It was a dark and stormy night, and things only got worse from there.

The place was old Manhattan. Not New York, but Manhattan, West Virginia.

The time was the turn of the 20th century.

The bar was empty, except for Billy.

“Hand me that spanner,” said Billy.

The bar was empty, except for Billy and Joe.

“Hear you go,” replied Jim, as he handed the tool to Billy.

The bar was empty, except for Billy, Joe and Jim.

“Do you hear something?” asked Joe.

“It’s just the wind,” said Billy.

“Sounds like someone talking,” said Joe.

“It’s nothing,” replied Billy. “Hand me the electric drill.”

Joe obliged, handing the yet-to-be invented tool to Billy.

“There it is again,” said Joe.

“What?” asked Jim.

“The voice. It’s talking about us,” said Joe.

“I don’t hear anything,” said Jim.

“Neither do I,” said Billy.

“It’s quiet now,” said Joe. “But it’s definitely a voice.”

Billy continued his work, while Jim scoffed at Joe.

“There it is again!” exclaimed Joe.

“You’re mad,” said Jim. “You need to see a shrink when we get back.”

“You don’t hear that?” asked Jim.

Billy pressed on, hard at work, tangled in wires, tooling around with a machine that didn’t seem to belong in the early 20th century.

Jim sneered at Joe. “You’re imagining things.”

“No,” said Joe. “Didn’t you hear it? It said Billy was working, tangled in wires, which he is. It said that you sneered at me, which you did.”

“I don’t hear nothing,” said Jim.

“Can you hear me?” asked Joe.

“Yes!” said Jim. “I’m standing right here!”

“Not you!” replied Joe. “The voice. I was talking to the voice.” He paused. “Can you hear me?”

Yes.

“There!” exclaimed Joe. “Did you hear that? The voice answered!”

Jim just turned away, waving Joe off with a flip of his hand.

“Who are you?” asked Joe.

Does it matter?

“Why are you talking about us?”

I’m telling your story.

“Our story?”

Yes, your story. I’m writing all about what happened to you on this fateful night.

“Tonight?”

Yes.

“What’s going to happen to us?” asked Joe.

I can’t tell you.

“Are we going to die?”

Two of you are. Well, no. Sorry. I can’t tell you. It’s going to be quite a tale.

“We’re going to die? How? When?” asked Joe. “Can we stop it? What can we do?”

Billy and Jim continued work on the machine. Joe decided he should jump in and help as well.

“I didn’t decide that,” said Joe.

So, Joe decided to jump in and help finish the repairs on the machine.

“Nah, I haven’t decided that yet. Is using the machine what gets two of us killed?”

Joe decided to stop talking to himself and pitch in to help Billy and Jim with the machine.

“Why do you keep pushing me toward fixing it? Will fixing it save us and get us away from danger, or will it take us to the danger?” asked Joe.

After a long hesitation, Joe decided to help Jim and Billy repair the machine.

“You flipped Jim and Billy this time. Why? Is there some significance to that? Did you move Jim closer to me because we’re the two that are going to die? What’s going to happen?”

Since Joe wasn’t helping repair the machine, Billy and Jim decided that, when it was time to go, they would leave Joe behind.

“They’re leaving me behind? Does that mean they’re going to die?”

Meanwhile, Jim snuck up behind Joe, carrying a heavy metal pipe, planning to hit him in the head, possibly killing him, just to get him to shut up.

Quickly, Joe spun around.

“Hey, Jim’s not there! You were trying to trick me!”

Suddenly, the machine roared to life.

“It’s fixed!” exclaimed Billy.

“We can go home!” exclaimed Jim.

“Wait!” exclaimed Joe. “Should I let them go? Will they die if I let them go? What if I break the machine? Or, is trapping us here what results in two of us dying? Oh, what should I do?”

To be continued…

…by Speedcat!

The bad story meme is like a never-ending story. Or, maybe someone will end it. Who knows? Let’s see how far it goes. Anyway, so what you do is write your part of the story and then tag someone else to finish the next part. I’ve tagged Speedy!

I have seen the little children dream,
While floating in their boats down the stream,
Only to wake with tears in their eyes
At the dawn of the morning sunrise
As they find all’s not what it may seem.

To fantasies they say their goodbyes,
And let go of their reverie’s prize.
As night meets its end, this they may gleam:
Cruel to eyes is the morning sun’s beam.
So they pray for a cloudy sunrise.

More from my fiction archives. This one as per Speedy’s request…

“Crossing”
by Dan C. Rinnert

From the relative security of the grassy mound, she watched the beast stagger down the smooth-worn path. She figured she could safely cross in front of it, unless it sped up, which these excitable creatures were prone to do. Better to wait, she thought. Birds of her size, easily overlooked by the lumbering giants, frequently became meals for the vultures and rats who would brave the traveling herds for fresh and tenderized flesh.

She watched as the animal crossed in front of her, its gray hide crackling and flaking from age. The bird poked her head out of the thin brush for a better look, but the ancient beast did not return her stare as it plodded along.

After the old creature had passed beyond a small hill, the bird inched toward the path, stepping carefully, and looking nervously about. She sensed something and paused. She sniffed the air and looked around. She could see nothing to her right, and the hill blocked the left side. She glanced down at her feet, as she felt a vibration through the ground. A herd! she realized, and ducked back into the brush.

She began to hear the roar of the pack as it drew closer. The sound grew louder and louder, until the first beast reached the crest of the hill and entered her sight, followed by many more. The bird recognized them as a younger lot.

A large black beast led the pack, followed by smaller animals with hides of purple or red. Amongst these puttered slightly smaller creatures with skins of orange or yellow.

They all looked similar, so she guessed the smaller ones were either women or children. She could see none that looked like babies, but perhaps they remained behind in nests.

The herd passed just as quickly as it had come. The path stood empty. The bird stepped cautiously across. She looked to either side, and studied the ground carefully with the soft-bottoms of her feet. No sound, no vibration and nothing in sight. She continued across.

Zoom! A thin animal, with a hide of yellow and black, zipped passed her at an incredible pace. The bird paused, questioning whether to continue or turn back. She opted to keep going and, disregarding her instinctual caution, scurried across the rest of the way as quickly as her feet could take her.

She reached the opposite side, and looked around for the treasure she sought. Damn! she thought. Never falls in the same place twice! Most days, she did not even need to cross the path to reach it. It could usually be found in the brush, or the plain, or sometimes the bushes on her side.

Her sharp eye caught a glimpse of its shiny blue surface. She scampered over to a rolled bunch of leaves wrapped in a semi-transparent, glossy blue husk. It meant nothing to her, but her master would give her a treat for bringing it to him. She grabbed it with her beak behind a small bulb at the end, and carried it back to the edge of the path.

She looked both ways, concentrated on her feet and, hearing no sound and sensing no vibration, darted across. Just as she reached her knoll, a lumbering monster rolled past, barely missing her. Surprised, she dropped the bundle. She turned and gave the monster a few disapproving squawks as it continued on. Once it reached a safe distance, she retrieved the husk and dragged it across the plain.

At the plain’s edge, she hopped up a few planks, struggling with the weight of the bundle. She skipped across the wooden floor, and proudly placed the treasure at her master’s feet.

He gently patted her head, and dropped some corn kernels to the ground.

She quickly gobbled them up. She heard him speak to the other ape creatures sitting around him. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was pleased, even though she didn’t understand the words: “And, that, my friends, is why the genetically-enhanced chicken crossed the road!”

“Crossing” by Dan C. Rinnert. Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.

More digging through the archives… This one is a short story I wrote in 2004. I had a couple different endings, but I was never really happy with any of them. This particular ending is perhaps the best of them. This is pretty much why I don’t do romantic stories. And, be warned there is a “steamy” scene in here, so, if that may be offensive to you, you might want to skip that part or this story.

Other than that, enjoy!

“Faded Dreams of Photos in the Sun”
Copyright 2004 by Dan C. Rinnert. All rights reserved.

The bright sunlight filled the room, a beam illuminating the scrapbook. Relaxing on her couch, Kelly relived old memories, eagerly anticipating the upcoming reunion. As she turned a page, a loose photo slipped and fell face-down on the floor. She picked it up and flipped it over.

Robert.

With a bright blue baseball cap worn backwards and a sleeveless tie-dye shirt, Robert looked back at her with a goofy grin, flashing the peace symbol like a rebel peacenik caught in a police line-up.

Kelly had forgotten she had that one still in there.

Her perfect man. Not just handsome and athletic, but kind and caring too. Kelly remembered the time Robert gave his letter jacket to a homeless man on a cold evening. Countless hours of practice earned him those letters, but it mattered little to him. “Symbols,” he told her. “I have my accomplishments whether I have the jacket or not.”

Not content simply with athletics, Robert had also worked on the school journal. The consummate photographer, he had taken many of the photos that filled the scrapbook.

Love at first sight? Kelly felt it, but Robert never gave any hint of reciprocation. They became friends instead, but as Kelly got to know him better, the stronger her feelings developed.

Kelly sighed, and turned the page.

Sun beams dancing on happy faces and the warm sand tickling their toes. Kelly fondly remembered that day at the beach. She wore her hot pink bikini top and neon blue bottoms, and Rachel wore her neon blue bikini top and hot pink bottoms. With sun-bleached highlights in their brunette hair, worn just tickling the shoulders, they attracted the welcome attention of many young men. They posed like models, showing off their equally curvacious and toned bodies, giggling with satisfaction as men oggled them.

Kelly enjoyed those moments, but she did not desire the attention of all those men, just one in particular.

Robert also spent the day at the beach, taking pictures for a photography project. Kelly had long been dropping hints to Robert as to how she felt–hints she was sure he must have noticed. Hoping to seduce him with her shapely figure, she angled for him to photograph her. Instead, intrigued by their contrasting bikinis, Robert asked her and Rachel to pose together.

That evening, once Rachel had left with a man she met, Kelly approached Robert, determined to ask him to a romantic dinner. Instead, she learned he was packing his bags for a new job on the other side of the country.

Was it something she had said?

Kelly was devastated, but not so devastated as when she learned the truth three years later. That was something she was not sure she could forgive him for.

Seven years past, and it still upset her. Kelly found it difficult to trust other men, and still compared each new one to Robert–still her perfect man, despite–

Her blue eyes welled with a sadness she had not felt in some time. Even now, she found herself longing for Robert. She gently placed the photo in front of her scrapbook. She pressed her fingers to her lips, and then to Robert’s lips. Opening the scrapbook had been a mistake, and now Kelly felt attending the reunion, just days away, may be a mistake as well. She closed the book and placed it back on the shelf.

She turned and noticed the sun beams on her tan carpet. The bright light and the gentle breeze coming through the open window reminded her of that day on the beach. She stopped to relish the moment, going so far as to wonder if that bikini would still fit.

The memory was interrupted by the harsh sound of the doorbell. Kelly headed for the door and looked through the peephole.

Robert!

She couldn’t believe Robert was at her door. She opened it. Indeed, it was Robert, and he still looked as good as she remembered.

And, she looked as good as he remembered. He bet that her hot pink and neon blue bikini would still fit her just fine.

“Robert?”

“I came back in town for the reunion, and I–” Robert paused. Though he had practiced his speech a thousand times, face to face with her, his mind drew a blank. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” came his reply.

Kelly invited him in, and led him to the other room. They sat on the couch.

Robert said, “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

Kelly looked away.

“I was… afraid.”

Kelly looked at Robert. “Afraid?”

“I shouldn’t have said I was moving across the country,” he said. “It was the first thing that came to me, and there was no easy way out of it.”

“What were you afraid of?” she asked.

“I didn’t feel the same, not the same for you as you did for me,” Robert said, reaching for her hand. “But, I was wrong.”

She took his hand, and smiled as she looked into his eyes. This was the moment she had dreamed of for so many years, and now, here he was, and she nearly felt compelled to pinch herself.

“I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Kelly said softly, “It’s alright now.”

“I have feelings for you too,” he said. “I do love you.”

“I love you too, Robert,” she replied.

Robert leaned over toward her, slowly. Kelly did not turn away, and tilted her head back, and let Robert kiss her. The kiss. The kiss she had been longing for, and it was everything she had hoped it would be. Before she knew it, she found herself with Robert in her bedroom.

Robert took off his shirt, revealing his muscular chest. Kelly put her hands on him and felt the softness of his warm skin.

She had been saving herself for her future husband, but with Robert she could no longer maintain her resistance. She reasoned with herself that he was to be her future husband, and she gave in. She began to unbutton her blouse, then took Robert’s hands to the next button. He recognized her silent request, and slowly, sensually removed her clothing. He laid her gently on the bed, removed the rest of his clothing, and joined her.

Kelly lost track of time as they made love. Every motion, every caress, every passionate kiss was exactly as she had hoped. When it was all over, Robert continued to hold her close.

“I want to show you something,” she said after a while, remembering the photo she had just before Robert had shown up. She sat up in bed, and wrapped herself in the bedsheet. Turning to Robert, she smiled at him. “I’ll be right back.”

Robert smiled back as he looked into her eyes, those beautiful blue eyes. He kissed his fingers, and gently pressed them against Kelly’s lips. He closed his scrapbook and put it back on his shelf.

He stared at the book for a moment, and sighed.

“You ready to go?”

Startled, Robert turned around. “Yeah, um–”

His wife smiled at him, knowing she had caught him in the middle of something. “What were you doing?”

Robert looked at his wife and the mother of his two children. She was nothing like those girls he had photographed on the beach so long ago. Big-boned, she liked to call herself, but he could not help but think of her as fat.

He saw his letter jacket folded in her plump arms. If only he were the man in his dreams, he thought to himself, and if only she was–

Enough! Robert thought to himself. “Let’s skip the reunion,” he said.

“Something wrong?”

“Let’s not relive the past,” he told her. “We should make new memories–why don’t we take the kids to the beach instead?”

“You sure?”

Robert walked up to his wife and embraced her. “You’re everything I ever wanted,” he whispered in her ear. Then, he kissed her passionately. “I love you, Rachel.”

“Faded Dreams of Photos in the Sun”
Copyright 2004 by Dan C. Rinnert. All rights reserved.

I was digging through my old writing projects, and found these that I had done way back in 1996. They were “syndicated” in that I had a little info box allowing people to re-publish the lists as long as they included my copyright notice and contact info. I wonder if that makes me an early Internet marketer? Ha!

Anyway, I don’t know if anyone actually distributed them. They’re not my best work, but here they are for your amusement.

Top Ten Ways a Computer is Better Than a Girlfriend/Wife

10. Doesn’t nag.

9. Always faithful.

8. Sound volume can be turned down or off.

7. Never complains of a headache.

6. Never asks to be taken to dinner, the movies, dancing, etc.

5. Doesn’t get mad if you just want to hang out with the guys.

4. If you do something wrong, it’s much easier to figure out what it was.

3. Doesn’t reveal your personal life and problems to all its friends.

2. Doesn’t get upset when you upgrade to the newest model.

1. Has a shutdown feature

Copyright 1996 by Dan C. Rinnert.

Top Ten Ways a Computer is Just Like a Boyfriend/Husband

10. Never brings home flowers.

9. Seems to have little ambition, just sits in the same spot day after day…

8. Needs to be turned on before it will do anything for you.

7. Is quite content when you push all the right buttons, but beeps agitatedly when you push the wrong ones.

6. Never does a good job with windows.

5. Can take years to figure out how to get it to do what you want done.

4. Shares its feelings just as frequently.

3. Won’t empty the trash without being told to do so.

2. If something goes wrong, it’s always considered your fault.

1. Won’t stop and ask for directions either.

Copyright 1996 by Dan C. Rinnert.

Anyway, I think maybe I’ll post a few more of my older writings. Let you derive whatever enjoyment you might get from them. Sure beats having them sitting around hidden away on my hard drive not being read by anyone.

Story #2 is the one I picked, so now maybe Teeni can tell us why she thought that was the one I picked. What follows is a selection from a novel I started way back when and later abandoned. Someday I hope to go back to it and finish it, but after 10 (or more—I don’t remember) revisions/rewrites, I kind of got frustrated with the thing. At one point, I even threw it all in the trash. But, I rescued it and stored it away. Anyway, I know how you all like reading unfinished stories (I’m talking to you, Pete), so I figured I’d post a chapter for your enjoyment.

In Search of the Legendary Phineas Ray
Chapter Seven
Copyright 1996 Dan C. Rinnert

   Doran Benton was a man with a secret. Like most people who are unable to keep a secret a secret for very long, he had a compulsion to tell someone. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he had an urge, bordering on madness, compelling him to reveal it.

   The trouble was nobody wanted to listen.

   His former girlfriend, who was more interested in probing his emotional state and complained he would never tell her anything, certainly didn’t. She told him her secrets all the time. He was kept informed about her friend’s infertility problems, her other friend’s bout with constipation and yet another friend’s morbid fear of her cats licking her face off as she slept. But, when he wanted to tell her his secret, she told him “You should keep your secrets to yourself, that’s why they’re called secrets.”

   It didn’t make a lot of sense to Doran, but then most of what she said didn’t either, which was why, he told friends, he dumped her. The truth of the matter was that she broke it off with him. She did so because Doran had one habit she considered so disgusting, sickening and weird she couldn’t stand it anymore.

   Doran collected fingernails. His collection didn’t contain a single one of his own nails, which made matters worse. His girlfriend found it embarrassing to go anywhere with him where a celebrity was present. While others beseiged the celebrity for autographs, Doran asked them for a fingernail, an absurd request followed by total disbelief and silence in the room.

   “What did he ask for?” someone would inevitably whisper.

   “A fingernail?”

   Then the laughter. Doran’s girlfriend would run away, or if blocked from doing so, would hide her face with a newspaper she always carried in her purse for such emergencies. Doran’s face would turn bright red. In the end, it was all worth it for the celebrity would trim off a nail with Doran’s clippers and give it to him, hoping to spare the poor man further indignity, and, more importantly, to get rid of him.

   Doran would walk gleefully home with his fingernail while his girlfriend pondered relocating.

   That was all in the past now and Doran was more concerned about his present situation, evading a man determined to kill him.

   All because of his secret. When no one else would listen to him, he told the police, and to be sure they would listen to him, he wrote it in a letter to them. Just what he should not have done. They did indeed read the letter, but then promptly turned it over to the FBI who also read it.

   The letter, among other no less irksome details, accused the FBI of murder and conspiracy to cover it up, the role of the CIA, not the Bureau. The letter wasn’t taken seriously and was in fact passed around to different departments for a good laugh. However, one agent became so irritated with Doran’s accusations that he set out to eliminate the problem all together, not at all a new thing for him.

   Doran was beginning to feel safe again, despite the fact he was driving far beyond the speedometer’s capacity to measure, it was night and his headlights would not work, due, in fact, to his girlfriend’s kicking them in on their last date. He was certain the would-be assassin was miles, perhaps even light years behind him.

   Unfortunately, as it happens in many a long distance car chase in Hollywood movies, he ran out of gas.

Copyright 1996 Dan C. Rinnert

So, Joanne wants a teaser. Okay. This one is in the Fantasy genre though. Don’t forget to vote for Joanne, the Laidback Buddhist! I think today is the last day!

Now, to our story…

Darnella

Darnella drifted through the lush forest. While her sisters loved the varying shades of green from the dark colored oak leaves to the bright green buds of new growth, she preferred the sensations. The caress of a mandrake leaf against her skin delighted her. She giggled at the soft, squishy feel of moss beneath her bare feet. The gentlest wind in the open meadow could not compare to the diffused breeze she felt filtering through the leaves of the trees, wisping around the tree trunks.

Her sisters would frequently bathe in the clear water of the nearby pond, but she felt safer showering in the forest. Darnella had recently learned her old friend Janyst had been eaten by an alligator while bathing. Or was it a giant salamander? She could never keep the two straight.

In either case, neither one were to be found deep in the woods. Far from the open pond, she felt more secure, and hidden away from prying eyes. During a rainstorm, most people stayed indoors, providing less opportunity for Darnella to be seen than on a sunny day at the pond, when her sisters preferred to bathe.

She stopped beneath an oak tree. As the heavy rain fell through the leaves and branches, a gentler shower dropped under the tree. Darnella cautiously looked around her. Assured no one could see her, she tossed her silky pale blue dress over a branch and closed her eyes as the falling raindrops cleansed her.

After a few minutes or more—she had lost track of the time—she thought she heard something and opened her eyes. Folding her arms to conceal her breasts, she looked around. She could see no one.

She resumed showering, but heard muffled voices moments later. Teenage boys, she thought. Except for wings and a height of only four inches, fairies were anatomically identical to human females, making them a viewing target for hormone-driven teenage boys. They might get caught with their fathers’ pornographic magazines, but no one would ever suspect—or believe—they were spying on bathing fairies in the forest.

Most children completely forgot about fairies at the onset of puberty, but a small percentage would retain those memories even into their teen years. Some would spend hours pretending to be fishing while keeping a watchful eye for a fairy in need of a bath. Apparently, others would even withstand a downpour for the glimpse of a showering fairy.

Darnella realized they were likely harmless, only wanting to see her nude form. But she did not appreciate the violation of her privacy, and reached for her dress. Before she could grab it, a huge “thud!” surprised her, and she found herself trapped within transparent walls with a giant hand at the top.

She pushed against the wall, and she fell as it toppled over. She slid down the wall and hit a transparent flooring. She heard another sound as something metallic shut out some of the light above her.

“Got it!”

Darnella looked around, only to see three pairs of giant eyes staring back at her.

She slid across the flooring as a pudgy, dark-haired boy grabbed the jar and began to open the lid.

“What’re you doing?” asked the fair-haired boy who had caught the fairy. “It’s mine! Don’t let her out!”

Darnella felt a bit of fresh air as the jar’s lid opened and immersed herself in the scent of freedom. Her hopes were soon dashed as chubby fingers grabbed her and pulled her from the jar.

The dark-haired boy smirked as he fondled the little fairy’s nude body. Darnella struggled to break free, but his grip remained tight. After a few moments playing with her, the boy flipped her over. She could see the ground just feet away—enough of a distance where she could take flight before hitting the dirt.

She shrieked as she felt her left wing ripped from her body. Then again as the boy plucked her right wing off. The boys heard only a buzzing comparable to that of an angry wasp. The dark-haired boy let the wings float to the ground and tossed her back into the jar.

“What did you do that for?” the other two boys asked.

The dark-haired boy sealed the jar tightly, and pushed it back into the hands of the fair-haired boy. “Now you don’t have to worry about her flying away,” he said.

Darnella lay at the bottom of her transparent prison, feeling a throbbing pain on her back where her wings had been. She bled very little, and the wounds would quickly heal, but a fairy’s wings never grow back. She put her face in her hands and cried with the realization that she would never fly again.

As the boys walked off, their prize in hand, a pair of dark green hands grabbed the tiny blue dress and a pair of deep brown, almost black, eyes peered at the footprints the teenagers left behind.

End Part 1

Copyright 2004 Dan C. Rinnert