Charleswood Road Stories

by Joudrey, M. C.

  ALSO BY M C JOUDREY

  FICTION

  Etchings in the Dead Wax

  Of Violence and Cliché

  Charleswood Road Stories

  Copyright © 2014 M C Joudrey

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system without prior written consent of the publisher-or in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, license from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency-is an infringement of the copyright law.

  At Bay Press fox logo is copyright © 2014 At Bay Press

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in

  Publication is available upon request

  ISBN: 978-0-9917610-4-3

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Jacket illustration, design and interior art plates

  © 2014 M C Joudrey

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  First Edition August 2014

  Published in Canada by At Bay Press.

  Visit At Bay Press’s website:

  www.atbaypress.com

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For Jeff and Paul

  Contents

  Erik

  Candy Floss and Jumping Bugs

  Appointment

  Staying Between the Two

  The Last Dartmoors of Devon

  Only the Dead Will Rest

  Reflections of a Dying American Cigarette

  Untitled

  Night Plane

  When

  Thing

  Damned Silverfish

  Through a Window Small

  Understanding the Architect

  The Mustang

  Plastic Query

  Elementary Weather

  Charleswood Road

  They were all here in the forest

  Erik

  THE MORNING AIR FELT GOOD. It brushed past Erik’s face through his prison bars. He woke and couldn’t remember much from the day before. He still felt groggy and allowed himself a yawn. He was lucky, he thought, to at least be outdoors; so many others served their time indoors. He had been restless and hadn’t been sleeping well which was why he was fairly sure the guards had slipped something into his food. The meals came in meagre sizes and were barely edible even for him. He’d lost weight. That was expected. He looked his body over: he looked weak and could see the prominent outline of his rib cage and sunken chest. He’d always been lean and displayed powerful muscle definition, but now his bones appeared too close to the surface. This saddened him. His sentence was one he was not sure he’d survive.

  The new day was breaking earlier than usual and Erik could already feel the sun’s warmth on his back. He paced about his cell. He was thirsty and hadn’t been left any food yesterday and there was none so far today. The water he’d been given two days ago was almost depleted. He couldn’t see any guards at all and he wondered if whatever they had put in his food had kept him asleep all through yesterday.

  The complex was quiet and felt empty. Something was wrong. His instincts had always been very keen; honed after years of experience dealing with the most cunning men on Earth and living in a land allowing little forgiveness for error. He wondered where everyone was and if they were even coming back. Where had all the guards gone? Where was the Pink Skinned Man? The Pink Skinned Man was someone whose name no one spoke and who had done terrible things to him, things he would never forget. The Pink Skinned Man told everyone what to do and they listened. The Pink Skinned Man watched him closely, afraid Erik may try to escape. He would look into Erik’s cell and stare at him grinning with his rotten corn-coloured teeth. Erik would look right back at him. He would not be made afraid, after all he was a King where he came from. This angered the Pink Skinned Man, who relished the fear he struck in his guards. Then he would do things to Erik to show he was stronger than Erik, smarter than him, better than him. Though no matter what terrible things the Man would do, Erik would never show fear and kept his pride. For Erik was a King who had been abducted while he slept, by men with unique weapons far superior to those Erik had faced in the past. Cowards, he thought silently. I will have my revenge.

  Now Erik was alone and the complex looked empty, devoid of its busy population. He wondered if he was the only one left. He couldn’t see any of the other cells so it was hard to tell if others had been left behind. There was not a single sound from the other captives or inhabitants in the complex and this led Erik to believe he was positively alone. Alone. He thought to himself about the soft spot he’d discovered in the cell flooring and how he was sure he might be able to break through and with some digging he might win his freedom. He would wait a while longer, until late afternoon, to see if anyone would return and then he’d consider the idea again. In the meantime, he drank some water, leaving the last of it for later. For now he would try to get some rest.

  The sun was high in the afternoon sky and the cell bars cast striped shadows onto the floor of Erik’s cell and across his body as he sat, arms folded, looking out into silent emptiness. The late afternoon sun was getting hot. Erik examined the weak spot in his cell’s flooring. He knew that the time had come to attempt an escape. He was alone, his only companion the eerie silence of the complex. There was an odour attached to the air now but Erik could not place what it was. He moved towards the weak spot in the floor and looked down at it. It shouldn’t be too hard to break through. He wasn’t looking forward to the digging though. He wondered if this was why the Pink Skinned Man watched him so closely. He must have known of the weak floorboards and that escape would be easy for anyone if given the chance.

  Erik made short work of the flooring. Although making a hole large enough for him to slip through wasn’t difficult, the fierce heat from the growing afternoon sun caused his thirst to flare. He decided to finish the last of his water before the dig. There wasn’t much but enough to wet his dry mouth sufficiently.

  The digging took him about twenty minutes. Once Erik was free he stood a moment to catch his breath and looked into the empty cell. He hadn’t been there long but he would never forget what had happened to him in this place. He turned to face the open courtyard of the complex and assess his surroundings, looking for an opening or somewhere to crawl through. The perimeter walls were too high to climb, nor did he have the strength. Erik noticed the front gate was ajar. He thought this strange as he hadn’t noticed the gate being open from within the confines of his cell. He slowly and quietly made his way towards the large gate doors. He took a quick peek through the doors, carefully checking for any signs of life. There were none, nothing except the strange odour in the air. Erik could see the muddy road winding its way to the left and forest in front of him. He didn’t sense any danger so he left the complex and ran swiftly towards the trees. He’d be safer in the forest than along the road. Once inside the tree line, he turned and looked back at the complex for only a moment, then continued into the dense foliage.

  Erik had been walking for over an hour at a good pace. The odour in the air had been growing stronger and he now knew what the smell was that he couldn’t previously place. It was death. He heard the birds of carrion first, arguing greedily. Then he saw them: they where everywhere. He now knew where the guards were. They were all here in the forest with their weapons in hand, dead and disfigured from strange wounds. Predators were feasting on the rotting flesh. The birds shot questioning glances at him but were not the least bit afraid of him. It was apparent they felt t
here was enough here for everyone. Erik left the black winged creatures to their grisly business and waded through the awful death. His mind weary, he almost didn’t hear the gurgling noise coming from a figure sitting against a large stone. It was the Pink Skinned Man. He was alive and looked at Erik. He had a sickly smile on his face and blood slowly oozed from the corner of his mouth.

  “It’s you,” he said in his crude language that Erik did not always entirely understand.

  “I knew you’d escape if I turned my back. I told them…” he choked on a laugh.

  “You want to kill me don’t you? I can see you want vengeance.”

  It was true Erik had wanted to kill this man for all the things he’d done to him.

  “Well go ahead you disgusting…” he hacked and coughed, his death rattle approaching. “Indulge yourself…”

  Erik couldn’t understand his words. He approached the dying man, bringing his face only inches from his tormenter’s. He could smell the sick scent of fear bleeding from the man’s pores. The Pink Skinned Man looked into his eyes, and incredulously thought he could see a smile on Erik’s face. Then Erik backed away and left him to his fate, making for the deep forest.

  After some time he came to recognize his surroundings. He was getting close to home. Erik’s ears twitched then perked up as he heard a rustling in the underbrush. In front of him appeared a tiger. Brash and unafraid, the tiger climbed a large jagged slice of granite and let out a powerful roar. Erik stared at the compelling beast standing majestically upon the stone slab. She was beautiful. He knew the beast. He knew her intimately. She was his Queen. She was his mate. He roared more powerfully than she, despite his fatigue. He was King and he was home.

  Candy Floss and Jumping Bugs

  He had a brick,

  That’s what he called it anyway

  And a bag of blue and pink floss,

  Nostalgia and childhood memories,

  Suffocating in cheap poly.

  The field was so very green

  And damp.

  Blades grew lovingly between my toes.

  The sky one perfect blue

  And nothing else.

  He had a knife,

  But it was small,

  That was like him.

  He slit the paper wrapping,

  Then carefully laid out his tiny explosive prizes,

  All over the ground around us.

  I was on my back

  He let me touch him,

  The floss,

  It was sticky and warm and soft.

  Then hot, everything got hot.

  I put pink floss in my mouth,

  And my fingers,

  Became useful.

  I didn’t understand everything,

  He pretended to,

  I liked that he did.

  I don’t remember certain things.

  The lighter,

  My eyes were closed,

  Feeling.

  I do remember the jumping bugs,

  A thousand colourful Chinese orgasms,

  Dancing, singing, snapping with our rhythm.

  They burnt through their powder,

  So did we.

  He smiled at her but did not say hello

  Appointment

  THOSE FIRST FEW SIPS WERE so gratifying. The woman stood squarely on the street corner in her faded viridian sundress and tried in vain to keep her bobbed hair from sticking to the fresh lipstick on her lips while managing careful mouthfuls from the folded opening of her coffee cup. She’d decided to rise early this grey morning despite the overcast sky because the weather lady said there’d be sun if one was willing to exercise patience up until maybe one o’clock that afternoon. The woman liked the sun and what’s more, she liked the smell and taste of strong coffee. She liked both so much that she thought she might be able to spend the rest of her life waiting for the sun to graciously appear if her coffee would last that long. She knew though that she was required elsewhere and she hadn’t applied her lipstick for nothing so she stepped free from the curb. A horn honked callously at her and she jumped back. Her skirt had plumped like an open umbrella from the gusting wind hurled by the car as it swooped past. This is why she never went outside without Rosa, she remarked to herself as she glared with frayed nerves at the auto as it disappeared into traffic. How silly to have forgotten her early childhood rules of looking both ways before crossing the street.

  She carefully crossed and then walked six blocks at a steady but leisurely pace. She was in no rush. She watched the other early risers as they passed by her. Some, like her, had coffees in their hands, others looked tired and weary and some looked late and rushed towards their destination. The smooth yet cool air brushed against her face but the afternoon sun would soon help raise the temperature a few degrees warmer. She finished her coffee and deposited it in the receptacle outside her destination. She entered the office building through the large revolving door, which swished around as she entered the welcome lobby. The woman approached the desk and was greeted by the receptionist.

  “May I help you?”

  “I have an appointment with Doctor Landau.”

  “Oh, you’re early. Have a seat and I’ll let the Doctor know you’ve arrived.”

  “Thank you.”

  The woman sat down and looked at the magazines strewn on the coffee table in the waiting room. She didn’t care for any of the subject matter; still she selected a copy that had something to do with gardening and thumbed through the pages thoughtlessly. She set the magazine down and decided it didn’t interest her at all.

  The voice of the receptionist summoned her and the woman returned obediently to the reception desk.

  “The Doctor will see you now,” the receptionist pointed to the right hallway.

  The woman remembered her last visit down the left hallway where she was made to wear one of those terrible robes and asked a barrage of questions.

  Doctor Landau greeted her pleasantly in the hallway. He smiled at her but did not say hello and she did the same. They entered a room together and the Doctor sat on one side of a white-topped table and the woman sat on the other side.

  “Well now, thank you for coming in for this quick visit. How are you feeling today?” The Doctor opened his folder and pushed the top button on his pen, holding it poised above the paper.

  “Fine, thank you Doctor,” the woman replied calmly with firm eye contact.

  “This is good news. Have you given any thought with regards to my suggestion from our last visit?” He hesitated in wait of her response before jotting anything down on paper.

  “Yes, I should like to try gardening. It seems rather nice.” She smiled sincerely.

  “Gardening?”

  “Yes,” came her affirmation.

  “Well now, this is an excellent idea.” His pen scrawled across the paper and he looked up at the woman again. “Have you found anything you like besides coffee?”

  “Yes, the weather lady said it would be sunny today and I think I’ll spend the day walking and enjoying the sun.”

  “Well now, I am very pleased to hear this. I think that should about wrap today’s session. Oh, how is Rosa?”

  “Who?”

  The doctor’s mouth formed a brief smile as he wrote a final note in the folder, tore off a page from his prescription pad and handed it to her. They both got up from their chairs at the same time and the Doctor led the woman back to the reception counter, smiled again, and waved as the woman walked away. The Doctor watched as the revolving doors continued to spin once she had exited though them. From his office, he could see people going about their days beneath the warm rays of sunlight.

  Staying Between the Two

  I have a friend who’s clever.

  He moves like tobacco smoke and lasts just as long.

  I have another friend who ekes out painful smiles.

  He’s thin and reads personal ads with intent to follow up.

  No, really.

  They’ve never met.


  I’m different people with each.

  With my clever friend I’m on safari and hunt sex.

  I dance sloth-like in a red and black jungle,

  Eat words and trade moments like ivory.

  With my thin friend I lie a lot.

  I wait impatiently for my turn.

  I speak and ask questions. I don’t care for the answers.

  I don’t think either will ever meet my parents.

  Neither broke their gaze

  The Last Dartmoors of Devon

  THE SUN HAD SET SOME time ago on the moor, but there was still warmth in the air. Gerald sat on the porch smoking his black-lipped pipe. He could hear the trees relaxing their branches in preparation for the imminent night. The sweet breeze reminded Gerald of when he was a boy, growing up in these parts. Devon unfortunately had changed over the years and now in the final few seasons of his life, he spent his remaining time at his cottage in the moorlands.

  Gerald lived alone. He never had any guests or callers at his door. His son Arthur was the only person who ever visited him and as Gerald’s health worsened in the last year, Arthur’s visits had become infrequent. He was a stubborn old man and when his son had approached him with papers to sell his home in Devon, Gerald spewed tobacco-stained saliva all over the first page.

  “Let the damn thing rot! Devon proper is poison. The moor is the last place on Earth with any soul left in it.” He leaned in closer to his son. “You know my boy, the Dartmoor still walk this land.” Gerald nodded in agreement with his own words and eased back into his chair.

  “Dad, will you stop talking nonsense about those bloody ponies!” His son was furious.

  Gerald’s face flushed crimson and he yanked the pipe out from his lips, waving it in the air. “You’ll hold your tongue and speak with respect in my presence!”

  Arthur recoiled. Even at his overripe age, Gerald could still instill fear in his son. The boy, now a man, rose from his father’s presence, shook his head and said nothing, making his way for home.