The Iron Writer Challenge #194 -2017 Spring Equinox Tournament Final Round


The Iron Writer Challenge #194

2017 Spring Equinox Tournament

Final Round

500 Words, 5 Days, 4 Elements

The Authors:

(Authors will be revealed next Thursday.)

The Elements:

Smokestacks at night

An unknown assailant 

A maze 

A chamber pot overflowing with radioactive candy bars from a parallel universe

Dreams of a Parallel Universe

Michael Cottle

Smoke stacks burning into the night. That was my last memory of a normal life.  That was when my father gave me the multi-verse cube. 

I didn’t understand it at the time. I was a boy of thirteen, what did I know of traveling through parallel universes? My father talked of it often, but there was never enough time to explain it. Bleeding of a wound from the traveler, he gave me the sequence that unlocked the six faces of the cube. 

Earth, Water, Fire, Breath, Life, Time.

“Be free my son…” were his last words. I had no time to grab anything. The traveler was coming for me and for the cube because we were not supposed to be in that world. I whispered the sequence to the cube, and the only world I knew vanished.

I was lost in a maze of blue aura- endlessly. I searched for a pathway of escape until I was utterly exhausted. I wondered if this might be the fate I would suffer. It was only me, the cube and the wild blue aura. I wept. I cursed the cube and threw it as far as I could. It only came back to me and seemed to mock my existence. Then it occurred to me, as if from the very aura I was in, to speak the sequence backwards.

I did, and a new reality came so fast that it took my breath away. 

I repeated this process through many new worlds. I don’t know how old I am now. I start from zero with each travel- hungry and tired. I’ve seen nothing of my father or the world that I knew, only shadows and images of who and what I’ve known. Sometimes it’s hard to keep straight who they are, and who they were.

The traveler searches for me constantly, for each world is not mine.  I’ve had to leave several worlds without goodbye. They almost seem like home. The last world I was in, they were headed for global nuclear war, but they made good candy bars- Zoobars. I wanted to save something from that world. I wanted other worlds to know that they at least contributed something worthwhile. I grabbed a chamber pot full of Zoobars, and spoke the sequence to the multi-verse cube just as detonation had taken place. 

Taking things out of parallel universes proved to be a bad mistake. Radioactive Zoobars overflowed the chamber pot while I was in the wild blue aura. I dropped the cube, and before it could return to my side, radioactive Zoobars filled the aura at a most rapid pace. The traveler easily spotted this disturbance, but he was overwhelmed with Zoobars before he could reach me. Miraculously, the cube returned to my side, and I quickly spoke the sequence. I found my new home with only a couple of Zoobars in hand. I had lost the multi-verse cube in the wild blue aura full of candy bars.

So, this is my home now. Somewhere, worlds leave at more than light speed. I dream of them at night when my thoughts are taken by a parallel universe.

The Chase

Dani J. Caile

I had broken our laws. 

And now I was living my own personal hell. If anyone knew, the consequences for the Congregation would be disastrous, catastrophic. No one, absolutely no one was to cross the border between our world and theirs without permission from the Ministry of Erudition. 

But I had. The urge was too strong, a parallel universe with untold treasures waiting for us beyond the Shards? A chance that had to be taken.

So, today, once reaching the chosen age, I used the briefest of opportunities, travelling there and back, grabbing what I could from the places and shops I happened upon and re-entering within the limits laid down by Doctor Everett so many centuries before. But it all went wrong. I was followed. How could I be so naive to think I could get away with it? A man, an assailant, shouting, verbally assaulting me as I ran from one universe to the other, chasing me through the streets, following me back. I could not lose him!

“Stop! Oi! Stop!”

At no point should he ever catch me! For the sake of the Congregation, for the sake of myself. But he was still on me, so I ran towards the safety of the city’s great smokestacks, churning out their pollutants into the night sky. Only there, in the maze of pipes and machines inside the factories of our illustrious leaders, would there be an escape. I looked down to check my haul from the raid, a chamber pot overflowing with radioactive candy bars. On the open market they would sell for peanuts but I knew an avid buyer who would pay a handsome sum. 


He was so close, brandishing something in his hand, threatening me! I tried to weave and dodge through the factory floors, around machines, under pipes, up stairways and down ladders, but I couldn’t shake him! With one last effort, I sprinted ahead and for a moment, I was free. But at what cost? I could run no more, my legs were dead after the chase, and the radium seeping from the candy bars was surely the reason for me feeling weak and sick. A welcoming cubbyhole appeared between two pipes and I dived for cover, allowing my legs to rest.

For a moment I relaxed, gazing in wonder at my radioactive candy bar filled chamber pot. And then I heard it. On the gangway above there were steps, turning this way, then that. Someone slid down a ladder and landed nearby. I listened for another sound, anything, but silence filled my ears.

There was a touch on my shoulder! I knew right then it was the end!

“Got ya!”

I turned to face him, knowing what was to come, the arrest, the holding cell, the trial where I would…

“There you go!”

Something rested in my palm, and with sweat dripping down my neck, I looked into my open hand. A coin?

“You forgot your change.”

As I sat there losing my mind while staring at the copper-coloured metallic money, he walked away.

Like, Literally

Malissa Greenwood

Clair was in the kitchen rolling Rice Krispy treats into balls before dipping them in chocolate. She checked her watch and called out, “We’ve got to leave in thirty minutes, gang!”

The family had a big night planned; the kids were attending a big school party out by the old smokestacks for Halloween and Clair and her husband Ed had graciously volunteered to help.

Eric, their oldest son, was at the table playing a game on his phone. He was already in costume – all black with a sign reading ‘unknown’ pinned to his shirt. 

 Ed came down the stairs and looked at him. “What are you supposed to be, bud?”

“I’m an unknown assailant.” He responded without looking up. 

“I don’t get it.”

“We’re supposed to dress as characters from books and the unknown assailant is like, a staple in crime fiction. It’s like, literally the most popular character in books.” 

“But… you’re just unknown. So now you’ll have to assail. You’ll have to attack people all night in order for that to work.”

Eric shrugged. “Ok I guess I will, then.”

Edward sighed and moved on to assess the kitchen table covered in items they needed to take with them to the party. 

“Is that my antique chamber pot?” he asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. 

“Ok, first can I just say again how weird it is that you have an antique chamber pot?” Clair responded, turning around with a Rice Krispy ball in one hand and a chocolate covered spoon in the other.  “I mean, you do know what those were used for, right?”

“It’s history Clair!” 

“And second,” she continued “Yes… it is your fancy antique chamber pot. But the kids needed it. It’s the perfect container for their candy…” Clair stopped and looked at Joey who sighed and rolled his eyes as only a nine-year-old boy can.

“They’re radioactive candy bars, mom! From a parallel universe! Duh.” 

Clair smiled and shrugged at her husband. “Radioactive candy bars. Duh.” 

“Well my chamber pot better return to this house – in this universe – in one piece, got it?” 

“Yes dad.” Joey chimed. He was putting the last-minute touches on his costume, which looked like it was supposed to be some kind of wizard. 

“What sort of character from a book has radioactive candy bars, anyway?” 

“Literally tons, dad!” Costume building was obviously a stressful endeavor.  

“Whatever you say, bud.”

“What are we meant to be doing at this thing anyways, Clair? Just sitting around while the kids play games?” Ed asked as he grabbed a rice Krispy ball and began munching. 

“Basically. It’s going to be fun. There’s a corn maze and face painting, all kinds of activities you could help with.”

“You’re also supposed to be in costume, dad.” Eric added. “So, what are you supposed to be?”

Ed looked around, as though searching for an idea. He grabbed a piece of paper and in large block letters wrote ‘VICTIM’. Holding it up in front of himself and said “I’m the unknown assailant’s victim.”

Eric rolled his eyes. 

“Eric, it’s like, literally the second most common character in books.” 

Parallel Bars

Josh Flores

Willing my legs to pump, while keeping my left hand on the wall, I jog through the maze which magically sprung up around the Corporation’s headquarters. This morning it didn’t exist, like what I’m looking for, but here it is: looming and daunting while keeping me out. I’m not far from my goal. With luck, and as long as I keep my hand on the wall, I should stop Armageddon. 

I look at purple fog ripping through night-threatened skies as it seeks to color the grey pillows above. Time slips too fast. Soon the canopy will be consumed by a darkness other than from the settling night: the nebula spewing from the Corporation smokestacks, forever blocking out the sun and moon unless I can find and return that which shouldn’t exist. 

The air around me thickens with power. The small hairs of my exposed arms rise rigid. My skin reacts to the new coolness by forming rows of tiny lumps.  This is not good. I’ve learnt this means something else which shouldn’t be here, will be.  A sharp crack announces its arrival.  A loud roar confirms it. A sickening odor of rotting meat and death demands me to run faster or die. 

Hot breath warms the back of my neck. My body produces adrenaline which provides a burst of speed. The space I vacated fills up with a loud swish of air being sliced into pieces.  A disgruntled growl follows. I can’t risk looking behind.  

A few seconds passes and the building looms ahead of me. Finally, I found the exit! But not the object. Feverishly, I scan the landscape. A small dark oval sits to my right.  Pausing for a microsecond, fully aware of the thing behind me, I decide to chance losing contact with the wall and go after the item. 

Each step defines the object better. Its form sharpens and takes a familiar shape. I’ve seen one of them many times at my great-grandparent’s house in the country. I half-expect to smell excrement, but instead the scent which confronts me is sweet and… chocolate?  A glow emits from the top. Radioactive? 

I pick up my prize while running, not daring to stop as I can still hear the hunter. I need to get to my lab. 

I reach the entrance and pull on my pass card. Swing it over the infrared eye as I push the door open. I run to the stairwell, and go up three flights taking three steps at a time. I race into my lab. Dexter, my assistant, is frantically working at the control center of the machine. 

“What happened?”  

“I dropped my Snickers and it hit the go button.” 

I look into the glow from the chamber pot in my arm.  

“Crap! Is the machine ready to send this back?”


I place the pot full of what I hoped were radioactive unwrapped Snickers into the machine. Time to send it, and everything it brought, back to its parallel universe.


David Jobe

“You’re a horrible wingman, Nos. The worst!” Sam crossed bare arms and leaned against a wall that may have been cleaned before the war, but not after. 

Nostromos shook his head but smiled. “Why, because I pulled you away from that handsy thing?”

“Exactly. She was into me.” Sam stomped a polished boot for emphasis.

“More like on. I’ve seen large ordinance cover less surface.” Behind him the door to the bar closed shut, making a loud click.

“But she was pretty, witty, and that beautiful white hair! Like that candy with the funny name and the silly jingle. You know, the one chock-full of innuendos.” Sam ran a finger through silky hair and eyed him from under a fine brow.  

“I know the one. And no. She was a chamber pot overflowing with radioactive candy. Nutty bars. And did you listen to her talk? I mean, really? I think we aren’t the only Reality Jumpers here, and the zone she came from was full of Dr. Seuss characters. You can do better. And, this is the third bar on our pub crawl. I promised you seven for your birthday and you know we can’t take her with us.” He had begun tapping on his smart watch as he spoke.

“You said she was a Jumper.” Sam pursed thin lips into a fine pout.

“I was implying she was el pollo loco from Batcrapcrazyville. Stop with the pout. Your charms are ineffective on me.” He averted his gaze. “As mine are on you.” 

Sam laughed. “I think you’re cute.”

“Hush.” He focused on the controls of his watch, letting his hair fall over his cheeks.

“Like a big furry bear with questionable manners. Where are we going next?” Sam looked toward the spiraling portal that opened up. Beyond they could see tall smokestacks billowing green gas into the night sky. “Bleh. Industrial. Pass!”

Nostromos tapped his watch. “I have this thing set on random.” The portal shifted color, and beyond an ominous maze of dark and dirty stone appeared, overshadowed by a cloudy skyline with a single blood moon.

“Oh, definitely a pass!” Sam shouted.

From the shadows a cloaked figure sprinted at them, arms outstretched. It lunged for Nostromos’ watch, but Nostromos sidestepped the attack and pushed the unknown assailant off. The shadowy figure stumbled and fell through the portal, landing with a thud on the stone walkway beyond. Nostromos wasted no time tapping the watch, closing the portal. A loud roar cut off. 

“What was that all about?” Sam looked from him to where the portal had been. “And was that a Minotaur? Like a real one?”

“I believe so.” His mouth felt dry. “Maybe we should just go back into this bar. We’ll go around front and pay the cover again.” He slid his shirt over his watch, looking around the alleyway a little more intently this time.

Sam clapped and jumped up and down a few times. “You are the best wingman. Let’s go find my little candy bar!”

Nostromos looked again at where the portal had been and muttered, “I think she may be otherwise engaged.”

The Iron Writer Challenge #193 – 2017 Spring Equinox Tournament Preliminary Round

The Iron Writer Challenge #193

2017 Spring Equinox Tournament

Preliminary Round

500 Words, 5 Days, 4 Elements

The Authors:

Danielle Lee Zwissler, Richard Russell, Keith Badowski, Malissa Greenwood,

Dani J. Caile, Michael Cottle, Tina Biscuit, Vance Rowe, E. Chris Garrison,

Josh Flores, David Jobe, Steven L. Bergeron, Amy Kasim, Bethany Totten,

Geoff Gore, Maureen Larter, Emma Crowley, Mamie Pound, Matt Henderson

Note: This year, the tournament submissions will be blind, hence the author’s name will not be shown until after a champion has been chosen.

The Elements:

A Lady in a clothes dryer

Menstrual Cramps

A Hairbrush without bristles

A Wooden Hanger

Put Out to Dry

Maureen Larter

Maria stood in front of her wardrobe and gazed at the contents. Lifting her arm limply she moved the wooden hangers from one side to the other, looking at each dress as she did so.

Nothing appealed.

She stopped again and stared into space. How could she have ever imagined she would have ended up in this weird situation?

She silently shook her head.

She had been arrested, then freed on bail and now she needed to ready herself for the trial. It was all surreal – beyond belief.

To make matters worse, she couldn’t remember that night. Found unconscious, covered in blood and stuffed into the local laundry’s clothes drier was bad enough, but the body of her husband, stabbed to death on the floor of the same laundry was worse.

She sighed as she once more tried to make a decision on her appearance. As she reached for the little black dress that everyone said was always a correct fashion statement, she felt the cramp. She rubbed her stomach as she realized, once more, she would get her monthlies. Not pregnant! She had so hoped to be, but now Ed was dead, there would be no hope of a reminder of her marriage to him.

She picked out the dress and turned to place it on the bed, catching a glimpse of her appearance in the dressing-table mirror.

Her eyes were sad and red, her face deep with wrinkles from the worry, and her hair looked like she’d brushed it with a hairbrush with no bristles. She sank down on the rumpled bedspread and put her head in her hands. How was she going to get through today – the next month – in fact, the rest of her life?

She shuddered.

The horror of the crime overwhelmed her.

The shame she felt was daunting.

After several minutes, she stood and took a deep breath. She ran her fingers through her spiky hair, wiped away the tears that had slipped down her cheeks without her realizing it, and picked up the dress to get ready.

She had to face the trial whatever the outcome, but she knew her brother would be in prison for a very long time.

Laundry and Lattes

Malissa Greenwood

Dani pulled into a parking spot along Elm and quickly checked her reflection. She dug through the glovebox, her hand finally grasping the paddle of her brush. She pulled it out and found there were no bristles left on the old piece of plastic.

“Piece of shit.” She muttered and threw it on the floor, opting instead to pull her messy hair into a clip.

She rubbed on some chap stick, sighed at the new reflection and lifted the visor before exiting her unmarked sedan.

It had been a long, interesting morning. Dani had been called in to investigate a murder scene at a south side laundromat. A woman had been found stuffed into a dryer, brutally beaten beforehand.

The scene was gruesome. Signs of an obvious struggle. Wooden hangers scattered around a pool of blood and black stilettos.

Dani shook the images out of her head as she stopped on her way up the steps and bent down, briefly struck by the usual, uncomfortable pangs of PMS. She didn’t want coffee – she wanted to be home, laying down with an ice pack on her abdomen and a double scoop of Ben and Jerry’s.

But instead she was walking up the steps towards the small coffee shop to meet her on-again off-again boyfriend, Rick. He’d texted her with an urgent request to meet him and when she tried to brush him off he only became more insistent.

She knew what this would be about and she was certain it could have been handled over the phone. They’d been trying to be ‘on-again’ for a while now, but they both knew it wasn’t working. And they both knew it was her fault.

He was sitting by the far window looking at his phone, but he put it away when he saw her approach.

“Hey.” It was more of a sigh than a greeting. “I got you a latte.”

“Thanks.” She flashed him an exhausted smile, and took the warm cup.

“So… How are you? I haven’t been able to catch you alone for a while.”

“Yeah, I know. Just a string of rough cases. We got a new one this morning, too. Jane Doe…” she trailed off – she could tell he was tired of her excuses.

“Listen Dani… There’s someone else.”

“Cutting right to the chase, huh? Well I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“I’m sorry. I really wanted things to work this time. But I’m just not cut out for your lifestyle. It’s too much. I’m not…”

“Yeah.” She cut him off; He wasn’t the only one tired of excuses. “Who is she?”

He hesitated, then said “Her name is Kim. You don’t know her. She’s not a cop. She’s… boring. And normal. And… I just think that’s what I need right now.”

“Yeah… I get it, Rick.” She did get it. Sometimes she wished her life was a little more boring.

He pulled out his phone and frowned. “Look I gotta go. I’m sorry.”

“Off to meet Kim, now that you’re a free man?” she tried smiling, hoping it came off more friendly than bitchy.

He nodded. “Yeah. We’re gonna go do laundry.”


Josh Flores

“Push out now Judith!”

Judy found herself again in this awkward situation.  Her curse of small stature and slight build gave her no end to troubles. Her eighty pound, four foot four inch body fit nice and comfy in the industrial-size, front-loaded, dual-rotation, three-speed, apartment-complex laundromat clothes-dryer. A woman of routine, she’d do her washing and drying on Sunday after midnight.  It helped relieve some of the embarrassment of having to wrestle with the big machines. This way, it wasn’t in front of her neighbors.

She swore the dryer was out to get her.  It never failed to keep one of her intimate articles way in the back of its drum, forcing her to climb in to retrieve it. No doubt about it, the machine had some reason for doing this regularly.  Getting in was easy enough: pull a chair over, stand on it, and crawl inside the gaping mouth waiting to swallow her.  Steamy, moist air would greet her, envelope her in welcomed warmth. Her body would curl up as she fought to control the spin of the cylinder her every move created.

The churning brought to mind menstrual cramps.  How her womb use to churn to and fro, twist and spin, causing huge pains.  She hadn’t had the experience in the few months since conceiving. “Guess that’s one good thing about it.”  Judy groped in the dusk, until her hand found the panty and bra victims. In her blouse they went for safe-keeping. Now came the hard part: getting out.

After weeks of struggling, Judy thought long and came up with a plan. She came prepared this time with a pouch tied to her waist. Judith opened the pouch and pulled out a wooden clothes hanger with a wire neck and a wooden brush with its bristles removed. She returned the brush – that was for the final phase of escape. She looked up to find the air holes in the drum. Judy worked with practiced ease as she slipped the wire neck of the hanger through one hole and out the one directly behind it. With small hands made strong by years of compensating for her lack of build, Judy grabbed the hanger turned herself around slowly.  She then removed the hanger, found another pair of holes a few inches away and repeated the anchoring. Using the hanger as support she inched herself towards the opening.

Reaching the doorway, Judith pulled out the bristleless brush. She rammed the handle in between the drum and right side of the opening to stabilize and to create another hand grip.  With one hand gripping the wood of the hanger and the other on the brush she gathered her strength.  “Push out now Judith!” With one mighty pull of her arms she swung her legs out the door and let herself dangle for a moment – then she released her grip, letting herself land on the chair.

Judy turned to close the dryer. The hushed rush of air escaping, to her mind’s ear, sounded like a resigned sigh.

PMS (Potential Murder Suspect)

Geoff Gore

Detective O’Malley wearily pushed open the door to the laundromat. Between the Midtown homicide and the divorce with his ex, he hadn’t slept much the past three days. Both had been messy. As for the murder, it must’ve been one hell of a frenzied attack, the victim a male in his mid-forties, was almost unrecognisable. There was blood all over the apartment, but not a shred of evidence of the attacker. No prints, no stray hair, no sign of forced entry. Nothing. It was as if whoever’d done this had been through that apartment with a fine tooth comb, painstakingly scrubbing away any trace they’d been there. And yet, so much blood everywhere.  Now on top of it all his ex-wife was threatening to bleed him dry. Hence here he was, at the end of the fourth day of a homicide enquiry, reduced to doing his own laundry at a cheap laundromat on the lower side of town.

He sat in front of one of the big machines and saw he wasn’t alone. A woman leaned into one of the oversized dryers retrieving her laundry. A copy of the morning’s newspaper lay on the seat next to her. The front page headline screamed MURDER! The article critical that Police had no leads in a case O’Malley was all too familiar with.

The woman emerged from the dryer. She looked up, and jumped, startled when she saw O’Malley standing there in his uniform.

“Sorry Ma’am. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You should be more careful,” she snapped, “creeping up on people like that.”

“Sorry Ma’am, I’m just here for my laundry.”

“Sorry,” she replied, “I didn’t mean to snap, “It’s just…” she placed a hand lightly on her abdomen. “You know…some months the cramps that make me a little…tetchy.”

“Tetchy?” He glanced at the open newspaper on the seat between them. “I understand. You reading about the case?” “No.” She said curtly. She retrieved the newspaper, folded it and tucked it on top of her basket of clothes. “Though the no good sonofabitch probably deserved it.” She turned, leaning all the way into the dryer to retrieve something else.

“Let me help.”

“I can manage.” She emerged holding a white men’s shirt.

He grabbed a wooden hangar from the rack. “At least let me help you hang it up.”

“I said, I’m FINE!” She barked.

“Okay,” he held up his hands.

As she hung the shirt over the hangar he couldn’t help noticing a small red blemish which hadn’t quite washed out from the fabric and the faint stain beneath her fingernails.

She blushed and hurried to pack the remainder of her things into the basket. On top she placed an old hair brush, so worn that all the bristles had fallen out, and headed for the door.

“Not so fast, Ma’am,” said a voice behind her.

She stopped and turned.

Detective O’Malley held out a lonely sock that had fallen to the floor. “There’s always one,” he said.

Down in Little India, Southall, London

Dani J. Caile

“Mrs Hatherwaite! What in hell’s name are you doing?” said Darshit, walking into his laundromat to see legs dangling from his largest clothes dryer. He knew they were hers from the bulging blue varicose veins. And no one else did their laundry at this time of night, either.

“I’m keeping warm, it’s lovely and cosy in here,” giggled Mrs Hatherwaite.

“Get out of there this insta… oh my!” The sight froze his blood. Thankfully, not much light could penetrate into the contraption, but from what he saw in the second before he closed his eyes, he could only describe her as completely naked. “Mrs Hatherwaite, why are you not wearing anything?”

“Well, the sign does say ‘When finished washing, please remove all clothes’,” laughed Mrs Hatherwaite.

With some brief glimpses, he saw she was drinking from a wine bottle.

“Mrs Hatherwaite! Not only are you naked in one of my clothes dryers, but you are also drinking!”

“Oh, this? Drinking? It’s only my third! Fancy some?” She offered the bottle but Darshit refused.

“Mrs Hatherwaite, you can’t get… ‘drunk naked’ in one of my clothes dryers!” What was he to do?

“I’ve got my menstrual cramps, red wine always helps… hey, ‘Darshit’! Come on in, I’ll take you for a spin,” laughed Mrs Hatherwaite. She reached out and took his collar, pulling him closer.

“Mrs Hatherwaite! Please!” Fighting back, his right hand found something on the top of the machine and he brought it down to use against the insane woman. It was a hairbrush… without bristles. He made a mental note to take some time out of his busy schedule to clean the place up a little. An unexpected kick made him drop the useless item and he blindly searched for something else as he struggled on. His hand found a wooden hanger.

“Come on, ‘Darshit’, take a spin with me!” She was strong for her age and Darshit couldn’t resist for much longer. In a momentary flash of inspiration, he put the wooden hanger into the back of his coat, thus stopping her from taking his shoulders in. She persisted for a few more minutes, but he’d won the battle and she let go. “Oh, you’re no fun!”

At that moment, Darshit’s wife walked in. As usual, her phone was clasped to her ear while she rabbited on with her sister, so she didn’t notice him pushing Mrs Hatherwaite’s blue veined legs into the dryer and closing the door.

“Hello dear,” said Darshit, trying to look ‘normal’. His wife put her phone down for a second. Before she spoke, a noise came from the dryer.

“You spin me right round, baby right round…”

“What is that?” asked Darshit’s wife.

“Err, nothing, dear. Just the radio… in the back room,” said Darshit, resting his elbow on the dryer’s door.

“Oh. Well, don’t hang around here all night, I want you back home in ten minutes,” she ordered, leaving the way she came, with her phone to her ear.

Darshit knew it would be one crazy ten minutes.

Snipe Hunting

David Jobe

“It’s obvious. Isn’t it? Double homicide involving a vampire.”

“Hold on. What?” Officer Jimmy Timms stopped tapping a wooden hanger that he had been playing with. “Vampire?”

“What do you see sticking out of the man’s chest, Jimmy?”

Jimmy knelt down beside the corpse. “All I see is a hair brush that someone has plucked out all the bristles.”

Officer Monty Lanton chuckled. “Way to see the forest for the trees, Jimmy. It’s a stake. You know, wooden spike through the heart? Hand-made. Obviously. Look at his pants. Tweed. Sooo last century.”

“Vampire? You get that a lot around here.” Jimmy crossed his arms across his chest. He glanced around at the rest of the team.

They looked back at him with silent and serious faces.

Lanton shrugged. “It doesn’t happen that often, no. I think I’ve seen maybe two, three, times since I started the late shift.” He looked to the coroner, Carrie-Anne who held up three fingers. “Three. Now, sure. Could be this is just a case of mistaken identity? Maybe. But with things like these, you have to be careful.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Not buying it. You’re messing with me.”

Lanton frowned. “Are you suggesting we staged a murder scene?”

Jimmy looked to each, eyes narrowing. “Fine. I’ll play along. What do we do next? Call Van Helsing?”

“That kind of stuff will get you killed, Jimmy. You can’t believe all the stuff you see on television, man. The first step is to have Carrie-Anne get the deceased male into the van and down to the morgue. Best to just burn him tonight to be safe. It will mean we spend all night tomorrow filing paperwork for the screw-up, but we can’t just risk him coming back. Plus, there is the woman to contend with. Could be she might turn soon. Problem is she probably has family. Can’t just burn her.”

“Wait. Wait! This is crazy! Why would you think she’d turn? She not even bitten.”

“Not on the neck, Jimmy. Again. Television. Do you see the inside of her thigh? The leg not hanging out of the dryer?”

Jimmy leaned in to expect the body of the woman stuffed in an industrial clothes dryer. “I thought. Well, you know.” He looked at Carrie-Anne and blushed.

“That it’s her time of the month? She died of cramps? You’ve never had a live-in girlfriend, have you, Jimmy? That’s way too much blood for that. Go with Carrie-Anne to get the gurney.”


After Jimmy had moved out of earshot, Lanton leaned down near the opening of the dryer. “You ready?”

Elanor Millie opened her eyes and offered a smile that revealed fake fangs. “You swap out his gun?”

“Isn’t my first time, Elanor.” Lanton cast a glance over his shoulder. “It’s a prop. Tasers drained and the night-stick is gorilla glued in its holster. Don’t trip over Grimm. He’s sensitive.”

On the ground, the staked man muttered profanities.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she said. “Next time, just dinner and a movie.”

“Your fault for asking what I do for fun.”

Two Loads Washin’

Michael Cottle

I’ve lived a long time- almost 84 years now. I’ve seen many things in those years. I’ve seen beautiful things. I’ve seen sad things. And, I’ve seen folks do downright crazy things. But never anything like I did in 94’.

It was Saturday, the 19th of February, and I was headed to the laundromat. I could’ve just bought a washer, but truth is I liked the company. You see, my wife passed in the fall of 93’, and sometimes I needed to get out of the house.

Now most folks at the laundromat weren’t there to do no socializing. I understood this, but while their clothes were a washing, most of ‘em didn’t mind passing the time with an old fool like me.

This Saturday morning was not good visiting for I hadn’t seen a soul all morning. My two loads were almost dry and I had my wooden hangers out on the folding table just about ready to go. That’s when Miss Mary showed up.

You might think it odd, but this ain’t who I felt like socializing with. That woman hated me since the time she first laid eyes on me. Now I hadn’t done a thing in the world to the crazy ole bitty.

Anyways, she was slinging clothes and washing powders around like she was too good to wash clothes or something. I think she was born with the menstrual cramps, but Lord knows I didn’t do nothing to her I tell you. Now listen awhile and I might tell you again.

She messed around and got a fancy looking blouse hung in the coin slot of the washing machine. I heard the biggest ruckus that you could imagine as she started saying things that would make an oil field worker blush!

The next thing I know, she gave that blouse a snatch and buttons went flying. She fell backwards over a hamper of her own dirty clothes and straight into the dryer basket behind her! There was nothing but high heels sticking out of that machine.

Being a gentleman and all, there was nothing for me to do, but go help the crazy lady out of that thing. I asked her if she wanted permanent press or high cotton as I gave her my hand. I thought I was fixing to get eaten alive! First look, there was a bit of anger, and then she started laughing a little. But before it was over and by the time she was out, she started to cry. My heart just melted. You see, like me, she had just lost her husband too. In no time at all, we were in that laundromat laughing like kids. Turns out, she wasn’t near crazy as I thought she was.

You see, I’ve seen some downright crazy things in my time. But I’ll never forget how I met my second and last wife. We got our own washer and dryer these days. I don’t know how much more time we got left, but I’ll tell you one thing. If I hadn’t met Miss Mary, I’d be a hairbrush without the bristles.

Claustrophobic Cloud Nine

Emma Crowley

The bristles of the brush tinkled against the steel lining of the clothes dryer as she brushed them off of her stomach, the distorted handle of the now toothless brush clutched tightly in her fist. She sighs as she turns the brush over between her fingers, watching the sharp edges of the plastic draw thin white lines against her skin. The ridges of the machines tumbler shove back against her spine, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the deep throbbing in her abdomen, so she ignores it.

“Did you get it yet?” A voice floats into the laundry room, tossed back and forth by the noise of the vibrations of the washing machine hard at work to the right of the dryer in which the girl had found refuge. She twists her neck painfully to look down at the wooden hanger wedged between the rotating tumbler and the metal at the back of the machine, speckled with soapy residue. If she were to actually try, she would be able to free the hanger in a minute or so, but that would mean that she would have to leave the dryer.

“Not yet,” she calls back, wincing slightly as the volume of her shout echoes loudly around the interior of the dryer. “It really seems to be stuck in there.”

She had no way of explaining it, but somehow contorting her body into the claustrophobic tumbler of the dryer calmed the persistent pain in her abdomen. It worked, that’s all that mattered.

“Well hurry up,” the voice replies, exasperated. The girl rolls her eyes, pressing the palms of both hands against her lower stomach. Something about the dryer, knees scrunched up to her chest, made her feel safe, almost like returning to the womb. Ironic, she chuckles into the darkness of the machine, when her own womb was the reason for her cramming herself into such a tiny space.

Maybe her uterus had fallen asleep in the relaxing calm of the dryer, postponing its scheduled torture for a quick nap. That was something the girl could understand, her own eyes struggled to stay open. Maybe for a moment, she and her body could work as one to reach the dimensions of rest.

“What are you even doing?” The girl’s eyes snap open as a figure storms into the laundry room, a basket of dirty clothes tucked under one arm. The figure wears a scowl across her face as she glares down at the figure curled in the machine. “Didn’t you hear me say I had laundry to do? Go lounge in your own bed.”

Almost. The girl had almost found a moment of peace. She lets out a disappointed sigh as she yanks the wooden hanger roughly out of it’s trap, tossing it out onto the laundry room floor. The sound of wood against tile almost sounded like the shattering of paradise as the girl wanders from the room, footsteps in sync with the painful throbbing now jumping back to life in her abdomen.Now, when the machine turns on, now filled with wet jeans, it seems to call to her. Next time…next time.

Ghostly Memories

Bethany Totten

The room seemed frozen in time.  The bed was neatly made; the various trinkets were still on the dresser.  Even the house coat elegantly draped over the chair was untouched by time.

Although the room was empty, a young woman glided in, looking around the room in sadness.  It seemed like only yesterday that the blonde haired female was in the room preparing to meet her secret lover. They had planned to run away and elope but, well, things hadn’t quite worked out.

She couldn’t recall very much from that night.  She had been applying her makeup when she suddenly had a nasty coughing spell.  The maid had heard her and the last thing the young women remembered was fainting.  She heard voices but could never see who was talking.  It was an experience unlike any she had ever had before. She had then awoken in her room, alone and unaware of the time or day.  She had been walking around the house for what seemed like days, but no one seemed to be home.  It was very odd. A dress hung from the hanger on the door like a ghost, the fabric swaying in the gentle breeze from the open window.  The young maiden walked over and ran her fingers over the fabric.  It was as soft as she remembered.

She suddenly heard the familiar sound of her father’s Sun Touring pulling up to the front of the house.  She eagerly ran down the stairs to the front to greet her family, descending the marble stairs to the foyer.  Her family entered.

“Mother!” the young lady exclaimed.  “Father!  Where on earth did you go?  I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Her parents silently walked past her.  The young woman was confused.

“The house seems so quiet with her gone,” her mother mused to seemingly no one.

The elderly woman’s husband hugged her.  “I know, my dear,” he replied.  “At least she didn’t suffer.”

“But Father, I’m right here!” the lady replied.  She reached out to touch her mother’s arm.  The matron shuddered.

“Oh, Walt, it still feels like my beloved Margot’s still here!” she wailed.  “Why did that damn tuberculosis have to take her?  Why?”

Margot’s mother broke down as she stared at her parents in confusion.  Tuberculosis?  What was she talking about?  She didn’t have that.  And she most certainly wasn’t dead.

She followed her parents to their room, calling after them, begging them to answer her.

In anger, she grabbed a wooden hanger from the back of the door and threw it against the wall.  “I’m right here!” she exclaimed,

Her parents screamed as the hanger splintered against the wall.

“Dear God!  It’s a poltergeist!” her mother exclaimed and fainted.

Margot stood in shock.  It was true.  They really couldn’t see her.  She sank to her knees, her worst fears realized.  She was a ghost.  And she was trapped here, never to see her true love again.

A Fish Out of Water

Richard Russell

We pulled up to the laundromat and sat in the car for a few moments while my wife, Melissa, went over the instructions again.  “… And don’t put anything red in the wash with anything white.  Keep colors separate.”

Nodding, I smiled, took the three page instructions, unloaded six baskets of laundry onto the sidewalk, and kissed Melissa goodbye.

She smiled, “I’ll be back as soon as the dentist is through, Love!”

“Bye, Sweetie.  Have a nice … dental … visit.”

Melissa drove away; I picked up a basket and went inside.

The place was deserted.  Feeling like a fish out of water — an interloper in someone else’s world  — I   picked a washer and dryer set near the coffee machine, I intended to fully avail myself of that amenity before doing anything else.

After getting a load of whites into the washer and setting the first wash cycle in motion, I sipped my coffee and remembered that five more baskets of laundry sat out on the sidewalk.  With some sense of urgency, I headed for the door.  About to go out, I noticed a pair of female legs hanging out of a dryer.

Being the good Samaritan, I approached gingerly to see if I could help in any way. “Um, are you all right?” I queried.

“Do I look all right?” she snapped, and went back to moaning.

“Is there anything I can do?”  I asked sheepishly.

Desperately, the woman asserted, “Yes! Yes! Press your hand into the small of my back and push hard!”

Overcoming my conservative upbringing, I attempted to comply, but it proved difficult to apply enough pressure to her specifications with her in the dryer and me outside.  I moved halfway inside the dryer, and before I knew it, I was lying in the dryer with her, pressing my palm into the small of her back with considerable pressure.

She moaned in satisfaction and relief as she explained normally she would apply a heating pad to relieve her menstrual cramps, but the best she could come up with here was climbing into the hot dryer.

Just then, Melissa’s face showed up outside the dryer. “Howard!?”

I jumped.”

“Melissa!?  I’m … uh … this is … uh …”


“Jenny! She’s … uh … and …”

Melissa frowned.  “Howard … would you bring in the rest of the laundry, please … now.”

With great difficulty, I slithered obediently out of the dryer.

Shaking her head, Melissa just starred at me in disbelief as I wandered off.”

Then she turned her attention to the woman in the dryer.  Handing her some extra-strength ibuprofen, the two were soon commiserating about mysterious women’s things … and men … in general.

“…And I told him, ‘Throw that dang hairbrush away; it hasn’t any bristles left anyway!’”

and  “ …I’ve told him at least a dozen times, ‘Don’t hang that coat on a wire hanger. Use the wooden one!’”


“Yeah, from a whole different planet.”


I sipped my warm coffee and kept quiet over by the washer.

Time Won’t Always Heal

Amy Kasim

“Ooh Esi you need to see this! It would blow you up!” Macbeth rushed into his sister’s room with the Native Heirloom, their town’s local newspaper, in his hand.

“What is it this time?” Esi snapped at her sister, rushing past him to her wardrobe whiles smoothening her hair with a hairbrush without bristles. “I hope it is not one of those funny stories you bring to me every morning to read about menstrual cramps or women in clothe dryers? I am not in the mood for any of that today.”

Macbeth rolled her eyes at his sister.  “What has gotten into your pants this morning to make you all grumpy?”

“I am not grumpy. It is just that I can’t seem to find my yellow dress.”

“The flowery one?” Macbeth asked, looking around the room

“Yes; that very one! I need it for my presentation this morning and I am already running late!”

“Esi Appiah, do you ever take your time to look for things? The dress is hanging right behind you”

“Where?” Esi turned quickly to look in her brother’s direction. Macbeth held the dress in one hand and a wooden hanger in the other with a smug look on his face.

Esi ignored his looks and snatched the dress. “So, what were you saying about the Heirloom? She asked, whiles checking out herself in the mirror.

“Oh that; it is just an article by your enemy journalist, Kofi Quayson about…”

“Let me see it!” Esi snatched the newspaper and sat to read; her eyebrows creasing as she read line after line, muttering to herself. Macbeth stood still, watching his sister in awe. With the way Esi disliked the guy, it was obvious they had a bone to pick.

“Bloody hell!” she yelled.

“No curse words allowed in this house” Macbeth chided his sister

“Who cares about curse words when that chauvinist with absolutely no brains is here spewing rubbish? A woman leaves her abusive marriage because she cannot take it anymore and he says it’s her fault? She was being abused because she refused to be submissive? Unbelievable! Ooh so is it because no one has exposed his evil deeds that he has the guts to say this kind of nonsense?”

“Chauvinist with no brains? Why are you like this Esi? Unless there is more to this outburst than you are letting on, which is obvious, I think this is just an article.”

“Just an article you say? Why are people always quick to come to the aid of the abuser and never the abused? Why have we allowed our culture render us ignorant? I will be damned to let this issue die.”

Esi snatched her car keys from the table

“Don’t you have a presentation to get to? Where are you going Esi?” Macbeth asked, stunned at his sister’s behaviour.

“To do something I should have done a long time ago.”

Plight of the Homeless

Vance Rowe

A reporter was doing an exposé on the homeless people. While interviewing some of the indigent camped under a highway overpass, he noticed an older woman sitting in a clothes dryer. He made a beeline over to her and asked, “What are you doing in there, ma’am?”

“Mind your own beeswax,” she replied angrily.

“Can I talk with you for a few minutes please?”

“Go away, Copper. I ain’t see’d nothin’.’”

“Copper? I am a reporter writing an article about homeless people.”

“So, what’s that got to do with me? I ain’t homeless, Copper.”

“You aren’t? Then where do you live?”

“Right here, Dummy.”

“Oh, this one is priceless,” he thought to himself.

He turned on his little recorder and held it close to the dryer door.

She noticed it and suddenly got frightened and asked, “What is that?”

“It is a recording device so I can write about our conversation in the newspaper.”

“Since when do coppers write newspaper stories?”

Ma’am, I am not a policeman. Will you please come out of there so I can talk with you? I will pay you ten dollars for your time.”

“All right Copper but you will have to wait until they go away.”

“They? They who?”

“My menstrual cramps?”

“Excuse me?” the surprised reporter asked.

“Why? Did you just fart or something?”

“No, Ma’am. What about menstrual cramps?”

“The dryer is the only thing that helps them.”

“Right. Silly me,” the reporter said, slowly shaking his head. He figured the woman to be well into her sixties and she shouldn’t be having menstrual cramps.

A couple of minutes later she climbed out of the dryer and sat down on the ground. Her salt and pepper colored hair was dirty and matted. She had two different color wool socks on her feet. A torn dress covered by a threadbare housecoat. Her B.O. tested his gag reflexes.

“Can we talk for a couple of minutes?”

“We been talking, Copper,” she replied.

“Right. Sorry.”

He handed the woman a ten dollar bill. She licked it and stuck it on her forehead.

“Hand me my mirror there, will ya?” she asked as she pointed to a wooden hangar on the ground. She held it up by the hook and peered through it as if it really is a mirror. She then picked up a hair brush that had no bristles and combed her hair with it.

“Why are you doing that?”

“I’m gettin’ all gussied up for my picture. Ain’t you holding a camera?”

“No, ma’am. It’s a record…oh never mind.”

Suddenly she covered her abdomen and said, “Oh no.”

Then she got up and climbed back into the dryer.

“Menstrual cramps?”

“Of course. Why else would I be in a dryer, Copper?”

“That’s the only reason I can think of. I will see you later,” he said, as he stood up shaking his head.

As he walked around, the reporter spotted a man climbing into a refrigerator. Someone yelled and asked where he was going this time. The man in the refrigerator yelled, “General Washington needs me. I’ll be back.”

The reporter made a beeline over to him.

The Laundromat

Steven L. Bergeron

“Car 22. A  469 has been reported at 228 Jarvis street. Acknowledge you ETA?”

“Our ETA is ten minutes over and out.” I glanced over to my partner, who was scanning through the code book.

“No need for that son, you are about to get your first dose of what goes on around here when the sun goes down.”

Passing through the downtown area, at this time of the night, can be scary. Rule number one, not making any eye contact with the ladies of the night.

WE arrived at our destination with ten minutes to spare. My new partner simply looked at me with a dumb fond look on his face.

“ I can believe it, we are simply going to walk in here, and do nothing about what we just seen?”

“My dear partner, it is what we call survival . Sure what they are doing is illegal, but until we can get solid evidence our hands are pretty well tied.”

Entering my thirty second scan of Pete’s Laundromat proved to be unproductive. No evidence of any foul play to be spotted. A few machines were running, along with a few wooden hangers set up drying what appeared to be a few dresses. One surely not worn, by our ladies of the night. Once we paraded around to the second row of dryers our call had some merit.  A pair of unwaxed  legs, hanging out of the far dryer.

There she was Andrea Spagnoli our assistant DA in  a predicament she never planned for. As far as it goes she looked better than any lingerie model on the red carpet.

“Isn’t it a shame, a body so young as who could have done quite a thing? To think she never got the enjoyment to help her daughter thru her menstrual cramps, on her road to womanhood.”

“That is a very good question. For instinct see these bruises all over her left thigh, the question to ask for here would be what could have cause theses egg shaped form.”

“Hum they look like the same kind of bruises I endured in my younger days. Living with three sisters you are bound to get a few brush slaps every now and then.”

“True ,but there would also see marks inside the bruises, from the bristles now would there be?”

“Well unless it was done with the unbristled backside. I seen a purse on my way in, should I go check it for a brush?”

“There you go my partner good synopsis of the situation.”

“Sorry  inspector no brushes here, which is odd. Growing up with females you get to learn no woman leaves there home without one.”

A search of the outside area proved successful. One block down, in a alley dumpster a wooden hand brush we did find. To our surprise the backside had evidence of blood soaked trauma.

The Heroine

Keith Badowski

I could see you inside my womb since conception, but only this morning I’m sure. You were either Bruce or Diana, and I had hoped against hope for Bruce. Not for any traditional reasons, little Diana, but because the women in our family are physically stronger than any man who has ever walked the earth, and that isn’t easy. We’re invulnerable too, which causes all sorts of inconveniences. Our “hair of steel” racks up bristleless brushes galore. Thankfully atomic power holds promise for shaving legs.

Other abilities, like my own x-ray vision, may be inherited. I can see through clothes, skin, walls, automobiles, and even buildings. What I wish I could see, but can’t, is the future. If I did, I might have prevented you, but I shouldn’t imagine my remorseful past as your future, even though that’s all I have to go on, and all I have to tell.

 For years I’ve worked with Henry, investigative reporter for the Daily Bullhorn and “genius” at stumbling into peril. It’s been my mission to be there in the guise of his pretty cub photographer. The trick is how to rescue him without divulging my secret. I’ve tripped power breakers, blinded Henry with cigarette ashes, and made humiliating, bladder-related excuses to disappear just as situations reached a crisis.

The difference that fateful day was we weren’t a duo. Henry brought along his fiancée Janie. He’d gotten a tip that a ring was meeting late one night, posing as bachelors doing wash, to divvy up their recent booty. Henry proposed a charade of our own—a laundromat photoshoot with Janie as the model.

Henry boosted Janie inside the top porthole of a stacked dryer unit, and from there she dangled her attractive legs for my camera. While I snapped shots Henry would likely treasure for years, I scanned for our suspects. Two known crooks were headed our way—Johnny “Iron Knuckles” Wilson on foot with a holstered gun under his coat and Lex “The Brains” Thorndike in a chauffeured hearse, his well-manicured hand gripping a laundry sack stuffed with diamonds.

Henry, flustered by my excuse of menstrual cramps, took possession of my camera. I dashed behind the laundromat and changed into my suit, complete with rubber skullcap and oversized goggles. Once the diamonds came inside, I sabotaged the power and broke in the back door.

In his ineptly valiant way, Henry picked up a wooden coat hanger to defend Janie. He never got the chance to use it. Wilson sensed my silhouette enter the laundromat and started firing. The first bullet splintered Henry’s coat hanger. The second bullet ricocheted off me and into Janie, ripping through her womb and her lower spine.

The rest happened in slow motion. I shoved Henry to floor, crushed Wilson’s hand around his gun, and then with one strong tug toppled a bank of dryers onto Thorndike, the diamonds, and two accomplices. I called for an ambulance, but Janie bled out before they arrived.

In the following months, Henry turned to his photographer pal for a shoulder to cry on. And you, Diana, are the result of one of those nights of comforting.


Tina Biscuit

‘First impressions of the crime scene, Watson.’

‘Coin-operated laundrette, Holmes: six industrial dryers, one with a shoe protruding from the drum; twelve washing machines, two dented; linoleum flooring, worn at centre; six tubular steel chairs, with plastic seats; one toughened-glass door, slightly ajar.’

‘ADT, Watson – attention to detail.’

Watson grimaced.

‘OK, Holmes: one hairbrush, worn; one coat hanger, wooden; one sock, discarded; one newspaper, crumpled; one shoe, black.’

‘A black, leather shoe, Watson; a hairbrush, without bristles, Watson’, he picked up the hanger, and sniffed, ‘beech’. Holmes withdrew a dark fibre, flicked his lighter, and burnt it.

‘Synthetic fibre, Watson.’

He used the hanger to lift the sock, and raised the lighter to repeat the test. It smoked, but did not light. Watson covered his nose. The pungent fumes filled the air. Holmes placed the smouldering items on a seat, and turned to inspect the newspaper.

‘It’s yesterday’s’, he announced.

‘If it was tomorrow’s, I could guess the headline’, said Watson.

‘Go on’, said Holmes.

‘Famous detective burns down laundrette.’

‘Very droll, Watson.’

A curl of smoke rose to the ceiling, and the smoke detector triggered the alarm. Watson fanned the newspaper. Holmes went to open the door, just as a policewoman was entering.

‘Ah, Mr. Holmes’, she brushed past him, ‘and you must be the famous Dr. Watson.’ She removed a glove, and shook hands with Watson. Holmes looked on, and raised a finger to his temple.

‘Jill Fletcher’, said Holmes, ‘we worked on the Temple Road case, together.’

She opened a panel in the wall, and flicked a switch: the alarm stopped.

‘It’s DC Fletcher, now, Holmes, and I think you mean you walked on that case, trampling evidence as you went. Please tell me you haven’t contaminated our murder scene this time.’

‘Murder seems hyperbolic at this stage, Jill, sorry, DC Fletcher. We don’t have a body, yet.’

‘So what gems of deduction can you share, before you leave us, Holmes?’

Holmes picked up the brush, and took a deep breath.

‘Your victim is a bald man, late thirties, black synthetic coat, missing a sock, a fetish for stiletto heels, a penchant for old newspapers, and was probably blackmailing his nemesis.’

She raised an eyebrow, and almost smiled, before her mouth contorted in pain: her hands clenched at her stomach, and she bent forward as if about to fall. Watson caught her, and guided her on to one of the plastic seats, where she remained hunched over.

Watson turned to Holmes.

‘Appendicitis’, he whispered.

‘It’s poisoning, Watson. It occurred just after she removed her glove. The alarm control box must have been coated with a fast-acting poison.’

DC Jill Fletcher stood up, stifling a groan, ‘It’s what women call menstrual cramps: half the world’s population suffers them, and the other half doesn’t seem to notice.’ She raised an arm, and pointed across the room.

‘Talking of noticing…’

‘Ah, I forgot to mention the shoe, said Holmes, ‘ADT’.

‘You also neglected to mention the woman’s body, curled up in the clothes dryer, but I’m sure you were getting around to that detail, Mr. Holmes.’

‘A. T. D. Sherlock, ATD.’

Clothes Dryer One, Hanger Zero

Danielle Lee Zwissler

Jack looked at the facts and tried to piece together a reason for a killer to throw the woman in the clothes dryer, but he couldn’t find one logical answer.

“The woman was only 34,” Jack muttered, shaking his head.

“Yeah, but 34 and hot,” the other detective, Lassiter, said, looking at the same stack of evidence. “Look at picture 2. All that hair…and picture 7, did you see it?”

“Yeah, I saw it,” Jack said and sighed.

“Her hair was a tangled mess. Looks as if the brush on the table was taken out by the hair. Not one bristle.”

There was a wooden hanger, too. Nothing about this case made a lick of sense. “Do you suppose it was an accident?”

Lassiter laughed. “Yeah, sure… What, did the woman just climb into the dryer to fetch a sock or something, and somehow will the thing to turn on on its own?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “As strange as this all seems, she could have been just a little off and climbed in to see if she could fit. Some dryers turn on after the door is shut.”

Lassiter shook his head. “Some, but how the hell did she close the door on her own? It’s not like they have a handle from the inside.”

“What does the autopsy report say? Have we gotten it back yet?” Jack questioned.

“Should have it this afternoon. Marjorie said she’d get it to us before lunch.”

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Did you check up on that guy that she was seeing?”

“Yeah, he’s clear. He was at work all night. And, she called him that evening, too.”

“Could have been him using her phone,” Jack said, and Lassiter picked up a sheet of paper.

“Nope, one of the boyfriend’s friends at work witnessed the phone call.”

Jack huffed. “All we’ve done is move in circles.”

The phone rang just then, and it was Marjorie.

“What did you find out?” Lassiter asked.

“Nothing much. Death by heat, oh and she was on her period.”

“Her period?”

“You know that thing that happens once a month; it’s a bitch,” Marjorie joked.

“Yeah, I know what it is, I just don’t know why that’s important.”

“I’m not the detective, you are,” Marjorie commented. “See you tonight?”

Lassiter laughed. “Yep.”

Lassiter looked at Jack. “So, the dryer was the cause. There’s no other information, other than the lady must have been having some pretty bad menstrual cramps.”

“Menstrual cramps?”

“Marjorie thinks it may be important,” Lassiter commented.

“You and Marjorie going out yet?”

Lassiter smiled. “Yep.”

“So, you think she’s on to something with the cramps?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Think like the murderer on this one, Lassiter. Would you throw a woman in a clothes dryer?”

“Well, I sure as hell wooden’ hanger,” Lassiter said with a wink and a grin.


“Get it, wooden’ hanger?”

Jack shook his head. “I think we both need to get some sleep and come back to this case fresh in the morning.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Lassiter said and grabbed his coat.

A Tale of Two Laundries

E. Chris Garrison

The life of a mad scientist is often glamorized. But believe me, it’s not all bringing patchwork corpses to life, or building the ultimate death ray. Especially for those of us on a budget, there are simply days when you’ve got to do mundane things. Like my laundry. Which is how I found myself alone at the Laundromat one Saturday night.

Mad science pays a lot less than you’d think it would.

There are laundries closer to my apartment, but I like Ike’s Laundry and Tan’s 1950s atmosphere. Wooden clothes hangers, copper embossed ceiling tiles, and all chrome décor. Cell reception was terrible, since it formed a Faraday cage of sorts, but that suited me fine.

That is, until she happened.

As I watched my laundry tumble in the massive quarter-driven dryer, I had a thought: what better way to clean clothes than to swap them with their as-yet-unused counterparts in alternate dimensions? It’d work through entanglement, and could remove any stain by way of literally never having happened. Of course, some alternate me would have unexplained stains appearing on his clothes. But that’s not my problem. Heck, the same principal could restore the bristles on an old favorite hairbrush, or instantly fix a flat tire…

A flash of light and a booming noise startled me from my daydreaming. It came from my dryer. A jump-suited woman peered out of the machine at me, grinning. She slapped at the glass door with the palm of her hand, and I helped her out.

She stood a little shorter than me, with auburn hair like mine, only longer. Her eyes could have been mine, except for the merry twinkle in them.

“I did it!” she cried, hugging me. Toasty warm, she smelled of my dryer sheets.

“So, you admit it!” I said, shoving her away from me.

A frown clouded her freckled face. “And why shouldn’t I?”

“It’s criminal,” I said. “And dangerous. You are me, aren’t you?”

She nodded. Her smile restored, “Looks like I’m a man in this universe?”

I shrugged. “What’s that got to do with it? You’re just like the others. All evil. Like that me from Atlantis, who stole my marine biologist girlfriend! Or the other me who fried my equipment with an EMP burst to stop my death ray experiments. Or—”

She grinned. “See? It’s meant to be, we’re dimension hoppers! All of us discover quantum tunneling!”

“And you stole my idea. And my laundry! It’s criminal!”

Time for my secret weapon.

In a fury, I pulled out an electronic patch made of pink flexible metal, its surface etched with a crossed-out Venus symbol. I slapped it onto her bare forearm. “Ha! I stole that from the last me – feel the Femmeliminator! Ah ha ha!”

She closed her eyes and her face went slack, followed by a blissful smile. “Dude, we’re about to become filthy stinking rich! That doodad just cured my cramps!”

Sales of Femmeliminators have funded our joint mad science ventures quite nicely.

The Magpies’ Song

Mamie Pound

The clouds drifted farther and farther away, until only a half-moon and bits of stars shone against the blue-velvet sky.

The entire world slept, except the noisy magpies, huddled and waiting in the trees along the water. Their garbled sing-song quickened her heartbeat.

The wooden sash creaked a little as she pushed up the window, then tiptoed along the roof, to the River Birch at the corner of the house.

She threw down her flip flops first and descended, limb by limb, until the soft, wet zoysia met her bare feet. A perfume of roses’ blooms was caught in the wind.

The dirt trail to the river twisted through waist-high reeds in an empty lot and crossed a two-lane highway before she was close enough to hear the lapping water.

He waited on makeshift raft, timber held together with nylon rope, floating on empty plastic barrels.

He smiled.

She took a deep breath.

“Ready?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said and he helped her step onto the rocking floor.

“I have to be back before daybreak,” she said, balancing each step before sinking down, indian-style.

“I know.”

They caught the swift current and at once, were out in the middle, sailing under the stars.

“I always thought it’d be fun, to raft all the way to Apalachicola,” she said. “Catch a freighter to Mexico.”

He dug the post down into the water and guided them along. “Or even South America.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

She lay on her back on the raft, face up to the stars.

“You know any of the constellations?’ she asked. Warm June air rustled the leaves overhanging the bank, were a counterpoint to the Magpie wings, fluttering overhead.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Which one?”

“Let’s see,” he began, and she knew it was going to turn to a long, winding story that would probably last until morning.

“There once was a couple, Vega and Altair,” he began.

She laughed, dipped her hand into the river and sprayed him with water.

“Alright, then. I bet you’ve never heard of the Coat Hanger Constellation?”

“Of course I have,” she said, stretching out until both her hands trailed behind her in the wake of the raft. “But tell me again.”

“It’s not as bright as it will be in July, but imagine a line from “Altair” toward the even brighter star, “Vega”. Coathanger is in the darkest part of the sky, about a third of the way between them…” he watched as her eyes searched the sky, then met his own.

“You can’t see it without a telescope, can you?” she smiled.

“Of course you can,” he said. “But not with your eyes.” He lay down beside her, and looked up at the stars.

“That one is Cassiopeia and there’s Orion,” he said.

The moon rose higher still. The dominoed birds swooped alongside their vessel, skittering owls from the trees. And they floated along, all the way down the Chattahoochee, until finally, the craft beached itself on a sand bar just north of Eufaula.

The waves were perfect and dark, one after the other.

And the Magpies cloaked them in song.

The Mercy Academy 2017 Iron Writer Challenge

The 2017 Mercy Academy

Iron Writer Challenge

The Writers:

Beth T., Kalei M., Taylor L., Riley M., Jordyn S.

Mallory K., Natasha N., Logan B., Sarah M., Kelsie M.

Julianne W., Meghan W., Shelby S., Brianna B., Maggie H.

Kara K., Abby A., Abby J., Star A.

The Elements:

A pumpkin

Bubble Wrap

A cat on a leash

Start with the sentence “And I thought you were…”


Beth T.

“And I thought you were going to stay with me through anything Jason. When we got married you said your vows and the most important to you was working everything out whether the problem was tiny or huge. Deciding which pumpkin to buy so that we could carve it for our first Halloween to buying our first house. We were supposed to love each other forever. I never said that I didn’t want kids I just said that I didn’t think I was ready to have them yet. We’ve only been married for a year, we both have new jobs and are still making payments on all the new furniture we bought for the house. Our marriage is still bubble wrapped it’s so new, I just want more time to get settled into our new life before we bring another person. Maybe for now we could get a dog, or a cat! A cat and we could take it for walks on a leach. Lets just wait, and get a cat until we’re ready for kids. I know you want kids right now, but right now I am just not ready. I am sorry. Please do not leave me. We will get through this I promise. One day I will be ready for more than just a cat on a leach.” As soon as i get my last word out he closes the door behind him.
A few seconds pass, then he re opens the door. He looked at me with that perfect smile of his and said, “ are you coming to get this damn cat or not?” Thats when I realized exactly why I married him. I grabbed my coat and ran out the door into the car. Giggle and happy, just like I was on our wedding day.

From Cat To Mole Rat

Kalei M.

“And I thought you were going to shave Ronaldo’s paws before today.” I was scolded by my mother who walked up to me with our other Siamese cat, Maximilian, on his bejeweled leash.

“This is no time to act a fool, Ryan. You know good and well that the Prestigious Feline Association has strict guidelines on the length of fur around their paws. I can’t have a repeat of last year happening again! It’s almost judgement time! Get those scissors out and trim about a quarter inch off each side. And when I return you better be finished.”

She walked away, Maximilian in tow. Hastily I grabbed the scissors which where still in the case and opened them before facing the feline. Ronaldo was ruthless, he is the reason I have scratches covering my arms and a couple lasting scars on my face. What he hated most: grooming. I approached slowly, making sure his leash was attached to the pole.

Things started off okay, until I got too close to his face while inspecting my work. That’s when the claws came out. God, this cat was ferocious, by the time I was done with his front leg I had three bleeding scratches. Man up Ryan! Think! I wasn’t going to sit here and take this. Looking around the venue, I noticed a box filled with bubble wrap that once held the glass trophy for today’s show. “Borrowing” the bubble I devised a genius plan. All I needed now was the helmet. It was November so what better décor than to have plastic pumpkins surrounding such a classy show. Cats, corn stalks, and pumpkins, oh how beautiful! Not. Who needs pumpkins at a Siamese Cat Show? Cutting the pumpkin with the scissors I made two eye holes before making an even larger hole for my nose. Completing the look I wrapped myself in bubble wrap, looking like a burrito.

Gingerly I approached the beast, scissors on guard like I was prepared for battle: which I was. I stealthy trimmed the other legs, protected by my shield as Ronaldo swatted and popped a couple bubbles. As I completed my grooming, I stepped back and removed my helmet to examine my work. Boy, was I in for a surprise. Apparently, I didn’t make the eye holes large enough and my perception of how much a quarter inch was, was off. The cat looked like a naked mole rat from the bottom down. On the plus side, we didn’t have a repeat of last year like my mother feared, instead we did worse.

The Witching Hour

Taylor L.

“And I thought you were too busy doing your chores,” Amber said as she examined my witch costume.

“Nope,” I exclaimed, “I was able to trick my dad into thinking that I left to get more cleaning supplies. Honestly, who asks their kid to clean out the attic on Halloween?”

Markus eyed my costume skeptically as he asked “He didn’t ask why you were leaving the house with both you and your cat in costume?”

“Nope! I told him that the store was offering a discount to anyone that came in with their costume on!” I smiled at my own cleverness. Amber laughed at my antics before picking up my pet, Roxy, who was not enjoying her pumpkin costume.

Amber asked “How did you manage to put your cat on a leash?” I pulled down the sleeves on my costume to reveal a few scratches that were caused by that demon cat. I should have dressed her as a little devil instead.

“It wasn’t easy, but after a bit of catnip I was able to slip it on. I also snuck a present for you guys out of the attic!” Amber and Markus both looked confused, until I pulled bubble wrap out from the  pillowcase I brought to collect candy in. Amber gasped and hugged me tightly in her embrace.

“Thank you Kathy!” I hugged her back and looked up to see Markus’s reaction, only to find his usual neutral expression.

“Thank you Kathy,” He said in his normal monotone voice. It fit well with his grim reaper costume. Amber pulled away from the hug and snatched the bubble wrap fro my grasp.

She shouted “Mine,” before proceeding to pop every bubble on the plastic wrap. Her bouncy and loud personality also went well with her clown costume. She probably dressed like that to freak out Markus since he hates clowns. I smiled before linking my arms with theirs.

“Let’s make this night the best Halloween ever!” I proclaimed before marching down the sidewalk with my friends, and cat,  in tow.

Remember Me

Riley M.

“And I thought you were going to visit your mom today?” I questioned. Jeremy visited his mother at St. Jude’s HealthCare Center every Wednesday and Sunday. Melinda was always extremely nice to me, she had never been the type of mother-in-law you would come to despise. We moved her into the nursing home five years ago when she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Melinda didn’t remember her son Jeremy, her grandchild Ethan, or me. Although, she did remember her deceased husband Mark. I never knew Mark because he passed away when Jeremy was only seventeen years old. Jeremy and I met when we were nineteen. Jeremy always told me stories about how Melinda and Mark would send each other small, random trinkets by mail because they went to different colleges and that’s how they decided to express their love. It was a miracle that she remembered Mark, but it was only because she believed Jeremy to be him. Every time we visited her she called him Mark. I know it broke Jeremy’s heart for her not to know it was him, but I think he was also happy that she still had some piece of her life left.

One day I had just come home from work and I went out to get the mail. There was a tiny box in there that was from Melinda. When I opened the box a card sat on top and read, “To my lovely Mark. Another token of my love!”. Inside the box, wrapped in bubble wrap, was aceramic pumpkin. That was the day we realized she thought Jeremy was Mark. Another day she sent a stuffed animal cat on a leash, which Ethan loved. He walked it every morning, while we went to get the paper. Each time she sent a trinket, it was addressed to Mark. I eventually had to start hiding them from Jeremy, it got to be too hard for him to bear. It was enough for him to be thought of as his mom’s husband by his own mom, but to receive love notes as well, it was just too much for him.

Melinda is gone now and every Wednesday and Sunday Ethan and I go visit his father at St. Jude’s HealthCare Center bearing gifts because unfortunately for my husband, he has the Alzheimer gene.


Jordyn S.

And I thought you were the one. All of the times I saw you working at the Pet Shop and you would smile at me and asked if I needed any help. I thought you were the one when I saw you packaging up things in boxes wrapping them with bubble wrap and you would laugh as one of the bubbles popped. I thought you were the one when I watched you pick up Pringles and a Reds Apple Ale at the gas station because those are my favorite chips and my favorite beer. I thought you were the one when I saw you watching Stranger Things through your window because that’s my favorite show.  I thought you were the one when you were running outside with your kids and laughing as you all were trying to catch lightning bugs through the night. I thought you were the one when I saw you trying to walk your cat on a leash in the snow because that’s the kind of odd thing I would do. I thought you were the one when you went to Hewbers to pick out a pumpkin for Halloween because I use to go there as a child. I thought you were the one when I saw you driving and singing your favorite song out loud like you were performing a concert. I thought you were the one but you have another man in your life. But I will always wait for you and watch you until you become the one.

Is She Dead?

Mallory K.

“And I thought you were a nice person. But I guess not!” cried Angela. “Angie, it’s nothing. And I’m sure Ms. Essie is fine.”  Elle defended. “Doubt it!” Michael said sarcastically. The three teens stood in front of a ransacked house on the end of the street. “And on Halloween, it’s like an actual horror movie!” Angela sniffed. “I’m sure it’s just a haunted house or something. It’s probably just a set up.” Elle said, leading the other two away from the house. The front door had been left ajar and the lights had all been turned off. “Do you really think Ms. Essie would have a haunted house? She’s like a hundred. I think an actual crime happened here!” Michael screamed. “Keep it down, Michael! We’re gonna walk away and act like none of this happened!” Elle said, still trying to usher the other two off the front porch. “What if she needs our help? What if she’s dead?” Angela gasped. “Oh for the love of God, Angie, she’s not dead! If we walked in right now, she’d probably still be sitting in there knitting for her cats! But just in case she isn’t, we should just leave!” Elle snapped, shoving at Michael and Angela, who were still fixated on the porch. “You were the one who told us it would be more fun trick or treating at midnight! Now look what we’ve found!” Michael snapped back. “Okay, okay! It’s all my fault! Can we get off this porch for someone sees us?” Elle nervously said. “I didn’t even see her walk her cats tonight on those leashes. She always walks them. Can’t we just go in and make sure she’s okay? Every light in the house is off and Essie never goes anywhere.” Angela pleaded with the tense looking Elle. “Fine, you two can do whatever you want! I’m going home!” Elle stomped off the porch in frustration and walked down the driveway. She called back at them in sarcasm “Well, are you little babies gonna go in?” “We’re working on it!” Michael sassed back. Elle mumbles to herself in anger as she walks down the street. As she about to turn around and make fun of them again, she notices that they are no longer on the porch. “Guys?” She called. She slowly walked back to the house. “Okay really funny guys! Real mature.” She went up to the front porch and peered through the open door into the hallway of Ms Essie’s house. “Ang, Michael! You guys in here?!” She nervously called. “Elle! Come here! Hurry!” Angela wailed.  Elle found Angela and Michael in the living room huddled around a body wrapped in bubble wrap. “She’s dead!” Cried Angela. Essie suddenly sprung up and cackled “Stay out, you brats!” The teens screamed and ran out the house. Elle tripped over a pumpkin on the front porch as the teens ran away, never to return again.


Natasha N.

“And I thought you were the sun,” Avariella admitted to Nemo. “No one else saw you like I did. You were overlooked by everyone like the smallest pumpkin in a pumpkin patch, but I saw you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You consumed my every thought without me even realizing it. When I fell in love with you, I had no idea it was love. I didn’t think I was capable of comprehending what love was. It just happened. Before you, I had a bubble wrapped heart. I did everything I could to keep from having feelings for anyone because I was afraid of getting hurt, but that all changed. Whenever I thought of the moments we had together, my stomach clenched with this overwhelming excitement. Whenever I would think of you too much, I would become so anxious that my breath was taken away from me. Every single time I thought of you, or whenever anyone mentioned you, my heart rate would speed up. All I had to hear was your name, and my mood was ten times better. My most favorite times were when we talked. Spending all hours of the night speaking to you about who knows what… I’’ll never forget those conversations. That was when we bonded the most. You were so easy to talk to, and you made me laugh so effortlessly. You could make a joke, but you could also have a serious conversation if you wanted to. You were nosy, but it was cute. I think what pulled me towards you the most was the way you always had me chasing after you. We’d have this long, sentimental conversation one day, and the next day you wouldn’t text me back. You would act like you liked me one second, and then you’d ignore me the next. It confused me so much, yet it kept me on my toes. The one thing I was truly afraid of was annoying you to the point that you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore. Sometimes I felt as if you were like a cat on a leash, and I was at the end of that leash trying to tug you back towards me. You were the one guy I liked that didn’t seem to show me enough attention. There were other guys who showed interest in me, but I didn’t care about them because they weren’t you. Nemo, it was you. It has always been you.”

Pumpkin, the Pup

Logan B.

“And I thought you were a cat!” Annie, my owner yells at me as she walks past the left over pieces of my torn up bedding. I am not typically described as a cat to my friends, we consider ourselves alpha coyotes. Ever since I was a little kitten, I have felt my calling as a wolf-dog. Being a cat never tickled my pickle. Annie doesn’t understand me. Even when I bark at her to let me outside, or stare at her when she’s eating dinner, hoping for some leftovers, she doesn’t understand.

Annie huffs as she starts to clean up the mess I made. I decide it’s a good time to evacuate the premises. I walk out of the apartment and jump from the balcony to the ground beneath me, landing on my feet, the most cat-like thing I will ever be able to do. I stroll past old takeout boxes, bubble wrap from packages, and garbage bags in the alley. I spot my fellow canine friends on the corner getting ready for their afternoon walk from Derrick, the dog walker.

“Hey, Pupkin.” He greets me as he puts on my leash. Derrick is a great companion because, unlike Annie, he respects my decision as being a canine. To show my regards for the free walk, I run up to my friends without holding the pack back.

“Hey Roscoe!” I greet my German Shepard friend.

“Hey, Pupkin.” He replies.

“Why is your fur matted, Pupkin?” Candy, a Pomeranian, asks me.

“I tore up my bedding and Annie is really mad.” Derrick stops and ties our leashes to a pole for a hot dog pit stop.

“Your owner is mad at you and you aren’t at home taking the punishment?” Roscoe asks sternly.

“ She doesn’t care about me anyways.”

“Pupkin, Annie loves you, she’s just mad that you’re acting this way. Help her understand what you want.” Candy says.

Annie really is an amazing owner. She buys me tuna that gets my cat feels all tingly. She scratches my head late at night when she’s watching the Netflix show of the month. And when she comes home from lunch she gives me her extra grilled chicken. You can’t beat that.

“You guys are right, I’m going home.” I tell them.

“Good luck, pup.” Roscoe tells me as he takes off my leash with his teeth.

I make it home just in time, as Annie walks through the door with grocery bags. I run up to her and rub my head against her legs.

“Hey, Pumpkin. Get into anything while I was out?” She bends down to my level,

“I got you something,” She smiled as she put a big bone in front of me. My very own dog bone! I bark in response to express my gratitude. Rubbing my head, she responds, “Good boy, Pumpkin.”


Sarah M.

“And I thought you were finished packing already!” My sister exclaimed. “We are leaving to go to Florida tomorrow and you still have stuff in your attic! You haven’t even opened the box of bubble wrap I gave you last week!” She climbs the ladder into my attic and nearly falls over from the sight of everything in there. I don’t blame her, I can’t recall the last time that I ever cleaned out my attic.

“What do you see up there?” I call out. “Anything we can sell?” For about a month, my sister and I have been saving up money so that we could both move to Florida to be closer to our family. We did save up enough already, it’s just that having some extra cash wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Unless you want to try to sell a rotting pumpkin, then yeah, we can totally sell something.” She replies sarcastically as she begins to toss things down to me to pack away. From the looks of the things that I’m getting though, it might be better to just put them in the trash pile which has grown in size since we started to clear my house out. “Why on earth do you have a framed picture of a cat on a leash up here? Who do you know that puts their cat on a leash? And why would you take a picture?” She questions.

“You just have to learn how to live a little, take a leap out of your comfort zone and put a cat on leash sometimes.” I answer with ease. She steps down the latter with a heavy box in her arms and gives me a weird look that seems to say, “How am I even related to you?” She hands me the box and I take it out to her car, readying myself for whatever comes next.

The next day, the two of us shove the last box into her car and slam the trunk door down. I take a final look at my house, where I lived for a good five years of my life. Lots of strange stories have been made and told inside those rooms, but I suppose it’s time to start a new chapter in my life.

“Are you ready to go?” My sister asks me. I simply nod, ready to see what happens next.

Almost Insane Agatha

Kelsie M.

“And I thought you were stalking me!” I exclaimed with a sigh of relief.

“Oh heavens no! I was merely following you from a distance,” giggled my crazy neighbor Agatha. All week I had noticed her popping up at the same places as me, following me into stores, and keeping an extremely uncomfortable gaze on me from her porch. It all started when I was walking out of an antique shop carrying the newest piece for my glass menagerie. As I turned the corner, Agatha bumped into me knocking me and my precious glass pumpkin to the ground.

“Oh my, someone sure is eager to finish their walk,” Agatha remarked as she dragged her cat on a leash across the sidewalk. My newest prized possession had been destroyed and the only thing she was worried about was a cat on a leash!

Agatha was the neighbor that we all tried to avoid. A real crazy cat lady type person. Everyday she would groom, dress, and walk her cat, Romeo Maccabee III. Talk about a sight for sore eyes. The duo appeared everyday with matching sweaters. Romeo even wore booties on his feet because Agatha was worried about his “sensitive paws.” Meanwhile, the only thing I was worried about was keeping Agatha away from me.

At first I tried being nice. I would smile and wave whenever I saw her. I would engage in small talk. I did all of the polite things I could think of hoping she would leave me alone, but it wasn’t working. She was everywhere. When I went to the grocery store. BOOM, Agatha. When I went to get my mail. BOOM, Agatha. Everywhere I turned there was Agatha. It was maddening. The next time I saw her she was following me around Target. I quickly hastened my pace and weaved in and out of the aisles. I was determined to lose her. With Agatha out of my sight I headed to the bathroom to take care of some business. Sitting in the bathroom stall I finally felt at peace, that is until I noticed Agatha’s cat-decorated Sketchers in the stall next to me.

“Agatha, are you kidding me!” I exclaimed as I quickly hurried out of the stall. “This is outrageous. You can’t follow someone into the bathroom!” Agatha slowly opened the bathroom stall and walked out with a bashful look on her face.

“I’m sorry, I really am. It’s just that I felt so bad for breaking your glass pumpkin that I bought you a new one. I just wanted to give it to you at a good time and make sure you didn’t buy another one,” she said as she pulled out a box and handed it to me. Inside the box was a new glass pumpkin carefully encased in bubble wrap. I guess Agatha wasn’t that bad of a neighbor after all.

Ms. Grunfield

Julianne W.

“And I thought you were dead,” I thought, watching the old woman emerge from her house. The blackened house emitted a gloom like no other. The shingles were hardened by the weather and had been decomposing for years. Leaves collected in the gutter, while poisonous ivies thrived upon the walls. The door creaked open as she peaked her head outside. The wind caught her grey hair as it blew over and around her face, hindering me from looking at her face. Come to think of it, I don’t recall that anyone has ever seen her face.

She hadn’t been outside of her house in weeks. I wondered what went on behind those closed doors. All I saw was loneliness. Here she was again, walking Nixon. I was unsure of his real name, but that was what we called him. The black cat was plastered to her side at all times. She cared more for Nixon than anything on Earth—including herself. She placed Nixon down, handling the leash.

“Ms. Grunfield!” I pushed open the gate, running across her lawn. She ignored me. I shook her shoulder. She whirled around, looking stunned. “I apologize I didn’t mean to scare you” I assured. No answer. Then I realized, she was deaf and mute. I took pity on her.

She nodded opening the crimson door. Into the mysterious house I walked. I could hear the door shutting…and locking? She was holding Nixon again. She reached for the glass cloche, which sat upon a table, revealing magnificent looking pastries. She grabbed the appealing sweet, placing it within my hand.

“What’s this?” I asked. She grabbed a notepad and pen.

“It’s an apple streusel muffin” she wrote.

“It sounds lovely” I told her. I broke a piece off, tasting the sweetness of the apple. Then I tasted the familiar, sweet-savory spice. Looking towards where I had bitten, I could see the orange flesh. Pumpkin. I could feel myself becoming hot. I grabbed my throat. I couldn’t breathe. My lips began to swell. I fell onto the floor, slowly crawling away. I had no more strength to move forward. I could see Nixon out of the corner of my eye. He stood still, almost too still. He never flinched nor breathed. His eyes remained open. My eyes looked toward the old woman. Her head was perched on top of her hand. She rested it there while she watched me. I exhaled my last breath, looking into those cold blue eyes.


The old woman taxidermized me. She would drag me around the house wherever she went. She enclosed me in bubble wrap so I wouldn’t break. I would sit at the table with her while she would eat. She would entertain me, pretending to water her dead plants. She would brush my hair when she became bored. And when the night came, she would fixate my arm around Nixon, keeping his cold, hard body company. Company. Ms. Grunfield didn’t need company. She had Nixon and me.

No Leash For Me

Meghan W.

“And I thought you were going to like the pillow idea,” Miss. Waylon said to her orange haired cat, Pumpkin. For almost a week she has been trying to walk her cat, but every time she takes him outside he starts to flip around and hurt himself. To avoid injuries, she keeps putting different costumes and items on Pumpkin, but none have worked. Most recently she attached small pillows to him, but when they went outside, he still continued to jump and flop around. It was time for his afternoon walk and when she went to grab the leash, he made a dash for the back room, but she caught him before he got away.

“Not so fast little man. You’re going to love today’s protection idea,” she said cheerfully as she pulls it out from behind her back. “It’s a bubble wrap costume! I made it myself, it has little holes to put your little paws and cute face through!”

She struggled to put it on his twisting body, but she finally got it on him and headed for the door. Before they even reached outside, he began squirm about in attempt to get out of his collar and the bubble wrap.

“Come on Pumpkin, just give it a chance,” she pled as she picked him up and walked out the door. “See, it’s not so bad.”

Once she set him down, he froze for a slight moment while he frantically looked straight ahead. He seemed calm until a small lizard made it’s way across the cat’s path, causing him to flip around like a fish out of water. He managed to scramble his way out of his collar and made a dash for the door, going as fast as the wrap would allow him. His face collided with the closed glass door, causing Miss. Waylon to cry out in worry.

“Pumpkin!” She shrieked as she ran over to pick up her cat before walking inside. “No worries, momma’s got you.”

Once she took off the collar and the bubble wrap, he ran to back room, the farthest place away from the door. When she walked back to get him, she found him watching squirrels through the window.

“You’re always staring out that window, but whenever I try to take you out there, you freak out. It’s like right when I put on your leash…” she stopped talking as a thought popped into her head. She picked up Pumpkin and without any protection gear or a leash, she opened the back door. Pumpkin was hesitant at first, but then began to run around and chase small creatures.

“Run Pumpkin,” she said watching him, “Run.”

The City

Shelby S.

And I thought you were never going to show up, but you proved me wrong. Let’s hurry before I miss the flight. It’s finally time to see the world, I’m ready, New York City here I come. The flight wasn’t so bad for it being my first time flying, I thought I was going to have to wrap myself in bubble wrap to keep myself from being so scared of crashing or brushed up when turbulence would hit. For some reason coffee in the sky is much better then on the ground, More of the coffee landed on my writing book then it did in my mouth. I wander what it is like to be a flight attendant, getting to travel while being paid sounds exciting. As I looked out my window I could see New York City miles ahead.

I couldn’t wait to step foot in to the city that never sleeps. As I waited impatiently for my bag in the airport I couldn’t stop thinking of every bit of fun I am going to have. I grabbed my bag got into my first taxi and headed to my hotel. I found myself in Central Park, It was bigger than I had imaged. I never knew it was so big I always thought you could stand at one end and see all the way to the other end, but nope. The craziest thing happened to me in Central Park, I saw a girl walking a cat on a leash. Who does that, I guess the people in this city do. I walked for miles as I saw things I never though I could see in this life time.

The Statue of Liberty is humongous, I never knew it was so big. I always assumed it was big enough for people to go to the top but I never knew it was that massive. As I dreaded the day I would have to leave the moment I arrived, I took every bit of sight in that I could. From the crazy New Yorkers running around without a care in the world to the people that would hand you their mixtape on the side of the street, once you grabbed it they would pull you in and say oh that will be 6 bucks, then why the heck are you acting like you are handing them out for free. To add on to random people passing out things there was always a  bunch of people handing out flyers for the New York City pumpkin patch Festival, that was about the only thing that I was handed and I actually attended. It was quite a thrill, sadly my time with this big city will come to an end in the morning, but not to worry I will see it soon again.

The Life of Andy

Brianna B.

“’And I thought you were crazy.’ Those were some of the first words Andy ever said to me. I mean, I was wearing a top hat and carrying a pumpkin around just a few days before Christmas. But it was a dare that my friends gave me. I was supposed to go into Dallies Market and see if I could get someone to take the pumpkin. Random, I know. Anyways, I was walking around the market when all of a sudden I spot this beautiful girl and all I thought was ‘you have to go up to her and ask her.’ First impressions are everything, right? So I went up to her and she actually accepted the pumpkin and walked around the store with it in her hands. I waited a little until I went up to her again, explained the dare, and slyly asked for her number. That was when I heard her voice and her words telling me she thought I was crazy. Everything about her blew me away.

That was almost three years ago. Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago and I decided I was going to take her away from her little white room and go on an adventure. At that point, time was precious to us both. I was somehow able to sneak her out. How, you may ask? Well according to Andy, it was my magnificent ninja skills and I guess she was right. Let me tell you, she looked beautiful that day. She had on a new shirt from her favorite band “Cat on a Leash.” Who names their band that? She loved them though so I didn’t say anything. They did sing our song so I guess I could let it pass. She also had on these worn out jeans and converse. Her scarf matched her shoes.

We went to the pier and spent the day riding the small coasters and playing the arcade games there. That night, I took her to the beach and we had dinner. Right before we left, I went to my car and grabbed a box that was wrapped in bubble wrap. Can you guess what was in that box? Yes, it was a ring. I wanted to promise her my love before she went. Although we didn’t get married, I believe that this ring was enough for her. I wanted her to know that I was there for her before she was diagnosed with cancer, all during it, and even after she passed away. And now that she has, I cannot thank God enough for the time I was able to spend with her. Andy was such a beautiful soul and even though she is gone, she still shows herself through the little things in my life and our love for each other is still here. Thank you all for being apart of her life in some way and coming to her funeral. I know she’s up there smiling down at us.”

Happy Pills

Maggie H.

“And I thought you were Muffins,” the boy said to the pumpkin. The pumpkin smiled at him and the cat meowed, trying to get the leash from around its neck.

“Oh it’s okay, Clouds. I’ll try to get it off soon,” he said to the cat. The cat meowed contentedly and curled up on the floor. Under it’s body, the bubble wrap popped and the boy and his pumpkin smiled at the sound. They’d come to love the sound of bubble wrap being popped.

“I wish I had some candy, Muffins. They only give me some every now and then,” he said. Muffins didn’t reply, but only smiled. Clouds purred at the sound of his voice.

The boy absentmindedly reached down to get more bubble wrap and pop it. He giggled and kept popping. Eventually, he grabbed a small roll of it and began wrapping it around Muffins, who smiled more at the new wrap.

“You look lovely, Muffins,” he said. Muffins modeled her new dress, spinning around.

“As for you, Clouds, I’ll get that leash off for you. I know you hate it,” the boy said. He grabbed Clouds and began to try to remove the leash, but to no avail. Clouds pouted and ran off with her own leash. She curled back up into her previous place, popping more bubble wrap under her.

“I’m sorry, Clouds. I thought today would be the day I could get it,” he said. He frowned and played with more bubble wrap to try to distract himself.

He closed his eyes and put his head on a small wad of bubble wrap. “I wonder when they’ll bring my happy pills back. I don’t feel happy,” he said. His fingers tapped over the bubble wrap. The bubble pops no longer gave him the twinge of happiness it had a few minutes ago. He just stared at it, watching the plastic crunch under his fingers.

Outside the door, the nurses stood. One was just coming in to train, and she had a lot of questions about the patients since her trainer would be leaving in a week.

“So, as I was saying, every four hours you’ll have to give him his medicine. He’ll be really excited about you being there and he’ll ask you to stay. The pumpkin is named Muffins and the cat is Clouds,” the trainer said. She smiled at the boy, who couldn’t see either of them. He loved the inanimate objects.

“Do I go in this time or will you? Or do we go together?” The new nurse asked.

“I’ll have you watch me this time. I don’t know how he’ll respond to others,” she said. She opened the door and went in, and the new nurse watched as the boy sprang up and his face lit up with excitement. He took the pills happily and hugged the nurse, offering her to join him and his two friends.


Kara K.

“And I thought you were getting better, mom.” Mary sighed, hopelessly.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You’re walking our cat on a leash!” Mary exclaimed.

“He likes it, don’t you Boris?” The mother cooed.

Boris emitted a low growl from the back of his throat as he lay flat on the ground, refusing to move. The mother kneeled down on the concrete, stroking Boris.  A smile danced on her lips as the old cat began to hiss and scratch at her face.

“Mom, stop it!” Mary screamed, horrified at the droplets of blood sprouting from the cuts on her mother’s fair skin.

The mother stood up suddenly, a piercing, dangerous look glimmering in her eyes.

“You will never speak to me in that tone!” She yelled, stepping closer to Mary.

“Oh no, not again.  Mom, you have to find yourself.  This is not who you are!”

The mother kicked an unsuspecting Boris, sending him flying through the air.  Boris landed roughly on the cold, unforgiving pavement.  The cat sent an annoyed scowl towards the mother and began to stalk away.

“Mom, stop it, please!” Mary gasped, picking up the discarded leash from the ground.

“Stop what, honey?” The mother asked.

Mary’s mind boggled at the sudden shift in her mother’s mood, but decided not to waste her breath trying to question it.  She looked back at her mother, noticing her tender fingers touch the dried blood coating her cheeks.

“Oh, that silly cat!” Her mother laughed.  “I’m going to put bubble wrap on so the wounds will heal quicker.  Do be a dear and go fetch Boris for me, we don’t want him to get hurt, right?”

“But mom-” Mary started, but realized her mother had already left.

She quickly located Boris hiding underneath a small shrub in the backyard.  Opening the back door to their house, she picked up the bag of cat food and proceeded back outside.  Enticing Boris with the shaking of the cat food, Mary quickly shut the old cat back inside.  Mary gave an annoyed sigh and walked down the hall to talk to her mother.

“Mom! Where are you?” Mary called out to the silent home.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of a blade coming into contact with a cutting board.  Confused, Mary walked into the kitchen to see her mother hovering over the counter.

“Mom? What are you doing?” Mary asked.

“I’m making a sandwich.”

“Ok, but why is there a pumpkin?”

“You know I like sliced pumpkin, Mary.”

“Mom, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Can it wait, honey?”

“No, it can’t.  This has gone on for too long, mom, you need help.  I’ve tried my best to care for you, but your condition has gotten worse and I can’t be here all the time.”


Abby A.

“And I thought you were wanting to get adopted” my foster care advisor Joey asked.

“I don’t even care anymore” I added annoyed.

“Sam you’re running out of options you’re already 15” he said frantically.

”Fine they can adopt me I’m sure their better than the stupid smith’s that are watching us now” I said in a mocking tone.

“Grab you’re stuff and pack it up were leaving soon” he said angrily. He handed me two garbage bags to put our stuff in. I grabbed the six pairs of clothing I had, and packed my brother Timmy’s stuff. Which consisted of ten items of clothing and of course his stupid roll of bubble wrap. Our foster parents never gave us any toys so the only thing Timmy kept to play with was his bubble wrap. Timmy was sleeping in our bedroom we shared so I woke him up and told him we finally got adopted. Of course because Timmy is six he got all excited and started jumping up and down. “Yes! Finally I get a mommy and daddy!” He screamed, I handed him his trash-bag.

“You have my bubbles right!” Timmy asked.

“Yes of course” I said annoyed. Joey shoved us out of the foster house and into the car.

Me and Timmy both fell asleep for about an hour when Joey woke us up and told us we we’re almost there. When I looked outside I saw the most beautiful green hills each house having six acres in between them. The houses looked brand new and shined brightly in the sunlight. Timmy and I exchanged excited glances we’ve never had a Yard before. While driving through the neighborhood Timmy spotted a cat on a leash. “Joey cats wear leashes too?” Timmy asked.

“Only crazy rich people walk cats on leashes” Joey categorizes. We pulled into the driveway of the biggest house I’ve ever seen and got out of the car. “Sam and Timmy welcome to you’re new home” Joey said with a smile. As We walked up the driveway Timmy saw a pumpkin. He’s obsessed with pumpkins because his favorite color is orange. But he’s never even touched one let alone seen one carved. A woman with long blond hair with a bright smile and large muscular man with brunette hair came to greet us. “Welcome were so excited to meet you! The woman said.

“Sam, Timmy meet the Green’s.” Joey said.

“What do you guys have there?” Mrs. Green asked pointing to the garbage bags.

“It’s our stuff.” I addressed “why are you’re things in garbage bags?” Mrs. Green asked.

“It’s all the system can afford for moving transportation” Joey said disappointedly.

“Well we will have to buy suitcases for the both of you when we go on our family vacations” She said excitingly. It was that moment on that porch I now call home that I realized what it means to have a family.

Beautiful Chaos

Abby J.

And I thought you were sane. I must admit, the way you conned me into believing your facade of falsehood was a clever feat indeed. You presented yourself in such an effortless manner that I played right into your twisted hands, not once second guessing your motives. I had even considered you a friend.

Now, as I stare out into the sterile and desolate hallway of the psychiatric ward of the hospital, I can’t help but feel trapped by your insolence. It was your mimicked charm and charisma that enticed me, that took my guard down and turned it into something heedless. It also was your pretend smile and your fabricated movements that landed me in this prison cell furnished with nothing but a table and chair so carefully wrapped in bubble wrap. The best part is, nobody knows it was you.

You took my face, my name, even my mannerisms, but I still have the one aspect you lack – my mind. It is the one place that you could not fully access, and yet you still managed to fool them. It’s incredible, the way you tap your foot in the same way I do, and the way you tuck your hair behind your ear so diligently. What may be even more concerning is the way you fooled me. I wanted so desperately to believe that I was imagining your slow accumulation of who I was, but you became my mirror image. You became me.

Now I’m surrounded by nurses with concern and pity as their only accompaniment.

Therapists show me ink blots in attempt to pick at my mind, but I continually disappoint them when I tell them that all I see is a cat on a leash. This is what you’ve done to me; you’ve forced me to question my own sanity at the cost of my freedom. I’m under lock and key, while everyone else roams freely in the world beyond these walls. They enjoy supper with their families and can breathe in the fresh air of the place I once called home, but because of you I spiraled into what I now see as beautiful chaos.

It’s not the kind of insanity where you witness a carved pumpkin speaking to you, it’s the kind of insanity where you don’t even recognize yourself in your own skin. Mirrors become your worst enemy because you are terrified of what you might see, yourself or the one impersonating you. The elements of your being become obliterated by the confusion, but no longer. This place with its empty walls has served as a platform for self-realization and reevaluation of all you have taken from me. I have gradually found myself again and have noted my sense of originality that I initially lacked. I have rediscovered my light thanks to you. So, thank you. Thank you for pushing me to be me, and for helping me to find this space of such beautiful chaos.


Star A.

“And I thought you were coming with me!” I shouted at my boyfriend Jeremy. “Ever since I started this idea about going four-hundred miles away to college, you always said you’d be with me every step of the way. News-flash! A big and very important step is for to get in my car and come with me!” I can tell by the way he is looking at me that he isn’t going to change his mind about coming with me.

“Look, sweetie, this is where our story ends. And you can’t say I haven’t been with you every step of the way because I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t support you. I’m just cut out for the college life, I didn’t even apply to that school. I knew I wouldn’t get in, so why waste my time trying.” He looked like he was Ahmed to admit this to me, but I wasn’t letting him off the hook so easily.

“So the past two and half years, you knew you weren’t going to college and you would just let me leave you here? I distinctly remember when we had my family’s annual pumpkin carving contest you told me what you wanted to major in and how you planned to make that a career. I think becoming a sportscaster would be perfect for you.” Jeremy once told me he wanted to work for ESPN and I wanted to be a veterinarian, so I could work anywhere he was located.

“Look, babe, I had a dream last night about your vet shop. I could see all of those cats on leashes just waiting to get back there and see you. I knew then what I had to do, I had to let you go and become the best vet you can be. Here I got you this as a going away present.” He handed me a box, inside was something wrapped with lots and lots of bubble wrap. Jeremy knows how much I love to pop the bubbles. I couldn’t believe what he had gotten me, it was a picture of me and him in our very first date.

“Jeremy, this is the sweetest and most thoughtful gift I have ever gotten. You are the best boyfriend ever!” I started to tear up, Jeremy noticed and kissed me.

“I wanted you to have this picture of us, so everyone knows what a killer, hot boyfriend you have back home.” He laughed and opened my car door. I got in, started the car, and gave Jeremy our last kiss until Thanksgiving. As I drive off, I realized I couldn’t wait for Thanksgiving!

Sprinkles’ Dilemma

Melinda G.

“And I though you were normal!” The dog exclaimed, his expression showcasing both anger and disbelief, though it was difficult to tell which there was more of. His paws were balled into little fists that rested at his sides.

“I’m a human-sized cat, you moron. I’m the exact opposite of normal.” Sprinkles, or Gregory, replied, rolling his amber coloured eyes and letting out a low scoff. “And I don’t want you telling anyone about this. It needs to stay a secret. Got it?”

The Doberman Pinscher let out a huff, reluctantly agreeing in a less-than-enthusiastic manner.

“Fine. I’ll keep it a secret. But I got one condition.”

“And what is that, mutt?”

The dog growled, lips curling into a snarl, revealing sharp, white teeth.

“Make that two conditions. One, don’t you ever call me mutt. And two, you gotta keep my secret. Deal?”

Sprinkles distractedly fiddled with his red leash, lightly scratching at it with one single claw before looking up at Dinky, as if he hadn’t heard a word.

“What was that?” He asked innocently, trying to resist the urge to smirk at the infuriated dog in front of him.

“You heard me.” Dinky growled.

Sprinkles only nodded and walked away, trying to get his leash to look like a tie so he could go to work without worrying about it. His work day was uneventful, full of carefully filing paperwork and taking calls. So he was more than glad to get home, instantly heading to his bed and grabbing his pumpkin-shaped cat toy to scratch it. As Sprinkles played with it, he absentmindedly thought about the Doberman Pinscher named Dinky who threatened to reveal that he was a cat. There was no way he could let that happen. He’d lose his job and his house and everything he’d worked so hard to keep.

With a little huff, he pushed himself out of bed and made his way to the kitchen, accidentally stepping on a sheet of bubblewrap that had spilled from a package he had received days prior. Instantly, the idea of food was long forgotten, all in favour of popping the sheet of bubblewrap with his paws.

Eventually, he did regain focus and finished the day’s plans, which consisted of eating and sleeping. And when he woke up the next day and went to work, he found that Dinky the Doberman Pinscher hadn’t kept his promise, and for that, he feared the worst.

Upon arriving at his workplace, Sprinkles found that there wasn’t a soul who cared that he was a cat. In fact, most all of the staff thought it was pretty cool.

Seems that Sprinkles didn’t have a reason to worry after all.