Moon River

by Nicholas Knight

  “Hang in there, Dawn. I’m sure your mother will come and play with you soon,” he told her, knowing that Linda had no desire to do so.

  Dawn concurs with a silent nodding of her head, as Beck notices a single tear drop down her little cheek. He also sees that she has dried ice cream all over her face. Beck holds out his hands and once again magically makes a pond of water in his open palms. She no longer sees him, but she sees his hands, which are now made of black smoke. While he holds his hands together side by side, Dawn puts her face in them and washes the ice cream off.

  The hours got closer to showtime and Linda finally took a break from preaching to the masses. She made a call to one of the elders of their church, instructing him to come and pick up Dawn. Since Linda was there speaking with Playboy Magazine, the grateful Pavilion allowed her to use their private phone that was on the premises. Before long, Bob and Teila Sewell, a married couple from the church, arrived to take Dawn off of Linda’s hands. They had brought her backpack, which contained her favorite stuffed wolf and the Margaret Wise Brown book, Goodnight Moon. These people had access to Dawn’s personals because this wasn’t nearly the first time that Linda had dumped her off on the reliable congregants.

  “Goodbye, honey,” Linda said, leaning over and kissing her daughter on the forehead, while holding the sides of her face in her cold and clammy hands. “I’ll see you soon, baby. Mommy promises.”

  Dawn had learned many times that her mother’s promises were as empty as they come, but she didn’t want to upset or let her mother down. After a moment or two of awkward silence, Dawn met her mother’s gaze and reciprocated her fake smile. It was obvious to everyone in the picture that Dawn was pretty low on her mother’s priority scale, but the church was there to serve the Moons unconditionally and without question. Besides, Linda had bought her that frozen snack earlier, which kind of made up for abandoning her for yet another selfish escapade. This was what Dawn told herself, anyhow. Whether she actually believed it was another story altogether.

  “Okay, Mommy,” Dawn responded, numb to the guaranteed expectation of being regularly disappointed by her parents.

  Dawn waved goodbye to her mother, as Linda made her classic escape. Linda was overly anxious to get ready for her big night, and now there was nobody in her way to cramp her style.

  Linda made haste, getting overdressed for her overdue moment with her magic man. She was soon decorated in a neon orange, gingham crop top that had elastic hitting just under her breasts. This was accompanied by a low-cut, cotton mini skirt that had swirl patterns of baby blue and hot pink. She had added bounce and flair to her long locks, using a curling iron. Her Max Factor lipstick was a frosted pink and her heels were turquoise and white. Her Mary Quant eye shadow was a lime green, which accentuated her false eyelashes. She had silver skulls for stud-earrings. She completed the look with a black chain belt that hung low on one of her hips, teal go-go boots, and a white leather jacket that draped around her shoulders. She had smothered on the green apple perfume, like she had caked on her overdone cosmetics. One would have thought that she was preparing to meet royalty, the way she looked. Yet, she was determined to hookup with a rock star, not a prince.

  It's now moments away from the big event and she found herself standing at the life-changing venue, where she had spent all day. She takes a deep breath and nervously picks at the skirt of her dress. She slowly exhales as she works her way around to find her seat, just barely having time to get situated. She wanted to stay at this outdoor arena forever, sure of herself and confident that things would go her way. She didn’t have an after-party laminate around her neck, but she had a body for sin that she knew would win her backstage access.

  "Hey, baby. Why don’t you bring your happenin' ass this way? We got a seat for ya, right here!" she heard one of the male patrons call out, showing her less shame than she was planning on showing Jim.

  The man hitting on her was far from her type and anything but charming, but she was happy to rock his world if he could help her out in return.

  “Can you get me to meet Jim?” she flirted, just in case. “I’ll suck your tiny cock for the inimitable privilege.”

  “Well, you’re a sweet-talker, aint ya?” he said back sarcastically, while his friends laughed at his expense. “Your father must be proud.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she said back, refusing to let her rude admirer spoil her special night. This was her chance to stray from the monotonous routine of her daily life. She was enthralled and captivated, and nobody was going to water-down her unrestrained enthusiasm.

  It was finally 8:30 and some band that nobody cared about, called The Earth Opera, performs as the opening act. Linda squirms in her seat, fighting not to cream her underpants, as it hits her that she is at the Waiting for The Sun tour. This show wasn’t sold-out, but there was no shortage of attendance, despite the fact that it was a late addition and not advertised. This was the first of four shows that they were scheduled to play within the next three days. The place was covered in video cameras to tape live footage for the documentary, Feast of Friends, which ended up being unusable and shelved. The audience roared and applauded as the opening act took a bow, not because they were good, but because they were leaving. Linda got goosebumps and chewed her nails, while band equipment was switched out and amplifiers were plugged in.

  The Doors were a bit late coming on stage, but this delay was sort of expected. Jim was notorious for making the masses wait around on him, while he indulges in his pre-show boffs with groupies. Linda begins to drum her fingers against her quivering knees, anxious and impatient for the show to begin, as her whiskey sits under her seat. She couldn’t help but breathe in the suffocating aroma of sex, as most of the women stripped and masturbated right where they were. The anticipation of seeing Jim overcame them, and his procrastination only made them more hot and bothered between their legs. Linda was neither pleased or impressed with Jim’s behavior, but it didn’t make her desire him any less.

  “Is everybody in? Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin,” Morrison’s mindless voice announces, from what appears to be out of nowhere. “The show will begin in 5 minutes. All those unseated will await the next show. The program for this evening is not new, you've seen this entertainment through and through. You've seen your birth, your life, and death, you might recall all of the rest. Did you have a good world when you died, enough to base a movie on?” Jim’s voice vibrated through the outdoor auditorium, which was vast and silent.

  The lights dim and the audience cheers, standing to greet their stoned shaman. Jim finally arrives, stumbling awkwardly onto the stage. He is introduced as, Dionysus, and asks that he be addressed as such. His paying worshippers don’t mind his drugged stupor, as they are seeing psychedelic imagery themselves. The whole place was tripping on acid and other narcotics. The cluster of security was too sauced to notice or care.

  It didn’t matter to Linda that Jim was a staggering and obnoxious drunkard. Her eyes swelled up with tears as she imagined him taking her to Love Street and having his way with her. She believed she just needed a minute alone with him to monopolize and fulfill his craving. Linda was just a drop in the bucket when it came to those who had an obsessive crush on Morrison, yet she knew she’d have a chance if she could only catch his eye. She was just as foxy as any groupie he'd serviced before, and her willingness would make her irresistible.

  Jim opened the set list with, Back Door Man. Linda had been dying to see The Doors play live, ever since she could remember. She sings along, at the top of her lungs, losing herself in the lyrics. Linda loved this song in particular, as it was about the anal sex she had grown to love. She had brought Jack Daniels with her, hoping to share it with Jim. There was still plenty left, but she drank enough to feel the blunt repercussions. She longed for him to whisk her away on a moonlight drive, where they’d spend the rest of their lives in passion. As he sang his poetic lyrics and tried to maintain his balance, all the chicks in t
he audience lost their inhibitions and threw their bras and panties on stage, climbing over each other to try and get him to look their direction. This chaos blocked Linda from seeing Jim, so she tried to break through the stockade of sluts, only to feel a sharp blow to the back of the head and watch her vision go dark. Linda had fallen into the dogpile of insane superfans, being trampled on and kicked, as she lay there limp and motionless on the ground.

  The Doors had gotten halfway through their set. Jim began singing, The Crystal Ship, which he started in the wrong key. He suddenly felt ill, with a deep sickness that he couldn't quite put his finger on. His three friends assumed it was due to his habitual binge drinking, but it was something else this time. Ray quickly grabbed the trash can and slid it over to Jim, who puked a few times, ridding his system of most of the booze. He then shakily stood back up and edged toward the rim of the stage, sensing that something was wrong. The mood suddenly changed, as the audience shifted from cheering Jim on to screaming in horror. Jim yelled at the crowd, demanding that they show him what had happened. They obediently complied and as they scattered, Jim saw her lying still and sullied on the floor. The dots slowly began to connect in his state of haze, while he exploded with emotion. Linda had been the victim of a human stampede. She was bloodied and battered from being stomped and treaded on by all the heels of Jim’s unruly demographic.

  The show was cut short and never finished. Jim wanted to escort the girl to the hospital himself, but was robbed of this honor. Ray, John, and Robbie did their best to move their singer through the walls of anarchy, so they could promptly chase the ambulance. On the ride there, the band felt devastated at the idea of one of their concerts ending in a fatality, which was unacceptable.

  "Linda?! Linda?! Where the fuck is Linda Moon?!" Jim inquired with genuine concern, demanding to be told, as he clumsily made his way through the hospital.

  Morrison finally found Linda’s room and gently swung the door open, only to catch more than one doctor sexually assaulting his injured fan. Her clothes had been pulled up or torn, leaving her exposed. Not willing to believe what he was seeing, Jim took a step back and reevaluated the situation. They were taking turns violating and defiling her, using this opportunity to their advantage while she was still completely out of it. Jim was startled and spooked by this, but was not about to stand by and let it happen.

  "Easy, man. If you want some that bad, just get in line,” one of the three MD’s said, noticing Jim standing there and looking like he was into it. The doctor reveled in watching his dirty colleague enjoy the sedated patient. “She’s a choice little mink, ain’t she?” he asked, while massaging the bulge in his pants.

  This offensive assumption only further enraged Jim. He could see them for what they were, which was the stuff nightmares are made from. Their teeth were like carpentry nails, their eyes were solid black, and their skin looked like it was inside out. The doctor moaned as he relentlessly continued to plow into her, not being the slightest disturbed or dissuaded by Jim’s presence. These wicked sounds became grunts and gasps, as the trusted professional nears the edge of climaxing, drilling into her from behind.

  "Proverbs 6:16-19 tells us that the Lord detests a haughty person who lies, kills, devises wicked schemes, and takes pleasure from harming others! You cocksuckers are all zombies!" the lizard king screamed at the baleful professionals.

  Jim closes the door behind him, as he feels a switch turn on inside him. He landed blow after blow, yelling incoherently at the three doctors as he pounded their flesh. Jim took a break, only to pull her dress down and close her legs. There were Native American spirits there who tried to help him, but he angrily swatted them away. The tribal ghosts knew Jim well enough to not argue, so they wisely gave him the space he needed. Jim resumed mercilessly beating the spoiled predators, until Ray rushed in and pulled the rock idol off before homicide could be added to his list of accomplishments. Jim slumped over to Linda, smoothed her hair down, and cried like a baby. Ray crouched down and checked for a pulse, making sure that the three doctors were still breathing.

  Jim waited for the three physicians to be taken away by the police, and made sure that they were replaced with upstanding ones. They examined and treated Linda, while Ray waited for Jim outside the room. After another couple of hours, the drugs began to wear off and Linda started to come out of her bad trip. She slowly noticed that she was in the ER and was shocked to see that her hero was kneeling at her bedside.

  “Jim? Jim Morrison?” she asked, delightfully amazed by his welcomed company. “Jim?” she asked again, not fully willing to believe her own eyes.

  Once she gathered herself enough to accept that she was in his presence, she asked Jim what had happened, only he didn't have the heart to tell her. Without speaking a word, Jim stood up and kissed her on the forehead. She gently laid her hand on his arm, as she happily breathed in his overwhelming aroma of whiskey and body odor.

  "You're not leaving, are you? Please, Jim, can’t you stay with me?" she begged, still having no clue that she had been gang raped.

  "Linda," Jim said, "my symmetrical angel. I’ll always be with you."

  “I’m scared, Jim. I’m scared to go back out there. I hate this country. People are evil.”

  “I know about heartache and the loss of God. Sometimes, we must wear terrifying and monstrous masks in order to inscribe ourselves on the hearts of humanity. You’re a groovy chick, Linda. If the stars were aligned in our favor, I could see myself being stuck on you. I really could.”

  “Please,” she begged again, “don’t leave me. I just found you. I finally found you.”

  “This life is just a dream, Linda. It's just a dream.”

  Linda reluctantly let go of his arm and as she did, Jim vanished into thin air, while a small lizard magically appeared on the back of her hand. The three doctors never went to jail or lost their careers.

  The Doors didn’t want this story leaking out to the press, so they paid off the media to pretend that it never happened. Instead, legend has it that the concert played through ‘til the End, literally. Allegedly, when they came back for the encore, Jim asked the audience which song they’d rather hear for the finale, The Unknown Soldier or The End. The crowd roared louder for the latter, hoping that it would keep Morrison on stage longer. Jim grabbed the microphone and shrieked, as only Morrison could.

  "Turn off the fucking lights!" he shouted in an authoritative and dominant tone, as the entire pavilion was plunged into darkness. That’s how they say that night happened, but those who were actually there know otherwise.

  Meanwhile, Dawn is waiting for her mother to come pick her up from the babysitter’s. Like usual, Dawn was plopped down in front of the television, completely ignored and neglected. The News is on, talking about a vampire cult that is facing life sentences. Among the convicted is a 32-year-old man named, Reuben Ian Peterson. The cult followed expert-brainwasher, Rodrick Stovall, who was 50-years-old but believed himself to be a 500-year-old vampire named, Oberath. This cult was solely responsible for one of the most blood-curdling, home invasion murders in history.

  The victims were Bradley and Gale Charm. Their daughter, Charity, was a long-time friend of Stovall's who had recently ran away from home. She had described her home life as ‘a living hell,’ which Stovall decided to take it upon himself to fix. Stovall and fellow clan member, Carlton Rogers, entered the Floridian, suburban home through their unlocked garage. Charity waited outside the house, while Reuben waited in the getaway car. Once inside, Carlton wrangled up and restrained the unsuspecting spouses. Rod then beat both Bradley and Gale to death with a crowbar, and then feasted on the married couple’s blood. Rod even made some sandwiches with the bread and eggs he found in their kitchen, using the couple’s blood as a condiment.

  After the deed was done, Stovall, along with Rogers, Peterson, and Charity, fled to the swamps of Louisiana, to evade and escape the police. Luckily, the authorities had been tipped off by Charity's psychic Aunt, who could see the
clan’s location. They were arrested in Baton Rouge, not long after arriving there. All four members were extradited to Florida, to collectively and separately stand trial for their parts in the brutal murders. Stovall immediately plead guilty to the murder of Gale and Bradley. The remaining members were also found accountable and sentenced. For a time, Rod Stovall was the youngest American prisoner ever on death row. His sentence was commuted to 2,000 years, with the possibility of parole in 20. Rogers also received a life sentence for his essential role in the murders. Peterson was granted a suspended sentence for his incriminating testimony. Charity received 10.5 years and hung herself in prison.

  “I understood myself only after destroying myself.”

  - Sade Andria Zabala

  “Sex is like an atom bomb. A potent weapon which fascinates and frightens. We’re afraid to let it loose, yet we all have our finger on the button.”

  - Zeena Schreck

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Nicholas Knight is the doting father to two beautiful daughters, Rose and Harley. He lost Rose to a devastating miscarriage and then lost Harley to (her mother’s) spite and selfishness. Sadly, neither of the two mothers turned out to reciprocate his affection or devotion. To his delight, he was able to reconcile with Rose’s mother, 25 years later, who ended up being as sweet as he remembered (even though she didn’t want him). In the end, he would only ever be loved back by one very special woman, whom he would lose tragically to his own foolishness and her heart-wrenching suicide. Nicholas is twice divorced to two monumental and malignant mistakes, neither of whom are the mothers of his daughters or the heavenly love of his life.

  Taking his painful history into consideration, nobody would have ever expected or anticipated Nicholas to write such endearing stories about a charming heroine. Yet, by some miracle, he was able to create, Dawn, who has very much become his third daughter. Nicholas has a big heart, though it has been relentlessly and repeatedly shattered, and this heart of gold shows in his extraordinary writing. This erotic-werewolf trilogy is a brilliant work of fiction, but those few who intimately know Nicholas, know that there is a lot of hidden reality in this legend of fantasy.