop in dismay. His fur was now bright pink! How could he hide if he was bright pink?

He coated his fur in mud. It was cold and slimy and heavy. And then it dried and he couldn’t move until he’d managed to roll into the stream and soften the mud. And then he had to start the mud applying process again, because some of it had washed away.

It was a week before his fur faded and he could risk traveling to attend the next troll gathering. That week gave Gark plenty of time for thinking. He came to some surprising conclusions.

“What happened to your fur?” someone asked when he arrived at the meeting place. “The color is all wrong.”

“I have an announcement to make,” Gark said.   “Candy is not very good. Candy is poison.”

“But the human said it was very good,” a troll said.

“Yes he did,” Gark said. “I have learned that humans can say things that are wrong on purpose.”

The trolls gasped. “But then how will we know if anything they say is right?” someone asked.

“Exactly,” Gark said. “I don’t think it’s worth the risk. I nearly died tasting candy.”

The other trolls yelled in outrage. “I will never work for another human,” a troll yelled.   “Me neither,” another said.

And the trolls warned their friends and relatives.   And that’s why you never see trolls anymore. They’re hiding from us.

Flashback Friday: A Meal for the Eyes

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This story was first posted on August 25, 2017. I think that most people hope to leave behind a lasting legacy. However, often our most important work isn’t the kind that is hung in a museum or a palace. I think it would be nice to be able to do both kinds of work.

The artist unsealed the scroll with trembling fingers. It was a summons from the emperor himself. After decades of work, he might finally have a patron. The artist did a little victory dance and grabbed his purse. This called for cake with dinner.

The next morning, he packed up his paints and brushed and canvases. He sent them ahead and asked the messenger to leave them in his new studio. Then he packed up his clothes and books and personal items and cancelled the rest of his lease.

He said goodbye to his neighbors and waited for his ride to the palace. He had no idea what to expect, so he dressed in his nicest clothes. But, he was brought straight to his rooms and served a nice meal. He would meet with the emperor the next morning.

So, the next morning he re-wore his nicest clothes, doing his best to smooth out the wrinkles. He tried to give himself a pep talk. “Stop worrying. This is every artist’s dream. Your paintings will hang in the palace and live on forever. This is the next best thing to immortality. You’ve finally made it.”

A guard escorted him in to see the emperor. The artist bowed. The emperor smiled. “Ah yes.   Welcome. I am impressed with your talent. I think that your paintings are just what I’m looking for.”

“What would you like me to paint?” the artist asked.   “A portrait? I am well-known for my portraits.”

The emperor laughed. “Oh no, that wouldn’t do. I need you to paint food. The tastier looking, the better.”

“Food?” the artist asked. “Like a still life? Would you like me to include some mementos in the picture?”

“No, I think that would be a mistake,” the emperor said. “Just paint food. Bring me the first painting at the end of the week.   If it pleases me, I will have a contract for you to sign.”

“Thank you,” the artist said. He bowed and left.

He spent the next week painting tempting, almost-real food on a blurry background. Melty cheese, crisp toast, and jewel-like berries seemed to float on the surface of the canvas. He was constantly ordering new models for his work from the kitchen, because he kept taking bites of things absent-mindedly as he worked. It was a long week.

The emperor was thrilled with his painting. “It’s perfect,” he said. “Here’s the contract.”

The artist accepted the first scroll from the emperor’s advisor. He signed the non-disclosure agreement, and then he was handed the contract. He started reading through it and then paused. “This is a contract for a chef,” he said. “I’m an artist.”

“Of course you are,” the emperor said. “But you are painting meals, so you are a chef.”

“But they aren’t really meals,” the artist said.   “Even if they’re meals for the eyes, eyes don’t eat.”

“But this isn’t a meal for the eyes,” the emperor said.   “Come with me and bring your painting.”

The artist followed the emperor and his advisor through a maze of hallways. Finally they stopped in front of a large door. The emperor pushed it open. He smiled as a large furry thing rushed forward and leaned against him.

It had black fur and giant eyes as blue as the sky.   And it had a giant mouth full of very sharp teeth. No one else in the room looked at all nervous about the emperor petting the scary furry thing, so the artist tried to be brave. When it came over to sniff at him, he took a deep breath and managed to not run away screaming.

“I think she likes you already,” the emperor said.   “That’s wonderful.   Give her the painting.”

The artist made himself hold out the canvas. The furry thing ripped it away from him and ate it in a few messy bites. It was gone. The thing made a warbling noise, and the emperor clapped his hands.

He turned to the artist. “You see. You’re a chef, and a very good one. If you keep painting this well, I’ll double your salary.”

“Come this way, and we’ll finish the paperwork,” the advisor said. They left the emperor and the furry thing behind and walked down the hall to the empty room.

The artist stared at the contract. Was this the end of his dreams for the next best thing to immortality? Would all of his work be eaten? He looked up at the advisor. “Will I be able to paint other pictures? Pictures that will hang in the palace and not get eaten?”

The advisor smiled. “I’ll add it to your contract. If you paint one meal a week, you will be permitted to paint one official portrait of the emperor each year.”

“Show me where to sign,” the artist said. And when he went back to his rooms he did a little victory dance and ordered a cake from the kitchen. He made sure to sketch it before he ate it.

Flashback Friday: The New Kid

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This story was first posted on August 29, 2017. I love how kids can live in the worlds they imagine and try to convince others to join in. For them, anything is possible.

“Hi, I’m Jason,” a boy said. “You’re the new kid.” He was wearing a blue shirt with a big red letter J on it. Martha was pretty sure he wasn’t in her class. She’d remember a shirt like that.

Jason raised his eyebrows. Had he asked a question? “Yes, I’m new,” she said when it seemed like Jason wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Are you evil?” he asked.

“No,” Martha said.

“Are you sure? What do you do for fun?” Jason asked.

“I like to draw.”

Jason crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “What do you draw?”

“Mostly horses,” Martha said. “I like horses.”

“That’s boring.” Jason walked away.

During recess, Susan and Amy introduced themselves to Martha. “What do you think of our school so far?” Susan asked.

Martha paused.“It’s nice,”.

“You paused before you said that,” Amy said. “Is there something wrong?”

“I met a boy named Jason.” Martha frowned. “He asked me if I’m evil.”

Susan laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m sure he didn’t mean it personally.”

“Then why did he ask me that? And then he said I’m boring.”

“Jason wants to be a superhero when he grows up.” Amy shrugged. “He’s been watching everyone since kindergarten.   He’s looking for his arch rival supervillain.”

“So, I’m just the latest suspect?” Martha asked.

“Like all the rest of us,” Susan said. “Like I said, it isn’t personal.”

“He caught a litterer once. And someone cheating on a test.” Amy counted Jason’s successes on her fingers.

“Did he try to beat them up or something?” Martha asked.

“No, he held up his hand like he was telling them to stop, and then he started saying pew-pew-pew-pew until a teacher convinced him to tell them what was wrong.” Susan held up her hand to demonstrate. Martha laughed.

Just then there was some yelling by the slides. Above the other voices, they could hear someone yell.   “Pew-pew-pew-pew!” The recess monitor hurried over and the yelling stopped.

“Was that Jason?” Martha asked.

“Yeah. Someone was probably cutting in line,” Amy said. “Jason hates that. Do you like playing jump rope?   If there are three of us we could take turns jumping.”

Susan clapped her hands. “That’s a great idea! We haven’t been able to jump rope since Linda moved.”

“I love to jump rope.” Martha followed her new friends to check out a jump rope from the equipment box.

Weeks passed. Martha and Susan and Amy had soon attracted a group of girls who liked to jump rope too. One day a new girl joined them. “Hi, are you new?” Martha asked.

“A weird boy just asked me that,” the girl said.

“It must have been Jason,” Martha said. “He asked me that when I moved in too. Did he ask you if you’re evil?”

“Yes,” the girl said. “Oh, what’s your name, by the way? I’m April.”

“I’m Martha.” Martha held up her end of the rope. “Do you like to jump rope?”

“I love to jump rope,” April said.

The girls started to jump rope. One verse into Cinderella Dressed in Yellow, Jason walked by and stared at them suspiciously. “I’m watching you, new girl.” He pointed two fingers at his eyes and then pointed them at April. He backed away slowly, only tripping once.

Martha looked at April. “Why is Jason watching you? He said I was boring.”

“I told him that someday I’m going to rule the world.” April smiled.

Flashback Friday: The Trendsetter

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This story was originally posted on December 2, 2016. I like the idea of fashion trends that aren’t meant to be taken seriously. I’m not so sure about the giant boot, but I would really like a day to stay home and read. Can someone make that the popular thing to do, please?

There was a time when, if you wanted to know what was popular right this second, you looked to Marley Christofferson. Marley posted constant tips about everything from fashion to breakfast cereals, and thousands listened. Some people insisted it was becoming a little ridiculous. At first, no one listened to them.

The first hint that something was wrong was the giant boot trend. Marley insisted that the popular thing to do was to shove both feet in a giant boot and hop everywhere. It caught on quickly. It was mostly harmless, except for all the uncoordinated people who kept falling over.

After that died out, Marley advised people to wear an oven mitt on one hand.   “I wasn’t so sure about that one,” one fan said. “I didn’t like taking it off to text, but I could keep my phone inside the mitt, so I didn’t have to reach all the way to my pocket to take it out. And I only had to paint the nails on one hand.   That was nice.”

It did make driving difficult, and made it harder to complete schoolwork. Many schools banned oven mitts.

Marley’s next big fad was conducting everything you say with a pencil. It led to people saying everything in a sing-song voice in an attempt to speak in the proper rhythm. Many older, less hip people found this trend especially irritating. “Marley needs to stop,” a principal commented. A few music teachers found a silver lining.   “My students have become well-acquainted with 3/4 and 4/4 time. I even heard one student speaking in 6/8 time. I was impressed,” a music teacher said.

This was followed by ending every sentence with “Yeah, yeah.” “It was even more irritating than the pencil thing,” the same principal said. This fad didn’t last long.

However, the next fad was particularly long lasting.   Beginning in November, Marley advised her followers to “Be festive and string bells on your shoelaces.” It caught on in a big way. People wore a variety of bells laced in complex ways into their shoes and jingle-jangled their way everywhere. “It made it easier to catch some petty criminals,” a police officer noted. It was months before the fad died down, and some people never stopped wearing their “bells on [their] toes”.

Next Marley advised people to peel and eat grapes slowly at lunch. Then it was putting make up only around one eye.   Marley spoke and thousands listened.   And then thousands more followed their example.

It was when Marley recommended staying home all day and reading a good book that her account was closed down. “She was just too disruptive,” officials said. “She couldn’t be allowed to continue.”

A year later, Marley finally agreed to an interview. When asked about the sources she used to decide what was trendy, Marley said, “I just shared what I liked.”

And the strange advice at the end? “I looked around and people were so serious and stressed. I was joking about the giant boot, but people actually tried it. I saw them smiling and laughing and happy. I just wanted to keep seeing people smile like that.”

Is that why so many people followed her advice? “I don’t know,” Marley said.   “I think people want to laugh and be happy. I think they also want to fit in and feel like they belong. I think fads and fashion should be able to do both.”

So what is next for Marley? “I’m at fashion design school now,” Marley said. “Wait until you see my first collection this fall.”

Will we have clown suits or mad scientist gear to look forward to? “Of course not,” Marley said. “Everything I design will be at the height of fashion right at the second I design it, of course. Just wait and see.”

Flashback Friday: Career Counseling

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This story was originally posted on March 17, 2017. I like unusual career ideas. My son, when he was younger, wanted to rule the world when he grew up. He thought he could do a better job of things. I wonder what the career path would be for that?

Mr. Marsh looked up when he heard someone knock on his open door. It looked like the next student had arrived for career counseling.   “Come in,” he said. He checked his schedule. “John?”

“That’s right.” The teenager sat at the edge of his chair with a big smile. Good, that probably meant he had some idea of what he wanted to do after school.

“So, have you given any thought what you’d like to do after next year?” He opened the folder at the top of the pile. “Your grades are good enough to get you into a nice university.”

“No, I think I want to go find the unicorns and live there with them. Like that lady did with the gorillas.” John looked entirely sincere.

Mr. Marsh waited for the moment when his expression would change and he’d shout ‘just kidding.’   It didn’t happen and the silence was beginning to feel awkward. “Um, John,” Mr. Marsh said at last. “Unicorns aren’t real.”

“That’s what they want you to think. Just like the dinosaurs.” John smiled.

Mr. Marsh tapped on his planner with his pen. “Dinosaurs were real. They just all died out.”

“You believe that comet theory?” John raised an eyebrow. “That’s ridiculous. A single comet took out all the dinosaurs?”

“Well, it blocked out the sun and changed the climate, and…”

“And didn’t kill the plants? Or the sharks?” John chuckled.

Mr. Marsh frowned.   “Well, it killed some of the plants.   And sharks are sharks. In any case, they’re all gone and unicorns don’t exist.”

John shrugged.   “Believe what you will.”

“Even if you believe in unicorns, you don’t know where they are. How can living with them be a valid career plan?”

“Finding them will be part of my career, of course.” John looked confident.

“And how do you plan on financing your expeditions?” Mr. Marsh asked. He clicked the end of his pen and prepared to take notes. If John was serious about this, he’d do his best to advise him. Even if he was fairly certain there was a hidden camera somewhere.

“Sponsorships, of course,” John said.

Mr. Marsh sighed.   “How do you plan on attracting sponsors?”

“It shouldn’t be too hard. Everyone likes unicorns.   Of course, the sponsors will have to realize that the unicorns may not agree with me sharing any of my findings.   They are probably hiding for a good reason.” John pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket.

Mr. Marsh leaned forward as John held the paper up. It looked like a list of names written in different handwritings.   “What’s that?”

“My classmates petitioned me to accept sponsors. It’s why I’m considering it even though I don’t think I’ll ever be able to share my research findings.” John folded the list up and put it back in his pocket.

“Then what was your original plan?” Mr. Marsh asked.

“Leprechaun gold.” John smiled. “It will probably be my main source of income. However, I do understand the need people have to be a part of major scientific endeavors. So, I will accept all offers of funding, as long as there are no strings attached.”

Mr. Marsh dropped his pen and leaned back. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “John, you do know that there aren’t really any leprechauns, right?”

John rolled his eyes. “That’s what they want you to think.”

“Right. Right.   Like the dinosaurs.” Mr. Marsh took another deep breath.

John smiled.   “Exactly.”

“And how do you plan on obtaining this gold?” Mr. Marsh asked. He picked up his pen.

“Oh the usual way.   Follow a rainbow, trick a leprechaun.   You know.” John shrugged.

Mr. Marsh nodded and took notes. “All right.   Well, I see a lot of time hiking and camping in your future. And a lot of time spent outdoors in the rain. What do you think you need to do to prepare for that?”

John pulled out another piece of paper from a different pocket. He smoothed it out. “I’ve written a supply list. Tell me what you think.”

Mr. Marsh held out a hand and John handed him the paper. He looked over the list. “And where do you plan on finding rope made out of elf hair?”

John shrugged.   “Oh, you know. Usual place. Go to a fairy circle, trick an elf.”

Mr. Marsh sighed.