ADD
By Dave Suggs, Jr.
Danyel opened his front door and saw the bear standing in front of his leather sofa. Forty-nine seconds of shocked silence followed this.
In those forty-nine seconds, he registered a number of things. The first was that the coffee-with-cream colored leather sofa hadn’t a single scratch on it. Next, he realized that this was no ordinary brown or black bear in his living room.
“No sir, that’s a Kodiak bear,” he said when he finally shut the door. The bear stood on its hind legs when Danyel had walked in, and its head nearly scraped the ten-foot high ceiling. The thing’s claws had to be six inches long and though it had its mouth closed, Danyel assumed its teeth would give its claws a run for their money.
“Yes, that was a Kodiak bear. How did it get in—it doesn’t matter how it got in, just quit standing here talking to yourself and call the cops!”
Danyel constantly spoke to himself, but more frequently he spoke to others inside his own head. His ex-wife, his daughter Melinda, his boss, his boss’s ex-wife. Yes, he thought it strange that he carried on conversations with a woman he had no reason to speak to in reality, that he had only met twice in fact, other than he liked her. He wasn’t attracted to her, her money either, but, yes, he liked her.
“She’s very sweet,” he said, and remembered the last time they had spoken.
“You have to really want it. It shouldn’t be something you have to convince yourself to do,” she said, her slender neck tight from holding her head high.
“Yes, I can tell you’re awfully proud of quitting. So, you just put them down? Cold turkey?”
“That’s right,” she said, her smile broadening. “I said to myself, I said, ‘Janice, this is a disgusting habit,’ and I never touched them again.”
“Wow. That’s impressive. I wish I had your willpower,” he said, then reached into his coat pocket and drew out his own pack. “Do you mind? I’ve always wondered whether it really bothered you to see other people smoke after you quit.”
No, it hadn’t bothered her a bit, he remembered, then looked down to see he was holding a cigarette in his hand in the here and now, with no recollection of taking them out. His keys had found their way into his pocket. In his other hand, he held a silver Zippo. Danyel lit the cigarette, pulled on it, and shut his eyes with the inherent pleasure only a long-time smoker truly knows.
Danyel glazed over as he placed his hand on the knob and began to turn it, then yanked his hand back as if the knob had been red hot.
“Can't smoke inside, fool! You’ve got company coming over!” he cursed himself.
Bill and Jenny were supposed to come over tonight for his office-wide famous grilled quail, and Jenny hated smoke. Greater than the concern of offending Bill or Jenny, however, was the prospect of impressing the friend she was supposed to be bringing.
“Tracy. Her name is Tracy,” he said and smiled at the thought of the dinner party coming tonight. He began pacing in a wide circle.
“Nice to meet you, Tracy,” he said, holding his hand out to the air next to him.
“Very nice to meet you, Tracy,” he practiced, then, “Pleasure’s all mine, Tracy,” then, “Charmed, Tracy.” He looked disgusted “Crap. That sounds ridiculous. Nobody ever says charmed.”
Danyel touched the knob again, then gasped. What was he talking about? Dinner? There was a ten-foot high Kodiak bear in his living room. He began pacing back and forth on his front patio, gnawing his thumbnail.
“Cell phone. Go get your cell phone out of your car and call the cops,” he said, wringing his hands together.
Danyel walked back to his car, and noticed that the grass was getting high again. He looked down at his light khaki pants and grimaced. Small, black dots peppered his pants, the seeds from the tall Y-shaped grass that shot up four days after the lawn boy left. The Y-grass was nearly knee high now, reminding him that the lawn boy was late.
“Crap, what does it take to get these people to do their jobs?” he asked as he slung the door open and reached in for his cell phone.
Danyel fumbled the phone open, looked through the directory, and hit SEND. He looked inside his truck, and saw something else that made his insides writhe: a limp, plastic Publix bag full of melting sorbet and two tubs of sour cream that were fast becoming lukewarm.
“Crap! Crap! This day stinks! I—hello? Yes, Mrs. Mars, this is Danyel Huggins. I….” he looked at the dew drenched bag as he struggled to remember why he was calling. “Oh! Yes, Tommy is over four days late on mowing my lawn. Again. Now, normally I wouldn’t raise such a fuss, but I have company coming over tonight, and… yes… I, yes… that would be fine.”
Danyel grabbed the bag, felt inside, and silently winced at how warm the tubs of sour cream were. Reaching inside the bag, Danyel gripped the sides of the bucket of sorbet and squeezed gently. The sides caved in considerably. Danyel spun, the bag in his hand and the cell phone pinched between his shoulder and cheek, and half-ran at the door.
“Yes, yes, fine,” he said as he swung the door open and stepped in. “I’ll tip him if he comes right now. Wonderful.”
Danyel turned, shut the door behind him and turned the deadbolt, looking at the floor. This was one of the few habits he had developed in his entire life. He slammed the phone shut. “Shouldn’t have to tip him anything. He’s the one who’s slack—”
The phone fell from Danyel’s hand with a dull thunk as he spun, saw the bear standing by the couch, and croaked one word:
“Crap.”
- - -
I live in Savannah, Georgia with my wife and four children, and enjoy writing fiction, fishing, video games, playing with my children, and sleeping when time allows. I've published several stories in fantasy, horror, and literary magazines alike, and won in my first writing contest, the Abbey Hill Short Story Contest, Winter Quarter, 2009. I read Stephen King, Joe Hill, Orson Scot Card, Richard Matheson, and the like.
By Dave Suggs, Jr.
Danyel opened his front door and saw the bear standing in front of his leather sofa. Forty-nine seconds of shocked silence followed this.
In those forty-nine seconds, he registered a number of things. The first was that the coffee-with-cream colored leather sofa hadn’t a single scratch on it. Next, he realized that this was no ordinary brown or black bear in his living room.
“No sir, that’s a Kodiak bear,” he said when he finally shut the door. The bear stood on its hind legs when Danyel had walked in, and its head nearly scraped the ten-foot high ceiling. The thing’s claws had to be six inches long and though it had its mouth closed, Danyel assumed its teeth would give its claws a run for their money.
“Yes, that was a Kodiak bear. How did it get in—it doesn’t matter how it got in, just quit standing here talking to yourself and call the cops!”
Danyel constantly spoke to himself, but more frequently he spoke to others inside his own head. His ex-wife, his daughter Melinda, his boss, his boss’s ex-wife. Yes, he thought it strange that he carried on conversations with a woman he had no reason to speak to in reality, that he had only met twice in fact, other than he liked her. He wasn’t attracted to her, her money either, but, yes, he liked her.
“She’s very sweet,” he said, and remembered the last time they had spoken.
“You have to really want it. It shouldn’t be something you have to convince yourself to do,” she said, her slender neck tight from holding her head high.
“Yes, I can tell you’re awfully proud of quitting. So, you just put them down? Cold turkey?”
“That’s right,” she said, her smile broadening. “I said to myself, I said, ‘Janice, this is a disgusting habit,’ and I never touched them again.”
“Wow. That’s impressive. I wish I had your willpower,” he said, then reached into his coat pocket and drew out his own pack. “Do you mind? I’ve always wondered whether it really bothered you to see other people smoke after you quit.”
No, it hadn’t bothered her a bit, he remembered, then looked down to see he was holding a cigarette in his hand in the here and now, with no recollection of taking them out. His keys had found their way into his pocket. In his other hand, he held a silver Zippo. Danyel lit the cigarette, pulled on it, and shut his eyes with the inherent pleasure only a long-time smoker truly knows.
Danyel glazed over as he placed his hand on the knob and began to turn it, then yanked his hand back as if the knob had been red hot.
“Can't smoke inside, fool! You’ve got company coming over!” he cursed himself.
Bill and Jenny were supposed to come over tonight for his office-wide famous grilled quail, and Jenny hated smoke. Greater than the concern of offending Bill or Jenny, however, was the prospect of impressing the friend she was supposed to be bringing.
“Tracy. Her name is Tracy,” he said and smiled at the thought of the dinner party coming tonight. He began pacing in a wide circle.
“Nice to meet you, Tracy,” he said, holding his hand out to the air next to him.
“Very nice to meet you, Tracy,” he practiced, then, “Pleasure’s all mine, Tracy,” then, “Charmed, Tracy.” He looked disgusted “Crap. That sounds ridiculous. Nobody ever says charmed.”
Danyel touched the knob again, then gasped. What was he talking about? Dinner? There was a ten-foot high Kodiak bear in his living room. He began pacing back and forth on his front patio, gnawing his thumbnail.
“Cell phone. Go get your cell phone out of your car and call the cops,” he said, wringing his hands together.
Danyel walked back to his car, and noticed that the grass was getting high again. He looked down at his light khaki pants and grimaced. Small, black dots peppered his pants, the seeds from the tall Y-shaped grass that shot up four days after the lawn boy left. The Y-grass was nearly knee high now, reminding him that the lawn boy was late.
“Crap, what does it take to get these people to do their jobs?” he asked as he slung the door open and reached in for his cell phone.
Danyel fumbled the phone open, looked through the directory, and hit SEND. He looked inside his truck, and saw something else that made his insides writhe: a limp, plastic Publix bag full of melting sorbet and two tubs of sour cream that were fast becoming lukewarm.
“Crap! Crap! This day stinks! I—hello? Yes, Mrs. Mars, this is Danyel Huggins. I….” he looked at the dew drenched bag as he struggled to remember why he was calling. “Oh! Yes, Tommy is over four days late on mowing my lawn. Again. Now, normally I wouldn’t raise such a fuss, but I have company coming over tonight, and… yes… I, yes… that would be fine.”
Danyel grabbed the bag, felt inside, and silently winced at how warm the tubs of sour cream were. Reaching inside the bag, Danyel gripped the sides of the bucket of sorbet and squeezed gently. The sides caved in considerably. Danyel spun, the bag in his hand and the cell phone pinched between his shoulder and cheek, and half-ran at the door.
“Yes, yes, fine,” he said as he swung the door open and stepped in. “I’ll tip him if he comes right now. Wonderful.”
Danyel turned, shut the door behind him and turned the deadbolt, looking at the floor. This was one of the few habits he had developed in his entire life. He slammed the phone shut. “Shouldn’t have to tip him anything. He’s the one who’s slack—”
The phone fell from Danyel’s hand with a dull thunk as he spun, saw the bear standing by the couch, and croaked one word:
“Crap.”
- - -
I live in Savannah, Georgia with my wife and four children, and enjoy writing fiction, fishing, video games, playing with my children, and sleeping when time allows. I've published several stories in fantasy, horror, and literary magazines alike, and won in my first writing contest, the Abbey Hill Short Story Contest, Winter Quarter, 2009. I read Stephen King, Joe Hill, Orson Scot Card, Richard Matheson, and the like.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
... What?