by D. L. Scott
Six months earlier his radio stopped playing, the batteries went dead. George began to hear the conversation going on in the living room, which in this tiny house was quite close. His father and mother were fighting again. Much of the argument made no sense to him. Then they started making other noises that George hated to hear, noises that made him feel strange and sent those chills up his back.
# # #
Soon, George’s collection included magazines that he discovered at the local convenience store. They were covered and in the corner away from the front window. Usually there were a few older guys milling around flipping through the glossy pages.
One afternoon on the way back from school he noticed no one in that corner, while the clerk busied himself stocking the cups in the self-serve coffee area. George walked in and headed straight for that corner, picking up the nearest magazine. One glance and he knew he had discovered his next obsession.
With a smooth and practiced motion, the magazine slipped under his jacket while he walked out of the store. That familiar tingling shot up his spine. Once out of sight of the store, he ran home eager to enjoy his new acquisition.
He skipped his usual after school snack and headed straight for his world, shedding his heavy jacket and backpack on the way.
He ignored the slightly ajar door, turning on the light using a chain hanging from the naked light bulb, and climbed onto his shelf.
George breathed hard from the run, so he didn’t hear the sound of his visitor Milky. That cat liked to follow him into the yard then meow until he picked her up.
When he was younger, George used to pet and hug Milky until she hissed. In the closet his hugs kept getting tighter and the petting rougher. The hissing made him mad; he couldn’t understand why she didn’t enjoy his attention. Today, he kept hugging Milky until she stopped meowing and relaxed. That evening George stole out of his house and deposited a limp Milky in the neighbor’s garbage can.
Once the house quieted down, he opened the magazine and stared at the women. The only females he’d seen up close were his teacher, mother, and clerks at the drugstore he stole from. None of them looked like this or made him feel funny.
He tried to figure out what he felt and knew it to be something good but still very strange. It was the same feeling he had when his parents started making noises.
Later that night George decided he wanted to see Milky again. He snuck outside after his mother was asleep and crept into the neighbor’s backyard to retrieve his only friend from the garbage can.
About the Author
D.K. Cassidy has been scribbling stories since she was a child and loves to write in various genres including Magical Realism, Science Fiction, & Literary Fiction. She has a B.A. in English Literature from the University of Washington.
D.K. Cassidy lives in the Pacific Northwest with her greatest fans: her husband Mark, twin sons Aidan and Jared, and three cats. If you like her work please follow her on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/DK.Cassidy.Author and Twitter https://twitter.com/moongie
The Tattoo
By Michael Mill
"We are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there".
– Stephen Chbosky , “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”
“Where the hell is this place?” Danny Peterson shouted at his steering wheel in frustration. He knew he had been driving for about two hours looking for this tattoo shop his frat buddy had told him about. It was getting late and with the absence of any streetlights it had gotten very dark; the kind of darkness that swallows your headlights. Worse yet, Danny knew, he was lost, now having just passed the same bullet hole riddled stop sign for the fifth time.
“Just one more glance,” Danny said as if he was talking to his 1977 Ford Maverick in hopes it would give him a sign of relief from his frustration. Danny pulled over on the shoulder of the once populated, now desolate and unkempt stretch of road, turned on the dope light, so named by Steve his roommate and self-proclaimed “Weed King.” He reached for his map, which Steve highlighted so intelligently with a black sharpie marking his would be path to the “Best tattoo artist in the business.”
“Where the hell is this old bag,” Danny shouted, slamming his hands onto the steering wheel. Just then his bright lights clicked on and there he saw it, an old paint worn and tattered sign that simply read “Tattoos.”
“I must have passed it five times,” Danny thought to himself, frustrated and for the first time, happy to be alone so that there was not anyone there to share in his embarrassment. He turned into the grass overgrown driveway.
Danny followed the tree covered and seemingly endless two-track driveway for about three miles until he finally gazed upon his destination. The house was like something straight out of a horror movie. It appeared to be very old with chipped painted walls and a sagging patchwork roof.
Danny was not able to see any lights coming from the blackened windows that were the center point for the half broken shutters that hung askew on either side. Even the trees around on either side of the large weather beaten porch appeared unable to sustain life.
Danny sat in the driveway for a couple seconds disappointed that he seemed to have missed his opportunity for today, yet a bit relieved that he would not have to step into such a spooky looking place. Just as he was putting his car in reverse his eyes caught a shimmer from an upstairs window.
Danny watched the light move from window to window with growing excitement and nervousness, knowing that they must be marking the woman’s path from the room she was in to the door his headlights still illuminated.
Danny grew even more nervous as the lights closed in the distance to the door. As if it were a fate-deciding race, Danny was starting to hope the dark door would triumph over the descending light. He was told the tattoo artist was an old woman, and now his mind was racing, imagining what kind of woman would live in such a run-down house in the middle of nowhere.
A grotesque woman hiding from the society that had shunned her was the only answer his mind would allow him to conclude. Danny sank a little in his seat when he gazed at the light coming to rest behind the rickety door. He tried to calm himself knowing that it was his nerves that made the last few moments feel like an eternity and that the woman would be in view any second.
With his hand on the shifter and his foot hovering over the accelerator, like the climatic getaway ending to every bank robbery he had ever seen on television, Danny was ready to bolt at the first glance of the disfigured, blood hungry witch his mind built the woman up to be.
Danny watched the door open with squinted, horror movie eyes and face slightly cocked to the side, with that adolescent feeling that she would be less scary with his facial features at the ready.
Standing in the illumination of Danny’s headlights stood the old woman. As Danny carefully glanced at her for the first time he could not believe his eyes. He undistorted his face for a second and a more meaningful look.
To his amazement she was perfectly normal, and more than that she had that inviting grandmotherly look about her.
Danny stared at this pleasant looking old woman for a couple seconds laughing at himself for allowing his mind to overtake him so badly. He was brought back to reality as he heard the old woman call to him.
“Hello, may I help you,” the old woman asked now with her hand over her brow to block the glare his lights were putting on her.
Danny shut off his lights and engine then stepped out of the car.
“I’m sorry to bother you ma’am, but is it too late for a tattoo?” Danny asked as polite and meek as he could. He did not wish to scare the woman he had been afraid of only moments ago.
“No such thing as too late for a customer,” the old woman replied with a smile, “you can imagine I don’t get too many of you around here, come right in.”
“Thank you,” Danny replied as he followed the ol
d woman back into the now well-lit house.
Once inside, Danny gazed around at his surroundings. The room was fairly clean with light colored walls and a dark wooden floor. The walls all around the room were filled with white dust covered pinups of different tattoo ideas.
One caught his eyes almost immediately, the pinup board behind the woman’s desk. On the spotless white background of the board were seven of the most realistic animal drawings he had ever seen.
“How much for one of them,” Danny asked the woman who was now standing beside him sharing his view of her work.
“Ah yes, you like those do you child?” she replied with a tone that showed she was pleased with his obvious enthusiasm of her animals. “I’m afraid those aren’t to be duplicated. You see, those are like my family, but I can do something similar for about a hundred dollars.”
Danny watched the look he could only describe as the eyes of a mother as she beamed at the seven animals on the perfectly manicured background. It seemed odd to Danny that the only true clean surface in the room was the background as if it too was revered.
Danny tore his gaze from the animal shrine back to the old woman as she walked around the front of him with a look of newfound confusion on her face. Danny instantly realized the confusion spawned from the fact that she had finished with an offer and his wandering mind again kept him from making a reply.
“That sounds great to me,” Danny beamed at the old woman now facing him with excitement, “I was thinking of a tiger’s head in the middle of my chest.”
“What’s your name, child?” the woman asked him as she walked over to an ink stained counter next to an old dentist chair.
“Danny Peterson,” he replied as he watched her gather some strange looking ink bottles that to him looked more like antique perfume bottles.
“And your middle name,” the old woman persisted.
Danny thought it was odd that she made it sound like his middle name was relevant, but maybe she like to keep detailed records.
“Michael.” Danny indulged her.
“Well Danny Michael Peterson, why don’t you remove your shirt and take a seat and I’ll get started,” the old woman replied.
Danny watched the old woman as she retrieved all the items his five existing tattoos had allowed him to become accustomed to. Everything appeared to be normal except the exquisite ink bottles for the second time in the last few minutes captivated his attention.
“I’ve never seen bottles quite like those before,” commented Danny as he removed his shirt and took his seat in the old dentist chair.
“Oh yes,” the old woman replied as she placed the tip of the needle in the first color she was to use. “They are very old and have been in my possession for a long time. Now Danny Michael Peterson, before we begin, are you very sure you want me to place this tattoo on you?”
“I am very sure ma’am,” he replied with a tone of confidence in his voice.
Hearing his full name for the second time now was strange for Danny. Not since his mother had he heard his name said so formally in normal conversation. Danny decided it was just perhaps the way she was and shrugged it off, laid back in the chair and closed his eyes.
The buzzing sound the needle made told Danny that the old woman was about to begin. Danny braced himself for the pain as he had done in the past but when the needle hit, he was startled that the pain did not. He could feel the needle against his skin, but there was no pain, just a slight warming sensation.
“Why doesn’t it hurt?” Danny asked with his eyes still closed.
“Well child, like a piece of wood, your skin has a natural grain pattern, and I have come to find that if I follow these patterns I get better results as well as you get relief of the pain that is usually involved.
“Amazing,” Danny responded as he relaxed completely in the chair, getting ready to enjoy the best tattooing experience in his life.
“We are done child,” the old woman called down to him.
Danny lifted his head up and rubbed his eyes; to his astonishment he had slept for almost the entire time.
Danny looked down at his chest as he continued to rub the sleep from his eyes as their gaze fell upon the old woman’s exquisite work.
“It’s fantastic,” Danny beamed at the old woman, who had already started to clean up from her job.
“I’m glad you like it child,” the old woman replied with a tone of appreciation in her voice. “Well then, that’s a hundred dollars,” she added as she put the last ink bottle in its place.
“Right,” Danny replied having finished replacing his shirt and reaching for his wallet. Danny reached in his wallet and pulled out his Visa card, when he raised his head his eyes met with the old woman’s, he watched as her smile left her face and her eyes seemed to fill with disappointment.
“I can’t take that.” The woman stated, obviously uncomfortable with Danny’s apparent lack of paper currency.
“Oh, it’s all I have,” Danny replied, now growing very uncomfortable, having never realized this would be a problem, “What should I do now?”
“There is one of those cash machines in the little town about fifteen miles up the road; you can bring me back the money.” She sighed.
“Ok,” Danny replied trying to choke back his surprise, “I’ll do that.” As Danny turned toward the door he heard the old woman start to speak, he stopped with his head turned halfcocked.
“Don’t forget to come back to me, Danny Michael Peterson.” The old woman pleaded with an almost threatening tone to her voice.
“I won’t,” he replied as he proceeded out the door.
As Danny pulled away from the house he could not believe what had just transpired. She had taken him on his word that he would come back, and he could recall no one else he knew that trusted a stranger that much. After all he was a stranger to her, even if she knew his full name, which he recalled her using again in her apparent warning to return.
As he pulled to the intersection of her extremely long driveway and the main road, he put his car in park. Danny looked to the left and then to the right going over his options in his head. Turning left equals a thirty mile round trip and a hundred dollars spent, and turning right equals home with a free tattoo and bragging rights to his buddies on how he stiffed the old lady.
“Putting it that way makes it easy.” Danny said to himself with a sly self-pleasing chuckle.
Danny happily cranked up his radio, put his car back in drive and with a grin on his face turned right....
Danny arrived home around forty-five minutes later. He walked into the apartment he shared with his two buddies and seeing that no one was home, he decided to go to bed and save his story for the morning.
As he lay in bed, he made little comments of the misfortune the old woman must have felt right about now, having realized he had no plans on returning and paying for the magnificent work.
Danny continued to lie there being pleased with himself until he drifted off to sleep.
Danny’s eyes popped open as he writhed in overwhelming pain. He couldn’t breathe and all he could see was blood, everywhere.
He tried to scream but nothing came out his throat, lack of oxygen made it impossible. He was dying and he knew it. Trying to get up he realized he could no longer feel anything but numbness.
Unable to go for help, Danny curled up in the fetal position clutching his blood- sopped pillow like a babe with a security blanket. Danny then watched in horror as his room closed in around him until his body released its last twitch…
The next evening Evelyn was sitting at her desk, staring at her wrinkled ink stained hands when she heard a soft purring from behind her. As she started to turn around she caught a glimpse of what appeared to be miniature, bloody paw prints.
With a smile of excitement she quickly followed the prints up the wall and onto her special board, until her eyes fell upon the prints creator. There was a majestic full-bodied tiger, the new and eighth addition to her family.
<
br /> Gazing at the tiger with the eyes of a mother she said in a loving voice, “You came back to me little one. I imagine you made Danny wish that he had as well.”
As she leaned forward to stroke the ribcage of the now two-dimensional figure she heard a knock on the door. Evelyn turned around to see a young man opening the door.
“I was wondering if I could get a tattoo,” the young man asked.
About the Author
Michael Mill started writing back in 2005 as a means to escape the drudge of everyday life. He quickly discovered he enjoyed it. It wasn't until he met his wife Delanie in 2009 when he decided it could be more than a hobby. She quickly became his biggest fan and encouraged him to want more for his work. So he did.
Michael currently lives in Alpena MI with his loving, supportive wife, their combined six kids and a bulldog named Vinnie. He works as a Medical Examiner for life insurance companies and as a home health nurse. His dream is to retire from all that and for “going to work” to mean stumbling to his computer in his bathrobe with a coffee in hand.
Perfect Connection
By Roxanna Mitchell
I guess it's gonna have to hurt,
I guess I'm gonna have to cry,
And let go of some things I've loved,
To get to the other side,
I guess it's gonna break me down,
Like falling when you try to fly,
It's sad, but sometimes moving on with the rest of your life,
Starts with goodbye.
– Carrie Underwood “Starts with Goodbye”
I have never really been afraid of anything before, having been raised by a single mother, my father dying when both of us were young, me only five and she just forty, still vibrant and full of life. She was strong and picked herself up by the bootstraps, often sacrificing her needs over those of my sister and mine. She seemed to be impervious to pain, even when she had a bone marrow test and never cried out when the needle entered her. She showed me how to carry myself and never to worry about things that were out of my control. I am thankful for having her as a role model.
