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"The Bet" (the ninety-first ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "The Bet" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EST), Mar 15, 2009 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| The Bet By Ken Staley kws1949@gmail.com (Entry #3) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| Jimmy Jack and Eddie Teddy Lowery
– twin brothers – chips from the same blockhead - leaned forward in
the front seat of Jimmy’s new pickup truck and waved at Sheriff Bud Packer
as they cruised Main again. Bud knew without being told that Eddie leaned
forward just enough to hide the open cans of beer. Bud knew the boys were up to
no good even before they did. Harry Turner waved a frantic hello from the box
and gave Bud a toothy, idiotic, a bit too friendly grin. On a late summer
evening in a small town with no distractions for teenaged boys, they made their
own fun. It was only natural. Bud made a mental note to seek them out several
more times during his evening rounds. A mid-week, slow tourist day allowed Bud to pay closer attention to hell-raising teenagers. The favorite haunts and games teenaged boys played hadn’t changed since he attended the same high school those years ago. Each generation thought itself the originator of a plot much older than themselves. The bet was always the same, even the place and the targets, those they brought with them and the intended. When the shadows lengthened and the group was still together, Bud Packer swung his Land Rover into the Safeway parking lot and waited for them to cruise by. He pulled onto State Route 10, just far enough behind to follow if the two in the rear, Harry and Jack, didn’t pay too much attention. For generations, freshman members of the football team took the same rite of passage – were issued the same bet. Harry and Jack showed promise as this year’s prime candidates. The late August sun hung on the tops of the trees like an over ripe peach. Football practice started in a week and Bud knew Coach Ramsey would keep these kids far too tired to make any further trouble. As they pulled off the highway and headed towards Aunt Fenny’s Glen, Bud could do little but sigh. Sometimes he wished someone with intelligence would come up with a new bet, a new challenge for them all. That truck load of boys was lucky to have a pair of grey cells between them. Unless they actually climbed the fence into her private field, there was little he could do. He knew better though. They always crossed the fence. That was the bet – cross into Aunt Fenny’s Glen and see if they were quick enough to out-smart the witch of the woods. Some were – some weren’t. He let them commit themselves before her turned up the lane after them. John Lowery owned most of surrounding land except for the 100 acres of Aunt Fenny's Glen. He needed her property before developing his his pipe dream of a condominium resort. Aunt Fenny wouldn't sell. If the boys stopped on Lowery land, there wasn't much Bud could do. His instincts played true and they drove right to her barbed wire fence. Bud killed his lights and coasted to a stop on the top of a rise and watched, waiting for them to play the bet out. If they played as normal, one of the blockheads – Jimmy Jack or Eddie Teddy – needed to demonstrate the witch of the deep woods was a legend and children’s tale; really nothing to fear. The rookies needed to prove their own bravado by racing around the glen themselves, to be rewarded with their first cold beer of their high school careers. No sooner had he killed his engine that Eddie Teddy slipped through the strands of barbed wire, wading through the knee high grass towards the center of the meadow. "Dammit, I told you boys to leave Aunt Fenny alone," Sheriff Packer gave them his sternest look as the three remaining boys slouched against Jimmy Jack’s truck. ”This is the second time this summer I've had to stop you boys," Bud stormed. "I wanna know what's got you so hard about Aunt Fenny?" The two youngest blushed deeper than the setting sun, obviously more frightened by the law than by the fairy tales of a witch. Harry Nelson found the tops of the fir trees more interesting than Bud Packer. Bob Turner watched as his left shoe did figure-eights in the dust. Jimmy Jack Lowery polished the chrome door handle of his new pick up truck. "Won't talk, huh? How'd you like me to drag your asses in and have your folks come and get ya?" That got their attention. Bud Packer snorted. He had them by the short and curlys and they knew it. "How'd your dad feel if he had to come pay the county tow for this truck, Jimmy Jack? You guys spill, or I'll haul your ashes right now." "We brung them boys to see her dance," Jimmy Jack barely whispered his reply. "She dances naked around the fire sometimes." "This is her land, she got that right, and the right to be left alone by horny high school idiots," he scolded, feeling his face flush. “She’s been in this town longer than I have. Everybody loves her. Hell, Harry, she patched up your gelding, didn't she? She charge you any money for that job? What do you suppose a vet would cost?" Harry looked at his shoes scuffing the dirt and gave a barely perceptible shrug, his face drawn in a frown of rushing thoughts. "This is her private property." The sheriff paused for a moment. Sparks rising from a small fire in the middle of the clearing reminded him of their original intent. He scanned the meadow for Eddie Teddy. “M'gosh, I forgot," The blood drained from his face as he grabbed the radio hanging on his collar. "Bobby, what day is it on my calendar?" "That you, Sheriff?" Bob Liberty asked from the office in town. "Abner Turner just called. He's plenty pissed off. Been a fight down at the Big Ridge. Tore it up some,” Bob chuckled, "again!” "Never mind him." Ab Turner owned the Big Ridge Tavern. Bud suspected that if Ab did a quick inventory, he'd find himself down some long necked beer - the two cases sitting in the back of the truck. "What day is today?" "Twenty-seventh, Sheriff. Why? What's the matter?" "Look at the bottom of the calendar and find the full moon," Sheriff Packer said. "What night is it full?" "Last night was first full, Sheriff. Looks like tonight is the last night . . . " "That you out there with those boys, Buddy Packer?" Aunt Fenny's voice cut like a sharp blade through the dust hanging in the growing gloom of the evening air. Every cricket and frog in the meadow stopped their evening chorus. Aunt Fenny's voice carried a special, irritating, gleefully sinister quality on full moon nights. Ice formed in Bud's blood. "They're just leaving, Aunt Fenny," Bud Packer felt fear squeeze his sphincter tighter. "We'll be gone before the moon rises." "You take that Jimmy Jack Lowery with you right fast," Fenny's voice felt like a fork on slate. Bud shivered in spite of the hot August night. "You heard the lady, scoot," Bud Packer reached into the back of the truck and hefted the cases of beer free. He was gratified to see only three bottles missing. "You get off Fenny Glen in five minutes, I might just forget where I found this." The boys wasted no time, but the driver’s seat remained empty and the truck didn’t move. “Well?” Bud demanded as he approached the passenger’s side to look Jimmy Jack in the eye. “Wanna call my bluff?” “She’s still got Ted,” Jimmy said, fear shaking his voice. “Shit,” Bud whispered as he stepped to the rear of the truck. He raised his hand to his mouth and called out across the darkening meadow. The day quickly faded into that not light-not dark hint of evening. Not a breath of air stirred, making what little sun left streaked in red, promising a blood read moon rise and that very soon. “You still got Eddie Teddy?” Bud called. “Guess you better turn him over to me, Auntie. I’ll take care of him.” "Come to see the old witch dance, did ya?" She cackled. "Why don't you join me, Eddie Teddy Lowery. Now!" Suddenly, millions of bugs crawled on his Eddie Lowery’s skin. Her voice made his skin crawl and when he looked down, horrible looking bugs covered his arms and legs. He began swatting them away, crying in terror. More appeared and danced over every inch of his bare skin. He wanted to run, but nearby flames petrified him so badly he no longer recognized them as her small camp fire, but saw a hallucination-driven raging forest surrounding him. For a moment, all reason left Edward Theodore Lowery and he forgot where he was - and why. All of those childhood ghost stories danced in his head; the witch of Fenny's Glen was advancing on him, full sail, cursing him by having every bug in creation to dine on his skin. A naked old woman standing with her hands on her hips, her hair flying any which direction, laughed at him. He saw sparks of anger jump from her eyes. Her empty dugs swung a bit as she waded through the grass closer to him. He screamed and tripped as he turned to run. His letterman’s jacket snagged on the barbed wire fence and tangled his coat. Intent on freeing himself, he forgot his plight momentarily. When he turned to fend her off, it was too late. Aunt Fenny raised her arms and tossed a hand full of glowing powder at him covering Eddie Teddy completely. His whole body jerked and he sneezed spastically as he saw a rainbow of pin feathers erupt from his skin. "Go over to the fire," Aunt Fenny crooned as she petted his rainbow feathered head. "I want you dancing like a duck." “You better let him go with me,” Bud said as he approached the fence. He wasn’t sure how to talk Aunt Fenny in her full moon glory. “It’ll be better if he doesn’t stay here all night.” Aunt Fenny didn’t respond for a bit. She marched Eddie around the clearing nearest to the fence. She stopped their small parade and smiled at Bud. “You know his dad well enough,” Bud said. “He won’t let this go if he finds out.” Aunt Fenny sighed deeply and marched Eddie Teddy to the fence. With a quick nod, the pin feathers disappeared and the boy stood at the fence, shaking uncontrollably, and wet his pants. “You make sure the other boys see this,” Aunt Fenny warned Bud. “What about the rest?” Buddy pointed to the bright gold feathers that danced on the crown of Eddie’s head. “Is he stuck with those?” She smiled as she helped the shaking boy through the fence. “They’ll fall off when they drive across the city limits line, just like they done for his dad a few years back,” she winked. “I just hope it’ll be enough so there won’t be another bet for a few more years.” “Jimmy, you better drive,” Bud said as he led the dazed Eddie Teddy to the passenger’s side and opened the door, making sure he was in and his seat belt fastened. Fear and awe filled the faces who stared at the duck feathers dripping from Eddie “Take it slow and easy, Jimmy Jack. You make sure these other boys get home in one piece.” Sheriff Bud Packer knew Aunt Fenny as one of the best herbalists in his part of the state. People came from miles around to learn herb lore from her and to be treated by her. He’d never seen this part of her and wondered how deeply involved she was – was there a limit to her power. Still, as outrageous as this story sounded, and will sound when repeated over and over, Bud knew he wouldn’t have to worry about kids crossing the fence for a few years. So, this was the reason John Lowery had such poison in his veins for Aunt Fenny. Bud smiled to himself as she drove away, wondering of John kept any of the colorful pin feathers she’d cursed him with. |
| The Bet By Nancy J Schneider njswritingnook@yahoo.com (Entry #6) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| “You don’t have the guts
ta take it. I bet yer ma wouldn’t let you keep it anyways,” Jerry
said. “Yes she will,” Nancy said stamping her foot. “In fact I’m so sure I’ll - I’ll take him now.” She crossed her skinny arms over her flat chest in a defiant way. “It’s a she, stupid, not a him. Here take it - but this is one bet yer gonna lose,” he said shoving the thing into her arms. She took a deep breath, grabbed it, stuck out her tongue and turned to stomp home. Jerry watched her pigtails swing around then the back of her striped t-shirt as she disappeared down the street. As soon as she was gone he said to Jim, “She’ll try but this time she won’t win. She’s good at conning her ma, but not that good. I know cause I tried real hard and I didn’t get very far. My ma said I had to get rid of it ‘or else.’ I figured Nancy would take it. I know she won’t be able to keep it, but at least I got rid of it. She ain‘t scared of it and I sorta wish she could have it.” “Yea, but I wish we could watch the show. Her ma‘s gonna freak,” Jim said. Jerry grinned. “Her ma will talk to my ma and then I’ll hear the whole thing when she tells my dad.” “Ya think she’ll tell where she got it?” “Pro’bly.” “Think you’ll get in trouble?” “Nah, as long as I got rid of it my ma won’t care who I gave it to. She might even think it’s funny now that it‘s someone else‘s problem.” Meanwhile Nancy was trudging home with some second thoughts. She was pretty sure she could convince her mom eventually, but she would need time. If only she didn’t have to go to school tomorrow. That might complicate things a bit. She had to have a plan. Plus she wanted to win the bet. Otherwise Jerry would laugh and call her a sissy girl. One thing she wasn’t was a sissy. Besides, she really did want it. She had to get her mom to agree somehow. It wasn’t hard to sneak it into the house because her mom was gone. Niki, her dog, was glad she was home and immediately wanted to see what was wrapped in the blanket. Nancy spoke firmly to him and said he had to be gentle. His ears perked up and his nose went wild but he sat obediently waiting. He loved surprises and this was certainly a surprise, even for a dog. “You gotta help me figure this out Niki, cause I really, really want this to work. Think about it. I’ll be the only one on the block, maybe the only one in the whole city who has one. We gotta keep it a secret until I can figure out how to tell mom though.” Niki’s eyes were studying it, but he didn’t touch it. He wasn’t so sure this was a good idea, but he was a good dog, so simply sat down. The next day when Nancy got home from school her mom was waiting. She didn’t look any too happy either. It was the way her hands were gripping the towel and her foot was taping the floor. Nope, not a good sign at all. “I would like a word with you young lady, as soon as you put your school things away.” Uh-oh, when her mom called her ‘young lady’ she knew she was in big trouble. What she worried about all day must have happened. Her mom found the skunk. Never ever hide a skunk in your closet. She just figured it wouldn’t whine or get into anything and that would give her precious time. She fixed a cuddly cardboard box, set out a dish of water and thought no one would be the wiser. Mind you, her mom was not an animal lover, but she did sometimes give in because Nancy loved ‘em all. Big or small, wild or tame, even creepy crawly, she was constantly dragging something home. Her mom relented on a lot of the critters, like the chameleon, white mice, hamster, turtle, goldfish, a pregnant cat and a dog, but a skunk might be too much. She went to her room to put away her books - and stall. Niki bounced over to the closet and, tail wagging, sniffed under it. She opened the closet door to make sure Flower was ok. She hunkered down and the skunk scrambled into her arms and hid its face. She sat petting it trying to think. It was too soon; she didn’t have a chance to put her plan into action. Things weren’t working out the way she hoped. “I’ll bet you gave it away,” she said to the dog. “Mom must have wondered what you were doing sitting there sniffing under the closet door. Then she must have opened it to look and --- Oh well, I can’t blame you. You knew Flower was in the closet. Did you think she was lonesome? I bet you just wanted to keep her company,” she said ruffling his hair. She really was going to tell her mom, but the perfect time never came up. You gotta have the right mood to spring something like a skunk on your mom. She worked all day on the reasons for keeping it and just about had it figured out. First of all, it was descented. Second it was free, it didn’t cost her a penny. And she could even make money with Flower. You know, charge the kids a nickel to pet it. Seemed like a good business venture, and dad was always talking about good investments. That was the approach she planned to use when the time was right. But she had a sneaking suspicion the right time ran out and the answer was going to be a definite no, with no discussion. Flower was as good as gone … unless … She put the skunk back in the closet cause she was pretty sure her mom wasn’t up to seeing it just yet. Then went to the kitchen. She cleared her throat and cheerfully said, “You wanted to see me?” There was a slight chance it wasn’t about the skunk after all. “The skunk has to go. Today. No ifs, ands or buts about it. I don‘t care who you give it to, but get it out of my house.” “I was gonna tell you, honest I was - but I didn’t have time this morning. Let me explain … I even figured out how it can help me earn some money, if you just let me keep … “ “No! It goes. Today. Is that understood?“ “Yes ma.” Rats! She just lost the bet and her chance at being the only kid in Milwaukee who had a skunk. Actually her mom wasn’t a mean person. After all, she did let her keep Niki and even kind of liked him now. That’s surprising, considering he ate her angel food cake right off the table. But that’s another story for another time. |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place: #6 Second place: #3 Third place: #10 Fourth place: #8 Others receiving votes: #4, #7 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| The Bet brigid@lorienwood.plus.com |
#1 of 10 |
| 177 words | |
| I'd never been to the races. I bought a big hat to be seen. I asked,'What's the best horse to wager on? I don't know form. I'm awfully green!' The man pointed out a dark stallion. His head hung. He looked sad and beat. 'I'd bet on that horse to come home last. He's famous, he's got two left feet!' I strolled, with champagne, to the paddock- my heels getting stuck in the mire. I saw jockeys being bad tempered whirling whips matching their bright attire. The horses were herded in race stalls. The commentator shouted, 'THEY'RE OFF'. Hooves flying, they hurdled at great speed... The dark stallion gave a small cough. I winked and his attitude altered. Ears forward, he flew past the rest. Muscles rippling,breath clouding about him, the huge rise and fall of his chest. First to finish! I cheered and I shouted. A friendly filly and half decent nosh were all that the dark horse had needed to win and make me loads of dosh! We're friends, and we're always at races in a partnership hard to beat as I've put him out to stud, now I own the horse with two left feet! |
|
| The Bet R. "Mack" Adams AdamsRM@mmcs.army.mil |
#2 of 10 |
| 208 words | |
| We went to Las Vegas to try our luck at a casino,
But since we didn’t win we should’ve gone to Reno. We had a certain limit on how much we would spend, But every time we were almost broke, we’d barely win. It was always just enough to make us think we’d hit on a slot, And we’d keep on pulling while knowing it wasn’t very hot. So we’d say just a little bit more and we’ll master this game, But like so many around us, we never received our fame. Once again the credits would get down until a few plays left, And we knew in our hearts that the slots were just barely legal theft. We moved over to the table where we watched the roll of the dice, And then the attendant talked us into trying and even began to entice. The dice were worse than the slots because we lost much more money, So my wife looked at me and said let’s go try something else honey. The Russian roulette appealed to her since it hadn’t yet been tried, And the money disappeared so fast we knew we’d been taken for a ride. Now the money was all gone and it was time to admit defeat, Enough of gambling, let’s keep what’s left so at least we can still eat. |
|
| The Bet Ken Staley kws1949@gmail.com |
#3 of 10 Winner |
| 2135 words | |
| Jimmy Jack and Eddie Teddy Lowery – twin brothers
– chips from the same blockhead - leaned forward in the front seat of
Jimmy’s new pickup truck and waved at Sheriff Bud Packer as they cruised
Main again. Bud knew without being told that Eddie leaned forward just enough
to hide the open cans of beer. Bud knew the boys were up to no good even before
they did. Harry Turner waved a frantic hello from the box and gave Bud a
toothy, idiotic, a bit too friendly grin. On a late summer evening in a small
town with no distractions for teenaged boys, they made their own fun. It was
only natural. Bud made a mental note to seek them out several more times during
his evening rounds. A mid-week, slow tourist day allowed Bud to pay closer attention to hell-raising teenagers. The favorite haunts and games teenaged boys played hadn’t changed since he attended the same high school those years ago. Each generation thought itself the originator of a plot much older than themselves. The bet was always the same, even the place and the targets, those they brought with them and the intended. When the shadows lengthened and the group was still together, Bud Packer swung his Land Rover into the Safeway parking lot and waited for them to cruise by. He pulled onto State Route 10, just far enough behind to follow if the two in the rear, Harry and Jack, didn’t pay too much attention. For generations, freshman members of the football team took the same rite of passage – were issued the same bet. Harry and Jack showed promise as this year’s prime candidates. The late August sun hung on the tops of the trees like an over ripe peach. Football practice started in a week and Bud knew Coach Ramsey would keep these kids far too tired to make any further trouble. As they pulled off the highway and headed towards Aunt Fenny’s Glen, Bud could do little but sigh. Sometimes he wished someone with intelligence would come up with a new bet, a new challenge for them all. That truck load of boys was lucky to have a pair of grey cells between them. Unless they actually climbed the fence into her private field, there was little he could do. He knew better though. They always crossed the fence. That was the bet – cross into Aunt Fenny’s Glen and see if they were quick enough to out-smart the witch of the woods. Some were – some weren’t. He let them commit themselves before her turned up the lane after them. John Lowery owned most of surrounding land except for the 100 acres of Aunt Fenny's Glen. He needed her property before developing his his pipe dream of a condominium resort. Aunt Fenny wouldn't sell. If the boys stopped on Lowery land, there wasn't much Bud could do. His instincts played true and they drove right to her barbed wire fence. Bud killed his lights and coasted to a stop on the top of a rise and watched, waiting for them to play the bet out. If they played as normal, one of the blockheads – Jimmy Jack or Eddie Teddy – needed to demonstrate the witch of the deep woods was a legend and children’s tale; really nothing to fear. The rookies needed to prove their own bravado by racing around the glen themselves, to be rewarded with their first cold beer of their high school careers. No sooner had he killed his engine that Eddie Teddy slipped through the strands of barbed wire, wading through the knee high grass towards the center of the meadow. "Dammit, I told you boys to leave Aunt Fenny alone," Sheriff Packer gave them his sternest look as the three remaining boys slouched against Jimmy Jack’s truck. ”This is the second time this summer I've had to stop you boys," Bud stormed. "I wanna know what's got you so hard about Aunt Fenny?" The two youngest blushed deeper than the setting sun, obviously more frightened by the law than by the fairy tales of a witch. Harry Nelson found the tops of the fir trees more interesting than Bud Packer. Bob Turner watched as his left shoe did figure-eights in the dust. Jimmy Jack Lowery polished the chrome door handle of his new pick up truck. "Won't talk, huh? How'd you like me to drag your asses in and have your folks come and get ya?" That got their attention. Bud Packer snorted. He had them by the short and curlys and they knew it. "How'd your dad feel if he had to come pay the county tow for this truck, Jimmy Jack? You guys spill, or I'll haul your ashes right now." "We brung them boys to see her dance," Jimmy Jack barely whispered his reply. "She dances naked around the fire sometimes." "This is her land, she got that right, and the right to be left alone by horny high school idiots," he scolded, feeling his face flush. “She’s been in this town longer than I have. Everybody loves her. Hell, Harry, she patched up your gelding, didn't she? She charge you any money for that job? What do you suppose a vet would cost?" Harry looked at his shoes scuffing the dirt and gave a barely perceptible shrug, his face drawn in a frown of rushing thoughts. "This is her private property." The sheriff paused for a moment. Sparks rising from a small fire in the middle of the clearing reminded him of their original intent. He scanned the meadow for Eddie Teddy. “M'gosh, I forgot," The blood drained from his face as he grabbed the radio hanging on his collar. "Bobby, what day is it on my calendar?" "That you, Sheriff?" Bob Liberty asked from the office in town. "Abner Turner just called. He's plenty pissed off. Been a fight down at the Big Ridge. Tore it up some,” Bob chuckled, "again!” "Never mind him." Ab Turner owned the Big Ridge Tavern. Bud suspected that if Ab did a quick inventory, he'd find himself down some long necked beer - the two cases sitting in the back of the truck. "What day is today?" "Twenty-seventh, Sheriff. Why? What's the matter?" "Look at the bottom of the calendar and find the full moon," Sheriff Packer said. "What night is it full?" "Last night was first full, Sheriff. Looks like tonight is the last night . . . " "That you out there with those boys, Buddy Packer?" Aunt Fenny's voice cut like a sharp blade through the dust hanging in the growing gloom of the evening air. Every cricket and frog in the meadow stopped their evening chorus. Aunt Fenny's voice carried a special, irritating, gleefully sinister quality on full moon nights. Ice formed in Bud's blood. "They're just leaving, Aunt Fenny," Bud Packer felt fear squeeze his sphincter tighter. "We'll be gone before the moon rises." "You take that Jimmy Jack Lowery with you right fast," Fenny's voice felt like a fork on slate. Bud shivered in spite of the hot August night. "You heard the lady, scoot," Bud Packer reached into the back of the truck and hefted the cases of beer free. He was gratified to see only three bottles missing. "You get off Fenny Glen in five minutes, I might just forget where I found this." The boys wasted no time, but the driver’s seat remained empty and the truck didn’t move. “Well?” Bud demanded as he approached the passenger’s side to look Jimmy Jack in the eye. “Wanna call my bluff?” “She’s still got Ted,” Jimmy said, fear shaking his voice. “Shit,” Bud whispered as he stepped to the rear of the truck. He raised his hand to his mouth and called out across the darkening meadow. The day quickly faded into that not light-not dark hint of evening. Not a breath of air stirred, making what little sun left streaked in red, promising a blood read moon rise and that very soon. “You still got Eddie Teddy?” Bud called. “Guess you better turn him over to me, Auntie. I’ll take care of him.” "Come to see the old witch dance, did ya?" She cackled. "Why don't you join me, Eddie Teddy Lowery. Now!" Suddenly, millions of bugs crawled on his Eddie Lowery’s skin. Her voice made his skin crawl and when he looked down, horrible looking bugs covered his arms and legs. He began swatting them away, crying in terror. More appeared and danced over every inch of his bare skin. He wanted to run, but nearby flames petrified him so badly he no longer recognized them as her small camp fire, but saw a hallucination-driven raging forest surrounding him. For a moment, all reason left Edward Theodore Lowery and he forgot where he was - and why. All of those childhood ghost stories danced in his head; the witch of Fenny's Glen was advancing on him, full sail, cursing him by having every bug in creation to dine on his skin. A naked old woman standing with her hands on her hips, her hair flying any which direction, laughed at him. He saw sparks of anger jump from her eyes. Her empty dugs swung a bit as she waded through the grass closer to him. He screamed and tripped as he turned to run. His letterman’s jacket snagged on the barbed wire fence and tangled his coat. Intent on freeing himself, he forgot his plight momentarily. When he turned to fend her off, it was too late. Aunt Fenny raised her arms and tossed a hand full of glowing powder at him covering Eddie Teddy completely. His whole body jerked and he sneezed spastically as he saw a rainbow of pin feathers erupt from his skin. "Go over to the fire," Aunt Fenny crooned as she petted his rainbow feathered head. "I want you dancing like a duck." “You better let him go with me,” Bud said as he approached the fence. He wasn’t sure how to talk Aunt Fenny in her full moon glory. “It’ll be better if he doesn’t stay here all night.” Aunt Fenny didn’t respond for a bit. She marched Eddie around the clearing nearest to the fence. She stopped their small parade and smiled at Bud. “You know his dad well enough,” Bud said. “He won’t let this go if he finds out.” Aunt Fenny sighed deeply and marched Eddie Teddy to the fence. With a quick nod, the pin feathers disappeared and the boy stood at the fence, shaking uncontrollably, and wet his pants. “You make sure the other boys see this,” Aunt Fenny warned Bud. “What about the rest?” Buddy pointed to the bright gold feathers that danced on the crown of Eddie’s head. “Is he stuck with those?” She smiled as she helped the shaking boy through the fence. “They’ll fall off when they drive across the city limits line, just like they done for his dad a few years back,” she winked. “I just hope it’ll be enough so there won’t be another bet for a few more years.” “Jimmy, you better drive,” Bud said as he led the dazed Eddie Teddy to the passenger’s side and opened the door, making sure he was in and his seat belt fastened. Fear and awe filled the faces who stared at the duck feathers dripping from Eddie “Take it slow and easy, Jimmy Jack. You make sure these other boys get home in one piece.” Sheriff Bud Packer knew Aunt Fenny as one of the best herbalists in his part of the state. People came from miles around to learn herb lore from her and to be treated by her. He’d never seen this part of her and wondered how deeply involved she was – was there a limit to her power. Still, as outrageous as this story sounded, and will sound when repeated over and over, Bud knew he wouldn’t have to worry about kids crossing the fence for a few years. So, this was the reason John Lowery had such poison in his veins for Aunt Fenny. Bud smiled to himself as she drove away, wondering of John kept any of the colorful pin feathers she’d cursed him with. |
|
| The Bet Gabriel Liberty gabe.liberty@gmail.com |
#4 of 10 |
| 435 words | |
| I had only been waiting for fifteen minuets when he
walked in the door, bringing with him that familiar odor of perfume that I
recognized from yards away where I was seated. “Hey kid” he said,
without breaking stride, “I got an hour, lets eat.” He had passed me
by before I could even respond. Standing up quickly I followed him, much like a
puppy to O’Mally’s bar. We were seated immediately upon stools, my
feet still a ways away from reaching the floor. “Gimme a beer. So kid, you
old enough to drink yet?” He knew the answer to that question of course; I
was only thirteen, these impersonal jokes were his way of bonding, much like
the time he asked me if I had “Fucked anyone yet.”At least he was
ambiguous enough to use “Anyone” instead of pressuring me into
heterosexuality. Two beers later we were ready to order, “Lemme get a
burger doll, make it medium” My father said with a boyish smile. The
waitress didn’t seem amused by his humor. “God damn Asians” he
said, “No sense of humor; son, Iv learned a lot in my life, but one thing
Il never forget is those Asians don’t like jokes. No freedom over there,
in Asia.” I smiled, pretending to understand what he was talking about.
Ten silent minuets later my father’s burger arrived, “You sure you
don’t want anything kid?” I nodded. “ You call this goddamn
burger medium?” My fathers neck veins were swelling, his face raged bright
red. He got a hold of himself, turning to me, “ You know, all those
goddamn Mexicans take our jobs, and you know, they can’t even fucking
cook, they cant cook! I tell ya kid, I they’re good for nothing, good for
nothing!” I nodded again, not really sure what the Mexicans had done to me. Cheeks bulging with dead, pasteurized cow he glanced at his watch, forehead veins shooting angrily up his skull. “Shit kid, time flies when your having….I gotta run.” He slammed a twenty down on the table and stood up. “I gotta make a train, carry your pops bag for him, whatddya you say?” As I running behind him, weighed down by my “pops” bags, he turned back to me and half yelled. “You have a good time today boy?!” I wanted to stop, to break down, to say “No I didn’t damn it, you took me to a train station bar!” before I could conjure even a grunt, he turned back once again, still in full stride. “ I bet ya did kid, now keep up!” |
|
| The Bet glenlee10@sky.com |
#5 of 10 |
| 2448 words | |
| Kate, the bride-to-be was Emma’s oldest friend.
“Please, Emma. Pretty please,” she’d begged and Emma had no
choice but to agree, despite her misgivings. “To have a week in the sun with all my girlfriends would be the best send off into married life that a girl could have,” was how Kate had put it. “A fiver says you’ll love it.” The hardest thing for Emma to do would be to try and look as though she was enjoying a hen-week, with Kate and four dippy females from the office where they all worked. The last thing she wanted was the gossiping and giggling, the falling out and the pouting, the make-up and the making up. It was not her idea of a good time but it was what Kate wanted. It was 4am when the girls arrived at the airport. Emma checked the departures’ board for the number of their check-in desk and the other five straggled and cackled after her to find their queue, which snaked halfway round the concourse, circled a luggage-trolley bay and coiled back on itself. Soon, the girls were busy sending, “Gonna miss yah,” texts to their boyfriends. They’d agreed to dress alike for the journey. “It’s a traditional thing for hen-groups to do,” Kate insisted. The outfits were awful. Emma had managed to veto the fluorescent bobby socks and the fluffy, white, bunny tails but was still stuck with having to wear a glittery tiara attached to a red, Alice band; plastic, pink-dangly earrings; a mithering, red bandana round her neck; a black leotard, which did her no favours, with a pink tutu made of starched net; black, mid-calf leggings and black pumps. Everyone in the airport was looking at them. The others seemed to be enjoying the attention, especially Kate, whose tutu was white, to show that she was the bride. Emma just felt stupid. She stood on the edge of the group, her mind freewheeling on a cushion of echoing noise. Then a suitcase thumped into her ankles. “Come on, dozy. We’re moving.” It was an impatient Suzanne. She was having to take a week’s unpaid leave from her reception desk for this jaunt and was determined not to miss a second of the experience. Her tiara was askew where she’d caught it getting out the taxi. “Hasta la vista, Baby,” she grinned, looking like a mischievous and rakish imp. “Si,” Emma managed a small smile in response and moved her case to close the gap in the queue. A hundred people behind them shuffled to catch up. She found herself jammed too close to the man in front and the scent of after-shower, after-shave preparations tickled her nose. It was so strong, she could even taste it on her lips. She sneezed. The girls in her group were too busy with their mobile phones and no one thought to say, “Bless you.” The plane was scheduled to take off at 6 am, landing at Alicante at 10 am, local time. If everything went to plan, they should arrive at their hotel by midday. The excited group of girls, with Emma in tow like a gloomy rain cloud, finally reached the head of the queue. The young man behind the desk managed to sort the six of them out efficiently, their suitcases disappeared from sight on the conveyor belt and they were on their way. Emma had a window seat on the plane, so took little part in the other girls’ jostling and chattering during the first part of the journey. When they fell asleep after breakfast, one by one, Emma was able to relax. She took off her Alice band, scratched her sweaty scalp and followed their example. Their nap was brief though as it was soon time for the sales’ trolley to be clattered down the aisle. As planned, the girls were delivered by coach to the hotel within two hours of landing. It was only a cheap hotel but the amount of marble in the foyer took their breath away. “Posh”, Ranjina said. “Look at the fountain.” She wiped a trickle of sweat from her cheek. The fountain stood in the middle of Reception, its water tinkling into a blue pool. Blinds covered the windows to keep out the strong sunlight and the water was helping to cool the air. On the walls, coloured tiles, showing scenes of Spanish life, seemed to glow, despite the subdued lighting “Can I help you?” Six girls with limp tutus turned to the receptionist whose shining, black hair was tied back in an efficient ponytail. Her smile was welcoming. “Yes please,” Kate answered. “We’d like to book in. Kate Wensley and party.” They handed their passports over and the girls were given keys to two family rooms. The porter took their cases up in the lift while the girls struggled tiredly upstairs to the first floor. “Do we have to give the man a tip for bringing the cases up?” Heather whispered. Emma shrugged. “I suppose so.” “Don’t you know?" Emma’s head was spinning with fatigue, her eyes were gritty and she wanted her bed. She was tired of being the responsible one in the group and she felt like telling Heather to do some thinking for herself. “I’ve never been to Spain before. I’ll give him a tip. What you do is up to you.” “There’s no need to be mardy about it,” Heather muttered. She grabbed Ranjina’s arm. “Come on. Let’s find our room. I’m glad I’m not sharing with her!” Ranjina looked startled but allowed herself to be dragged away down the corridor. All spats were forgotten by the time the girls had caught up on their sleep had a meal and decided where to start looking for Benidorm’s nightlife. When they clattered back to their hotel at 3am, the town was still buzzing. It didn’t seem to matter that they were making a great deal of noise; no one seemed to be sleeping, they were all out on the streets. The hen party slept in almost to midday and then had a snack and sunbathed by the pool the rest of the day. “Got to have a good tan to go with my wedding dress,” Kate said, smoothing factor 5 on her thighs. The partying and snoozing by the pool quickly became the pattern of their days and nights but Emma, fidgety after several days of doing nothing, pulled a stack of leaflets from her bag one night at dinner. “It’s our last full day tomorrow,” she said. “Instead of just sitting by the pool, how about we go and have a look at Mundomar Park. There’s dolphins, seals, birds and an aquarium.” She read from a leaflet. “Apparently, the dolphin show is, ‘the highlight of the day and you can watch it from one of the underwater viewing points to get a unique view of these loveable creatures in action’.” Becky, the youngest of the group, picked up one of the leaflets. “How about the Aqualandia Water Park? We could spend the day there tomorrow. Look, there’s loads of water slides, including black holes and one called the Kamikaze.” “What’s it cost?” Heather demanded. “Look, it’s not far. I fancy trying the Kamikaze.” “But what about the dolphins?” Emma asked. “I don’t really want to go on my own. It wouldn’t be much fun.” Emma was outvoted. I’m like a leaping dolphin, she thought. Just another fish out of water. The following day they caught a bus to Aqualandia and after an exhausting few hours, the girls agreed that the Water Park was amazing. Even Emma admitted it was OK. Later, drying off, stretched out on their towels in the shade, Kate turned to Emma. She’d been aware that her friend hadn’t really wanted to come and had been quiet all day. Emma’s eyes were screwed tight shut against the strong light. “I’m sorry about the dolphins, Em.” “S’all right, Kate. Not your fault.” “Good.” She slapped Emma’s thigh. “C’mon. It’s time to go. I’m hungry. Help me round up this lot.” That evening, Emma, as usual hovered on the edge of the group; not really a part of it but trying hard not to be a wet blanket. The nightclub they tried wasn’t as good as some had been and the girls compensated by having a little more to drink. They sauntered along the promenade by the sea’s edge. Sometimes their walk was two steps forward and one step back but they made giggling progress towards their hotel. Emma was some yards in front of the group, watching the waves curling onto the beach. Suddenly she stopped and stared hard into the dim greyness, almost beyond the reach of the town’s lights. There was something in the water, she was sure, something alive and in trouble. She heard a mewling sound. She saw splashing. Without thinking, she leapt down onto the beach. The other girls heard a cry of pain. “Emma,” Heather screamed and led the charge to where she had disappeared. Five pairs of eyes peered down into the wall’s shadow. “It’s a long way down,” Ranjina observed. “Are you there, Emma?” The girls took off their slinky sandals and climbed down onto the beach. “What happened?” Kate crouched down beside Emma who was holding her ankle with one hand and rubbing her face with the other. “I saw something in the water. I think it’s a kitten and it’s drowning.” Emma sobbed and tried to get up. Kate pushed her down. “You stay where you are while we find out what damage you’ve done to yourself.” Her friends surrounded her. No one was giggling now. “Come on, Ranjina,” Becky tugged her arm. “We’ll go and have a look in the sea. Don’t worry, Emma. If there’s a kitten there, we’ll rescue it.” They dashed off down the beach, sand flying from their bare feet. “Let’s see what you’ve done to your face,” Kate said. With Heather’s help, she managed to shuffle Emma to a small pool of light. Emma lowered her hand. Her face had been bruised and grazed in her tumble. “Oh, you’ll have a bit of a shiner tomorrow, I think,” Kate said, “but the grazes don’t seem very deep. Now, let’s have a look at your ankle.” Gently, she removed Emma’s sandal. “I don’t think anything’s broken but we’d better get you back to the hotel and get it looked at.” Kate and Heather helped Emma to her feet. Becky and Ranjina came back. “Here’s your kitten, Emma,” Becky laughed, holding up a child’s very soggy toy cat. “Look it’s waving at you.” She whirled it round in the air. “Pack that in,” Heather shrieked. “I’m getting soaked. Now they’d seen that Emma wasn’t too badly hurt, the girls’ spirits rose again and they argued about the best way to get her back to the hotel. After struggling up the steps from the beach, Emma turned down the offer of a fireman’s lift from the burly Heather but with her arms round the shoulders of Kate and Suzanne, who were about her height, she was able to hop home. Back at the hotel, the Duty First-aider was able to reassure Emma that she’d sprained her ankle, nothing more. “But your eye, she will be very black tomorrow,” he’d added sympathetically as he bathed her face with a soothing, antiseptic lotion. The girls went to bed. The last thing Emma heard was Kate and Suzanne whispering but even though she ached all over, she was too worn out to be bothered asking them what they were talking about and fell asleep. She’d no sooner thought to tell them to, “shut up”, when she woke to sunlight streaming onto her face. She was alone in the room. Emma sat up in bed. Her ankle hurt and her face was sore. She felt sorry for herself but at least they were going home today. She sat on the edge of the bed and tried to stand. Surprisingly, her ankle was not as painful as she’d thought it would be and she was able to hobble to the mirror. The right side of her face was a mottled mess. Her cheek looked as though someone had scratched it with sharp fingernails. Her eye was puffy and half-closed and her skin was deep red and purple. “I look like a freak,” she groaned. What was worse, she thought, scowling at the outfit that hung on the wardrobe door, I’ll look like Frankenstein’s monster in that! She considered abandoning her promise to wear the ‘outfit’ for the journey home. The others would surely understand. She was just about to start unpacking her suitcase to find something more comfortable when the door burst open and five girls rushed in. Emma blinked and sat down on the bed. She couldn’t believe her eyes. They were dressed alike in black leotards with pink tutus; black, mid-calf leggings and black pumps. Red bandanas were tied jauntily round their necks; pink, plastic earrings dangled and the ensembles were topped with red Alice bands that had glittery tiaras attached. “You’re not all going home looking like that, are you? Emma gasped. “Of course, we are,” they shouted. Kate smoothed the folds of her limp, white tutu and looked into the mirror. “Actually,” she said, “I think I’ve got too much purple on my cheek. Yours looks much more natural than mine, Emma. I knew my eye-shadow was too dark.” Emma began to laugh. “Stop it, Emma,” Heather chuckled. “My bruise will run if you make me laugh.” But there was no stopping her. “What?” Ranjina demanded to know as Becky took a lipstick from her bag and drew some lines on Ranjina’s cheek. “That’s better,” Becky said. “Your scratches weren’t as red as Emma’s.” Emma, who’d almost managed to control herself, collapsed into another fit of giggles. The telephone rang. It was the receptionist. Their taxi had arrived. “9 o’clock!” Emma gasped. “It can’t be that time already?” The girls rushed around collecting their bags and other bits and pieces giving Emma a few minutes to dress and hobble downstairs. Soon they were on their way to the airport. Becky thrust a damp and sticky toy cat into Emma’s hands. “Souvenir of Benidorm,” she laughed as the taxi darted into a fast stream of traffic. “Well, I don’t know about you lot,” Kate sighed, “but I’ve had a wonderful time. Thank you so much for sharing my last days of freedom with me.” “Apart from my sunburned shoulders,” Suzanne pretended to grumble, “I’ve had a brilliant time.” Emma opened her purse and took out a five pound note. “Me too,” she smiled and handed it to Kate. “Me too.” |
|
| The Bet Nancy J Schneider njswritingnook@yahoo.com |
#6 of 10 Runner-up |
| 1206 words | |
| “You don’t have the guts ta take it. I bet
yer ma wouldn’t let you keep it anyways,” Jerry said. “Yes she will,” Nancy said stamping her foot. “In fact I’m so sure I’ll - I’ll take him now.” She crossed her skinny arms over her flat chest in a defiant way. “It’s a she, stupid, not a him. Here take it - but this is one bet yer gonna lose,” he said shoving the thing into her arms. She took a deep breath, grabbed it, stuck out her tongue and turned to stomp home. Jerry watched her pigtails swing around then the back of her striped t-shirt as she disappeared down the street. As soon as she was gone he said to Jim, “She’ll try but this time she won’t win. She’s good at conning her ma, but not that good. I know cause I tried real hard and I didn’t get very far. My ma said I had to get rid of it ‘or else.’ I figured Nancy would take it. I know she won’t be able to keep it, but at least I got rid of it. She ain‘t scared of it and I sorta wish she could have it.” “Yea, but I wish we could watch the show. Her ma‘s gonna freak,” Jim said. Jerry grinned. “Her ma will talk to my ma and then I’ll hear the whole thing when she tells my dad.” “Ya think she’ll tell where she got it?” “Pro’bly.” “Think you’ll get in trouble?” “Nah, as long as I got rid of it my ma won’t care who I gave it to. She might even think it’s funny now that it‘s someone else‘s problem.” Meanwhile Nancy was trudging home with some second thoughts. She was pretty sure she could convince her mom eventually, but she would need time. If only she didn’t have to go to school tomorrow. That might complicate things a bit. She had to have a plan. Plus she wanted to win the bet. Otherwise Jerry would laugh and call her a sissy girl. One thing she wasn’t was a sissy. Besides, she really did want it. She had to get her mom to agree somehow. It wasn’t hard to sneak it into the house because her mom was gone. Niki, her dog, was glad she was home and immediately wanted to see what was wrapped in the blanket. Nancy spoke firmly to him and said he had to be gentle. His ears perked up and his nose went wild but he sat obediently waiting. He loved surprises and this was certainly a surprise, even for a dog. “You gotta help me figure this out Niki, cause I really, really want this to work. Think about it. I’ll be the only one on the block, maybe the only one in the whole city who has one. We gotta keep it a secret until I can figure out how to tell mom though.” Niki’s eyes were studying it, but he didn’t touch it. He wasn’t so sure this was a good idea, but he was a good dog, so simply sat down. The next day when Nancy got home from school her mom was waiting. She didn’t look any too happy either. It was the way her hands were gripping the towel and her foot was taping the floor. Nope, not a good sign at all. “I would like a word with you young lady, as soon as you put your school things away.” Uh-oh, when her mom called her ‘young lady’ she knew she was in big trouble. What she worried about all day must have happened. Her mom found the skunk. Never ever hide a skunk in your closet. She just figured it wouldn’t whine or get into anything and that would give her precious time. She fixed a cuddly cardboard box, set out a dish of water and thought no one would be the wiser. Mind you, her mom was not an animal lover, but she did sometimes give in because Nancy loved ‘em all. Big or small, wild or tame, even creepy crawly, she was constantly dragging something home. Her mom relented on a lot of the critters, like the chameleon, white mice, hamster, turtle, goldfish, a pregnant cat and a dog, but a skunk might be too much. She went to her room to put away her books - and stall. Niki bounced over to the closet and, tail wagging, sniffed under it. She opened the closet door to make sure Flower was ok. She hunkered down and the skunk scrambled into her arms and hid its face. She sat petting it trying to think. It was too soon; she didn’t have a chance to put her plan into action. Things weren’t working out the way she hoped. “I’ll bet you gave it away,” she said to the dog. “Mom must have wondered what you were doing sitting there sniffing under the closet door. Then she must have opened it to look and --- Oh well, I can’t blame you. You knew Flower was in the closet. Did you think she was lonesome? I bet you just wanted to keep her company,” she said ruffling his hair. She really was going to tell her mom, but the perfect time never came up. You gotta have the right mood to spring something like a skunk on your mom. She worked all day on the reasons for keeping it and just about had it figured out. First of all, it was descented. Second it was free, it didn’t cost her a penny. And she could even make money with Flower. You know, charge the kids a nickel to pet it. Seemed like a good business venture, and dad was always talking about good investments. That was the approach she planned to use when the time was right. But she had a sneaking suspicion the right time ran out and the answer was going to be a definite no, with no discussion. Flower was as good as gone … unless … She put the skunk back in the closet cause she was pretty sure her mom wasn’t up to seeing it just yet. Then went to the kitchen. She cleared her throat and cheerfully said, “You wanted to see me?” There was a slight chance it wasn’t about the skunk after all. “The skunk has to go. Today. No ifs, ands or buts about it. I don‘t care who you give it to, but get it out of my house.” “I was gonna tell you, honest I was - but I didn’t have time this morning. Let me explain … I even figured out how it can help me earn some money, if you just let me keep … “ “No! It goes. Today. Is that understood?“ “Yes ma.” Rats! She just lost the bet and her chance at being the only kid in Milwaukee who had a skunk. Actually her mom wasn’t a mean person. After all, she did let her keep Niki and even kind of liked him now. That’s surprising, considering he ate her angel food cake right off the table. But that’s another story for another time. |
|
| The Bet Joan Haara jhaara@sbcglobal.net http://www.myretirementchronicles.blogspot.com |
#7 of 10 |
| 700 words | |
| I don't know if you experience the
Oh-My-God-He-Bought-Me-Lingerie-Again syndrome every Christmas, but it hits
this house about every second or third year. I bet you he does it again this
year. Don't get me wrong. The sentiment is wonderful. (Not to mention that I am sure in giving you the expensive lingerie, most husbands think they might get a little sumpin‘-sumpin‘). And, it isn't the giving of the lingerie that is the part that gets to me. It is the fact that most husbands love the sluttish, uncomfortable kind. (That would make even hooker's blush). You know: the cut-off-your-circulation thongs, the bras with the cut-outs in the worst places, and the garter belt dealies. (What IS IT about men and garter belts?) (It is my theory that they all must only have been able to afford the old porn films when they were adolescents...you know...the Mrs. Robinson kind, where ladies wore garters and nylons and slowly, seductively rolled them down, one-at-a-time.....whilst the young, pimply boys drooled while they watched). But the real kicker is that when you unwrap this lingerie (that they have lovingly picked out for you)....you realize (in horror) that they have bought you (every single time): Size 2's. Bless their heart that they think you would EVER fit into that size.( I may have.......back when I was in first grade.) But, more than likely, husbands don't even look at the size. Once they see the lingerie on the rack, they probably glaze over and grab it and buy it, with visions of Sugar Plums in their heads. So, there you are...Christmas Eve....the only lights on are the Christmas tree lights and the fireplace’s glow....and he pulls out your gift, grinning that Cheshire cat grin you know so well. You immediately recognize "the look" and you immediately know what is in that he-no-way-in-Hell-wrapped-this-himself poofy package. And, of course.....as you spot the Size 2 label...here...... it........ comes............................ ....he says: "Honey, why don't you try it on to see how you like it? (Translation: "Why don't you try it on, because I KNOW I'M going to like it". So, first...you don on the encased-in-steel under-wire push-up bra with the indecent cut outs. You pray to God for a miracle that the sliver-thin back hooks have the holding-power of those info-mercial wall hooks that hold up a cement block and 40-wheelers. You tuck in your arms to your side so the under-arm fat doesn't hang over like large saddle bags. Then you strap on the garter belt (which means sucking in your breath as much as possible and tucking in flesh like putting bread dough into a sausage-casing). Never mind that you can't breathe (and that your intestines are squished so tight that there will be absolutely no digestion going on for the next two weeks and that as soon as you do this, it backed up and caused a little unpleasant taste in the back of your throat). Next, you roll excruciatingly-painful nylons up your thunder thighs and try to walk cute (but careful, so they don't roll down into tootsie-rolls as you do this). Actually, it is quite a talent to be able to do this, so give yourself a high-five for being able to do this feat. (Silly me. What was I thinking?. You CAN'T do a high-five due to the bra that you have on!) Besides, it is quite amazing that you could even bend over to put on these nylons with the grip-of-death garter belt you have on. Fashion hint: lay on the bed (like when you were a teenager trying to zip-up those too-tight blue jeans) and lift one leg in the air at a time (throwing each nylon in the air like a butterfly net catching a Monarch).After a few tries you will lasso that baby in a nylon stocking and be able to slip it down the air-hung leg. But be careful of the second health risk: attaching the garter belt nylon straps onto each nylon. I have been known to put a few eyes out with that little gymnastic act...and the circus has no contortionists better than what I have endured to attach the back garters. (I have the permanent leg welts to prove it). But..........you do it for him. Because, in the end.....I bet you that this is going to be HIS best Christmas present. EVER. |
|
| The Bet Rex@kansaswind.com |
#8 of 10 |
| 1835 words | |
| I wasn’t quite brave enough to join the
conversation and settled for witnessing it from the vegetable aisle. “Barbara, I can’t believe your husband let Buzz put that stove in your house after they tried to burn the shop down with it,” Gloria said. Well, I guess it might be interesting to hear her side of her little panic attack, I thought. “Last fall the dog started whining, and I saw this orange glow outside. I went out on the porch and saw a geyser of fire and sparks shooting out of the shop roof. I ran to the shop and that stove was like an orange beacon lighting up the room!” She flapped her arms and spun around, wide-eyed with the drama, pretty much like she’d looked the night it happened. Barbara, my wife, looked ready to run from the crazy lady, yet fascinated by the story and how it might impact her. “The guys were in the other room when I yelled ‘FIRE,’ and then they came back in and stood there gawking. The chimney thing was orange from the roof down to the stove, where it was getting white. The whole stove was so hot nothing could get near it. They looked at it and said ‘Looks like the lid is letting in too much air’ like it was just an interesting experiment.” She held up the economy-sized bundle of toilet paper like a shield, and came very close to dumping her liquid laundry detergent on the re-imagined fire. “Silver bullet be damned, I call that thing the orange bomb!” Dang, we should have made a movie! That night was a whole lot more exciting than I remembered it. “Rusty put some bricks on top of it to hold the lid down, and Buzz was squirting water in the air pipe. I kept pouring pitchers of water over the stove, but they just boiled off. It took hours to get it under control, and even though I poured all that water on it, the ground around the stove was dry. It was so hot all the water just boiled away.” Gloria’s histrionic capabilities were still in full play as she re-enacted the night of the big fire. Is Barbara still enthusiastic about the wood stove? I wondered. Discretion being the better part of valor, I lost interest in the conversation and faded away into the hardware section, where Barbara found me looking at fire extinguishers. She didn’t mention the conversation until later. **** The whole thing started around the end of February. “Rusty, it’s about time you took a look at the furnace,” Barb said. “We’ve got cold weather coming again next week. So far the house has stayed livable, but we’ll be having kids over, and I don’t want them getting sick.” “I was a little chilly watching the movie last night,” I said. “Any idea how long it’s been having problems?” Because I like lower temperatures than Barbara and the house held its heat very well, I had not noticed the gradual decline. “It’s been off for a few weeks,” she said, “but the house has not been too cold.” “If it’s just the thermostat I may be able to take care of it, but the furnace is a high-efficiency type. I may have to see if Buzz can look at it.” After a couple of dead end troubleshooting forays, we stopped in to see my inventor friend, Buzz. “I’m sure we can figure it out and fix it,” he said, “but I don’t have a lot of time for the next few weeks. We’ll need to find something to keep you going ‘til then.” “It’s not a big deal,” I assured him. “We’re pretty sure it’s been limping or dead for a few weeks, and it didn’t get too cold even though we had those ten and twelve degree nights. That’s the advantage of living in an underground house with all that mass.” “I think you had ought to try my wood stove,” Buzz said. “I’ll bet burning two loads of wood will have your house up to eighty degrees.” “I should take your bet just to teach you not to gamble,” I replied. “There’s more than a hundred tons of concrete in that house. That’s why we’ve been able to go so long with no heat. We’re only down five degrees from comfortable.” Buzz showed Barb the stove, which had some resemblance to the R2 units from Star Wars. A small barrel nested in the top of a larger one, which had a door near the bottom. The exhaust stack came out the back near the top of the larger barrel. A slightly domed lid covered the top of the inner barrel. The unit was silver for the most part, but he had dressed it up with some black trim. I didn’t join in, having had some previous experience with running the stove. “I call it the Silver Bullet,” Buzz said. “The inside barrel is where you put the wood. It burns at the bottom, and the exhaust comes up between the barrels. It heats your house and also charcoals the wood in the magazine. That generates gases which come to the bottom and burn.” “So it’s like your truck, and burns wood pellets?” Barbara asked. “It uses some of the same principles, but not exactly. You’ll burn wood; in logs, sticks, or blocks. Where Darrell works they have a lot of wood scraps, so have him bring you a load of small blocks. That’s what burns best in the bullet.” I spent the next day putting down a layer of bricks in the front room and finding an adapter to hook Buzz’s 6-inch stovepipe to the 8-inch chimney with a couple of elbows. A metal reflector went on the wall behind the stove location. Barbara had her doubts, but I reassured her. “Buzz says it is very efficient and can burn more than ten hours with one batch of wood. You can control the air supply to limit the heat, but we’ll want to burn it fairly hot anyway. He bet me twenty five dollars it would get up to eighty degrees in here, but he’s wrong about that. Darrel is bringing wood this evening. It’s lumberyard scrap, no bark or mess.” Buzz brought the stove over in his pickup, which had been converted to run on wood chips or pellets. The woodgas generator was a plumber’s nightmare and took up about half of the bed, but there was plenty of room for the silver bullet stove. Although bulky, the stove weighed less than a hundred pounds. Buzz and I lifted it out of the truck and moved it to its new pad in fairly short order. Hooking it to my stovepipe did not take much longer, and we were ready to load the stove for my first burn. “We’ll use propane to start it,” Buzz said, “but use some smaller tinder on the bottom grate anyway. It’ll help the wood get going sooner. Turn on this valve and hit this igniter button a few times. If you don’t hear it catch, Turn the valve off and wait a few minutes before trying again. When it does light, let it burn about 5 minutes and then turn it off.” The stove started nicely, and after about ten minutes we decided a fan would help distribute the heat better. “Good enough,” said Buzz. “Remember, this is a batch process. Don’t try to put new wood in until the fire is completely out.” “I think we’ll like it just fine, Buzz. Thanks for helping us with this,” said Barbara. Even the Wumpus, my Vizla hound, seemed satisfied with the stove after the initial sharp clicking of the igniter went away. He curled up on the carpet right next to the brick stove base and went to sleep. Because we had loaded the stove with only a third of the wood it could hold, it burned out and cooled off in time that we could load it again before going to bed. Again the fire started uneventfully, and the next morning the stove was still quite warm. Since the south-facing windows in the front room bring in sunlight all day long in the winter, we did not plan to burn the stove during the daytime. As I had predicted, the house temperature did not come anywhere near eighty degrees. It would warm up to about sixty five degrees fairly quickly, and occasionally get to seventy, but above that the concrete walls, floor, and ceiling absorbed the heat as fast as the stove could produce it. Because sixty five degrees was our idea of comfort, this worked out very well for us. Barb appreciated the extra heat, and bought a cute little heat-powered fan for the stove to help distribute the warm air. She even mentioned leaving the furnace set on sixty when it was working, and using the wood stove to make up the difference. It looked like more than one of my bets might pay off. One of our big questions was answered after we had burned four or five loads of wood. I emptied the stove and only had to remove a half bucket of ashes. That’s a pretty big improvement over my previous experiences with the beasts. Over the next few weeks Barbara came to appreciate the stove enough that she told her friends about it. Things were looking pretty good until I saw her with Gloria, Buzz’s wife, in the supermarket. “Gloria tells me that you and Buzz had some problems with the stove in his shop.” Having put some careful thought into it already, I said, “Yeah, it got pretty hot one time when we were testing it. The flat lid warped and let in too much air. That’s why Buzz added the domed lid and put the seal around it. Gloria got pretty upset. You should have seen her running back and forth with that little tiny water pitcher, trying to put the fire out. She wouldn’t even let him test the stove in the house after that.” I didn’t tell her that the Wumpus had been pretty worried, too. That same night I had let the starter propane run too long before pushing the igniter. The resulting ‘WHUMP’ blew the ash door open and lifted the lid a bit before settling down to an even burn. My dog wouldn’t even consider sitting by the stove the next several visits. Eventually he came around when the evenings got a little colder. We’d been burning the stove for about a month when we met Buzz and Gloria for dinner. Barbara said “The house has never gotten close to eighty degrees. Did you boys ever settle your bet?” Buzz gave me several bills and told Barbara “That was the small bet. The big question was whether we could test the woodstove in the house. I think Gloria almost messed that one up for us.” |
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| The Bet magecon@gmail.com |
#9 of 10 |
| 924 words | |
| She was beautiful. I used to watch her all day, you
see, she had three favourite destinations, the school, the library, and a candy
store. Simply, to interpret them all as best I could, I had to see all…
all of her doings. I just finished looking over my journals, and much has become apparent to me. I had just begun a new career. It’ll be useless to give context as all can be fathomed… through a simple principle. The girl, she was walking out of the corner store, cheerfully striding. Now, now, I must admit, I was bad, very bad, but not entirely so… or at least you should not think. We are all guilty of this crime, although there are different apparatuses to measure by, and different regulations, depicting the improbability of one’s occasioned mistake, if you describe it as such… I was and am a loner. And as all lyrical, misshapen begots must do: they stand tall upon a building where all could see but may not. The same was true with this… little child, oh so very cute. I walked inside and climbed down the stairs. When I finally got to work, there was one vital aspect that I had intended to fulfill that I did not. I was spiteful, a shallow wickedness that I regret. I was as Thor was to his women… with a larger hammer. It was all… all because I was late on my first day. I was immediately summoned by my employer to his office upon arrival at the gates. He told me that I should give him an excuse as I would to a teacher several times greater than I was. I didn’t really have choice. But all that, it’s unimportant. A frightened fear enlists to a frozen day, where everything becomes possible. He gave me advice: Socialize more. Sure enough I lacked bold, but brazen manner. I’ve always detested such traits in others. Again… I didn’t have much choice. I did as he suggested. There were three people, though only the last is important, even his name I’d prefer not to remember. We made a bet. But, before this, I must redirect this conversation. At the beginning of lunch, so desperate for a happy moment, I walked towards the tiptop building with binoculars in my pocket. It was a large pocket and a small pair of binoculars. In the second previous to my light observation, I imagined her dancing around, twirling a miniskirt higher, and higher. The sorrow, the grief, the pain, the ecstasy of love. Oh yes, I felt a love more fearsome than yours can ever retain. We all don’t want to die, I just want to live more than others… and if it’s in her arms, those small, fragile hands, I’d be okay. I feel your pain. No more, no more, a freak, a freak… but this, this is not so for who are you, you who will say anything on the verge of being devious to spite me? She was late for her first class and was upon arrival guided to her teacher. I couldn’t here the conversation, but it indicated a fear in her breath. Her trial was followed by a break, in which she talked to her friends. I felt so touched by her presence in my disdainful life that I insisted on a bet with that fellow, if she would, after work, go to a library. I doubt he was feeling sorry for me… no, probably curious. I told him very little, you see, and so the chances of agreement were slim. They were likely corrupted by my lack of money, in which one would require to arrange an official…. honourable deal! Actually, to your surprise… and mine he was quite delighted to have the opportunity to see my love of all loves. He walked with me, with large binoculars in a small pocket. We, at last arrived at the sweet deck, where one day we would get married. She was, as I had guessed walking towards the library, on a bet of her own: to find a book, though that I of course only found out afterwards. I pointed to her, and she, with her skimpy legs disappeared from my fellow’s view. He didn’t quite understand. “You mean her?” “No, no, no. The one with the miniskirt, short legs, and long hair.” “These days… there are a lot of women like that” “No one that I can see” “You must be delusional” “Most certainly am not. I know for a fact, that right before these twin eyes, I see, hear, feel, and to an extent taste a girl walking towards that library.” He backed up and slowly came a full circle. I was stunned, I must’ve won! From the far off distance: “I hope you realize that… there is no girl.” I wouldn’t understand till’ later. I stayed there a while before she came out. She had won the bet for she was happy, but when she arrived at school… everyone had abandoned her. The next day two things happened: one, I was fired, and second, the girl came out of the candy store with a book. And now… my one and only friend, we are here. As I’ll bring up my right hand, you’ll bring up your left. |
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| The Bet Tom Campbell thomassbcampbelll@hotmail.com |
#10 of 10 |
| 1020 words | |
| A sharp winter sun, glaring more light than heat, spun
over the limitless fresh snow until it bounced into the old Nordic town of
Haugenstalh. The largest building, the old palace, welcomed the brightness and
scant warmth buoying the crackling pines logs in eight foot hearths at each end
of the ornate room. Amid the tables of hearty food and strong drink flitted
white coated waiters like albino butterflies among a crowd that contained the
usual skiers, tourists, townspeople, a few scientists, medallioned luminaries
celebrating some sort of holiday. Two men halfway across the room from each
other would soon meet. They were well dressed and well versed though ignorant
of the life and death struggle between them soon to come. A matron in a deluge of periwinkle silk and lace was giggling at her charming dance partner, His impeccable dress, charm, and feats on the ski slopes made a household word of Helmut Muecke. A younger man more casually attired in slacks and a jacket, scanned the room, his eyes coming back to a gorgeous woman by the buffet chatting with some society type. He moved in with the confidence that had always been Sven Amaanson.Some lively chat ensued as the other woman floated away, mumbling apologies, and Sven had time to turn on his boyish charm. The girl was vivacious, two champaign cocktails seemed to do her just right, and a researcher for the government. Sven was angling toward a dinner invitation and about to get a 'Sorry' in return when Helmut Muecke appeared. "I see you've met Miss Janssen and pleased to make your acquaintance. Mr Amaanson. My name is Helmut." "Sven, but you have me at a disadvantage, sir." "I saw you win the downhill at Gstaad and read of other triumphs." "I'm flattered." "If you could step aside with me for a moment." Anna Janssen favored them with a wave and smile, the larger one for Sven as the men went to a quiet corner of the room. "Anna is my girl and you might do better to choose someone else." "I don't see any engagement ring." "We have an understanding." "The only thing I understand is that she's free to choose." Helmut sighed. "You're new here so I'll give you a chance, a game of chance. Day after tomorrow, we'll ski from Mt. Baumgarten back to here." "That'l take two days!" "Speed, craftiness and endurance. We may even take separate routes." "You're on old man. For the girl?" "Not precisely but the loser will end all attentions. And she should never know". The next day, to the keen onlooker, was deliciously filled with intrigue, encounters,flirtations, and grim preparation. The following day found the two men halfway up the mountain. Helmut explained that the south routes was easiest but longest. The north route was hilly but had lots of long downhills. The middle route had smaller hills but lots of straightways hard to build up speed on. They shook hands on the wager, said may the best man win, and jumped off down the slope. The wind was whirling up puffs of snow, countered by cascades from their skis as both men raced down the mountain in the crisp air. After less than a mile, Helmut detoured left, presumably to take the south route while Sven sped straight ahead. The race was on, but it didn’t always go to the swiftest. Sven enjoyed the exhilaration of flying down the mountainside for three more miles, dodging a few tenacious evergreens and leaping off snowbanks, temporarily airborne. He schussed slowly down the valley floor until a smaller mountain loomed far ahead. He would have to herringbone his way up a long side slope to reach another valley. It was hard going and soon all his muscles ached but the thought of the prize and the vigor of youth kept him going. Helmut zigged at a leisurely pace with very little climbing. He always loved this part. Birds in high green trees, in delightful contrast to the new snow, twittered their “I’m me!”, a few soaring before him The occasional bear regarded him more with curiosity than as a meal. That magnificent landscape and nearby mountains always sent a thrill of joy through him. Darkness was falling as Sven and saw the river with its little bridge a kilometer away. He decided to camp for the night. A trudge through the sighing trees brought him back with enough dry wood for a fire and a few boughs and branches to build a small lean-to against the wind. There he contentedly cooked three potatoes and a slab of venison before wriggling into his sleeping bag. Powerbars, trail mix, and chocolate were Helmut’s meal as he burrowed into a snowbank to rest and await the morning. Morning found him staring disconsolately at forty feet of gurgling river and no bridge. Helmut figured he’d taken the wrong valley and missed it by a couple of miles. It would cost him valuable time if he backtracked to find it. Not so for Sven who crossed his bridge and eagerly set out through the ups and downs of the remaining kilometers toward town. Helmut made a decision. He would jump the stream. He knew he’d made longer jumps before and the cliff on his side should provide enough lift. Having always been a risk taker and wanting Anna, he went back uphill about a hundred metres and then taking a couple of deep breaths, sped down the snowy slope. Helmut approached the cliffside in a racer’s crouch and at the last moment launched himself into the air. Around midafternoon Sven reached town. He expected a sort of hero’s welcome but the streets were virtually empty. He went to the lodge straightaway. “Yes” came the reply as Sven grinned with pride, “but Helmut Muecke didn’t make it. They found body an hour ago crushed by the riverbank.” At the funeral, Sven Amaanson hugged Anna, accepted her salty tears on his coat, and promised to call her soon. They both knew it would never happen. |
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"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club