David Fingerman

The Frozen Lake

The air felt crisp, the sky was overcast and wind swirled around him as he stepped on the frozen lake. Across to the opposite shore Alan saw a wave of fog rolling in. He walked toward it, turning around to make sure he could still see the cabin. Like walking into an abyss, he thought. Moving forward, leaving waffle tracks from his boots in the snow that lightly coated the ice, he met the fog.

Walking into the cloud, Alan let the mist enter his mind. Snow began to sprinkle down as he looked ahead and saw nothing but cloud. Behind him the cabin was hidden behind the gray curtain.

How exhilarating, he thought. Complete nothingness. How existential – how wonderful. Arms stuck out, face tilted to the sky, Alan spun around and around until dizziness took his sense of balance and dropped him onto his knees.

When the sensation of joy and spinning head left him the chill told him it was time to start back. The snow was not too bad but getting heavier as the wind picked up stinging his face as he began to retrace his steps.

The Meadow

Allen Kelly limped toward the door, his wooden cane supporting his weight. Melanie thought he looked older than last week. His eyes had bigger circles, the lines on his face seemed deeper.

“How’s Tobin, today?” she asked as the dog swept between and around her legs.

Dr. Kelly gave Melanie the leash as Tobin jumped up, trying to catch the loop in his mouth.

“Don’t take him too far today, he’s a little slow getting up. I think it’s just too hot for a long walk.”

“Is it too hot for my little baby?” Melanie said in her baby-talk voice. “You’re such a beautiful puppy.” She knelt on the porch and let the dog slobber on her face.

Tobin walked Melanie to every tree along the path as the sun pounded down. The dog panted heavily as sweat lined Melanie’s face. “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity,” she explained to the dog as they walked down the road, back to the house.

A slight, dry, breeze sent the scent of clover to tingle Melanie’s senses. So fresh and clean, the aroma contradicted the brown grass and dried brush around them. Across the way, the meadow seemed to issue an invitation. Tobin stepped into the road, tugging Melanie to the long, cool grass.

“Tobin, come!” Dr. Kelly shouted from his front porch.

The dog yanked the leash free and ran to his master. Melanie quickly followed, wondering what was the emergency?

“Don’t trust it,” the Doctor said in answer to her question before she even asked. “Somethin’ ain’t right in there, somethin’ unnatural.”

Melanie thought about it for a moment then nodded her head. It certainly didn’t make sense. There was no logical reason that a small patch of land, no more than an acre, remained untouched from the sun’s aggression.

Mud

Tom saw the anger in his mother’s eyes. He looked in the mirror by the front door and noticed his sandy blond hair caked with mud, and his new tan jacket almost black. He sniffed and could feel the dried blood around his nostrils start to crack.

“Nothin’, I just fell,” he said under his breath.

“What am I going to do with you?” she screamed. “You have to be the clumsiest kid on this earth. You get those clothes washed and get yourself cleaned up before your father gets home. You know as well as today’s Tuesday he’ll beat you if he sees you like that. My God, we just got you that jacket, and you ruined it. What am I going to do with you?”

Tom started down the hall to the bathroom when his mother yelled, “And hurry up. I need some help in the kitchen.”

The beatings by Tom’s dad weren’t too bad anymore. He learned to dodge the serious blows, and at least his father never had threatened him with a knife, not even when he was drunk. The goose-bumps returned as Tom thought about that knife.

The plate of food in front of Tom remained untouched as his parents ate in silence. Before dinner was over, Tom raced from the table to the bathroom. His stomach was in knots. As he ran, the bruises from where he’d been kicked started to burn.

“Are you all right?” his mother yelled.

A lump climbed its way up Tom’s throat.

“Are you sick?”

A huge glop of mud spewed from his mouth, splashing into the toilet.

“Answer you mother when she asks you a question.”

Tom’s stomach convulsed, then a stream of black water shot out of his mouth.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” his father shouted.

Like a contaminated fountain, the dirty water kept coming. Off in a distant background he heard his parents start to scream at each other. When he felt that there was no more liquid left in his body, he stopped. Dirt and grit lined the inside of his mouth, and to Tom’s surprise, it tasted good.

Grandpa’s Watch

Milo snapped open the watch. “It says the eighteenth.” Startled and afraid that his grandfather might take the watch away, he quickly jumped in, “I didn’t fix it. I swear.”

“I fixed it,” Patty said. “I noticed it when you went out to Uncle John’s truck for your present. Are you ready for bed?”

“We gotta get out of here,” Jacob said getting up from the sofa.

“What the hell are you talking about,” said Paul. “Wrestling’s on.”

“It’s the watch, it’s cursed,” the old man said. “We have to leave, now!”

“You gone loony, old man?” Paul spat at his father.

“You gave my baby a cursed watch?” Patty stared incredulously.

“He was supposed to be its guardian, to keep this from happening,” Jacob cried.

“To keep what from happening?” Paul and Patty asked in unison.

“I was going to explain it all to the boy tomorrow,” Jacob said, mostly to himself.

Paul turned back to the TV, fed up with the old man’s nonsense, while his wife continued to stare.

“Explain what?” she asked. Impatience and anger tinged her words.

Milo came into the room and sat near his grandfather. The air in the room was stale and the smell of rotting meat started permeating in through the kitchen window.

“Go get your clothes on, boy. We got to get outta here,” Jacob said.

“You’re not taking him anywhere,” Patty said. “It’s time he went . . .”

A bang on the front door made everyone jump. Milo looked at his grandfather and saw terror in his eyes.

The Witness

Francis hoisted himself up and went to press the down button and begin his slow descent. As the scaffold began its way down, a wind whipped around the corner of the building. The safety rope that dangled over the edge, snapped up. The metal clasp smacked him painfully in the knee. His leg buckled and Francis lost his balance. The cigarette flew from his mouth as he slipped into the safety bar, and like a gymnast, did a flip over the top.

His eyes went wild as he somersaulted off the structure. He flailed his arms blindly for anything to grab onto that wasn’t air. Miraculously, his hand smacked into the safety rope. Fist instantly clenched, Francis held on, literally for his life. The evening shade cast its shadow over a face in agonizing pain as Francis felt the rope burn into his hand. A twisted arm felt as if it was being pulled from its socket.

“Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down,” he kept repeating to himself, while staring up at the bottom of the scaffold.

Uncontrollably, he looked down. The burning fist clenched tighter around the rope, fingernails dug deeper into his palm, drawing blood. The street, the cars, the people, all seemed to be moving in circles as the wind spun Francis like a tangled telephone cord. He jerked up his head and concentrated on the platform above.

The scaffold crept down the building but Francis knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on nearly long enough.

The Park

Everybody knew that you didn’t enter the park on Halloween night. It was common knowledge that anyone who crossed that boulevard on October 31st might never be seen again, at least alive. And the few who had made it out alive were never again right in the head. At least that was the story Andrew had heard since he was old enough to understand words. . .

The wind picked up and the moon hid behind a cloud. Andrew began to walk toward the street. He stopped. Something behind him creaked. He waited, frozen. There it was again, more of a squeaking sound. Andrew slowly turned. The moon came out from behind the cloud.

The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen sat on a swing, gently rocking back and forth. The moon glowed off her long blond hair and white dress, making them look almost florescent. The sleeves were short and she wore no jacket or coat, and yet, she didn’t seem at all cold. Her head bowed down and it looked as if she might be crying.

Andrew walked over. “Are you all right?”

It seemed as if she hadn’t heard him. He was about to ask again, but she slowly lifted her head. She looked a little older than Andrew, maybe fourteen or fifteen. But, what really stood out were her eyes. It must have been a trick of the moon. As she turned to look at him, he saw that her eyes were yellow, like a cat. And she smiled.