Twisted All To Hell

by J E Moore

many centuries.

  Two days later Jack sent a case of scotch to Bruce's Canadian friend, resigned from the Marshall's Office, bought a schooner and was reputed to be sailing the High Seas.

  The following week Bruce resigned from the F.B.I. He and his mother bought a condo in Orlando, Florida where he became a vendor in Disney World selling ice cream to children.

  A month later the Starfinder telescope was blown-up by an unidentified rogue missile from Earth. Consequently, it was determined to be too costly to replace especially since they had no idea of how to protect it. The related Starseeker project was suspended indefinitely due to continuous religious pressure. Neither program was ever revived.

  Pandora is watching YOU

  GARAWN

  In the days of ancient Celtic lore, a Druid priest admonishes a gathering of his clan: "Young men, young women, beware ye of the Olden Stranger. Run ye fast; there is no greater danger. And to you mothers, keep your children near. Keep them from the demon to fear. It roams yon hills, in search of a body to till."

  "Beware ye all. Beware of Garawn!"

  The fragile old man stepped carefully down from the Metro route B-2 bus which ran through western, suburban Duluth. Even riding the short distance he had just undertaken felt more than just a little painful when hobbled with his inflamed sciatic nerve as he was today. David stood for a moment in the dirt and down-trodden weeds of the bus stop, gathering his bearings as the white and beige-trimmed bus disappeared down the two-lane road in a vile cloud of nauseating exhaust fumes. He steadied himself against the cement bench and tried to catch a breath of fresh air, but alas, even this simple act had become a taxing effort. Although his eyesight had diminished to near blindness, he could still make out the house he sought. It was the third one on the right side of the street; the one with the thirty-year old maple tree in front. It would be a short but painful walk in more ways than one to where he had lived for four years - up until the last nine months. His wife, Paula and he had bought the house after renting an apartment during their first two years of marriage. They had decided it was time to put down roots, make a real home and consider raising a family. It was just a starter house: small, older and filled with well-wishing relatives' hand-me-down furniture. But most important, it had an affordable mortgage - just right for a young couple.

  At last, David stood curbside facing the familiar front and noted her car parked in the driveway but not his. The lawn appeared to be in good shape but the house still needed a coat of paint; he had never quite found enough time to get around to that particular chore. The old man limped up the walkway still stained by well-water and rapped his arthritic knuckles on the peeling, white wooden door. No answer. David had fretted about his ragged appearance, what he would say and became filled with apprehension. He feared he wouldn't have enough time to explain himself before being dismissed as a silly old coot or worse and be forcibly removed by the police. He knocked again, still no answer. Where could she be? David speculated her car had broken down again and took her husband's to go shopping. He decided he couldn't stay outside indefinitely in his awful, physical condition and there couldn't be any telling how long she'd be gone. He concluded it would be best if he went inside and waited. Knowing, he tilted back the third, red clay flower pot on the left, removed the house key from underneath and let himself in.

  'Thunk,' the door closed. He locked it behind himself and turned to find Paula coming out of the rear bedroom with her hands filled with cleaning supplies. A radio played in the background.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed and dropped a spray can of furniture polish as she drew her hand to her mouth. Wide-eyed, she stared at the stranger, an intruder.

  "Sorry," David apologized and shuffled inside a little further. He held out his liver-spotted hands in a gesture to show her he didn't intend any harm. "I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you weren't home," he stammered. "I was going to wait for you... there," pointing at the couch in the living room.

  "How did you get in?" challenged the tall, slender, bleached-blond woman.

  He hesitated to answer. David's emotions were running rampant. His very soul felt as if it were being torn apart by her closeness, warmth and radiant inner-beauty. He knew he must be careful not to say anything rash and jeopardize his purpose.

  David displayed the key, "It was still hidden under the pot. I wasn't going to steal anything. I'm not a burglar." He fumbled for words; his often rehearsed presentation had taken flight. "May I have a moment of your time? Please...?"

  She saw before her a pathetic, frail old man pushing ninety who appeared harmless and confused. She reasoned, he must live nearby with relatives, wandered out, became disoriented and lost. Paula thought, "He must have seen me use my spare key and came to my house looking for help." Confident in her evaluation, she picked up her dropped bottle and deposited all of her cleaning materials on the dining room table, then walked over to him. No longer alarmed, she offered a handshake and said, "Hi, I'm Paula. What's your name, sir?"

  Taking her hand with tenderness, he answered, "I'm David."

  "Do you live in this neighborhood, David?" to which he nodded affirmation. "I thought so. Is there someone I can call for you?"

  "May I sit down, please?" begged her visitor.

  "Yes, of course." She led him to the faded, tan sofa which faced an old-fashioned brick fireplace. The old man shuffled his feet between the coffee table and sofa and gratefully took a seat. He gazed fondly at the three bookcases lining the wall to his right and then at the four- paneled, louvered window which looked out into the small back yard to his left.

  Paula, after seeing he was comfortable, went to the telephone table next to the fireplace and opened the book to the white pages. "What is your last name, David? Who would you like me to call?"

  "Johnson. David Johnson."

  "Johnson?" she repeated. "What a coincidence. My name is Johnson too! And my husband's name is David." Paula spoke loud, in an exaggerated manner in order to be clear to a person with diminished capacities. She flipped through the white pages looking for the J's.

  "I know the number," he offered.

  "Excellent, that will make it a lot easier. What is the number, David?"

  "555-7111... er, 954 area code."

  She frowned, "No, David. That is my number. What is your number?"

  He repeated, "954-555-7111. You and I picked it out together at the telephone company business office before we moved here from our apartment on Park Road four and a half years ago. I'm David, your husband."

  She lowered the receiver. "What ...?" she had been caught completely off-guard.

  "I'm the real David," he stated. "The man you're living with is an imposter."

  She reexamined the old man. "I think you'd better leave now or I'll have to call the police."

  "Wait a minute, please." He half-rose, grabbed his back, grimaced and plopped his thin, bony frame back down into the worn cushions. "I can explain." She kept her distance and an eye on the poker hanging on the accessory rack next to the fireplace, just in case.

  "Please, give me a moment," he pleaded. "I can prove it."

  "Prove it? I don't think so, but go on," being polite. She folded her arms across her chest. "Let me warn you, sir, my husband will be here any minute now and he may not be as understanding as I am."

  David read the clock over the mantle. "Yes, 3:45 pm. He should be here a little after four... assuming he hasn't lost my job at the post office."

  Paula held her tongue, thinking she could always run and get help if he became too irrational.

  The old man began his 'proof'. He rattled off as many details of their lives as possible in trying to show he had to be the real David by virtue of all the privileged information. She was amazed by his knowledge but unconvinced. Coincidental ranting? Could it be memorizations? Had her husband ever been an internet blogger or Facebook user? "We're going to have a serious talk about this internet stuff later," she reflected.

  After a few minutes she suddenly i
nterrupted, "Stop, stop. Now I remember you! You're the man at the hospital. The old man that had to be dragged away from David's room." She fumed, "I don't know how you learned all these things about us but I know one thing for sure. You're nuttier than a fruitcake. I want you to leave right now," and pointed at the front door.

  "Yes! Yes! You're correct... we met at the hospital," he acknowledged. "That's where he, the imposter, stole my body. And, I'm not leaving until you hear me out!"

  "She checked the time; it would be only ten more minutes until her David arrived. Paula decided it would be best just to humor the old coot and let her husband handle him when he got home.

  The old man continued to pour out incidents of her past: stories about her broken toe operation, their families, their own likes and dislikes, future plans and dozens of things no one could have possibly known, except the rightful David. With suspicion and caution, Paula began to question the reality of this bizarre encounter and the whole freaky situation. There were so many truths and personal secrets being divulged by this stranger. It stuck in her gut as unsettling, confusion and doubt began to creep in. "She realized the intrusion of doubt? Doubt of what?" she fretted.

  She tried to clear her head, "Very interesting, sir, I'm impressed. And just how did you find out these things about my Mister Johnson?"

  "Because we experienced them