Ray Dillon
09-30-2008, 06:05 AM
Hey, guys. Here's my quick and late contribution. Hope you like it!
DW Writer’s Workshop Challenge #1 – "Garage Sale"
"Leave Your Change"
By Ray Dillon
By evening, the wind rose and with it came the scent of a storm somewhere in the distance. It was zeroing in. A mob of motley cats strolled down the alley looking to stir up trouble; leaving the reverberating clang of trashcans and trails of garbage in their wake. The final weak rays of sunset hopelessly held on, sizzling in the auburn shimmer in the eyes of a mangy calico: the leader. A cold gust blew through its long matted fur and pulled its attention to a house.
Jason pulled the handlebars hard and his back tire rolled out from underneath him. He crashed onto the cracked pavement and howled.
Bobby cackled and made the leap over the curb naturally, skidding to a stop, "Nice try, Dude!"
The other boys followed: Jason’s younger brother Kurt "the Squirt," and Chris Morales, the new kid in school. The boys knew nothing about Chris. As with the natural progression of boys and playmates; they’d just met up, played some H.O.R.S.E., and started riding bikes. Chris hadn’t said much but seemed a good candidate fortheir group.
Jason got to his feet, nursing a blood-speckled palm, when he saw he’d knocked over a wooden hand-made sign that said "Garage Sale." He picked it up and jimmied it back into the disrupted hole from whence it came.
"Hey, lets see if they have toys," said Bobby.
"I gotta quarter, Jason," replied Kurt.
"Great, we can get Batman’s boot, Squirt. Awesome," spat Jason, taking it out on his baby brother again.
"I’m not going up there," said Chris. His voice sounded hollow against the wind. "It doesn’t look right."
"What? Come on, it’s just people sellin’ stuff out of their…" Bobby lost his words when he looked up the small slope of limb-sprinkled grass–too green, too vibrant against the dark grey of the rest of the world—and to the elderly bungalow sitting under a wreath of dying cottonwood trees. On one side, a garage, barely more than a carport, sat against a wall of evergreens so thick you couldn’t see neighbors. Jason realized the same went for the other side of the house where the porch curved around the corner and towards a rusted storage shed.
"See?" Asked Chris.
"Okay, snap out of it," said Bobby, puffing out his chest, "Just a garage. Let’s go." He pushed his bike up the driveway trying unsuccessfully to charge into the challenge. But he made it, and the boys followed, and laid their bikes down at the opening to the garage. There were no lights in side the garage, so it was dark. But, right away, they found treasure. A whole box of action figures that said "25¢ each" in scribbled Sharpie marks.
"Yes! Check this out," They rummaged and got more excited the deeper they delved into the box.
"Wait, where are the people?" Chris asked. "I mean, why is no one here?"
Bobby, grunted and looked around the garage, "There. See?" Another sign said that the owners were gone and for customers to please be honest and leave their change in the bowl. "Yeah, right." Bobby said and slipped the toy into his pocket.
"Hey, Bobby. Come on," Jason started.
"What, Jason? There’s no one here,"
"I don’t want to do this," said Chris backing away a little. "This is really weird. What if they’re hiding? What if they have cameras?"
"Hiding? Jeez, the new kid is a chicken," said Bobby. "Hey, you know what I heard about this house? I heard that there are no people here. They’re dead. They’re ghosts. And any chickens that trespass get trapped inside."
"Oh, shut up, Bobby," Jason snapped. "Come on, put the toy back or fork over a quarter."
They boys went back and forth, Jason and Chris more concerned with just putting things right than retaliation. With a much more exaggerated grunt, Bobby took the toy out of his pocket and they went back to looking.
Kurt was too small to see in, so he crawled under the table, looking at another box of old, clunky video game cartridges. He was the only one that felt the breeze and saw the door leading into the house creak open just a hair.
But, they all heard the first eruption of thunder, which shook loose fat drops that turned into a rain shower so thick they couldn’t see beyond the driveway.
"Oh, crap!" said Bobby. "How are we getting home?"
"Maybe it’ll stop soon." Chris said. Another shotgun blast of thunder made them all jump. Kurt cried out. He was terrified of storms and Jason knew it. Small bits of hail followed, clanging off of their bikes. The wind picked up and blew a mist into the garage that forced the boys back a few steps.
With the third ear-piercing crack of thunder and a blinding bolt of lightening striking closer than any of them had seen, Kurt turned and ran towards the door to the house screaming that he wanted his momma.
"Squirt, no!" Jason called after him.
"Wait, maybe they have a phone," said Bobby.
"We can’t go in that house," Chris said. He hesitated for a moment as the boys ran into the door, but as the garage seemed to grow darker and the rumble of the sky grew closer, he bolted inside, calling for them.
They could barely make out the kitchen in the pitch-blackness.
"Squirt? Where are you?" Jason called. He knew the urgency in his voice would only make his brother hide more, but couldn’t help it.
"Oh, man. Where is that brat?" Bobby said.
"He’s not a brat," replied Jason. "He’s just scared of storms. You jumped too, Bobby."
"Whatever. There’s a phone!" Bobby grabbed for the phone on the counter-top, but jerked back, holding his finger. "Ouch!"
"What?" asked Jason.
"Something scratched me."
Chris tried flicking a light switch by the back door, but it only clicked, nothing happened. Bobby picked the phone up from the counter and pushed the talk button, but no sound came out, only a slight hiss.
"Oh, jeez. Now, what?" Bobby said. "Let’s go find the baby."
But, none of them wanted to move deeper into the darkness.
"Come on, Kurt!" Jason whispered, "Come out... Now!"
No reply. Jason cautiously worked his way along the counter. The kitchen was messy, and every inch of the countertop was covered with dishes and papers. A slight musty odor came out of the sink. There was a doorway entering a hall, with bits of blue light coming in the dusty windows. A faint hum and whistle carried to their ears from somewhere in the house every time the wind gusted, and the house seemed to rock. With each step, the floorboards creaked under them. Sometimes is sounded like it came from behind them.
"I don’t like this, you guys. Let’s get someone. Get our parents, or a neighbor, they’ll find him."
"Yeah, chicken, and then we’ll get in trouble," said Bobby. "Probably go to jail. Let’s just find him and go." Bobby pushed past Jason with a forced bravery and got out a sound like "Guh," before falling down a small set of stairs.
He cried out, "My leg! My ankle! Something grabbed me,"
"Grabbed you?" Chris asked from the middle of the kitchen.
"Something was there and tripped me. Oh, it hurts!" The boys helped him to his feet. He hobbled, but got moving again. A soft glow swirling with dust motes revealed the lower level; just a few steps down from the kitchen was a living room, even more cluttered. A curtain fluttered back and forth in the room attached to an opened window. It smelled more like a basement than a living room, and the burnt-in cigarette smell stiffened their nose-hairs.
The boys crept very slowly; even Bobby’s momentum was slowed to a near halt. Chris sucked in a harsh breath upon seeing the head of a dead dear positioned oddly low on a wall near a door.
"Ah, jeez. Where’s the squirt?" Bobby hissed.
"You check in there. We’ll check this room," said Chris.
"What? I ain’t goin’ in there by myself," Bobby replied.
"Ha, now who’s the chicken, huh, Bobby?" whispered Jason. "Come on."
Jason took a step into the room. There was a huge clatter behind him, like small bodies falling through windows. The boys fell on top of each other and into the room. As Jason turned to see what the cause was, he saw a bookshelf had fallen onto a coffee table, breaking it. But, it wasn’t over: disaster spun around the room, knocking over end tables, pushing over chairs, and breaking a shelf that held cutesy porcelain dolls.
"Oh, man. Let’s get outta here!" Bobby’s voice was getting higher pitched, losing the obviously phony deepness.
"Kurt!" Jason called, "Kurt, you gotta come out, now, bubba. We gotta get out of here. It’s a bad place."
The snap of a branch outside was followed by a burst of lightening that lit up the room. He could see the sunken in bed and a nightstand. Jason jumped at the sight of himself in warped mirror on a closet door that made him look bigger and skinnier. Behind him he saw two small glowing orbs that vanished into the darkness. He spun around, but there was nothing there.
Kurt’s shaky little voice broke through Jason’s increasing panic: "I’m under here," the ‘under’ sounding more like ‘undoh’ and ‘here’ more like ‘he-yuh.’
The old bed skirt ripped as Jason yanked it up and saw his brother’s tiny shoes. He grabbed him by the ankle and pulled. "We gotta go, Squirt."
They were all on their feet in an instant and running into the living room. The way was blocked by the knocked over bookcase and debris. The curtains blew hard in the wind and seemed to reach for them.
"There," Chris said, and pointed to another door next to the bedroom. They ran for it and it opened into a hallway, lined with windows. There was a repeated clacking at the end of the hall where the windows stretched nearly to the floor. The sound of the storm was oddly muffled in the hallway, as if the walls were thicker. But, Jason couldn’t stand it a moment longer; the eyes he’d seen--yellow and glowing--had been burned into his brain. He held Kurt’s hand and pulled him along with Chris behind him and Bobby tagging along, shakier by the second.
But Jason stopped again when he realized that the low rumbling he’d heard when they’d first entered the thin hallway was a growling. They were standing next to the tall windows that rain and wind assaulted, but the boys’ attention was tuned in to the door in front of them. The growling and hissing sounds echoed behind them, but didn’t match.
Another set of similar noises began behind them. A final earth-shaking crack of thunder threatened to break the windows next to them and an ethereal warm spotlight shone in, moving towards them. A guttural howl jumped towards them and the silhouette of a spiny creature came towards them.
The boys ducked and ran, screaming through the door to the backyard. Once outside, the rain battered them and the screech of grinding metal filled their ears. They helped each other over the fence and ran, stumbling, for their bikes.
As the boys whipped their bikes around and road out of the driveway, Bobby pedaled the fastest, Kurt road standing up for the first time, and Jason looked back over his shoulder at the window to the living room. Inside were the yellow eyes watching them leave. Chris turned down a different street from the boys and never looked back.
Inside the house, George and Elizabeth Keller tried the lights, and when they didn’t work, they blindly fished for a candle and silently decided to just light the way to bed.
The cats, satisfied with their work, claimed the garage as their home for the night and curled up in boxes of video games and piles of mothball-scented trousers.
DW Writer’s Workshop Challenge #1 – "Garage Sale"
"Leave Your Change"
By Ray Dillon
By evening, the wind rose and with it came the scent of a storm somewhere in the distance. It was zeroing in. A mob of motley cats strolled down the alley looking to stir up trouble; leaving the reverberating clang of trashcans and trails of garbage in their wake. The final weak rays of sunset hopelessly held on, sizzling in the auburn shimmer in the eyes of a mangy calico: the leader. A cold gust blew through its long matted fur and pulled its attention to a house.
Jason pulled the handlebars hard and his back tire rolled out from underneath him. He crashed onto the cracked pavement and howled.
Bobby cackled and made the leap over the curb naturally, skidding to a stop, "Nice try, Dude!"
The other boys followed: Jason’s younger brother Kurt "the Squirt," and Chris Morales, the new kid in school. The boys knew nothing about Chris. As with the natural progression of boys and playmates; they’d just met up, played some H.O.R.S.E., and started riding bikes. Chris hadn’t said much but seemed a good candidate fortheir group.
Jason got to his feet, nursing a blood-speckled palm, when he saw he’d knocked over a wooden hand-made sign that said "Garage Sale." He picked it up and jimmied it back into the disrupted hole from whence it came.
"Hey, lets see if they have toys," said Bobby.
"I gotta quarter, Jason," replied Kurt.
"Great, we can get Batman’s boot, Squirt. Awesome," spat Jason, taking it out on his baby brother again.
"I’m not going up there," said Chris. His voice sounded hollow against the wind. "It doesn’t look right."
"What? Come on, it’s just people sellin’ stuff out of their…" Bobby lost his words when he looked up the small slope of limb-sprinkled grass–too green, too vibrant against the dark grey of the rest of the world—and to the elderly bungalow sitting under a wreath of dying cottonwood trees. On one side, a garage, barely more than a carport, sat against a wall of evergreens so thick you couldn’t see neighbors. Jason realized the same went for the other side of the house where the porch curved around the corner and towards a rusted storage shed.
"See?" Asked Chris.
"Okay, snap out of it," said Bobby, puffing out his chest, "Just a garage. Let’s go." He pushed his bike up the driveway trying unsuccessfully to charge into the challenge. But he made it, and the boys followed, and laid their bikes down at the opening to the garage. There were no lights in side the garage, so it was dark. But, right away, they found treasure. A whole box of action figures that said "25¢ each" in scribbled Sharpie marks.
"Yes! Check this out," They rummaged and got more excited the deeper they delved into the box.
"Wait, where are the people?" Chris asked. "I mean, why is no one here?"
Bobby, grunted and looked around the garage, "There. See?" Another sign said that the owners were gone and for customers to please be honest and leave their change in the bowl. "Yeah, right." Bobby said and slipped the toy into his pocket.
"Hey, Bobby. Come on," Jason started.
"What, Jason? There’s no one here,"
"I don’t want to do this," said Chris backing away a little. "This is really weird. What if they’re hiding? What if they have cameras?"
"Hiding? Jeez, the new kid is a chicken," said Bobby. "Hey, you know what I heard about this house? I heard that there are no people here. They’re dead. They’re ghosts. And any chickens that trespass get trapped inside."
"Oh, shut up, Bobby," Jason snapped. "Come on, put the toy back or fork over a quarter."
They boys went back and forth, Jason and Chris more concerned with just putting things right than retaliation. With a much more exaggerated grunt, Bobby took the toy out of his pocket and they went back to looking.
Kurt was too small to see in, so he crawled under the table, looking at another box of old, clunky video game cartridges. He was the only one that felt the breeze and saw the door leading into the house creak open just a hair.
But, they all heard the first eruption of thunder, which shook loose fat drops that turned into a rain shower so thick they couldn’t see beyond the driveway.
"Oh, crap!" said Bobby. "How are we getting home?"
"Maybe it’ll stop soon." Chris said. Another shotgun blast of thunder made them all jump. Kurt cried out. He was terrified of storms and Jason knew it. Small bits of hail followed, clanging off of their bikes. The wind picked up and blew a mist into the garage that forced the boys back a few steps.
With the third ear-piercing crack of thunder and a blinding bolt of lightening striking closer than any of them had seen, Kurt turned and ran towards the door to the house screaming that he wanted his momma.
"Squirt, no!" Jason called after him.
"Wait, maybe they have a phone," said Bobby.
"We can’t go in that house," Chris said. He hesitated for a moment as the boys ran into the door, but as the garage seemed to grow darker and the rumble of the sky grew closer, he bolted inside, calling for them.
They could barely make out the kitchen in the pitch-blackness.
"Squirt? Where are you?" Jason called. He knew the urgency in his voice would only make his brother hide more, but couldn’t help it.
"Oh, man. Where is that brat?" Bobby said.
"He’s not a brat," replied Jason. "He’s just scared of storms. You jumped too, Bobby."
"Whatever. There’s a phone!" Bobby grabbed for the phone on the counter-top, but jerked back, holding his finger. "Ouch!"
"What?" asked Jason.
"Something scratched me."
Chris tried flicking a light switch by the back door, but it only clicked, nothing happened. Bobby picked the phone up from the counter and pushed the talk button, but no sound came out, only a slight hiss.
"Oh, jeez. Now, what?" Bobby said. "Let’s go find the baby."
But, none of them wanted to move deeper into the darkness.
"Come on, Kurt!" Jason whispered, "Come out... Now!"
No reply. Jason cautiously worked his way along the counter. The kitchen was messy, and every inch of the countertop was covered with dishes and papers. A slight musty odor came out of the sink. There was a doorway entering a hall, with bits of blue light coming in the dusty windows. A faint hum and whistle carried to their ears from somewhere in the house every time the wind gusted, and the house seemed to rock. With each step, the floorboards creaked under them. Sometimes is sounded like it came from behind them.
"I don’t like this, you guys. Let’s get someone. Get our parents, or a neighbor, they’ll find him."
"Yeah, chicken, and then we’ll get in trouble," said Bobby. "Probably go to jail. Let’s just find him and go." Bobby pushed past Jason with a forced bravery and got out a sound like "Guh," before falling down a small set of stairs.
He cried out, "My leg! My ankle! Something grabbed me,"
"Grabbed you?" Chris asked from the middle of the kitchen.
"Something was there and tripped me. Oh, it hurts!" The boys helped him to his feet. He hobbled, but got moving again. A soft glow swirling with dust motes revealed the lower level; just a few steps down from the kitchen was a living room, even more cluttered. A curtain fluttered back and forth in the room attached to an opened window. It smelled more like a basement than a living room, and the burnt-in cigarette smell stiffened their nose-hairs.
The boys crept very slowly; even Bobby’s momentum was slowed to a near halt. Chris sucked in a harsh breath upon seeing the head of a dead dear positioned oddly low on a wall near a door.
"Ah, jeez. Where’s the squirt?" Bobby hissed.
"You check in there. We’ll check this room," said Chris.
"What? I ain’t goin’ in there by myself," Bobby replied.
"Ha, now who’s the chicken, huh, Bobby?" whispered Jason. "Come on."
Jason took a step into the room. There was a huge clatter behind him, like small bodies falling through windows. The boys fell on top of each other and into the room. As Jason turned to see what the cause was, he saw a bookshelf had fallen onto a coffee table, breaking it. But, it wasn’t over: disaster spun around the room, knocking over end tables, pushing over chairs, and breaking a shelf that held cutesy porcelain dolls.
"Oh, man. Let’s get outta here!" Bobby’s voice was getting higher pitched, losing the obviously phony deepness.
"Kurt!" Jason called, "Kurt, you gotta come out, now, bubba. We gotta get out of here. It’s a bad place."
The snap of a branch outside was followed by a burst of lightening that lit up the room. He could see the sunken in bed and a nightstand. Jason jumped at the sight of himself in warped mirror on a closet door that made him look bigger and skinnier. Behind him he saw two small glowing orbs that vanished into the darkness. He spun around, but there was nothing there.
Kurt’s shaky little voice broke through Jason’s increasing panic: "I’m under here," the ‘under’ sounding more like ‘undoh’ and ‘here’ more like ‘he-yuh.’
The old bed skirt ripped as Jason yanked it up and saw his brother’s tiny shoes. He grabbed him by the ankle and pulled. "We gotta go, Squirt."
They were all on their feet in an instant and running into the living room. The way was blocked by the knocked over bookcase and debris. The curtains blew hard in the wind and seemed to reach for them.
"There," Chris said, and pointed to another door next to the bedroom. They ran for it and it opened into a hallway, lined with windows. There was a repeated clacking at the end of the hall where the windows stretched nearly to the floor. The sound of the storm was oddly muffled in the hallway, as if the walls were thicker. But, Jason couldn’t stand it a moment longer; the eyes he’d seen--yellow and glowing--had been burned into his brain. He held Kurt’s hand and pulled him along with Chris behind him and Bobby tagging along, shakier by the second.
But Jason stopped again when he realized that the low rumbling he’d heard when they’d first entered the thin hallway was a growling. They were standing next to the tall windows that rain and wind assaulted, but the boys’ attention was tuned in to the door in front of them. The growling and hissing sounds echoed behind them, but didn’t match.
Another set of similar noises began behind them. A final earth-shaking crack of thunder threatened to break the windows next to them and an ethereal warm spotlight shone in, moving towards them. A guttural howl jumped towards them and the silhouette of a spiny creature came towards them.
The boys ducked and ran, screaming through the door to the backyard. Once outside, the rain battered them and the screech of grinding metal filled their ears. They helped each other over the fence and ran, stumbling, for their bikes.
As the boys whipped their bikes around and road out of the driveway, Bobby pedaled the fastest, Kurt road standing up for the first time, and Jason looked back over his shoulder at the window to the living room. Inside were the yellow eyes watching them leave. Chris turned down a different street from the boys and never looked back.
Inside the house, George and Elizabeth Keller tried the lights, and when they didn’t work, they blindly fished for a candle and silently decided to just light the way to bed.
The cats, satisfied with their work, claimed the garage as their home for the night and curled up in boxes of video games and piles of mothball-scented trousers.