I sit in front of my computer, knowing I am going to write an awesome short story of mystery/suspense. I have been here over an hour, staring at a blank page. This is unlike me. I make my living with words. I have several books in print, thirteen as a fact, each one mystery/suspense. All is quiet on the home front, just as I like it when I write. My dog, Hyper, his name for obvious reasons, is somewhere in the house. I assume all is well with him.
The keyboard shows worn keys, never really had a bout of Writer’s Block this severe. I can’t think of crap, or better yet crap is all I am thinking of. Maybe I should try my hand at writing romance. But I know better. If I knew anything about romance she would still be here. Instead, she’s with my ex-best friend. Probably adding a steamy chapter of their own this very minute. We had no kids. I wanted one. She didn’t. Guess it’s a good thing it’s just Hyper and me.
It’s nearing midnight. I light the candle on my desk. Maybe the flickering flame will throw a spark my way. I hear the wind pick up, playing against the windowpane. A beautiful star filled January night with a full moon. Lovers rejoice!
Hyper has made his way to his usual spot at my feet. For a moment I think of writing about dogs. Hyper raises his head and lock eyes with me. He whimpers. I take it as an indication he disagrees.
Unexpectedly, a crow slams against my window. I scream like a little girl at a headless Barbie doll convention. Wasn’t expecting that! My neighbor’s cat releases a loud, “Yowl!” from somewhere outside. Neither sound seems to have bothered Hyper. He continues to stare at me in silence. Now I see it. He has that look in his eyes. “Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s go.” Taking a break from this empty screen isn’t a bad idea, even if it is for a nature call.
I let him outside to do his thing. I walk to the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer. As I open the fridge my back door swings open on its own. I chuck it up to the wind. My eyes scan the backyard as I stand in the doorway to make certain Hyper is all right. I don’t see him. But my yard is quite big and he could be around a corner. I watch leaves scatter in the wind across the ground. I open the beer and take a swig then I call for my buddy, “Hyper! Come on, boy!” He doesn’t come.
That’s when I notice the door of my detached garage is open. Now my senses go full alert. My garage has been broken into before. Some bastard stole my generator. I’ll be damn if I lose another!
I grab my ball bat from behind the couch where I keep it leaning in the corner against the wall. “Do you feel lucky, punk? Go ahead, make my day!” Somehow I don’t think Dirty Harry would have used a Louisville Slugger.
I go to the coat closet for a jacket. I’m wearing nothing but underwear. As I open the closet door, something looms toward me, large and dark. I swing the bat at it, striking the door and knocking a hole into the cheap wood. The threat was nothing more than my winter coat as it fell from the hanger. I slip into a windbreaker and close the door to my house and make my way to the garage, bat above my head, ready. The chilly night air snaps at my bare legs and exposed feet in my flip-flops. I flick on the lights and walk inside. All seems okay. Suddenly, the door slams shut behind me. I turn around and swing the bat out in front of me. There’s no one there. Strike two! The lights flicker two or three times and stay on. I inspect my FJ Cruiser and ’56 Ford and my new generator. All is fine. I hear Hyper scratching at the door. I let my buddy inside and notice the back door to my house is now open and I know damn well I closed it on my way out. Slowly I make my way back inside my house with Hyper at my heels. The moment we step inside, Hyper begins to growl, a bit of a snarl at first only to intensify. Now he barks, twice. He’s staring in the direction of the basement door, baring his teeth.
I open the basement door, slowly, and of course the hinges creak. Someone or something springs toward me in a flash. I scream as if I saw Vincent Price. I swing the bat to defend myself. In mid-swing I see my attacker is a calico cat running for its life. I try to check my swing, the bat slips out of my hands and crashes through my kitchen window, across the breezeway between my house and my neighbor’s where it smashes through my neighbor’s window. Strike three! Still, Pete Rose would have been proud of that swing. I would bet on it.
Hyper goes into full chase mode. My canine buddy slams against a leg on my desk and my beer falls to the ceramic floor, splintering into hundreds of sharp shards of glass. I notice my big toe is bleeding. I open the back door to allow an escape route for the feline and it darts outside and over the fence, safe and sound. Well, maybe not so sound, but safe at least.
Damn! The draft of air causes the basement door to slam shut. I think nature just made a call in my pants. The loudness and suddenness of the door slamming shut startles Hyper too. He yelps and jumps up to my chest. But I wasn’t expecting it and fell backward off balance. I extend my arm in an attempt to break my fall and snatch the window curtain from its rod. I fail to maintain my balance, falling to the floor, striking my head. I’m dazed but conscious. I get back to my feet to discover the curtain fell on the candle and is ablaze. I try to put out the flame but it spreads like a forest fire. I scoop Hyper in my arms and run out to my front yard. Within minutes the fire department shows up.
As I stand there, nearly naked to the world, I realize I have lost my belongings, including my computer. Guess it’s a good thing I have nothing to write about.
The keyboard shows worn keys, never really had a bout of Writer’s Block this severe. I can’t think of crap, or better yet crap is all I am thinking of. Maybe I should try my hand at writing romance. But I know better. If I knew anything about romance she would still be here. Instead, she’s with my ex-best friend. Probably adding a steamy chapter of their own this very minute. We had no kids. I wanted one. She didn’t. Guess it’s a good thing it’s just Hyper and me.
It’s nearing midnight. I light the candle on my desk. Maybe the flickering flame will throw a spark my way. I hear the wind pick up, playing against the windowpane. A beautiful star filled January night with a full moon. Lovers rejoice!
Hyper has made his way to his usual spot at my feet. For a moment I think of writing about dogs. Hyper raises his head and lock eyes with me. He whimpers. I take it as an indication he disagrees.
Unexpectedly, a crow slams against my window. I scream like a little girl at a headless Barbie doll convention. Wasn’t expecting that! My neighbor’s cat releases a loud, “Yowl!” from somewhere outside. Neither sound seems to have bothered Hyper. He continues to stare at me in silence. Now I see it. He has that look in his eyes. “Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s go.” Taking a break from this empty screen isn’t a bad idea, even if it is for a nature call.
I let him outside to do his thing. I walk to the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer. As I open the fridge my back door swings open on its own. I chuck it up to the wind. My eyes scan the backyard as I stand in the doorway to make certain Hyper is all right. I don’t see him. But my yard is quite big and he could be around a corner. I watch leaves scatter in the wind across the ground. I open the beer and take a swig then I call for my buddy, “Hyper! Come on, boy!” He doesn’t come.
That’s when I notice the door of my detached garage is open. Now my senses go full alert. My garage has been broken into before. Some bastard stole my generator. I’ll be damn if I lose another!
I grab my ball bat from behind the couch where I keep it leaning in the corner against the wall. “Do you feel lucky, punk? Go ahead, make my day!” Somehow I don’t think Dirty Harry would have used a Louisville Slugger.
I go to the coat closet for a jacket. I’m wearing nothing but underwear. As I open the closet door, something looms toward me, large and dark. I swing the bat at it, striking the door and knocking a hole into the cheap wood. The threat was nothing more than my winter coat as it fell from the hanger. I slip into a windbreaker and close the door to my house and make my way to the garage, bat above my head, ready. The chilly night air snaps at my bare legs and exposed feet in my flip-flops. I flick on the lights and walk inside. All seems okay. Suddenly, the door slams shut behind me. I turn around and swing the bat out in front of me. There’s no one there. Strike two! The lights flicker two or three times and stay on. I inspect my FJ Cruiser and ’56 Ford and my new generator. All is fine. I hear Hyper scratching at the door. I let my buddy inside and notice the back door to my house is now open and I know damn well I closed it on my way out. Slowly I make my way back inside my house with Hyper at my heels. The moment we step inside, Hyper begins to growl, a bit of a snarl at first only to intensify. Now he barks, twice. He’s staring in the direction of the basement door, baring his teeth.
I open the basement door, slowly, and of course the hinges creak. Someone or something springs toward me in a flash. I scream as if I saw Vincent Price. I swing the bat to defend myself. In mid-swing I see my attacker is a calico cat running for its life. I try to check my swing, the bat slips out of my hands and crashes through my kitchen window, across the breezeway between my house and my neighbor’s where it smashes through my neighbor’s window. Strike three! Still, Pete Rose would have been proud of that swing. I would bet on it.
Hyper goes into full chase mode. My canine buddy slams against a leg on my desk and my beer falls to the ceramic floor, splintering into hundreds of sharp shards of glass. I notice my big toe is bleeding. I open the back door to allow an escape route for the feline and it darts outside and over the fence, safe and sound. Well, maybe not so sound, but safe at least.
Damn! The draft of air causes the basement door to slam shut. I think nature just made a call in my pants. The loudness and suddenness of the door slamming shut startles Hyper too. He yelps and jumps up to my chest. But I wasn’t expecting it and fell backward off balance. I extend my arm in an attempt to break my fall and snatch the window curtain from its rod. I fail to maintain my balance, falling to the floor, striking my head. I’m dazed but conscious. I get back to my feet to discover the curtain fell on the candle and is ablaze. I try to put out the flame but it spreads like a forest fire. I scoop Hyper in my arms and run out to my front yard. Within minutes the fire department shows up.
As I stand there, nearly naked to the world, I realize I have lost my belongings, including my computer. Guess it’s a good thing I have nothing to write about.
Header art by T. Guzzio. Original photo via Creative Commons.
CONNECT WITH EDWARD:
Edward C. Hartshorn, a child of the 1950s & 60s, is the father of seven adults. At ten years old he wrote stories and read them to his blind grandmother. Then came life at full speed and he hopped on board. Now retired from driving a city transit bus for thirty years, he has become the grandparent. He works to get his continuous flow of stories in print before he is called to read to his grandmother again. He and Hyper live in Columbus, Ohio. Find him on Facebook here and here.
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