When the Devil Smiles……

By Chuck Semenuk

      Angus Guthrie was becoming frustrated with his attempts to place a long distance telephone call to his old friend Alistair Smythe. Communications between the little hamlet of Cairndora, Warshire Scotland and London, England left much to be desired. Finally, the London operator told him to hang up and she would call him when she was able to reach Smythe. Angus angrily slammed down the receiver and walked to the bar, pouring himself a draught of cold ale. “If ye drink enough o’ that, ye won’t remember what ye wanted tae say tae yer friend when ye finally get ‘im,” laughed Angus’ wife Sarah as she came from the kitchen with an order of food for the guests seated in a far corner of the pleasant dining room. “A’m not in the mood, woman!” growled Angus.

      Life in Cairndora had been idyllic for the past five years. He vividly remembered the night that he helped his good friend Brian MacNain exorcise the terrible MacNain curse and his nephew’s possession by Black Donald. After all that time, it now seems that the dreaded Black Donald has returned to terrorize the town’s citizens. The local constable was at a loss. The discovery of one or two new dead bodies a week was more than he was able to deal with. Major crimes had been nonexistent in Cairndora during these last years. Angus knew that the town would need expert help to get life back on an even keel again. The only person Angus could think of was another old friend, Alistair Smythe.

     As Angus took a deep swallow of ale, he heard the telephone ring. “Angus, It’s yer friend Mister Smythe from London callin,” hollered Sarah. Angus quickly ran to the phone. “Smythe, ar ye thaur?”

     “I’m here, old chum. It’s been a long time since we’ve enjoyed a few mugs of ale together. Good to hear your voice again,” replied Smythe.

     “A’ll get richt tae it, Smythe. We need yer help. Hae ye heard the tale of Black Donald?”

     “If I remember right, it’s what you Scots call the Devil. If you see him, he takes the form of an old man in a black suit; except that he moves about on cloven hooves instead of human feet. I can’t say that I believe the tale. I always thought it was a legend concocted by an old grandmother to keep the children from misbehaving.”

     “Ye got ‘im awl richt, Smythe. A can tell ye from ma personal experience that auld Donald is real,” exclaimed Angus. “A canna explain aur problem fully on the telephone. It also includes a family curse on my friends the MacNains. A hae a proposition fer ye. A ken ye and yer friend Miss Fienbody enjoy a guid mystery. If ye can help us, the Missus and I can provide ye with food and lodging here at the Inn fer as long as ye want.”

     “Hmm. It certainly sounds intriguing. I’ll have to speak with Fienbody first. Is the train still the best way?”

     “Aye. If ye take the train from London to Dundee, A’ll hae a motor car pick ye up at the station an bring ye to Cairndora. If ye ar comin, send me a telegram whit yer train time.”

     “I will do that, old friend. I’m sure that we’ll see you soon.”

     “Guid bye, Smythe. A hope ye can come.”

######

     

     Darby County Sheriff Sam Danza awoke to the incessant ringing of his telephone.  Fumbling in the dark, he found the phone and placed it to his ear.  After a mumbled hello he was greeted by silence, and then a dial tone.
 

     “Damn fool.  Probably a wrong number.”
 

     After tossing around for awhile, he finally dozed off.  Suddenly, the phone began ringing again.  Holding the phone to his ear, he was again greeted by a period of silence and a dial tone.

     “Who in hell is that?” he scowled.  

     The phone rang a couple more times with the same result.  It was now 3 o’clock in the morning.  With sleep all but impossible now, Danza got out of bed and shuffled down the hall to the kitchen.  Switching on the light over the sink, he poured a cup of stale coffee and heated it in the microwave.  He sat at the small table and slowly sipped at the nasty tasting brew.  The coffee soon had the desired effect and he went back to the bedroom to get dressed.

The drive to the Sheriff’s office was uneventful.  The streets were totally devoid of people and traffic.  “This town is a spooky place at this hour,” Danza mumbled to himself.  

     Parking behind the office building, he entered the rear door.  Deputy Tommy Sorbo was busy at his desk, not noticing the Sheriff coming up behind him.  Seeing that Tommy was in the middle of a video game on his computer Danza thought briefly about head slapping him into next week but then, decided to have a little fun.  He quietly picked up a nearby metal waste basket and at an appropriate time in the game action, slammed it to the floor behind Tommy.  Tommy jumped, his knees banging against the bottom of the desk drawer and his coffee spilling into his lap.

     Tommy’s eyes had a look of real fear and his mouth hung open as he turned and saw Danza, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.  “Sh-sh-sheriff Danza!  I didn’t hear you come in!”

     “Obviously!” he exclaimed.  “Some wild-eyed sex perv could have walked in and took your sweet young virgin butt.”  Danza couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the stammering young Deputy, a big wet spot on the front of his pants.  

     “Go clean yourself up, Tommy.  I’d hate to have a citizen walk in and think you just sit here peeing yourself at tax payer’s expense all night.”

     Danza took some paper towels and wiped up the puddle of coffee from Tommy’s desk and the floor under his chair.  He then went to his office and began looking at old FAX’s that had come in from neighboring counties during the previous day.

     After a short while, a sheepish looking Tommy emerged from the bathroom. 

     “I’m sorry about the video game, Sheriff. There was just nothing going on tonight.  What brings you in at this hour?”

Of Gods and Thunder

By Chuck Semenuk

            Agent Trent Barrows looked up at the brilliant blue sky and took a deep breath.  After a lengthy, miserable Great Lakes winter that just didn’t want to quit, the warm sun and gentle breeze did wonders for his morale. 

Trent worked out of the Buffalo, New York field office of Homeland Security.  The Buffalo and Niagara borders with Canada were his primary work assignments.  The incidence of illegal entry through the Canadian border, and weapons smuggling was growing at an alarming rate.  Canadian border agents were detaining many but a large number still managed to find their way across.  Once they reached the general population on the American side, they easily blended in making it difficult to identify them.  Sometimes, Trent’s enthusiasm for his job began to wane.  With all of the corruption and political shenanigans going on inside the various government agencies, it was often hard to tell the difference between the “good guys” and “bad guys.”  The President and his crooked cronies had succeeded in drastically dragging the country down financially and morally in his first term.  Despite tales of obvious voter fraud, he was well into his second term.   The major media sources were in his pocket and the public knew very little of the wheeling and dealing that went on behind closed doors in the big white house on Pennsylvania Avenue.  Even Congress was often left in the dark as he signed executive orders, more than the total of all previous presidents combined to further his own policies, public be damned.  Trent knew that we needed to be continuously vigilant for possible terrorist attacks on our own soil but he had lost faith in the Washington leadership.  They were more interested in promoting their own agenda, making their point with sometimes totally outrageous lies while lining their pockets in the process.  Trent considered leaving the agency but a belief that he could still possibly make a positive difference kept him going.

Having parked his car outside of the Buffalo field office, Trent entered and went to the office of the Director of Buffalo Field Operations.  The Director’s secretary Sarah looked up from her work and smiled.

“Good morning, Agent Barrows.  It’s so nice of you to visit us poor folks today,” she smiled.

Trent laughed, “I thought I’d drop in and brighten your day a bit.  I wouldn’t want you to feel neglected,” he quipped.    “I received your message that the boss wanted to see me.  What’s going on?”

Sarah put her finger up to her lips.  “Sh-sh-sh!  Secret stuff.  They don’t share with me,” she grinned.

She picked up her phone and announced him to the Director.  “You can go in now.  I think he hustled the party girls out the back door,” she laughed.

Since the formation of Homeland Security after 9/11, Jack Muller began to climb the ladder.  He was a master of schmooze and made his way from a rookie agent to Director quickly.  He seemed to be a straight up guy but Trent had gotten to where he found it difficult to trust those in high positions.  Was Jack faithful to America or was he a pawn of the destructors in Washington?

Evil Always Waits

By Chuck Semenuk

      Mike Bond adjusted the radio, looking for some upbeat music. At twenty years old, he was on his first road trip by himself. He finally finished rebuilding his 1986 Monte Carlo, flame red with chromed rims.  It was a really sweet ride.  As he came around a bend in the road, he got a strange feeling that he had been on that road before.  As he approached the outskirts of the small town of Weller, the feeling of familiarity was uncanny.  Glancing at his gas gage, he noticed that he was down to a quarter of a tank.  “I’ll stop at the gas station a couple of blocks over,” he thought.  He made a right hand turn and drove two blocks down.  Reaching the gas station, he pulled up to the pump closest to the building. “How did I know this station was here?”

      He turned off the ignition and got out of the car.  On a chair next to the door of the garage sat an old man, grey haired and wrinkled.  The man looked at him, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.  It was as if he knew Mike but, that was impossible.  Mike had never been in this town in his life.  The look on the old man’s face seemed almost fearful. Mike was feeling a little creeped-out by the old man.  He removed the nozzle from the gas pump and began to fill his tank.  His gas tank filled, Mike replaced the nozzle on the pump, fastened his gas cap and walked toward the old man to pay for the gas. He had a wad of bills in his pocket and as he reached for them, tears began to form in the old man’s eyes and he began to tremble.

      “No! Please!” the old man pleaded.

      “What’s wrong?” asked Mike.  A sheriff’s car rolled up behind Mike and the driver quickly got out.

      “Ben! Are you alright?  You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”

Ben’s eyes remained fixed on Mike as his mouth began to move but no sound came out.  The sheriff glanced at Mike and did a double take.

      “My Lord,” he exclaimed.  His hand automatically reached for his weapon.  “Who are you?  Where did you come from?”

      “Whoa, Sheriff, “said Mike as he raised his hands.  I just stopped for gas.  I just want to pay-up and I’ll be on my way.” 

      “Son, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.  I’m sure that Ben won’t mind if you park your car alongside the building while you come with me to my office.  I’ll bring you back to your car when we’re through.”

      Mike pulled enough money from his pocket to pay for the gas and handed it to Ben.  Ben’s hand trembled as he took the money.

      “I – I don’t have change for this,” he uttered.

      “Keep it,” said Mike.  “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

      Mike parked his car and walked back to the sheriff.  “What in hell is going on here,” he mumbled to himself.

SEVEN SIXTEEN THIRTY-NINE

By Chuck Semenuk

Knee replacement surgery completed, I’m in bed with a number of hoses attached to my veins.  Hands push and pull on my leg.  “What’s the pain level on a scale from one to ten?”

“Ten”

“Who are you?” commanded another voice.  “Where are you?  What day is it?”

My mind attempted to comply but every question seemed to bring another question.  My lips moved but incoherent noises were all that came out.  Images of worried family members float past.  Busy hands poke more needles into collapsing veins.

“This one isn’t working,” said still another voice.  “We’ll have to find another spot.”

“What’s wrong with him?  Why doesn’t he know who he is?”

“Sometimes there’s a reaction to the anesthetic.”

“What is your birth date? Do you know why you’re here?”

“Leave me alone, dammit!  Why do you people keep badgering me?”

“Why aren’t you eating?  You have to eat.”

“That stuff tastes like crap.  Even the water is bad.  How can you screw up water?”

“You haven’t been pushing your pain button.  Push the button.  Get more of that medication in!”

Someone stuffed a button attached to a cord into my hand and I dutifully pushed the button.  The instrument on the other end of the cord beeped as it pumped another dose of mystery fluid into my arm.

“My God, it hurts.  I thought this stuff was supposed to help with the pain.  I’m so tired.  I need to sleep.”

Faces of family members fade in and out.  A compression sleeve intermittently squeezed my leg.

“How’s the level of pain in your leg?” the voice asked.  “What is your birth date?”

Another voice from someone tugging at my leg commanded “Okay, time to get you up.  It will hurt but you need to start putting weight on the leg.”

“It will hurt?  What the hell does she think it’s been doing? “

Two female therapists trained in the ancient art of torture began to ready me for my first trip out of bed.  Rusty was a youngish redhead with so much energy it seemed sinful.  The other one, I learned was well known at the hospital as the Disney character Cruella DeVille and seemed to derive considerable pleasure in trying to scare me into submission.

As the leg was moved off the edge of the bed, the pain was excruciating.  Another session of bending and stretching muscles and tendons that cried to be left alone.  A few steps with a walker and then to a chair for more stretching and bending.  Finally, back to bed.  Must sleep.  Can’t sleep.

“What day is it?”

“How in hell would I know?”

“What’s your birth date?”

Struggling to remember.  “Why can’t I remember?  Seven sixteen thirty-nine.”

“Do you know where you are?”

I know where I am but struggle to answer.  So many questions.  So confusing.

“What is your birth date?”

“Six sixteen thirty-nine.”

“Are you sure?”

Futile attempts to sleep.   More questions.  At some point, a new voice; dark and ominous sounding.

“What is your birth date?”

“Five fourteen thirty-nine.”

The new voice laughed.

“It won’t be too long now.”

“Too long for what?”

“You haven’t been paying attention, have you?  Don’t you realize that every time you give your birth date you reduce it in time?”

“So what?  What’s the difference?”

“You’re counting down to your date of conception.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your date of conception, fool.  The date that you were conceived.  When you reach that date, you will no longer exist!”

Alistair Smythe and the Hawk’s Retribution

Alistair Smythe

and the

Hawk’s Retribution

By Chuck Semenuk

            Sir Alistair Smythe turned up his collar and pulled his bowler hat down low over his eyes in an attempt to keep out the cold London rain.  As he approached the bank, he didn’t notice a rather portly man coming off the steps.  They collided, knocking Smythe’s hat askew.

            “What?  Oh, excuse me sir,” said Smythe, straightening his hat.

            “Certainly, my good man.  As I live and breathe!  It’s Alistair Smythe.”

            “Good heavens! Lord Fairwood!  Have you been visiting your money at the bank?” Smythe said with a chuckle.

            “Of course, old chum.  I don’t want to forget what it looks like,” Fairwood smiled.  Lord Fairwood was filthy rich you might say, but he didn’t put on airs.  He didn’t mind people joking about his wealth and was well known for helping the less fortunate citizens of the old town.

            “What do you say we step into the café next door for a spot of tea?” asked Smythe.

            “Jolly good idea,” said Fairwood looking at his pocket watch.  “My chauffer won’t be by for a short while.”

            The two men entered the café and found a table near the front window.  A waitress quickly brought a pot of tea and two cups.

            Smythe sipped his tea.  “Ah.  Nothing like a good cup of tea to chase the chill, I always say.”

            “I agree, old friend,” said Fairwood.  “I say, Smythe.  Are you still keeping company with that young lady?  I’m afraid that I’ve forgotten her name.”

            “You mean Miss Fienbody.  Amelia Fienbody.  Yes, I don’t know what I would do without her.”

            “I take it that you haven’t married.  I thought you would probably have married her by now.”

            “Heavens no, old chap.  Our relationship is strictly platonic.  No sense in mucking up a wonderful friendship by getting married, I always say!” said Smythe with a grin.

            “Someday you’ll have to settle down with a good woman.  You’re not getting any younger you know,” Fairwood laughed.

            “Perhaps one day,” smiled Smythe.

The Golden Cockroach

 

By Chuck Semenuk

The harried secretary rolled her eyes and shook her head as the telephone began ringing again.  It had been ringing off the hook all morning.  She debated answering.

“It’s probably another bill collector.  What can I do?  I haven’t been paid for the last three weeks myself.”

She took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

“Krasche and Burne Investigations.  How may I help you?”

The female voice on the other end was sobbing.

“I need help.  May I speak with one of the detectives please?”

“Neither Mr. Krasche nor Mr. Burne are here right now.  They’re both out working on a case,” she lied.  “I do expect them to be in the office within the next hour or so if you’d like to come in.”

The woman sniffled.  “Alright.  Is your address the same as listed in the phone book?”

The secretary answered, “Yes, it is.”   She was really thinking, “If the landlord doesn’t toss us out on the street.”

“I’ll be there in about an hour.”

########

Betsy Jordan had been with the agency since it started a couple of years ago.  The business was not doing badly in the beginning but the last few months had not been good.  With the stock market crash a bad memory, the economy was still not recovering as quickly as the politicians wanted everyone to believe.  The big war was over and large numbers of service men were coming home; there weren’t enough jobs to go around.  Manufacturers had to retool again, from military hardware to domestic goods but people didn’t yet have the money to buy them.  The crime rate had climbed since the crash but private investigators weren’t getting any of that work.  Why pay someone when the police did the work for free?

Jonathan “Jonnie” Krasche couldn’t find work when he returned from the service so he decided to try starting a business on his own.  He saw plenty of action overseas but managed to return home unscathed except for a bad case of athlete’s foot, which was an occupational hazard when in the infantry.  Jonnie was basically a decent Joe but could best be described as a player and a wise-ass.  He always had an eye out for a pretty face and a nice shape which got him in trouble more often than not.  By chance, he ran into his old high school buddy Will when he got home from the service.

Wilbur “Will” Burne hadn’t been as lucky as Jonnie.  Will had taken a couple of bullets in the leg during the landing at Normandy.  After a period of time in an Army hospital, he was sent home with a Purple Heart and a permanent limp.  Work was hard enough to find, let alone for a guy with a bum leg.

With an uncanny knack for problem solving, the two men readily jumped into the idea of an agency offering investigative services.

Betsy did her best to hold everything together.  Girl Friday, big sister, accountant, whatever it took to keep things on an even keel.  Jonnie and Will were like brothers.  Her own brother never came home from the war; he was on the Arizona at Pearl Harbor.

The Payback

By Chuck Semenuk

 Randy watched in awe as Fire-Rescue arrived and the well trained team began the task of attending to the occupants of a badly wrecked automobile.  The vehicle reminded him of a ball of wrinkled foil, crushed and thrown away.  Randy was startled as he recognized the woman being carefully removed from the carnage.  It was his wife Shirley.

“What was she doing in that car?” he wondered.

While paramedics moved her to a waiting ambulance, the noise from the cutting equipment brought his attention back to the driver.  After much cutting and bending, rescuers were finally able to remove the man from the wreck.  Randy’s jaw dropped as he watched the medics trying to stabilize the man.

“That looks like me!  That’s me!  How can that be?”

Suddenly, visions of the preceding events began the play in front of his eyes.  He was driving down the dark road.  It was raining.  In the darkness it was nearly impossible to see the lane markings and the edges of the road against the shiny black asphalt.  Randy hated driving at night, especially in the rain.

Shirley’s mouth was running non-stop as usual.  Nag, nag, nag.  “Why did I ever marry her?” he thought.

“Slow down.  You’re driving too fast.  I told you not to drink at the party.  You know you shouldn’t drink.  You sure liked it when that young redhead was rubbing her boobs all over you.”

On and on she went.  Finally summing up enough courage, he turned and told her to shut up.

“Lookout you fool!  You’re on the wrong side of the road!”

A Ghost of the Eriehonan

By Chuck Semenuk

John and his grandson Tommy had just finished a great day of fishing and were getting ready to go home.

“Let’s take a little breather before we start the long hike back to the house,” said John.

It was a long walk up the old logging trail and John’s knees weren’t as good as they used to be. Taking a seat on an old log, John took a plastic bag of cookies from his shirt pocket and shared them with Tommy.

“It sure is nice down here, Grandpa. I really like it,” said Tommy.

“Yes, it sure is. It’s one of my favorite places. This river valley and the surrounding woods probably look pretty much the same today as it did when the Indians lived here.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “Gosh, grandpa. Were there really Indians around here?”

“There sure were. Archeologists believe that the first Indians in recorded history living in this area belonged to the Erie tribe. They were called Eriehonan by the Iroquois which lived further east. Eriehonan meant “long tail” which referred to the bob cat or cougar which was very plentiful in this area. Often referred to as the “cat people”, the Eries were fierce warriors and were known to use poison tipped arrows on their enemies. Over time, they fought many battles with the Iroquois, the Huron, and a number of other tribes before they were pretty well scattered and pushed out of the area. There were inhabitants here before the Eriehonan but little is known about them other than that they were ‘mound builders’ and are considered to be ‘pre-historic’.”

“Wow,” said Tommy. “I bet you know a lot of stories about this place, Grandpa.”

“Yep. I can think of a few good ones,” laughed John.

Tommy could hardly control his excitement.

“Tell me one. Please?”

John made himself comfortable by sitting on the ground and resting his back on the log.

“Well, long before you were born, I used to fish this river every chance I got. I got so I knew it like the back of my hand. Every once in a while I thought that I saw an old man in the woods, or sometimes along the river. But then, he would disappear. I used to work with an old guy who knew a lot about this place and one day I told him about the man I thought I saw.

He started to laugh and then told me that I had probably seen the ghost of old Tocho. Tocho was thought to be a descendant of the original Erie tribe that lived in the area. Tocho hunted and fished this river valley back when the area was being settled by the white man. He generally got along quite well with the settlers and developed a love for the fresh apple pies made by one of the local women. His taste for the white man’s apple pie turned out to be his undoing.

One day, he happened to catch the fragrance of a fresh pie cooling on a window sill. Had he knocked on the door and asked for a slice, the woman would have likely given it to him but for some reason, he snatched the whole pie and ran off with it.

Seeing Tocho disappear into the woods with the whole pie, the woman thought she’d teach him a lesson. Pretending to be upset when her husband returned from town, she told him that Tocho had stopped for pie but had gotten fresh with her and she had to fight for her honor. Before she could explain further, her husband grabbed his rifle and ran from the house. By dark, the man and some of his neighbors had tracked down old Tocho and hanged him from a large tree in the woods at the top of this very logging trail. When he returned home, his wife told him that she just made up the story to have some fun with Tocho. She thought they would all have a good laugh. Unfortunately, poor Tocho wasn’t laughing. The next morning, the men cut Tocho down and buried him beneath the old tree.”

“That was terrible, grandpa.”

“Yes, it was. You know, when you tell a lie, even if it’s just a little fib, you never know how someone might be hurt by it.”

“Did you see Tocho’s ghost anymore?”

A Rule Against Love

By Chuck Semenuk

Agency Director Mike Graber looked up from his paperwork as agent Jeff Walker entered the office.

“Jeff, is there any word regarding agent Quatro?”

“Not so much as a whisper, Mike. He’s gone off the radar. Just when we think we have a lead on him, it goes dead. He’s a ghost.”

“That’s not like Andy Quatro. He’s always been a good agent, one of the best.”

“I’ve noticed changes in his behavior recently, Mike. Ever since we re-assigned his partner agent Diez, he’s been secretive about his activities.”

Mike sat back in his chair. “I don’t understand why. He can function fine without her. We’ve put a lot of time and effort into his training. He’s very good at his job, one of our best assassins. He normally shows no emotion and has nerves of steel.”

“Well, even though Doctor Rommel thought he’d purged all memory of her, I think he’s still looking for her.”

“I don’t know. We’ve got to get him to come in,” said Mike. “Keep me updated. If he’s going rogue on us, we can’t have an out-of-control agent running around loose. He can cause us a lot of problems.”

######

Andy Quatro sat looking out the window of his seedy hotel room. He could hear the garbled voices of the couple in the next room through the thin dirty walls. He anxiously searched the faces of passers-by, hoping for a glimpse of his partner’s beautiful face.

Alexis Diez had been his partner since she started with the agency. They worked on many assignments together and he would trust her with his life. It was frowned upon by the agency but he was starting to fall in love with her. One day out of the blue, Director Graber told him that she had been re-assigned. He would not tell Andy why or where. Andy utilized every resource he had to find her but she had vanished.

Andy’s head began to throb again. He never had that problem before. Ever since that bastard Doctor Rommel at the agency messed with his mind, the headaches started and they seemed to be getting worse.

“Rommel knows where she is,” thought Andy. “I don’t trust him. I can’t trust anyone at the agency. Especially Director Graber.”

The throbbing in his head finally subsiding, Andy strapped on his shoulder holster and fastened his backup weapon to his ankle. He had to get to Doctor Rommel but trying to see him at the agency would be an unnecessary risk. Reaching the street, he hailed a taxi.

“I’ll get Doctor Rommel to talk,” thought Andy. He smiled grimly. “If there’s one thing the agency taught me, it’s how to make someone talk.”

He had the taxi driver drop him off a couple of blocks from Doctor Rommel’s apartment and proceeded on foot. His instincts were sharp as he sensed that something was wrong. He laughed to himself as he noticed movement in a car parked near the Doctor’s apartment. Apparently the agency was trying to second guess him. In the darkness, he recognized the features of a fellow agent. In a doorway across the street, he detected another agent.

“I guess my thoughts about Doctor Rommel were right. They don’t want me to get to him.”

He was sure that there was probably another agent or two in one of the darkened windows across the street. A delivery truck began making a turn into an alley next to the building. Using the truck as a shield, he quickly slipped into the alley alongside of it. Satisfied that there were no agency “eyes,” he found an unlocked maintenance door at the rear of the apartment building. Staying in the darkened stairwell, Andy made his way up to Doctor Rommel’s apartment. Reaching the back door which lead to the apartment’s kitchen, he quietly tried the door. It was not locked and it was apparent that the security chain had not been fastened.

“This is too easy,” thought Andy. “They’re setting me up.”

He thought for a moment, and then decided to go in anyway, locking the door behind him and fastening the security chain. Moving quietly through the kitchen to the living room door, he could see the back of Doctor Rommel’s head as he sat in his large easy chair watching TV. He drew his gun and walked around the chair. He was startled as Agent Jeff Walker looked up at him and smiled.

“Hi, Andy. It’s about time you got here. We thought you’d try to get to Rommel.”

“Where is he?”

“Nowhere that you can get to him. This place will be crawling with agents in a minute or two.”

Andy pointed the gun at Jeff’s head. “Looks as if I don’t have anything to lose; I should just blow you away and take my chances shooting it out with your friends.”

“It doesn’t have to end like this, Andy. Let me take you in. We can fix this. Director Graber doesn’t want to lose you. You’re too valuable to the agency.”

Andy laughed. “Sure. I let you take me in and I’ll just disappear like agent Diez did.”

“She’s fine, Andy. As a matter of fact, Director Graber is considering teaming the two of you up again.”

“Are you sure?”

Jeff pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Andy. “Here’s a phone number where you can contact her. She can confirm what I just told you.”

Andy stared at the piece of paper. “I’d like to believe this but I have trouble trusting the agency and its people.”

“Before you do something we’ll all regret, why don’t you get out of here and talk to her first?”

Suddenly, the kitchen door slammed against the security chain as agents in the hall tried to enter.

Jeff motioned toward a window. “Quick, take the fire escape to the roof.”

Andy bolted for the window and climbed to the roof. Once on the roof, he jumped a narrow gap to an adjacent building and went quickly down a fire escape. Andy took a number of round-about routes back to his hotel. Satisfied that he hadn’t been followed, he went up to his room and locked the door.

Andy looked at the piece of paper that Jeff had given him and thought about the recent events. Was the director really going to assign Alexis as his partner again? Why did Jeff let him escape through the window? With agents all around, he wondered why there was no one covering the fire escape and roof. How could he trust anyone?

Escape from Janda

By Chuck Semenuk

Lieutenant Pharque struggled to the surface of the foul smelling swamp and tried to get his bearings. He didn’t remember much about the crash of the Light Ship; everything was a blur. Suddenly Ensign Bork clawed his way through the debris filled lake.

“Bork, have you seen any of our crew?”

“I’ve seen a few over in that direction. There seems to be an undercurrent moving that way,” said Bork.

Pharque cleared some debris away. “There must be an outlet. Let’s try to gather as many of our crew as we can and follow the current out of this hell hole.”

The swamp narrowed considerably at the outlet and the current increased. Lieutenant Pharque gathered the remnants of his crew and led them into the fast-moving current. After what seemed an eternity, the current began to slow as the rotten smelling debris began to bunch up and obstruct the flow.

Bork was beginning to panic. “I don’t think we’re going to make it out of here, Lieutenant! I don’t want to die here!”

Pharque slapped him. “Get it together man. You’re going to panic the whole crew. We’ll get out of here. Trust me.”

Pushing clogs of debris out of the way, the hapless crew soldiered onward.

Suddenly, Bork called out “Lieutenant, I think I see an outlet up ahead.”

“By God, you’re right. I told you we’d make it out of here. Come on, men. Follow me. This place is history!”

Bursting through the outlet into the fresh air, they screamed with joy at the top of their lungs.

“Dude! That was gross!”

“Janda, you are one rank SOB.”

“Sorry, guys but it felt so good.”

“Okay, half time. Who wants more beer and munchies?”

“Sounds good but dude, lay off the deviled eggs!”

“Okay. I think the wife has some nachos ready.”


To be published in the Oct./Nov./Dec., 2011 Fall issue of ThBracelet Charm magazine.

An Affair of the Heart

By Chuck Semenuk

Harper Rains was walking past the dispatcher’s desk when the call came in.

“Dispatch, this is Sloan County Sheriff’s K9 unit S3, over.”

“S3, this is dispatch, over.”

“Dispatch, I am located on county road 12, about two and a half miles off state highway 7. I need a CSI team at this location, over.”

The dispatcher looked up at Harper. “Harp, do you want to take this?”

Harper sat down at the desk and pulled the microphone toward him.

“Deputy, this is Lieutenant Rains of the CSI unit. What’s going on? Over.”

“Hi, Harp. This is Jerry Faber. I found an abandoned car off the side of the road on county 12. During my investigation, my K9 picked up a scent. He led me to a body, white male, about sixty years of age, approximately 100 yards into the brush. No identification, no obvious injuries, over.”

“Sit tight, Jerry. We’re on our way, over.”

######

Harper Rains and his team arrived at the site within a half hour and began processing the scene. Deputy Faber detailed his activity from the moment he arrived.

“While on patrol, I noticed this car; it had been pulled fairly far off the road. The doors were locked and I did not see any keys inside or on the ground in the immediate area.”

“I let my K9 have a go at it and he led me to the body, about 100 yards in.”

Medical Examiner Carl Tweed had begun his preliminary examination of the body as Harper made his way through the brush.

He squatted down and looked at the body. “What can you tell me so far, Carl?”

“I’d say that our deceased friend has been dead for about two days. I see no obvious wounds. Certainly, I see nothing to indicate the cause of his demise at this point. We’ll know more when we get him to the lab.”

Harper took particular notice of the way the man was dressed.

“Sweat pants and sneakers, with a dress shirt. That’s kind of a strange outfit for an older gent.”

Carl touched the collar of the man’s shirt. “Harp, the buttons on his shirt are skewed, one button off. Do you think someone else may have put his shirt on post mortem?”

Harper scratched his head. “That’s interesting. Let’s get him to the lab, Carl.”

Harper walked back to the abandoned car where two of his investigators were processing it.

“Tell me you have some good news, Will.”

Will Dagget turned toward him. “Harp, this car is as clean as a whistle. Someone took extra care in wiping it down. There isn’t a smudge anywhere. They locked it up when they left and took the keys with them. I did find a couple of grey hairs in the trunk. The car appears to be a rental. We’re still trying to find out who may have been driving. Hopefully, we’ll find out more at the lab.”

“I hope so. Okay, load it up.”

Don’t Go Near the Basement

By Chuck Semenuk

School had finished for the summer. It had been two weeks and Ken Donovan still hadn’t landed a job. The summer was going to suck big time without having a few bucks to spend. Ken would be seventeen years old in a few months. There didn’t seem to be many job opportunities for teenagers this year. As Ken walked back to the garage to get the lawnmower, his buddy Rick Parker pulled into the driveway with his ‘51 Ford. It was a beauty; bull nosed, fender skirts, whitewall tires and ’54 Oldsmobile Starfire wheel covers. The candy apple red paint job sparkled in the sun and the dual exhausts with glass-pack mufflers produced a beautiful rumble as it came to a stop next to him.

“Hey Ken! Did you find a job yet?”

Ken walked over to the car. “No. It looks like a lost cause. Nobody’s hiring this year. Have you had any luck?”

“My aunt works in the office at the old Harris-Jones Paint Company over on the east side. She said that they need a couple of guys for the labor gang. The jobs are ours if we want them,” said Rick.

“Really? I don’t know. That place has a bit of a reputation” exclaimed Ken. “It might be a coincidence but if you remember the newspaper article last year, there have been three kids that turned up missing over the last five years. They all had summer jobs at the paint factory.”

“The cops were never able to make a connection between the paint factory and those guys turning up missing” argued Rick. “They punched out at the end of the day but never got home. You can wimp out if you want to but I need a job.”

“I didn’t say that I wouldn’t take the job. It’s just a little spooky, that’s all. What do we have to do to get the jobs?”

Rick got out of the car. “Let me use your phone to call my aunt and tell her we’re taking the jobs. Then we can run down town and get our work permits.”

…..”Click YES”

By Chuck Semenuk

Milo Farnsworth sat in front of his personal computer scratching his head. 

“Damn those so-called experts at Maggot-Soft! Every time they come out with a new version of operating system, they screw it up more than it was before.”

Years ago, Milo started out with the first PC. The old DOS operating system; now that was something that you could learn and work with. If you took the time to learn a little code, you could make the computer do whatever you wanted. Now, the machine is as dumb as a box of rocks. It thinks that it knows what you want to do and insists on doing what it damn well pleases.

Milo decided to do a bit of house cleaning on his hard drive and delete files that he no longer needed. He selected the files that he didn’t want to keep and clicked “Delete.”

A window came up on his screen. “You are trying to delete ten files. Are you sure that you want to delete these files?”


“Of course, dammit! Why do you think I’m deleting them?” Milo clicked on “Yes.”

“DOORWAY is deleting ten files. They cannot be retrieved once deleted.”

“Yeah, yeah. Do it already!”


Un-needed files deleted, Milo went back to the report that he had been writing for work. After about an hour, he had added another six pages to the long document. Caught up in the process, he had forgotten to periodically save his work. All of a sudden, a message came up on the screen.

“DOORWAY has detected an error and must close this application. Your unsaved data will be lost. Do you want DOORWAY to diagnose the problem?”

Milo let loose with a tirade of expletives. “Damn you. You don’t have a clue and you can’t diagnose your way out of a paper bag!”

Milo grabbed his mouse and jerked the plug out of the computer, flinging it across the room where it hit the wall.


“DOORWAY has detected that your pointing device is disconnected. Please check your connection.”

Having had enough “fun” for one day, Milo retrieved his mouse from the corner, plugged it in and closed down the computer.

“Sure glad I had the pacemaker installed. This thing would probably give me a heart attack.”

Blood Inheritance

By Chuck Semenuk

The Scottish countryside was beautiful. Ethan had never been there before but felt compelled to follow a specific route. He drove almost robotically, programmed for a predetermined destination. His mind wandered to another place, a dark world inhabited by demons and death.

After being on the road most of the day, Janet was exhausted. Being six months pregnant with their first child, she was ready to stop somewhere for the day; anywhere. She hadn’t wanted to take this trip but Ethan was insistent. His family had come from this part of Scotland and he had always wanted to come here. They were very well-off financially so money wasn’t an issue; Janet just wished that they could have taken the trip after the baby was born.

“Ethan, I’m so tired and hungry. Do you think we can stop somewhere for the night?”

Snapping back to reality Ethan replied “Sure, honey. I guess I’ve been enjoying the drive so much I just lost track of time. There’s a nice little inn just around the next bend.”

Janet stared at him. They hadn’t seen a soul in the past hour. What makes him think there’s an inn around the bend? As they rounded the bend in the road, a building came into view; the sign over the door read “Doo Brae Inn,” the English translation, “Dove Hill Inn.” Janet’s mouth hung open. How could he know the inn was there?

Little White Lie

By Ronald Brunsky

“Hey pop, wake up,” said Alice. “The president is holding a news conference.”

“Don’t bother me with that political slop — just tell me when the ball-game is on.”

“You should have some interest in what our president has to say.”

“When our presidents put our interests ahead of their own I will.”

“Oh, never mind then … the ballgame will be on afterwards.”

Fleckie Barnes had been retired from the love of his life for over thirty years, but his passion for baseball continued, even as he approached his eighty-fifth birthday.

The former voice of the Spirits — famous for his unforgettable quotes: “They should have made you buy a ticket” — when an opposing batter got caught looking at a third strike, or “He couldn’t find the plate if it had a t-bone on it”, after the rival pitcher walked a couple.

Just the thought of baseball and Fleckie’s mind quickly returned to the old days. He dozed off again, and soon was revisiting a dream that was all too familiar — the season of 1938, although it had been fifty years, his memories were just as vivid, as when it originally happened. The Spirits pennant run and Charley Steivers, it was also the year Fleckie became an amateur sleuth.

Charley was probably the greatest player Fleckie ever saw, and he saw the best — from the Babe to Mick to the current crop of stars. Charley threw harder than any other pitcher — past or present. He knew his fastball hit 100 mph or better — how he wished they would have had radar guns back then.

Winville used to be a nice place…

By Chuck Semenuk

Police Chief Rick Kale pulled into the parking lot of Winville General Hospital. Winville was a quiet little town. Nothing much ever happened there. A motorist passing through town and spitting his chewing gum out the window was a major event. With a small operating budget, Chief Kale’s police force consisted of one patrolman, Bob Rollins and a “Girl Friday”, Lisa Barnes who filled in as a sometimes patrolman, dispatcher, secretary, and most anything else that came up. The Chief often wondered what he would do if Lisa ever decided to leave. She had come to Winville from Cleveland where she had worked as a detective on the police force of one of the Cleveland suburbs. She had experience in forensics and crime scene investigations; with her qualifications, why would she want to come to Winville?

Chief Kale entered the office of Doctor Frank Benson, head physician at Winville General.

“Hey, Doc. What’s going on?”

“Chief, I’m sure glad to see you. There’s something happening here and I think I’m going to need your help.”

“I’m intrigued. Nothing ever happens in Winville.”

“I’ve got four young girls here. Their symptoms are similar but not exactly the same.”

“Doc, I don’t think I’m the guy who can help you with a young girl’s symptoms,” laughed Chief Kale.

Doctor Benson furrowed his brow and looked back at Chief Kale. “I’m afraid that there may be some sort of epidemic starting. One girl has some sort of rash or burn on her face. Two others have developed lesions on their lips. The fourth appears to have some contamination of her eyes.”

Brenda, the ER nurse rushed into the room. “Excuse me, Doctor Benson. We’ve got another young girl that I think you need to look at.”

It came from Uranus

By Chuck Semenuk

The year is 2090. Over many decades, technology continued its exponential growth at mind boggling speed. Major scientific breakthroughs like warp drives, ion and magnetic pulse engines have made navigating the solar system as common as a trip to your neighborhood store. Unfortunately, progress has come with a price. Just like on earth, mankind is succeeding in trashing the solar system with all matter of discarded waste and debris. In fact, with the help of other so-called "intelligent" life-forms, the scenario is sure to perpetuate far into outer-space.

Approximately ten years ago, the United States Government in its zeal to continue being the planet Earth’s protector and watch dog saw fit to start up still another government agency, the Space Abnormal Phenomena Investigation agency (S.A.P.I.) Nicknamed “sappy” by the tax payers, the agency’s activities are largely a mystery to the general public. In reality, the agency was formed to investigate perceived events in space that might possibly impact the safety and security of Earth and the surrounding cosmic environment.

Special agent Anthony “Tony” Nova walked quickly down the hall to the office of S.A.P.I. Director of Covert Operations, Shawn Benedict. Director Benedict’s well-endowed secretary Carla ushered him in and closed the door. The director looked up from a stack of papers on his desk.

“Tony. Good to see you. Have a seat.”

“Hello, Director.” Tony pulled up a chair and sat down. “What’s going on? I take it that you have a new assignment for me?”

Carla entered the room again with two steaming cups of coffee. She smiled at Tony and offered him a cup. “Do you still like your coffee hot and black, Agent Nova?”

Smiling back, Tony took the cup. “You have a good memory, Carla.”

Carla handed the remaining cup to Director Benedict and left the office, moving in a manner that was sure to capture Tony's attention. She seductively looked back over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her. His mind still dwelling on the awesome attributes of the luscious Carla, Tony became aware of a burning sensation in his crotch as he realized that he was tilting his cup and dribbling hot coffee on the front of his pants. Trying to maintain his totally cool and in-control persona, Tony gritted his teeth, ignored the pain and took a sip of coffee.

Farm System

By Ronald Brunsky

The not too distant future:

Since the scientific breakthroughs in gravity control, and anti-matter propulsion, traveling to the stars has finally become an accepted reality. Recent expeditions, although successful in reaching solar systems many light-years away, still have not discovered alien life or life sustaining planets.

A suitable world fit to colonize would have to have the proper gravitational pull, a nitrogen/oxygen based atmosphere, a surface temperature within an acceptable range, and a vast supply of water — every time, a potential site would wind up lacking in at least one of those areas.

The current operation, now in its fifth year, recently had an added burden thrust upon it. The livestock virus, which had been of little concern when the mission started, was now engulfing their entire planet. The many decades of experimentation with meat producing animals had left them unable to fight off this latest strain. Few farm animals were left uninfected. It was only a matter of time before the food supply would be exhausted. Leaders have been forced to initiate a limited ration policy. It was imperative that another food source be found.

#######

Optimistic news was spreading fast through the crew of the “Guardian One”, long range scanners indicated possible life near a G-type main sequence star residing in the fourth quadrant of their own galaxy. As more data arrived, the likelihood of life on this newly discovered orbiting rock was rapidly becoming a foregone conclusion.

“Captain, our latest reports are 95% sure of life-forms.”

“Fine, set a course for it. If it is intelligent life, maybe they will offer help? It is of the utmost importance that we return with breeding stock. Current information from home isn’t good. The virus has eliminated the last of our planet’s livestock, and the supply of animal meat in storage is running precariously low. Frankly, this looks like our only hope.”

After several months, the space freighter reached the small planet. While they orbited, they located a desirable landing site and laid plans for their incursion.

“I have good news and bad news, Sir.”

“I’ll take the bad first, Lieutenant.”

“I don’t think we can communicate with these aliens.”

“And the good news?”

“I think our search has ended. Further analysis shows that the inhabitants are very primitive. They are air breathing, and have a very high fat content. I think they would satisfy our nutritional needs for some time to come.”

“Wonderful! Commence the landing procedure. It looks like we’ve found our farm system. I’ll send the good news to mission control. We’ll soon be headed home.”

“What a welcome we’ll receive, sir. You know how long the men have been away from home. I mean, they miss their families and another season of sports is history, but there’s something else …”

“Yes, I know what you’re talking about. Why do you think I’ve been taking all those cold showers?”

The huge vessel glided smoothly into a large clearing. The cloaking devices had worked perfectly; the planet’s residents had no knowledge of the invasion.