Literary Lunes Magazine, October Issue

by Literary Lunes Publications

The Den

  By S. Patrick Pothier

  "I heard she hasn't talked to anyone since it happened," said an older, puffy woman seated at a small table on the mosquito-netted porch. She blew on her tea and took a tentative sip, setting the cup down on the plate and turning to stare into the deepening color of the evening sky.

  Across from her, a woman similar in appearance nodded. "I can't imagine what she's going through, such a tragedy. Still, it's unhealthy to be shut up in your home, all alone like that; day after day. I wish she'd reach out... not necessarily to me—but to someone." Both women chuckled quietly for a second before settling their gaze on the house across the street; a single upstairs light filtered through drapes mottled with the accumulated dust of neglect.

  Licia Rivest sat huddled in the corner of her late son's room, tucked into the darkest corner between his sliding closet doors and his still unmade bed. She was folded up, with her arms crossed over her knees and her forehead resting against them. As she stared into the shadowy space formed by her body's geometry, she tried desperately to recall a moving image of her son. She tried to remember something other than the only image that had been burned into the screen of her mind.

  Finding him slumped over dead in this very spot two months ago.

  She couldn't reason it out, not then, not now; probably not ever—or so she kept telling herself. He was lying diagonally off of the bed; his legs held on to the sheets by sheer friction, his torso curled under his bed with an arm stretched as if he had died reaching for something in the space underneath. His head was resting at an unnatural angle, the left side of his face and open mouth were pressed into the carpet—as if the carpet had pulled him out of bed and tried to break his neck and smother him all at once. A plume of a mixture of vomit and spittle had dried into a puddle around his mouth on the carpet and left a thin film in the hair near his eye.

  The autopsy revealed that he had injected a large amount of air into the veins of his neck, causing a heart attack almost instantly. The pain had been frozen into his swollen face even when they'd zipped him into a bag. She had found the empty syringe under his bed two weeks later after she had finally held her breath and pushed passed the open doorway, as if she had broken through an invisible membrane and entered a different atmosphere. She had gone in with the intent to clean and organize, but saw the syringe sticking out from a pile of clothing under the bed and left quickly, holding her clenched fist over her pursed lips, eyes quivering and skin darkening into a shade of red.

  Had it always been there? She couldn't remember. She was also unsure as to why the paramedics hadn't seen it, either.

  Since the day her son committed suicide, she had lived in this house alone; her husband—his father—had left when he was six. That was nine years ago.

  Shuddering sobs began to rock her body, she closed her legs and cast her face into darkness and shrank to become a ball of sorrow in her dead son's room. After a while she had run out of strength and energy to keep weeping. She fell softly against the wall next to the closet, sliding onto her side—curled up as if she had reverted into a fetus; only to be born again in the very spot her son had struggled with his last, painful breath and vomited the last meal he'd ever eat. The carpet was still dark and smelled of bile inches from her face; a lock of her hair drenched in sweat settled and shifted past her glazed eyes. Slowly they blinked; once, twice, and then remained closed.

  A sound. In the timeless darker-than-darkness of sleep (but not so dark as death) something began to swell. Her mind started to wake while her body remained still. A squelching static played in reverse struck out of the darkness on invisible wings and formed into a single, hissed word: "mom."

  Her arms and legs straightened with haphazard speed as if someone had shocked her with a defibrillator. She stuttered and shot to her feet and looked around to see who had spoken with the panicked eyes of a prey-animal.

  A moment ago she could have sworn she saw her dead son's face in front of her own and felt his hot breath on the skin beneath her eyes.

  The room was empty, except for her. The house was empty.

  Her life was empty. Her own son had ripped himself out of her reality, leaving a gaping hole that had slowly swallowed up all that remained—a gaping chasm that had eaten her life like a sinkhole ingesting a city block. Where did I fail? That one question alone had crippled her; she could not even begin to live again until she knew.

  For a moment, she felt sure, her son had spoken to her. An intimate moment that called to mind a thousand whispered I love you's and tender wishes good night. She would have crawled through the stagnant, corpse-ridden waters of the river Styx for eternity if it meant she could hear his voice once more.

  "Andrew," she called out to the room. She still remembered the happy woman she used to be, not the skin-stretched skeleton of grief she'd become, her own shrill voice startled her because it was so loud in the space in which no one had spoken for a long time. It did not sound like her. She had transformed into a desperate stranger that occupied the same space as her fondest memories, a straggling wraith that drifted from room to room in the empty house.

  "Andrew" she called again. She had left the room and was slowly slinking downstairs—as if she expected to see him in the den watching TV and didn't want to startle him. So strong was this memory that her mind imprinted a hazy image of her son over his favorite chair. He had spent so many afternoons on the green vinyl armchair that sat diagonally to the TV. When she blinked the haze was gone, but something hung in the air—something familiar.

  The den smelled like a sweat-drenched uniform from one of his football practices—but all his clothes were in his room. She walked over to where the smell was strongest—the chair. The vinyl seat cushion was making a hissing sound, as if someone had sat in it and gotten up, allowing the foam beneath to expand and suck air through the stitches to inflate.

  A breeze rushed passed her, a tingle ran from the back of her hand and up her arm, invisible fingers seeking her loving grip. She turned and whispered, "...Andrew... are you here?" Tears welled in her eyes, her breath caught in her throat and started to burn like a hot stone.

  Mom...

  She slowly reached her hand forward and turned on the antique reading lamp that stood atop a small, round table next to the chair. Her hand hovered for a second in the light; she noticed it was twitching and slowly pulled it back. Her son was here, somehow. But why? Why now? Why take himself out of her life, and then return like this after two months of the blackest despair.

  Something moved in the far corner of the cramped room by the TV—the drapes swayed as if someone had brushed them.

  "Andrew..." her mind recoiled in fear as a suspicion that this was not her son surfaced. "Stop this, tell me..." her words left her when the tall lamp by the window turned on with a click, the room brightened as the halogen bulb warmed up with an almost imperceptible hum.

  "Tell me," she said louder, "what is this, what do you want, who are you?" She started to sob; great rippling waves of emotion rocked her and threatened to knock her from her feet. She sank to her knees before the TV. It turned on, by itself, with a click and a bump—a white point become a line and then expanded vertically into an image.

  Her cries had stopped and she stared in fear—at first—as the pattern of snow on the screen became brighter. Her mouth was open—mesmerized by the otherworldly hiss between channels.

  She kneeled before the device for a long time, the noise wiped her mind and lulled her into an uneasy peace. The pitch changed and the pattern on the TV dimmed, snapping her awake and bringing her mind back to the world she could sense.

  The screen flickered, a random black shape carved out of the static appeared every other split second in a sea of electronic foam. The sound was undulating, bubbling, like turbulent water. Between the blasts of noise were fragments of words, as if crafted from clay like shards of pottery that had never been whole.
/>   --ot...—oor... fah—

  The words struggled, she strained to hear their message, leaning forward. "What... what are you trying to say?" She knew she had to hear these words; they could end her, or they could be a new beginning.

  It--... no--...—oor... fa--

  "What are you saying!?" Her confusion and grief collided into a new bout of screaming sobs. The TV flickered, the noise became louder, and the negative space on the screen formed into a loose interpretation of a human shoulders and head framed by visual noise. The tall lamp next to the TV flickered and dimmed, as did the antique lamp on the table behind her. The static became deafening, its repetitive bursts seemed to split the bones of her skull farther apart with each resonant boom.

  A great hum filled the house, doors began to open wide and slam hard in every room, windows opened and shut and every other light in the house flickered on and off.

  The next instant all was silent; the lights were off, the doors were still, but the hum had faded. The TV still glowed and the black form on the screen stared at Licia and seemed to smile—but it had no mouth.

  "It's not your fault," the voice was perfect, just like she remembered, it sounded in the room with such clarity that she closed her eyes and imagined he was there with her.

  "Why... why did you leave," the question that had been in her mind for the past two months passed her lips for the first time.

  "Because... because I couldn't stay. I can't stay now, but before I go, I wa-- --oo s—" his voice had started to take on the electronic flatness, sinking back to sounding between bursts.

  The great hum in the house raised again, but not as loud.

  "I love you mom."

  He was gone.

  The house settled into its former stillness, but a feeling of peace had been draped over it. Licia, exhausted, fell asleep in front of the TV which had turned off. She slept there until the morning sun crept across the floor and warmed her face. She opened her eyes and smiled.

  Licia got up and walked into her late son's room. Looked at the unmade bed, smiled, and began to clean his room.

  DURANGO A RUSTLERS PARADISE

  BY

  STEVEN BERGERON

  The mighty spruce waving so gently in the early morning breath, the crystal image of the animas river bravely, flowing so calmly. The San Juan mountain range was full of color this time of year. An image of pure beauty. In the middle of it all spread out the double j ranch.

  Becky Malone rode the path along the animas river as she did so many times. This time it was a little different for she was no longer the rancher’s daughter. So was now a thing of beauty wearing a Texas badge? The call had come in of a strange occurrence down along the animas. The crystal image had now turned a shade of scarlet red. As she arrived at what seemed to be the source of all the trouble her eyes became teary. For this was a sight she hadn’t planned on. There atop the mightiest spruce overhanging the animas was no other than his savagely beaten body. The proprietor of the double j ranch had been left for dead. Becky had a mission on her hand. Who could have committed such a cowardly act? Who could have savagely beaten her father?

  Upon receiving the call Joseph Malone was on his way. The double j ranch has been in the Malone family for ages now. His father had always considered him as the black sheep of the family. If there was ever any trouble to be sought, he was sure Joseph would be right in the middle of it. His choice to join the Texas rangers seemed to put the final nail in the coffin. He had been back now some ten months in hope to rekindle what little respect he thought he had left with the family. Being called on as sheriff of Durango to him seemed a pretty big deal. But in reality it was his father’s death, which truly brought him back to his roots where he belonged. He rode out now to the rivers edge wearing the sheriff’s badge of Durango with pride.

  Upon reaching the area in question voices, had caught his attention familiar ones as he couldn’t believe his eyes at the beauty she had became.

  “Who goes there?” was Becky first impression as the sheriff had made his appearance.

  “Well I see the rangers have made you justice.”

  “Uncle Joe I’m so glad it’s only you. I though they were coming back to finish there job.”

  “Yes Becky I sorry you had to see him this way. I got a message the rangers were sending someone. I had no clue it would be you.”

  “Well they figured since I knew the area and people so well I would be the less threatening.”

  “Well we better act quickly if we want to save the double j. now with your father gone; the whole operation seems to fall in the hands of Cates Mc Bain.”

  “Could that be so bad? I heard father talk about him often nothing but praise.”

  “Yes well your father was a fool. He was my partner back in our ranger years I knew him best.”

  “Well I guess know that I am back that you’d make me the legal proprietor. With your help I’m quite sure we can keep close tabs on his dealing for the double j sake.”

  “All I can say is to be on your guard Becky. He can be dangerous.”

  “I will Uncle Joe. I better start making my way to the double j and take claim of what is legally mine.”

  “I better head on back to the office. I’ll make contact with agent Murphy and fill him in on the situation.”

  The sheriff returned to his office in Durango and made the call. If it was only agent Mc Bain involved no problem he’d take care of him personally. He was sure that the Bronson gang was involved he knew it was too much for two people to handle. The rangers had thought him a lot when it came to a showdown it helped to have reinforcements. The rangers were the sheriff type of reinforcement.

  Becky now continued west her path to the mouth of the blue spruce. An area of clearing between two rows of prize spruce trees, a leading passage to the double j ranch.

  As her journey began she couldn’t help but get her uncles warning out of her head. Was Cates Mc Bain as evil as they proclaim. Ever since her fathers return from the Texas rangers all she ever heard him saying was such a great friend he had in Cates. Then she began questioning herself maybe her uncle was right. If Cates Mc Bain was such a great person why was he no longer a ranger?

 

  As she reaches the end of the path her memory of the double j had turned to nightmare. The pasture was green no more. The farmhouse, cattle and barn all she adored now spelled the worst. Why did she ever leave in the first place? Her eyes then glanced around to the neighbouring farmers. There pasture overtaken by weeds, there farmhouse and barn about ready to fall down. It reminded her of the reason she had left in the first place. To do her part in controlling rustling problem in Durango.

  She galloped as quickly as she could to the farmhouse to see for herself exactly what was going on. She had a lot of work on her hand if she was to return this land the way it was. Her father was dead not even twenty four hours and already the farm looked to be in shambles. As she reach the farmhouse her heart began to patter for there he was. Tall, handsome with a body she could only dream of she had to find out for her. If the fact that this man was Cates Mc Bain it would mean he was responsible for the sight she is now looking at.

  “Can I help you there missy.” There that voice very seductive and captivating in her heart she hoped Mr Mc Bain was not present.

  “Yes as a matter of fact I would like to see Cates Mc Bain and right now. It’s down right important.”

  “Oh really now and who may I say is looking for him.”

  “Tell him Becky Malone the new proprietor of this land.”

  “Oh right I hate to burst your bubble. But I believe the true owner is Andrew Malone and once he arrived back from town he will definitely be able to clear things up.”

  “Well for your information who ever you are I was just down by the animas river I few miles from here. I hate to be the one to inform you but there’s a body hanging over it. Your precious boss Andrew has been brutally beaten and left there for death. In cas
e you haven’t figured it out yet, I ‘m his daughter. Besides why I’m explaining all this to you.”

  “Well for starters you have been talking to Cates Mc Bain now for the last ten minutes. I’m completely sorry about your father.”

  “So I guess you are responsible for all this mess.”

  “If you are referring to the fence all trampled down and the barn doors all busted in. I was on my way to town to get supplies to fix them up. For you see we got attacked last night those no good rustlers I presume. We chased them down for a while but they somehow got away. Your father sent me back to access the damage. I haven’t seen him since. When I woke up this morning he was already gone I figured he couldn’t wait for me.” As he stopped a minute to let it all sink in an oriental guy came running out of the barn.

  “Mrs Malone, Mrs. Malone is that really you. Boy the city has really made you a grown up.”

  “Hello Chang lee it’s so good to see a familiar face.”

  “Well come in come in. I just finished whipping up a batch of my blueberry waffles I know there your favourite. Boy will Mr Malone sure be happy to see you back.”

  “It’s alright there Mrs. Malone you go have breakfast. I’m heading in town for supplies we can talk later.” There he went Cates Mc Bain. The man of her dreams maybe just for once her uncle was wrong for a change.

  She entered the farmhouse for coffee and waffles. With Cates gone it gave her a chance to talk to Chang lee and find out for herself exactly what was going on. If there is anyone who would know the whole story it would definitely be Chang lee. She commence by giving him the news of her father which almost knocked him straight to the ground.

  Days has now passed with Cates hand Becky returned the land the way she remembered with added attractions ready for the next attack. Becky and Cates began to get closer as her wished had come true, her uncles’ warning was off for once. They sat there on they front porch enjoying a cold frosty as they got to know each other.

  “So Cates thanks for the help everything looks great.”

  “Well you can owe it all to your father. He taught me a lot of the business. We where great friends in the Texas rangers .Before he left when your grandfather died he told me if I ever got tired of the ranger life to look him up. About six months ago the rangers gave me an ultimatum so I looked him up.”

  “So what about the Bronson’s, what if they decide to return?”

  “If they do, let me deal with them. That is if I am still here. I suppose the sheriff had given you strict warning about me.”

  “That he did. But since my father had put all his trust in you I trust his judgement more.”

  “Great so have no fear. As soon as they come back that is assume they do .which is more than likely will we’ll be ready.”

  “Now what about our neighbours? I was thinking since we are the strongest I’d like to help them to rebuild once the time comes.”

  “I can see your father has taught you well. We always was willing to lend a helping hand .I do believe that is what got him murdered in the first place. Neighbours were starting to stand up to the rustlers. The way I see it they decided if they went after your father, the neighbours would have backed off.”

  As Cates finished his charm was starting to wear off on Becky. That night it all began by a roaring fire in the old wood stove, it produced a lot of warmth in the cabin as well in there hearts. Laying there on the bear skin rug enjoying a glass of red wine was a situation that turned wrong for Becky. Why did she have to be wearing her favourite white blouse? The next thing they knew they began kissing one that became to passionate for Becky as she pushed Cates away he toppled over the table as the glasses of wine went flying to the ground. Her blouse was no longer so perfect the red stain had it all ruined.

  “Here let me give you a hand with that.” Cates replied. Before Becky could do any protesting he already had her blouse half unbuttoned exposing her black lace bra. As her blouse went off so did his t-shirt. Becky simply stood there in awe to his physic before she knew it she was swept off her feet. Cates had now led her to the bedroom and placed her gently on the bed and proceeded by removing her boots. Becky simply lay on the bed eyes closed enjoying all the attention. She had never felt this feeling before and whatever it was she was enjoying it. Her eyes suddenly open to the sound of the zipper of her jeans descending. She jumped out of bed in protest thinking this is happening way to fast. The next thing she knew she was standing there in nothing but her undergarments as her jeans hit the floor.

  “Boy Mrs Malone do you look lovely tonight.” Was all that Cates could say as it was his turn to be captivated by her beauty?

  “Well don’t just stare you might as well finish what you were doing.” She replied as she approached him tugging on to his jeans as it went down exposing his man hood in briefs. His hands arrived to her waist as they moved up in the process unsnapping her bra. Her hands slid down his waist as his briefs hit the floor at the same time as her undies. She didn’t know how it happened but they were now both dressed in the outfit they were born in.

  The following morning it was all business. Their one night of passion was all that Becky could stand for a while. Once they finished the morning chores. Becky saw it happen again the Morgan’s were packing it in. It reminded her of her role now to protect her land as well as her neighbours. With their wagon full and looks of turmoil on their faces only meant one thing, the rustlers weren’t too far behind. Here as also a way to test Cates loyalty to the farm or on the rustler’s side.

  Hours later she found herself back in town on her daily trip starting off in her uncle’s office. There he was sitting at his desk going through the morning paper work as the cells were empty with the exception of Bernie the town drunk.

  “Good morning uncle how is it going.” Becky asked as she sat down beside him.

  “Good morning Becky everything is going fine here. What’s up with you?”

  “Oh the usual ranch troubles. On my way here I saw the Morgan’s packing it in. to the looks on their face the Bronson’s must not be far behind.”

  “I kind of doubt that. A fax just came in from the Texas rangers. They caught the Bronson gang a few days ago about five miles south of where your father was hanging.”

  “So if it’s not the Bronson’s who else could it be.”

  “Well if I where a betting man there’s one name that comes to mind.”

  “If you are referring to Cates you better think twice. I got to know him good over the past few days. My father thought him the business well and he’d never sort to those tactics.”

  “Oh I see he got you too wrapped up in his charm. All I’m saying is don’t put down your guard around him.”

  “If by any possibility you are right. What would be his motive?”

  “I never told you this but the day before your father’s death he called me. He seemed to be pretty scared about something. He was on to something about the rustling situation, that’s all I know. You have been back some time now ,you didn’t come across some kind of journal or anything peculiar around the place.” That was it she had heard all on the subject of Cates Mc Bain as she was ready for at the moment.

  She was on her way back to the double j with several thoughts which required sorting. Now with the Bronson’s behind bars who was responsible for the attack on the Morgan’s. Her uncle’s speculations could not have been right. She had spent a whole night of passion with Cates Mc Bain. If he was somehow involved how could someone so passionate be so sadistic and evil? Upon approaching the animas her thoughts were brushed away. A new sight had caught her attention. Clouds of black smoke were now present in the sky over the double j .Her horse galloped rapidly in direction of the smoke. Upon reaching the base of the property her eyes had turned to tears everything was ruined. The farmhouse barn and pasture was completely ablaze. Her homestead which been in the family for generations was no more. A few miles down the road said it all. There amidst the rows of spruce in direction of what was the
Morgan’s farm, laid a black hat. Now just any black hat, the same one that Cates Mc Bain had wore many of times. So that confirmed it her uncles speculations was right on target. How Cates could had done such an act. Here was a person who we all trusted and this is how he repaid us.

  Upon approaching the Morgan’s spread everything looked to familiar to her. The land farm and pasture was all in order. Something was definitely up; with the land looking the way it did the Morgan’s had no real reason for deserting as they did. Unless it came to her, could they be on hard times like everyone else and had to borrow from the bank to keep a float. If that was the case it only meant one thing the bank had foreclosed leaving it available for anyone to afford it. As she approached the gate from a distance she spotted him in the hot sun working the land. It was as if nothing had happened.

  “So Mr Mc Bain is this how you treat people.” Becky proclaimed showing off her Malone temper.

  “Sorry Becky but this is how the cookie crumbles.”

  “And another thing you have no more rights to call me Becky. From now on it’s Mrs Malone.”

  “Fine Mrs Malone state your business than leave I have a lot of work to do on my land.”

  “Your land is that what you do wait till people are in dire straights and buy there land from under them.”

  “Hey if that what it takes to survive so be it.”

  “And I suppose you know nothing about that fire that’s ruining the double j.”

  “Well Mrs Malone its all tough luck. Your father taught me all about the business then he was a fool not too step aside when I was ready to take over. With a little help from my friends the Bronson’s he was dealt with. Then you came along and again my plans where ruined. The other day when I was in town getting the supplies to fix your fence I overheard Mr Morgan in a heated confrontation with the bank manager. It appears he was way behind in his mortgage. So ideally when I went to see the manager and offered him more then cash value for the property he was more then willing to deal. So if that is all I say good day to you Mrs Malone and thank you for that wonderful evening the other night.”

  “This is not the end of it you will definitely be hearing from me again Mr Mc Bain. And as far as the other night well I had better.”

  A few months had passed since Becky’s outburst with Cates Mc Bain and everything was beginning to get back to normal. Stubborn as she was she didn’t let a fire let her down. With hard work and a new crew she managed to bring the double j back to its normal statue where it belonged. Cates Mc Baines land was returned to the Morgan’s as it was proven that all the trouble they had endured was indirectly traced back to Cates Mc Bain. As it stands Mr Mc Bain is in ranger’s custody. He is serving three life sentences of rustling, hanging of Andrew Malone as well as the fire on the double j.

  Becky Malone has learned a lot from people who to trust and to not let her heart interfere in business. The Malone’s name in Durango meant power and a neighbour to be counted on. The sheriff has lived up to his promise by cleaning the town of those no good rustlers and returning the town just as he remembered it. As far as Becky she learned to take her uncles warning to heart. There at the base of the animas stands a single cross.

  “Here lies a simple gentle and kind man. A loving father how I will miss so. The double j his been your life and legacy to me. One that I will cherish till the day I die.”

  Poetry Palooza

  "Shutters"

  By Jamie Danzer

  My heart remains in shambles

  Like the shutters to an old window

  Every broken board

  Symbolizes a piece of my heart

  The tattered timber

  Represents the wear and tear

  The chipped paint

  Is the emotion flaking away

  The hole in the wood

  Is the emptiness in my heart

  While the splinters

  Protect my heart from intruders

  "From Deep Within"

  By Martin Danzer

  From deep within me

  A thought blooms like a rose

  Soft, delicate, and pure

  A love blossoms from a

  Small seed of caring

  As it grows within me

  Nurtured by sweet thought

  Of what we could share,

  I have no choice but

  To tell you how I feel

  ALPHA REVIEWS

  BY CARRIE SUND