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  “Denial.” The little girl’s voice filled the room. It surrounded him. Desperately Jeff swung his head looking for the little girl.

  “You aren’t real, I am insane. I know now you’re just in my fucking head!” Jeff hollered as he squeezed his eyes as tight as he could and shook his head violently. The truth was he was trying to convince himself that this was not real. “Get out of my head bitch!”

  “You really tried to forget it, didn’t you Jeff? You did a good job but memories do not stay suppressed forever. The time has come to remember.”

  Jeff opened his eyes and the world around him was gone. He now sat in an empty, dark room on an old rusty metal chair. It looked like the snowed in remains of some old cinema which hadn’t been used in decades. Suspended in the darkness was a giant video screen. Jeff slowly rose to wobbly knees as he watched in tranquil amazement.

  On the screen he saw the little boy from earlier. It was him again, as a child. He wore a knit hat and that New England Patriots pull over winter jacket. He sat on a swing at the playground.

  I…remember this.

  “Jeff let’s go on the slide” The voice came from behind the boy off screen. The girl ran into view past the boy with her long hair flowing behind her. “Race you.”

  Suddenly the view switched to a first person view from that of the child Jeff. The boy ran after her, both laughing uncontrollably. Finally Jeff tackled her and both collapsed in the snow.

  “Lydia…do you have a boyfriend?” The boy asked shyly. She shook her head no. The boy smiled as he saw this to be his chance. “Could I be?”

  “Jeff you’re a friend, a good friend, but just a friend.” Lydia’s cold response left Jeff shattered. The room’s temperature dropped dramatically; his breath was visible. She closed her eyes deep in fantasy. “Besides I am waiting for Timmy.”

  The boy’s thoughts raced. Rejection was alien to him, and he didn’t know how to take it. He shook his head as an overwhelming anger developed.

  Just a friend? What’s that supposed to mean, I’m not good enough to be anything more?

  Just as his anger continued to boil he saw a rock the size of a softball sitting in the snow. He reached out a hand and picked it up. He rubbed his gloved hand over the edges as he watched Lydia out the corner of his eye, still lost in her day dream. Jeff sat up still facing her.

  “No, I remember this now. No more!” Jeff hollered at the screen. He turned around and reached for the chair behind him. He tossed it at the screen but it didn’t break, it seemed to just absorb it.

  You’re in pain. She caused the pain and she is joyous. A little skank lost in her mind, thinking about people other than you. You’re not good enough for her, so make her understand hurt.

  He brought the rock down with all his might. Blood exploded from a gash in her head. Besides a quick yelp she didn’t do anything else. She was still, not moving. That’s all it took.

  “I killed her.” The boy said. He stood up. He turned his head in every direction to see if anyone saw. Not a soul was around.

  “She’s breathing you fucking idiot. Get help!” Jeff screamed at the screen like a frustrated audience member watching a movie; a movie where the main character did something outside what the viewer hoped. “What are you doing?”

  The boy was now dragging the unconscious Lydia by a leg. She made a trail in the snow; but light flakes fell and already began hiding it. All sorts of conflicting thoughts went through his head. He felt sick, he felt strong, he felt guilt, he felt pride, he felt what he did was wrong but most importantly he feared Juvi.

  I’m not going to Juvi. The kids in jail are rotten and will kick my ass every day. Some killed parents or raped siblings. I don’t belong there. I didn’t mean to kill Lydia.

  “She’s not dead you fucking asshole, get help before I come through that screen and kick the shit out of you!”

  The scene changed to the boy dragging the body up onto a back porch. The hair collected later from this scene would be used in evidence wrongfully convicting Daniel Phillip. Once he got to the top he saw the bucked was the same level as the porch.

  They will never find her. This barrel has been here forever. They wouldn’t open it, it would make no sense.

  The boy hesitated for a moment as he thought further into his decision. Feeling that there was truly no other option he pushed the girl into the barrel of water. Quickly he reached for the lid which locked into place by three large winged screws. Once the lid slid over the top the boy secured it. Inside there was suddenly a violent struggle. He heard Lydia flailing and hitting the walls of the barrel.

  She wasn’t dead.

  Frightened, the boy turns and runs away as the screen fades to black; the only sound was that of a projector running an empty reel. He could not believe he forgot the memory for so long, nor could he believe his hands were capable of such a horrible thing.

  A glow made Jeff look up as he saw a soaking wet Lydia standing before him. Next to her was the shadow man. His empty void stared at Jeff making him uneasy. He began to cry as he looked at her blue skin and her body shaking. How could he be such a monster over something so ridiculous?

  “You took two lives Jeff. You took mine and Mr. Daniel Phillips, that is who stands next to me. Two years after being incarcerated he took his own life. He died because of your crime.” Blood ran down the walls. At first it was a small stream or two accompanied by drips, but soon the wall was covered in it. The blood collected on the floor as it began to form pools.

  “Please, you need to believe me Lydia, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all we ask for, but there is only one way to make this all stop; you must admit your guilt to the world. You must admit you are responsible for the deaths of both Daniel Phillips and I; then we will be released into the afterlife. If you do not admit your guilt we will be here all the time, until your mind finally does go over the deep end.”

  Jeff looked at the shadow man. He thought of the boy in the video. “I’m not him anymore. I’m not that boy.”

  But he knew what he had to do. He wanted a shot at a normal life again. He wanted a job; he wanted to go out to dinner or to the movies. He wanted to find a woman and settle down. He wanted a normal life. If this is all it took, to admit to something he did wrong when he was ten years old, then so be it.

  He rose from the bed and stood before Lydia and the creature that once was Daniel Phillips. “Alright. I will confess.”

  ***

  Virginia pulled the car onto Limewood Ave as the sun showed slight evidence of its presence. Her heart pounded in her chest as she anticipated the best from this great mess.

  You will rescue him. How could he not fall in love? You have been with him every day for the last three years and now you might hold to key to reverse his condition. He couldn’t find a better woman.

  Virginia guided the car onto Jeff’s street. She turned the steering wheel into his driveway, pulling in faster than usual. She couldn’t help her excitement. As she put the car in park and turned the key she saw the front door fly open. To Virginia’s shock, Jeff ran out for the first time in three years.

  He flew down the porch stairs and collapsed onto the concrete walkway. Her eyes swelled with tears of joy as she pulled the handle to her door. She could hardly believe it, to see him outside his house. Her emotions overwhelmed her as she cried, cried in absolute joy for this triumphant step toward recovery.

  “You did it Jeffery, you finally did it.”

  Jeffery turned toward her with an upsetting, serious look on his face. He looked lost, distant, aged…worse. She expected a healed man to be standing there, instead he was beyond broken…he was demolished.

  “What’s wrong Jeff?”

  “I killed Lydia Hull.” He mutters, laughing a little. He repeats it a little louder, and again even louder. Soon he is screaming between the hysterical laughter of a lunatic. “I killed Lydia Hull.”

  Virginia was at a loss. She didn’t know what to do, how to react. She stood the
re as the sun rose and neighbors flocked to their windows to witness the commotion outside the home of Jeffery Peterson. She was reminded of what Lydia said to her in her dream.

  Disappointment is the only ending regardless.

  Visitors to the Widow Bane

  Dorothy Bane was a widow who lived alone in a tall house; a house which sat tucked away deep within the woods. A cloud of mystique surrounded the weak old woman. The odd behavior she had developed after the death of her husband alienated her and drove her into seclusion.

  Countless nights she spent by that creek just out back of her southern home. She spent these nights wishing to the Alabama gods that they would bring her someone or something to help her pass these last few years. She prayed for someone whom would understand her and not judge her; someone who simply would accompany her. Her plea for a companion fell upon deaf ears, until one hot and humid night.

  “Please lord, I wish to be alone no more. Just bring me something to help a dying, lonely woman” And as if on cue a drum was heard coming from behind the back yard from within the forest. It was distant and continuous; a slow and low beat. She shook her head in disbelief.

  It certainly wasn’t from a neighbor; her nearest one was four miles away. As she wondered with disbelief the sound of a violin followed the drum. Both were distant but could not be mistaken as a mind trick.

  Dorothy didn’t know how to react to this strange phenomenon. Suddenly there was a piano. The music grew closer every second, almost like an invisible marching band in the woods. Then to top off the weirdness she heard a voice. It was beautiful and masculine as it sang. “All in all you’re just another brick in the wall”.

  Finally unable to cope with it any longer the old woman stood up, leaning over the railing she hollered out, “Who may you be, what do you want with me? I am a poor old woman, who has nothing to offer. I got no money, and I don’t have the body for the taking. I got not a pot to piss in, nor window to throw it out. Please show yourself, and join me for tea, less you mean me harm. If this is your intention I beg you to kill me now, and take me from this misery the lord has cast upon me!”

  The music stopped. No longer did she hear the drum, the violin, the piano or the voice. The music ceased abruptly like a record being yanked from the player. There wasn’t a sound, only the natural noises of the Alabama woods. Dorothy was alone, and in silence once more.

  “Oh Dorothy, you truly are losing your mind.” Quickly she disregarded the incident, rationalizing that what she heard was not real; nothing more than her old mind playing tricks on her. Then she hears a guitar and a voice.

  “I got my first real six string, bought it at the five and dime, played it till my fingers bled; it was the summer of sixty nine.”

  The music was closer now; the guitar, the drum, the piano, the violin, the voice and then suddenly the low heartbeat of a bass guitar. Dorothy was becoming overwhelmed with fear as the music got even closer, and her fears reached their peak when she saw a rustling in the bush. Whoever was playing this music was no more than a couple yards away, and Dorothy had never been so afraid.

  “Show yourselves! This game of playing with the old woman's mind has gone too far. You are on my property, and I demand you show yourselves!” She needed to say no more. The music stopped as the culprits stepped out from the shadow and into the moon light.

  Standing before her were six beings. They were no taller than toddlers, but they were not humans; they were frogs. They stood on two legs and dressed in colonial American attire complete with sheathed swords. One carried a small drum which fastened to his body. One had a violin in hand, another bass and another one held a guitar. The piano player wheeled his instrument. Holding a microphone was the lead singer. Six frogs stood before Dorothy Bane.

  “This, this cannot be real. You are the devils work aren’t you, why else would you carry those little swords less you plan on cutting me up real good” The woman hollered as she pointed a wrinkly old finger at the frogs. The lead singer of the frog band stepped forward and spoke in the most soothing voice any living creature could make.

  “Sorry to have startled you my fair lady, but we come as a gift. We are not from the devil, but from the Alabama gods. You wished for company all these years, and now we have arrived. We are dreadfully sorry if we frightened you, for that was hardly our intentions. We are here simply to be alongside you these last days of your life.” And then the frog motioned with his eyes down to his sword, “and these are simply for show my lady and I could never imagine using them to harm a fly let alone a little, lonely old woman.”

  Dorothy had trouble accepting that the Alabama gods wound send a band of six musical frogs to keep her company, but she couldn’t complain. For the first time in a long time she had company. A smile broke on her face as she realized that they had indeed listened to her pleas.

  That night, in her back yard, she had the time of her life. The frogs played classic rock ballads, blues, jazz and the pianist ended the night with a little Beethoven. When all was done, and Dorothy grew tired, the frogs packed up and headed for the creek.

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  The lead singer turned to the woman and smiled. “Did you not have the time of your life?”

  She looked young and energized. She smiled the way she smiled for so many young men during her prime. Her body still old, but her soul rejuvenated. “Yes but where are you going I must ask? Why abandon me like a lover? Why leave me here, begging for more? Why put me through the pain of watching you leave? Why frogs, must you go? Did you not say that you would stay with me until the Alabama gods decided to remove me from this earth?”

  “Yes ma’am. You are correct. So do I understand you right? Are you asking us to stay with you, live in your home and spend the last days of your life with you?”

  “I would be more than honored. I will cook for you as well as clean and tune your instruments. The rent will only be one song a night.”

  “Are all utilities included?” He asked and they all had themselves a good laugh.

  All day the frogs entertained the woman with impersonations, political humor and musical ballads which filled Dorothy’s soul with utter ecstasy. She loved the frogs. Then one night, while the frogs slept, Dorothy returned to the chair she sat in by the creek where she first met the wonderful creatures.

  As she sat there she heard a song in the distance. She heard a piano, a sitar, a banjo… three banjos. There was another drum, four bass guitars, a tuba; all these instruments continued to play as they made their way closer. They all played a totally different song, blending together. As they got nearer the numbers grew.

  There were now seven drums, ten or eleven different flutes; could that really be twenty, thirty, even forty different saxophones? The pianos were endless and there were around fifty different singers all singing different ballads. Old Beatles songs mixed with Crosby, Still and Nash. Somewhere in the mix was Jefferson Airplane with “Don’t you want somebody to love”. When the music reached its pinnacle of ear bleeding torture, they all started emerging from the shadows. They were playing their own songs as they gathered on Dorothy’s lawn.

  There were hundreds of them. Each one had their own instrument, dressed in colonial attire with sheathed swords. It seemed more and more arrived every second, all adding to the musical mayhem. Dorothy was overcome, infuriated with the nerve of these frogs.

  “Please stop playing that racket!”

  The frogs grew silent. Now all one could hear was a natural sounds of the creek. Then one of the lead singers, the one who had been bellowing out Helter Skelter just moments earlier, spoke up. “What’s wrong Dorothy?”

  “What’s wrong?” She hollered, flailing her little arms in the air, “what’s wrong you ask? How about you answer this question; what on earth are you doing in my yard playing that racket? Why are you here?”

  The entire assembly of toddler sized frogs stopped and looked around at each other. Some were sitting in the trees, others had climbed up
on Dorothy’s house; all had a look of confusion.

  “We were sent here by the Alabama gods just like you wished.” One of the pianists called out.

  “You said you wanted company during your last days, someone or something.” A drummer called out.

  “So here we are, and here we will stay until your dying days.” A Guitar player called out. And with this they all cheered. “For our fair lady, Dorothy Bane!”

  “No, this is not what I wanted; this is not what I wanted at all. I want you all to leave. Get off my property now!” Dorothy hollered.

  “But we were told by the Alabama gods to stay with you until you die, and so shall we remain!” A frog hollered to more cheers.

  “Well I want you gone right now! I don’t’ want you here anymore. Leave this very minute!” She shouted. The frogs put their instruments down. They stood in silence at the position of attention. They looked like they were standing in a military formation. From inside Dorothy’s house the original six emerged onto the back porch with their instruments. Dorothy turned and fell to her knees. “Please, oh please frogs make them go away. I can’t stand the racket.”

  The lead singer frog looked at her. His black eyes showed no emotions as he spoke. “You want us to leave? Well this puts us into a position, for you must understand that we are under contract with the Alabama gods. We were told to remain with you until you die, you want us to go… if that is your wish then we got no choice but to speed up the process.”

  The frogs that surrounded the house quickly pulled their little swords out from their sheaths and approached the house. They opened their little amphibian mouths and revealed rows of sharp teeth. Their eyes now burned a fiery red. The original band of six played the Pink Floyd song “Wish you were here” as the old woman hollered and screamed out for help.

  The frogs closed. They climbed onto the porch as she ran to a corner and jumped up onto a table. She screamed and kicked at the frogs but they came in endless waves. They began to sink their teeth into the meat of her legs. One crawled up her flailing body and sucked out an eye. The empty socket poured blood as another frog sliced open her throat. She gagged on her own blood as it sprayed like a geyser. She turned around as she tried to scream but the stabbing and slicing came from every direction. And while this orgy of death played out the original six played their instruments.