Home of the Brave

What does bravery mean?

If you'd asked me that 20 years ago, I would have had some goofy answer regarding facing things that frighten most other people without fearing it yourself.  This is not bravery, however.  That defines stupidity, or at least a very poor understanding of mortality.

Granted, not all of us are afraid of the same things.  My wife is deathly afraid of spiders.  I don't like them either, and can relate to her phobia.  It's an irrational fear of something.  It's not rational for us to be so afraid of tiny creatures that don't really do much to bother humans.  Nevertheless, we are afraid of them and avoid and/or kill them whenever our paths cross.  But her fear is far greater than mine.

I'm an acrophobe.  I don't like heights; never have.  Roller coasters?  Forget it.  I can't even do Ferris Wheels, because my disdain for high places is so strong.  I freeze up if the ladder to get to the top of a house is too tall.  I could never hang Christmas lights on a house that was two-stories.  Heck, I may not be able to do it at all now, because as I get older, I'm even more cowardly.

But if being brave doesn't mean being unafraid when others might be, what does being brave mean?  I mean, most of us would never rush headlong into a blazing fire, but firefighters do it for a living.  They clearly seem unafraid of something that would make most of us soil our underwear, if we wear it.  So what is bravery, then?

I think, now, that bravery is doing what you have to do despite being afraid.

Each of us has our own private fears, things that make us cower and whimper and weak-kneed.  For some, it's some thing -- like spiders, for instance.  For others, it's some event or catalyst -- like public speaking.  For others, it's situational -- like being unemployed.  When we can face and understand our fears, they're easier to name and to label, box and package and maybe even address.  Some will say we "conquer" our fears.  I disagree ... I don't believe you can conquer all the fears welling up inside the human psyche.  I don't buy into the notion that exposure to something makes it less frightening, either.  I've had some pretty awful situations thrust upon me and my tiny little family, and while we managed to survive them and come out on the other side, we never "conquered" them.  If anything, I'm more afraid of them now, having been exposed to them, than I was before I had to face them.  That certainly wouldn't have gotten a passing grade in a college psychology class, but it's the truth, flat, bald, plain and simple.  I'm more afraid of something because I had to face them than I ever would have been without having experienced them.

And yet, in the face of our fears, we have to do things sometimes.  We have jobs that have to get done, whether that's a literal job, or place of employment, or tasks that face us, or something that has to be addressed during a time of great fear.  If you're in the middle of that blazing inferno and your child is screaming for help in the other room, you're going to find a way to overcome your fear(s) and get to the child or die trying.  If the spider can be dealt with no other way, you will find a way to squash/eliminate him somehow.  You have to do what you have to do, and doing that while you're afraid is the very definition of being brave.  At least I think so.

First responders rush up a building that's been hit by a jet plane.  That's bravery.  They didn't necessarily know the building would collapse on them, but they did know the jet fuel was burning like a crematorium and they went up anyway.  They did what they had to do even if they were afraid.  And I bet they were.

Bravery.  It comes in a lot of forms, in a lot of different acts and events every single day.  We may not always get to see it, because sometimes it's internal, but bravery is the heart of so many actions every day.

True enough, we aren't all "heroes" and go rushing into fiery infernos to save the lives of others.  Sometimes we just squash a spider.  Other times it's bigger, still others even smaller.  We do what we have to do even when we're afraid of the situation, the person, the circumstances or the thing.  Then we are brave, then we are courageous.

With those things in mind, I would like to tell you that I live in the Home of the Brave.  No, not the United States, though I live there as well.  The Home of the Brave, in this case, is the home that my wife has made for me and my children.

She is, without a doubt, the bravest person I've ever met.  She has faced more hardship and tragedy than any one person deserves, just in the last five years of our marriage.  It wasn't at my hands, but it wasn't anything I could prevent, either.  Time and again we were pummeled with situations beyond our controls, circumstances we could not escape, events unfolding around us we could not influence.  And in the middle of all of that, in the midst of a heart broken beyond reckoning, when it seemed even the least of our prayers would go unanswered, she moved forward.  She stayed at my side when she could have done something easier, something different, something less noble.  She chose to cling to me with every precious thing she had slipping away, being ripped from her fingers with no way to stop it.  She stood and faced the ugliness unfolding in front, behind and around her and she never once faltered, failed, slipped or collapsed.

She is the bravest person I've ever met.

I don't think that would have been my answer five years ago.  I don't know that I recognized her strength, her unwavering, unblinking courage, until very recently.  I don't know how many silent tears were shed under starry skies in solitude, how many times she gnashed her teeth and spat resentful curses at everyone and everything.  I don't know how much she wept alone in dark places away from prying eyes, where she would never have to explain.  But I never saw it even once.

I don't know what comfort, if any, she ever received from me during her hardest times.  I think I'm too shallow, self-centered and self-pitying to have noticed she needed it.  I was "dealing" with my own issues and feelings at the time, and God help me, I don't remember offering her a shoulder to cry on for her own solace.  I failed in every aspect as a husband in that time, and she never spoke a word against me.  She never once held a mirror to my weakness, to my pathetic whining and crying.  She did nothing but shoulder her burden without complaining and go on as best she could.  She never asked me for a single thing during that time, never asked me for a listening ear, never sought my understanding and caring.  She never did anything but be the supportive, loving spouse she's always been, the loving, caring, nurturing mother she's always been, and she was always the loyal, trusted, empathetic friend she's always been.

She is the bravest person I've ever met.

Now, the hideous head of our mottled, tumultuous past has reared again, and there she is, silent and stoic, facing her fears again.  She's doing what she has to do in the face of something that would probably reduce me to a quivering blob of nerves and worry.  Actually, it has done that.  She uttered not a sound, made not one groan of weary anguish.  All she did was sigh, and move on.  All she ever does is move on, and do the best she can.

She is the bravest person I've ever met.  The bravest person I've ever known.

The Home of the Brave?

Yes, I live there.

-JDT-

Technorati Tags: random thoughts, life, family life

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 39

(Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.)

"JD, wait!" Wendy stopped him. "We know what happens outside already. Maybe there's more that's going to happen in here."

"Dude," Dillon's voice softly carried, "she's right. Robbie's gonna get whacked out there. But Jenky might come back down here. 'Member, those guys didn't see 'im, so they didn't do nothin' 'bout him."

"And I saw them bury Robin Brown at the quarry," JD agreed. "But ... we should try and follow along, see what happens."

"We will," Wendy said. "We can watch through the window."

"He couldn't see what was going on through this --"

He was cut off by the mournful wail that froze them in their tracks. It carried through the open basement window, chilling their blood, rattling their bones. The sound seemed different somehow, changing in pitch and tone, and Wendy quickly put her hands over her ears and pressed her face into JD's chest. JD reached into his pocket fast and started the recorder again as Dillon covered his ears too, shutting his eyes tightly against the soul-stealing cry.

It faded into the night, and JD shuddered before turning off the recorder. He held Wendy with both arms and felt her trembling against him.

"God ... God in heaven I hate that sound."

"It's like bein' in hell, man."

JD nodded. "It is scary. But it was ... different somehow. I tried to record it."

"Y'already know what he's sayin', don'tcha?"

JD nodded. "I'll just check it later to see if it's the same message. I'm sure it is, but ... there was something different about it, that's all."

"Shh!" Wendy said, staring at the window. "I think he's coming!"

They stepped forward a bit when the shade of Jenkins raced into view at the window's frame, ducking and suddenly scooting back in the way he'd gone out, skittering through the low, open window, and dropping back onto the basement floor. He pulled the sash down quickly, and it squeaked like a mouse as it fell back in place. A moment later, there was another flashlight beam panned over the window frame, and the two voices from earlier carried through the stillness, hushed and conspiratorial.

"... gotta get it outta here now," one of them said, "before Jenkins shows up."

"What do we care if he does?"

"You think I want my wife ta find out about this, moron?"

"How's she gonna find out?"

"She's his sister, dip-shit! You don't think he's gonna tell her??"

"What if he does? She gonna believe him or you?"

"Fuckin' idiot. You killed 'im, not me. But it ain't gonna look good. And I don't want her t'know. I got kids too, asshole."

The voices faded around the corner of the house, and Jenkins opened the window again enough to allow the sound to drift in.

"... gonna hurt her?"

"Someone might. They ain't gonna wanna have this gettin' out. In case you ain't realized, this shit's illegal. You're fuckin' stupid."

"So whatta we gonna do, asshole?"

"'We'? 'We' ain't gonna do nothin', jack-ass. You are gonna bag that body and we'll get it in the truck and get up to the quarry. Jenkins is late. He musta got tied up or somethin'. We get up there, get rid o' the body, an' get back here an' wait for 'im. But he's gonna come here t'get the stuff. When he does, if he finds Brown dead in the yard, he's gonna be pissed."

"So what? You just said he can't talk or his sister'll be next."

"NEXT?? Dick-head, no one was supposta die!"

"I couldn't just do nothin'!"

The other voice snorted. There were sounds of laboring, grunting, a harsh whisper for some help if he didn't want to get caught, and after a time, the sound of a large canvas bag being dredged over the lawn. The three observers moved closer to the window and watched as Migo and Stanton dragged the heavily-laden bag out toward the front of the house past them. Just as JD saw them doing at the quarry the night before.

"They were planning to meet Jenkins here, but they thought he was late," JD whispered. "I guess plan B was to meet up at the quarry. It sounds as if there was a standing plan in place to keep things ... organized."

"Guess that makes this organized crime, eh?" Dillon chuckled.

JD nodded. "I guess so. The stolen goods were probably divided and fenced separately out of town somewhere. Someplace where no one heard about what was happening here, in this little hamlet."

"Like any good idea, it had a contingency for risk mitigation," Wendy breathed.

Jenkins ignored them. He listened, and a few moments later the distant sound of a car trunk being slammed, and the car starting and pulling away, could faintly be heard.

Jenkins shut and locked the window. He gathered the canvas bag in his hand and slung it over his shoulder, then wiped viciously at his eyes with his sleeve, sniffling quietly in the basement. The sound was sorrowful. The sound of a man who'd lost a friend.

JD watched as the shadow moved back toward the concrete block and vanished into it, disappearing from view.

"Okay," JD said. "Now we have to follow. He's going to go up to the quarry a little after they did. He was about five minutes behind them when I was there last night."

"Dillon and I saw him pull up in the truck when we were waiting for you last night."

Dillon nodded in agreement. "But ... we was too chicken t'check it out."

"I don't blame you," JD said. "Come on. We'll need to be ready to follow them to the quarry."

"I'm ... still hungry, though," Dillon said weakly.

"We'll eat soon, Dill, I promise," JD said. "Just let us see the rest of this, okay?"

He nodded. "But, dude ... all this crap goin' on ... what're we gonna do 'bout it? I mean, we ain't got the note, we ain't got nothin' we can show the cops t'prove Robbie ain't the crook here, and we ain't got nothin' t'show that those two dudes whacked 'im insteada Jenky. An' is the house still gonna be haunted?"

JD shrugged helplessly. "I wish I could answer any of those questions for you, Dill. I can't. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with all this information, and I have no idea what, if any, impact this is going to have on the homeowners and their experiences here. It's just ... a waiting game, I guess."

"I have a feeling that this is just someone's way of getting the truth out," Wendy said, and she stared up at JD. "I think when this plays out, and we've seen the whole thing, it'll stop. I think someone just wants ... just wants the truth out, that's all."

JD smiled weakly. "We can only hope. But right now, we need to go."

"An' you promise we eat after this crap?"

"I promise."

"Ugh. Fine. Let's go."

They headed up the stairs, Wendy holding JD's hand, Dillon scooting along behind. They went through the door into the servants' pantry, and wove through the kitchen to the foyer, JD depositing the camera on the stairs as they went to the door. They stood on the porch, JD pulling it closed and checking to make sure it locked behind him, and then moved quickly toward the gate.

There was a thick fog over the neighborhood. Not the dense, unearthly clouds they'd seen before, but a heavy, diffused mist that left visibility low. Peering down the street, JD saw a silhouette trudging up the street ... toward where the truck was hidden.

JD headed for his car, but Dillon caught his arm.

"Dude ... let Wen drive, man."

"Well ... uh ... why?"

"'Cause, when she gets all race-car-y it's hawt, dude. Really hawt."

"Do I ... do I want you thinking she's hot?"

"I already do," he smiled. Wendy giggled.

"Come on! Get in, quick! Let's go!" she called, and unlocked her car doors as she spilled herself inside.

They piled in after her, snapping seat belt buckles and yanking doors closed, but the specter disappeared around the corner in the fog, headed up the grade toward where they'd encountered the truck. She fired the engine and whipped the car around the narrow street in a sharp U-turn, toppling Dillon and making JD clutch again at the hinged handle over his door.

"Easy!" he chided nervously as she roared up the street.

"Don't wanna lose him, lover," she smiled.

"Not ... not a problem," he said, eyes wide as she rounded the corner quickly, his body pulling left hard. Dillon chuckled in the back seat.

"Nice," he grinned. "Real nice."

There was no one in the street when they began to ascend the grade, though. She slowed the car rapidly, pulling as far to the right as possible without going off the pavement. She was just creeping along now, staring intently out the windshield, leaning forward in her seat slightly.

"Where'd he go?" she mused.

"I ... I don't know."

"Who cares? Drive fast again, Wen!"

"I will, hang on ..." she said absently, edging forward. The headlights spread and died against the heavy mist, illuminating just a few yards ahead of them.

The eruption of light made her gasp, and JD cried "Look out!" as the headlights burst out of the fog. Wendy yanked the wheel right ferociously and laid on the brakes, slamming Dillon's head against the back of the passenger's seat and snapping the safety belts taut over them. Soundlessly the two disks passed through the mist and vanished down the street, the red tail lights disappearing behind them into the gloomy night.

JD was panting slightly, trying to extract himself from the binding belt over his chest. Wendy exhaled sharply and her body went lax while Dillon groaned and rubbed his forehead.

"Good thing we ... weren't going fast after all," JD muttered.

"Yeah. Yeah." Wendy's knuckles were still white over the steering wheel where she clutched it.

Silence as the seconds ticked away. Wendy finally backed up and turned the car around to head back down the street.

"Still ... still want to go after it?" JD seemed timid.

"I'll be more careful," Wendy said, slightly irked. "If you could handle it, I can too."

"I need a crash helmet, dudes," Dillon moaned. "My head hurts."

"Sorry, Dilly," she said more gently. "I know it's off the main highway, but I don't know exactly where the quarry is, JD."

"Um ... well, it's about halfway up toward home, I guess," JD said. "I'm ... not entirely certain either. Hopefully we can find the -- truck again and ... well, follow. It's not a marked entrance that I can tell, and by then we were immersed in the fog."

She nodded absently, and headed for the highway. It only took a few minutes to find it, and even on a Saturday night, the road was empty and dark. Wendy kept her speed reasonable, trying to watch for indications along the side of the road of the quarry entrance. All she saw was the dried, brittle underbrush and the stark, bare bones of the trees standing like soldiers in the woods. They drove for long, long minutes in complete silence, each with eyes trained out the windshield.

"There!" JD whispered, sitting forward a bit. "There it is! The truck!"

The tail light configuration was right, but they had no way of knowing whether they were seeing a vision from the past or an actual truck traversing the highway. Wendy drew to it rapidly as it rounded a bend, and applied the brakes aggressively to keep from ramming the vehicle in front of her.

It was stopped.

She watched, checking her mirror nervously. In a moment, it proceeded forward.

"There's ... there's not a stop sign here, is there?"

"No," JD said flatly. "The one I followed last night stopped like that too. I thought it might be a real car at first, but then it matched and mimicked my movements."

Wendy slowed the car down, seeing she was within a few meters of the tail lights in front of her. They slowed to match. She stopped, and they stopped. She accelerated quickly, watching her speed climb toward 30, then 40 miles per hour, and always the lights stayed the fixed distance away from her.

"Just like last night," she reiterated. "This is the truck.'

"Dudes, you sure we need t'do this?"

"Yes," they intoned together.

"Okay, Olsen twins, okay," Dillon conceded, sitting back on his seat and staring out the window at the fog.

She followed at what she felt was a safe speed, and then the truck brake lights blazed on as it slowed nearly to a stop before turning right.

"The quarry," JD said.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," Dillon said flatly. "Where would we be withoutcha?"

"Cut the crap," Wendy ordered sternly. "Let's get ready to see this through."

Technorati Tags: fiction

Ready to go on to Part 40?

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 38

(Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.)

Wendy reacted quickly, deciding before JD had his wits about him what she was going to do. She turned hard left, did a quick three-point turn that left Dillon tossed like a sock in a Laundromat dryer and JD clinging to the hanging handle over his door with both hands to keep from being jerked around the car. She went swiftly down the street, and noted the layout of the houses around them as she did.

"Look, JD! Look ... the houses -- they're all kinda set back or obscured by trees. In this neighborhood, he could've parked a truck and not even been noticed!"

"Uh -- y-yes, I see," JD stammered, nervous at how fast she was going. They rounded the gentle curve and he felt the pressure of the G-forces on him. She braked slightly and took the curve fast.

Panicking only slightly, JD checked quickly over his shoulder to make sure there wasn't any oncoming traffic immediately behind them. She roared the short distance to the house and pulled up so close to the curb, JD thought the car would skip its rims along the miniature concrete wall. Instead she brought them to a smooth and swift stop that left them pressed against their seat belts.

"Duuuuude," Dillon whispered. "If JD don't wanna marry you, Wen, I sure as hell do! That was hawt!"

She giggled and opened her door. "C'mon -- we can see this thing from the beginning. He parked the truck up the hill so they wouldn't see him when they got here. Why? Why would he do that? Come on, you guys, hurry up!"

"Uh ... o-okay," JD got out of the car, fighting with the buckle on the taut safety belt. Dillon slowly slid out of the car, and quickly checked himself.

"All the parts're still here ... guess I'm okay ... damn, that was hawt. I never knew driving like a maniac was so sexy 'til a chick did it. Heh."

"Try to focus, Dillon," JD said patiently. "Where are you going, Wen??"

"Come on! Hurry! I want to see him come in! What's he doing here, and why's he hiding!" She raced child-like through the gate and toward the parlor window, then changed direction and headed back toward the porch.

"Wendy, wait! You don't know where ..."

"It doesn't matter, lover! Come on, inside! We'll see him come in the window just like we did before!"

She was exuberant and wild, and JD found himself smiling despite the situation. He ran after her, trying to catch her, and she bounced eagerly on the porch, her hair springing from her shoulders as she waited for JD to come with the keys.

"Hurry, baby, hurry!"

"We still have more than an hour!" JD giggled, unable to stop himself from catching her enthusiasm.

"I don't think so! I think this is it! This is the whole story! Everything the house has to say, we're about to hear!"

"The house?"

"Sure. Don't you think it's the house?"

"Does this mean we ain't gonna eat? I'm friggin' hungry."

"We ate less than three hours ago, Dillon, give me a break."

"I'll give you somethin', all right. Dude."

He finally fumbled the keys into the lock and opened the door. Wendy raced in past him while he disengaged them from the lock, and Dillon pouted.

"Don't worry, Dilly ... we'll get you something. Just not right now. Come on, let's wait by the window!" She darted for the parlor, peeling her coat from her shoulders.

JD chuckled again, and noticed he was trotting after her, wanting to keep pace with her unbridled excitement. Dillon shuffled after them, grumbling.

JD came alongside her as she dropped into one of the chairs in front of the tables, behind the monitors, and watched the windows. The dark outside stared back at them coldly, as blank and unrevealing as a shark's eyes. She took JD's hand and held it between both of hers, and sat at the edge of her seat like a young girl at the movie theater without her parents for the first time.

JD watched the window, and tried to check his watch, but Wendy held the hand on which he wore it. He still thought there was too much time left for the replay to start. He didn't want her to be disappointed. Dillon leaned against the parlor's door jamb, his hands tucked casually into his pants pockets.

"Ain't gonna happen, people," he said. "Not time yet. Big-brain-small-balls said it was all time-triggered or whatever."

JD shot him a glare. "What'd you call me?"

"Have I become your enemy because I tell you the truth?"

JD shook his head and looked away. "That could be considered blasphemy."

"Shh! Shh! I think it's going to happen! I think it will! Just ... wait. Just wait."

"Wendy, we're really early, and it does appear to be time-dependent ..."

"Give it chance, baby, just wait ... okay?"

He looked down on her flashing eyes, her broad, amazing smile, and gently nodded. He looked back at Dillon, who simply shook his head and looked down. JD shrugged.

They all jumped harshly and Dillon squeaked when the window sash screamed open, rising slowly, the screeching wail of the ancient window protesting the movement.

JD quickly took a step, feeling at the table top desperately, finally wrapping his fingers around the tiny digital recorder, and pressed the record button quickly, catching the last several seconds of the loudly crying window movement.

Dillon whimpered behind him, and Wendy was squeezing his hand so tightly he thought she might crush it.

JD shut the recorder off a half-second after the sound died away, and tucked it into his pocket. He was straining for the hand-held video camera, and Wendy finally noticed what he was doing. She handed it to him quickly and released his hand. He felt guiltily relieved and worked it opened and closed to get the blood flowing through his digits, while he powered the camera on with his other hand. He popped open the LCD display and made sure the lens cover was off. Pointing it at the window, he watched as the shadowy figure appeared at the window, just outside.

Wendy covered her mouth and he heard her soft cry die in her hands as she smothered it. He felt the floor vibrate simultaneously and knew Dillon had jumped. Whether at the sound or the image, he didn't know. Steadily pointing the camera, he watched the figure come into the room, crouching just beneath the window, just out of sight from the exterior.

"Darren Jenkins?" JD called softly. The figure ignored him.

"Who're you, Jennifer Love Hewitt?" Dillon mocked. "This ain't TV, dude!"

"Hey, the other one spoke to us. I thought it was worth a try."

"Good try, baby," Wendy patted his arm. "What's he doing now?"

"He's looking to make sure he wasn't seen or followed. In a couple of seconds he'll ..."

The figure rose and moved to their left one more window, brushing invisible curtains aside to look out on the yard from another perspective. Then he moved toward the wall again, and JD knew this would be where it got tricky.

"He's going to open that door again," Wendy said. "Should we follow him?"

"No! I know where that door used to go! Come on!"

The figure opened the door that seemed to simply morph out of the wall, and vanished inside, pulling it closed behind him.

JD raced across the large space behind the stairs, across the foyer to the kitchen, and turned on a light quickly as he ducked into the pantry. At the back, he turned on another light, and then yanked open the door to the servant's staircase. He felt Wendy right behind her and heard Dillon's distinctive shuffle stumbling after as he pulled on the chain to engage the light at the top of the basement stairs.

He flew down the steps as fast as he could, and felt Wendy trying to keep pace. Before he could worry she was grasping his shoulders, keeping herself from falling as she stumbled down the last few steps. JD came forward, but the basement was pitch black now. No exterior light assisted with the navigation. He knew the space was largely open, now ... but wasn't sure if he could trip on objects that were there 35 years ago.

He fumbled in his pocket, but didn't have his red-lens flashlight.

"Damn," he swore softly, and fumbled with the camera. He finally made the tiny camera light turn on, and it pierced the black as far ahead of them as the camera's night-ability would allow. It was all of about six feet, but showed that the floor was still clear. He began to edge to his left, moving forward slowly, cautiously.

"This way ... there's a concrete wall up there that sits right between the parlor and the den or living room, whatever it is. There was a staircase between those two rooms 35 years ago. I think they expanded the room next to the parlor and took it out to create the space."

Wendy clutched JD tightly, and he was sure Dillon was clutching her just as tightly.

"I'm scared, dude," Dillon whispered softly.

"Don't be. This is the easy part. Just watch."

JD crept forward until the tiny light finally found the first traces of the large concrete barricade in front of them. He stopped then, and felt the others press tightly to his back. He heard Wendy breathing, anxious, quivering, and felt her gentle but rhythmic trembling on his arm as she entwined hers over it like ivy. He squeezed one hand with his free one, and let the camera run.

In a moment, the concrete seemed to be liquid and soft again, and a shadowy, indistinct form seemed to emerge from the gray monolith as if coming out of a wall of oatmeal. Wendy clutched JD tightly, and he felt his heart racing, his body tense, ready to spring.

The shadow moved toward the window, next to where he'd seen the pipe plunge through the wall into the earth under the parlor window. With a last furtive look through the dirty panes spattered with mud, he turned toward the middle of the basement. He bent and seemed to be working on -- or in -- something. The distinct sound of metal clinking and glass bumping filled the damp enclosure.

"What ... what's he doing?" Wendy's whisper was so soft, JD had to strain to hear it.

He shook his head, indicating he didn't know either. He gingerly took another step forward, Wendy moving in unison with him. The tiny camera light seemed to be powerless to illuminate the shadowy figure bent over the floor, but it showed the folds and wrinkles of a large canvas bag, gray with age and frayed with use, lying in front of him.

And suddenly, a diamond necklace appeared as he dropped it beside the bag in the weak ring of light. A golden statuette, a jewelry box, a silver candlestick, a jade figurine ... one by one the shadow placed expensive and rare objects d'art and jewelry beside him, trinkets that, JD was sure, had been taken in the burglaries of the time.

In a moment, the collection seemed to be complete. The figure took the items he'd set aside, and stood up, stretching and moving his legs to allow the circulation to flow freely again. He pulled something white and flimsy from behind his back, and they all jumped, stifling yelps of start, when he snapped the pillow case open. One by one he dropped the tiny treasures into the cotton make-shift carrier, and they clinked and clunked as they fell in. In another few minutes, he hefted the case over his shoulder, the items rattling against his back, the figure grunting with the effort.

JD shone the light on the canvas bag on the floor, but couldn't tell how much had been removed.

"Dude took all the good stuff, I bet," Dillon whispered, and JD was impressed that he could barely hear the statement.

"Is that what he's doing? Taking stuff? Stealing from thieves?"

JD shrugged. "I ... don't know. Sure looks like it." He whispered so softly, he bent low to make sure she heard him. He wasn't sure why he was whispering, though.

The shadowy figure seemed to vanish into the depths of the basement, and when he re-emerged into the dim light, he no longer had his treasure with him. He checked what JD assumed was a watch on his left wrist, and walked back to the basement window beneath the parlor, looking out into the night. Turning slowly, he started for the concrete barrier again.

All of them froze when they heard voices outside.

JD felt himself sweating. He knew what was coming.

They could hear the sounds, but not make out the words. Rushing, the shadowy figure raced back to his position at the window and peered out, and suddenly a flash of white light traced past the panes and the figure ducked, pressing himself against the wall beneath the window. The voices seemed to fade as the light moved away, and the silhouette slowly stood and looked out the window again.

"Damn!"

The sound startled them all sharply, making them jump and their skin burn with the sudden, hot flush of adrenaline that pounded through them.

"What the fuck are they doin' here already??"

The voice was whispered but harsh, gravelly, gruff. The figure sank to the floor, and went motionless.

They continued to hear the voices outside, so softly now they couldn't be distinguished from one another.

Quickly, another light cut across the panes of the window, and Jenkins jerked his head up, then scrabbled to his feet. He strained to look out, but couldn't see, and then darted across the basement to the window opposite. He strained again, but still couldn't see.

"Aw, Christ!" he groaned softly. "Damn it, is that you, Robbie?? You sonuvabitch, you told me you weren't doin' this!"

He bolted back to the opposite window, then scrambled forward, the three observers nearly leaping to get out of the way as he raced past, trying to find another window at the back of the basement. There was none.

He panted heavily as he went back to the window beneath the parlor, then held his breath, listening. The voices were joined by a third. There was an exchange. The voices grew a bit louder, but were still too indistinct to be understood. The figure bolted to the other window again, and suddenly there was a strange, indecipherable sound, and a voice strained and panicked. Then footfalls, clear, racing and pounding past the window where Jenkins stood, and he ducked quickly, watching them go by.

He waited, watching for a moment, and listened. No sound. Silence.

He tore at the old, rickety latch of the window, and pulled the sash harshly. Paint cracked and splintered away, and the decrepit hinges screamed in protesting agony as the sash was opened for the first time in many, many decades. He scooted up, onto the ledge formed by the basement foundation wall, and wedged his form tightly through the window, and into the yard.

"Come on," JD said softly, "let's go back upstairs. The rest of this will be in the yard."

Technorati Tags: fiction

Has This Ever Happened to You? ...

You come to work.  You sit at your computer.  You do your morning computer thing, which maybe involves a couple of things not directly (or even indirectly) related to work/business.  You know, you read a couple of articles in the online local newspaper, or ESPN.com, or something like that.  Maybe you have a blog and you're looking for a poster to answer, or you've posted a comment on someone else's blog and you want to see if they responded.  Then it happens.

You launch the page, and bam!  The site has been blocked by your company IT department.

That's what I discovered yesterday when I got into work.  I went to try and check on someone I care a lot about yesterday, and found that I wasn't able to.  I mean, technically I can, it's not impossible, but it's a lot harder -- and a lot uglier -- than it was two days ago.

It's an interesting development, because the fact of the matter is, I'm being watched.  I don't know that, out of the couple of thousand people that work here, I'm being singled out, but it IS interesting to note that these sorts of sites -- which have been generically classified as "Personal and/or Social Networking Sites" by the web screening software -- are now blocked.  If you were collaborating with a colleague on a blog, you wouldn't be able to do so now unless it had a private domain name.

That's fine, it doesn't stop me from actually reaching the sites, but it does stop me from being able to see the pretty formatting and pictures.  It's like the early Internet now ... everyone's headers are blue, the only font is TNR, and the only fancy formatting allowed is bulleted lists.  It's bizarre.  It's weird to see my own blog with my custom header and this weird, not-very-well-formatted page.  But, I can still, if necessary, see/read the posts of my friends and respond to them.  For the moment, at least.

So, if I seem unresponsive, or don't seem to be as talkative as I used to, please understand that it's not because I don't like you anymore, it's because I can't respond as I used to (if at all) during business hours.  I'll try to figure a way to get a message to you somehow, but please don't take it personally if it has to wait until my business hours end, okay?

I can't seem to get a message through to my DeviantArt page at all, so I'll have to update those folks when I get a chance.

What about you?  Have you ever been screened out by the company "Big Brother" of sites you've grown accustomed to being able to visit?  Why do you think those sites have been blocked?  Is blogging at the workplace really that big of an issue and time killer?  Have things gone too far?  Is this company just being extreme?  Sound off, blogosphere ... I really want to hear what you think.

Pretty soon we won't be able to use the bathroom until the company-specified break times.  Things are gettin' bad, and I want to do something other than the corporate dance so desperately I can taste it.

Maybe I'll write books for a living instead.  What do you think?

Technorati Tags: random thoughts, work, blogging

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 37

(Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.)

They all started blankly at the monitor, jaws slightly agape.

"This ... this is incredible."

"What's in the garage, dude?"

"I don't know, Dill."

"JD, how do we go search for the ... whatever ... if we don't know what it is?"

JD shrugged helplessly. "I ... don't know."

"Well, whiskey tango foxtrot then, bubba?"

"Huh?"

"WTF, dude? What the ... fudge?"

"I wish I could tell you. I have no idea what this means, if anything."

"'If anything'? JD, you're not going to be asinine about this, are you?"

"Wendy, I'm just saying -- I have no clue if this has any meaning, or if it's a weird coincidence, or if it's just a distortion from transferring the recording from the handheld to the PC. I can't answer any questions now."

"Well, we have to search the garage. For something."

"Aw, dudes ... we gotta do that tonight? Can't we do it in th' mornin'?"

"We're going to have to. The garage is downright hazardous. There's a lot of things just thrown in there. Someone could get hurt in the dark."

"Yeah, or a ghost could show up."

"Well, I'm more concerned about someone getting hurt."

"An' I'm more concerned 'bout the ghosts showin' up. That'd blow."

JD sighed. "Either way, we can't go looking around out there now. I don't even know if there are any lights in it."

"Damn," Wendy said, biting her lip nervously. "This feels important to me. I guess ... I guess it has to wait."

JD put his arm over her shoulder and she pressed into him more fully, laying her head on his chest.

"We'll look in the daylight, Wen. I promise."

She nodded.

"Meantime, I needa eat, dudes. Nourishment, y'know?"

"Jeez, has it been two hours already? Time flies when you're flinging mud."

"Two hours since what, dude?"

"Since your last feeding, of course."

"Nah, it's been longer'n that, homes."

"Whatever. You'll have to call for delivery or go get it yourself. I can't miss the events when they start."

"We have a couple of hours, JD. Let's just go get something and bring it back."

"Yeah, dude. I don' know my way 'round this dive anyway."

"Yes, with only one primary road, I can see how that'd be confusing for you."

"You're snippy."

"Snippy?"

"Persnickety."

"Ooh, a fancy word for you."

"'Kay, then, how 'bout an ass? That work better for ya?"

"Guys, can you bag it please? C'mon, let's get some food and get back."

"Pizza."

"No, I don't want pizza," JD said. "How about sandwiches?"

"What kind?"

"I don't know. Subs?"

"How 'bout hoagies?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Are you a pompous ass?"

"I don't think so."

"But I do, so th' answer's yes."

"Guys? I'm seriously going to beat the crap out of both of you. I'll go look for something. There's gotta be a McDonald's or something around here somewhere, right?"

"I wouldn't necessarily count on it, Wen," JD said. "It's a pretty sleepy little town, as far as I can tell."

"Yeah, but come ON, dude. EVERY town's got a McD's."

He shrugged. "All right, let's see what we can find."

"What time do we need to be back again? A little before nine, right?"

"Right. But I want to be back here before that if we can. I have a feeling there's more to the picture than we've seen. I wanted to see where the man coming through the window came from." He opened the front door and then turned to lock it behind them.

"Dude, he came from the other side o' the window. What're you, stupid?"

"I mean BEFORE that, Dillon, thank you."

"Before that the bushes. You seen the footprint same as we did, dumbass." They headed for Wendy's car parked just down the street from the large Victorian.

"Dillon ... do you WANT to be a ghost? I can arrange it for you."

"No thanks. Don't putcherself out."

"It's no trouble. Really."

"Guys? I'm going to kick the hell out of both of you."

"I think JD wants ya to. That's why he's being a dick t'me."

"I'm not. You're being a jerk."

"I'm never a jerk. Am I Wen?"

"Yes, you are, Dilly. Can we all just ... shut up now?"

"I am?"

"Yes, you are. And yes, JD's a dick too. Happy now? Both of you?" She jangled her car keys to find the remote and unlock the doors.

They stopped, noticing JD's face. He was staring down the street that ran along the side of the house where the parlor was. Behind the thick bushes and the tall, stoic trees, a truck was parked, headlights blazing toward them.

"Who's that?" Wendy breathed.

"I don't know," JD answered quietly.

"Dudes, it's a truck. Somebody's getting a delivery or somethin'."

The headlights of the large vehicle, well off the ground and bright enough to obscure its form from their vision in the dark little neighborhood, moved slowly forward.

Toward them.

"Why ... why don't I hear the truck?"

"I don't hear it either."

"Ah, shit dudes. I bet this is more crap."

The headlights pulled forward to the corner of the large lot, then turned and headed away from them. The red glowing tail lights then vanished up another street to the right as they watched it go.

And they never saw the truck. Only its lights.

"JD ... what's going on?"

JD shook his head, watching silently.

They never heard a sound.

"Should ... dude, do we follow? What the heck is that, man?"

"I don't know. I never heard it. Did you hear it?"

They both shook their heads.

"JD, this is weird. TOO weird. Let's see what's going on."

"Uh ... well ... I suppose, but ..."

She looked at him, brows knitting over her flashing eyes. "What, baby?"

"I'm ... I'm a little afraid to follow it, Wen."

"Dude! You don't tell yer woman yer SCARED, man! That's for pussies!"

"I don't care, Dill. I don't want to get caught out here in some weird time-warp situation again and be wandering around in the street for five hours again."

"Do you think it was a ... a ghost truck?"

He nodded. "I do. I think that's the truck Darren Jenkins was supposed to meet the two murders with on the night that Robin Brown was killed. I think he was early, not late, like the others indicated. I just don't know why."

"Well, if he's supposta bring a truck for them two dudes, where's he goin'?"

"I don't know. I'd love to find out, but I'm not willing to follow that truck. I don't know ... what could happen."

"We can't just go ... nowhere, do nothing, JD."

"I know, Wendy, but ..."

"Dude, I'm with you for a change. Let's just get some food an' get outta here."

Wendy sighed, staring up the street. The thick mature trees hid the side street from plain view. It wound away through the tiny neighborhood out of sight. They couldn't see any more from where they were.

"All right. Get in. Let's get Dilly fed and get back. We can worry about it another time, I guess."

She chirped the remote and the door locked clacked open. They piled in, and Dillon sprawled over the back seat, slithering under one of the seat belts.

JD caught her glance at him and smiled. That ridiculously giddy feeling thrilled his innards when she smiled back, tipping her head slightly while she put the car in gear.

"Love you, baby," she winked at him.

"I love you too." It seemed to come so much more easily each time he said it.

She pulled the wheel and pointed the car down the street, and as the car came about, she suddenly jerked the wheel right and took them up the small side street.

"WHOA, HEY!" Dillon protested, the G-forces whipping his wiry body about like a doll on a string. Wendy cackled deviously, and accelerated up the slight incline.

"I knew it," JD sighed.

"You sure did, punkin," she giggled. "Did you really think I was just going to let that go?"

"No."

"You're a smart man, lover-boy."

"What the fu -- Wen, whattaya doin'??"

"Going after that truck, Dilly. We need to know what's going on. I intend to find out."

"Awwwwwwww CRAP."

She laughed wildly as the car sped up the hill, the street bending slightly right. She negotiated the turn quickly and was suddenly blinded by the glaring headlights just around the narrow road's crook.

She gasped and slammed on the brakes, hurling Dillon and JD forward, yanking the wheel to the right to try and avoid the larger vehicle, but it was too late, too suddenly late.

She shut her eyes and Dillon screamed, the high-pitched wail of a person in fear for his life. JD shut his eyes tightly and covered his face with his arms, expecting the sudden slam and sickening crunch of metal and plastic.

The car stopped, jarring them back forcefully against their seats.

Wendy's knuckles were bone-white where she clutched the steering wheel tightly, and slowly, carefully, JD lowered his arms from his face. Dillon whimpered in the back.

"We ... didn't hit."

There was nothing in front of them. Not a car, truck or any other vehicle. The road was empty.

She checked the mirror. Nothing.

"It's ... it wasn't real."

"I ... I guess not," JD agreed, turning to look back over his shoulder out the rear window. "It was a ... ghost truck, I guess."

"Dudes ... please dudes ... can we just go get some frickin' food?? Please?"

Technorati Tags: fiction

Ready to go on to Part 38?