Eaten Alive

Bugs, bugs everywhere 

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Teacher's Pet

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Mother Nature's Fingers

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Samantha Essay

Crazy.

That’s the only word to describe her. It would take a lifetime to describe her life. Now when I say crazy I don’t mean insane asylum, although we both have imaginary friends. I’m pretty sure our mom’s have even picked out a room for us at Marion. I dare say we’d be kicked out. But yeah, Samantha is crazy. Our conversations have a lot of depth, however.

“So.” I say.
“So.” she says.

This is the extent of our conversations. Real in depth. Samantha was raised on an Appalachian Mountain. She and I have known each other since kindergarten. I think she’s Holiness, maybe Pentecostal, because she always wears skirts. She has to. Technically she’s not supposed to cut her hair, it’s really long, but what her parents don’t know won’t hurt her.

Honestly I think I know her better than she does. Her favorite band foods are pizza and strawberries (not together) and every time she comes over I have to make her brownies. I make her help though, even if she can’t cook. She prefers Pepsi to Coke and absolutely hates cheese (except on pizza). How un-American. Sometimes I feel more like a baby-sitter, but she is my best fiend… oops, I mean friend.

Not to say she’s stupid, but some things she does can be so idiotic. Take Rome for instance. This happened in the 8th grade. See, Sam and I had had world history. She’d gotten Coach Mullins (lucky dog!). We’d just begun the Roman Empire. Maybe I shouldn’t tell this. I know how she hates me to, but it’s so darn funny. So with all due respect, Sam, here’s to you. Now the Roman Empire. She’d had a worksheet to do that night. A question about Italy was on it. Sam kept looking through the Roman Empire for Italy. All of a sudden, she bursts out “stupid Roman stuff!” Naturally, the next day she tells me about it, so what do I say? “Sam, Rom is the Capital of Italy.” DUH! So, feeling like an idiot, she comes and spends the night with me. It was Friday. We went out and rented some movies, of course Eurotrip was one of them. Near the end as they head for ROME, Samantha with all sincerity, turns to me and says, “Oh my, God! What if they have to go to Italy?!” I died then and there.

Sam has her moments and I have my memories. Even if she doesn’t. She’s like a gold fish. Eventually she does remember things… 3 days later. But, that’s what makes her funny. I guess that’s why I love her so much. But, it’s not always fun and games. She has two brother’s and one sister. All younger. She complains, I listen, she talks, I come up with sarcastic and literal remarks. It’s like we have ESPN or something! She doesn’t like to read books much. She reads all my stories, though. Most of which were “inspired” by her. Meaning she literally would and has put a gun to my head  and made me write. Ok, so it was a water gun, big deal! Hey, it got her into Harry Potter and Lord Of The Rings. The big issue though was Freddy VS Jason. She likes Jason. We still argue about that. What I don’t get though is why she likes Michael Jackson. EW! And she’s a democrat. Kerry was her idol. Her taste in men… well, let’s not go there. And another thing, she’s a music freak: she idolizes Story Of The Year. Ah, whatever. To each his own, right?

Poor Samantha, she is absolutely terrified of spiders, snakes, cows, ducks, Chucky, and closed spaces. We have fun with it, though. She’s my sister (even if I’m an only child) and I love her more than ever.

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The Old Hag

November 1999. It was a week till thanksgiving in Stanley town. Joan Pumpersnills was eagerly awaiting her break. Now let me tell you about Joan.
Joan Pumpersnills came from a very loving home. She was a plain, ordinary 15 year old from a middle-of-nowhere hick town. Everybody knew practically everything about everyone. There was old Mrs. Churchill (in no relation to Winston) who everyday would walk the 5 miles to the store and only buy a single item. It could’ve been anything from a loaf of bread to a carton of eggs. Her husband, Mr. Churchill whose first name (by coincidence) was Winston, had died 2 years ago.
Then there was little baby Bridget. Her newly wed parents were very kind people. Bill Bloom and his wife Anna were the son and daughter of the towns two churches pastors, Nick Bloom and Charles Rhoton.
The towns people all knew and respected everyone, except old lady Knavish, a cantankerous and malicious battle-ax of a woman. She was in her 90s and was said to have never been married. Apparently all the men feared her too much. She’d become a bit of a legend to the town. Even the parents would use her as a mere extreme form of the alleged boogeyman.
Old lady Knavish lived on a mountain top in hickville U.S.A. Nobody ever saw her out and most thought of her as the infamous Grinch.
Somehow after hearing all the terrible things old lady had done or did, Joan still couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
Everyday Joan and her friends would pass the entrance to old lady Knavish’s driveway. Everyday they’d pause and stare up the winding dirt road wondering just how bad it would be to meet the old witch.
“I heard she turned some kid into a frog.” said Jake Parker. “Just cause he looked at her funny.”
“That’s stupid.” Rachel Wells said, walking on past Jake.
“You’re stupid.” Jake retorted, jogging to catch up with her.
Joan was just about to leave when something caught her eye. A movement. The road lead to the back of the house and from a certain spot you could see everything. The house, naturally, was rundown and gave any onlookers a feeling of terror. For a moment Joan thought it was just her imagination until… THERE! The front living room curtain quickly swung into place. Was old lady Knavish watching them? Maybe she just walked by and accidentally hit the curtain. Joan knew better. People like old lady Knavish never “accidentally” did anything.
“JOAN!” Rachel yelled.
“COMING!” Joan yelled back.
She rushed down the sidewalk to meet with her friends at the bus stop.
It wasn’t until that evening that Joan began to really wonder about old lady Knavish. Where did she come from? Who was her family? Why was she so mean? After school Joan decided to find out for herself.
“You have got to be kidding.” Rachel said as the trio stood in front of the dirt road. “Joan, that’s suicide!”
“Well, if I die, you’ll be the first I haunt.” Joan said, not taking her eyes off that winding path before her.
“Joan, this is crazy. Just come back with us. Or, better yet, ask you parents about the old battle-ax.” Jake said.
Rachel smacked him in the back of the head. “Have some respect.” she said.
“And I guess calling her an old crow is respectful.”
“Like I say, it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.”
“Oh, right. Rachel the great philosopher. Please master, teach me more.”
“Wow, Jake. You’re just reached a new level of sarcasm.”
“I am a new level of sarcasm.”
“Would you two shut up?” Joan said. “Who knows, maybe she’s an actual person.”
There was a pause and then Jake and Rachel burst out laughing. Joan rolled her eyes and started up the path.
“Well, you’re not actually going are you?” Jake said.
“Uh, yeah.” Joan said. There very quickly ended the hysterics.
“Joan, come on.” Rachel said.
“No. You two go on home. I’m a girl on a mission.”
“Psycho.” Jake said and began to walk off.
“We’re not going to leave her.” Rachel half-asked, half-said.
“No, go.” Joan said.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Tell my mom I’ll be home later.”
“Alright.” Rachel said doubtfully.
Joan turned and made the long journey up that winding dirt road all the way to the top of the mountain. In common stories about evil witches and town hags they always lived in extravagant homes, rundown of course, but it was always the same. A large four story mansion with hundreds of room and creepy crawly creatures living in unseen cracks. Not old lady Knavish’s place. From down on the ground the house seemed huge. Trees had hidden most of it, still giving the impression that there was more house than there really was. Standing in front of the house now, Joan saw that it was well small. It was a trailer, but it was as big as a double wide. There were dents in the roof, rotten worm-chow shudders hanging by single rusty nails on the corner of cracked brown windows with dead bugs on the sill. One side of the yard was overrun by tall grass while the other side was dead weeds and muddy gunk. The paneling of the house had rotted away years ago, leaving the wood exposed for weathering, eroding, and God knows what.
Joan took a deep breath. Her hands began to sweat. She rubbed her palms against her jeans, trying to dry them off. This had better be worth it. She took a step toward the door. Automatically it opened. No one was behind it or standing in the doorway. Freaky.
“Alright old lady. Let’s see just how scary you are.”
And with that Joan walked to her doom.
“Hello,” she said, stepping over the threshold. “Ol… Mrs. Knavish.”
“Ms.” came an old rusty decrepit voice.
Joan jumped. Who wouldn’t when you hear a voice with nobody?
Now the impression Joan had gotten over the years was that old lady Knavish was the 6 ft. tall, evil old woman whose hair was more silver than the moon and a face so cynical and wrinkled that if she’d ever smiled a day in her life it would split in two. Needless to say, rumors are deceiving.
“E-excuse me?” Joan said, moving toward the center of the room and looking around trying to find her.
“You said Mrs. It’s Ms. I figured a 15 year old would at least know that much.”
“How’d you know…”
“I know everything.”
“Where are you?”
The door slammed shut, leaving the house in total darkness. At the same moment, dozens of lights came flashing on, nearly blinding Joan. Once her eyes had adjusted, she jumped. There before her stood an old, crinkled scowling face with a piercing critical look in those pale green eyes. Joan was right about one thing though. The hair was more silver than the moon. That scowling mouth opened and laughed at the shock and utter terror on Joan’s face. Joan tried not to blush but couldn’t help it. The old bag had made a fool of her.
“Hello, Clarice.” the old woman said.
‘Uh oh.’ Joan thought. ‘Mrs. Hannibal Lecter at your service.’ “It’s Joan.” she blurted out.
“I know.”
“How do you…”
“I just do.”
It seemed that with each word old lady Knavish got closer and closer. Finally Joan took a step back.
“Mrs. … Ms. Knavish, I’m here to…” Joan began.
“Don’t.” old lady Knavish interrupted.
“What?”
“Don’t act like a business woman. You’re here to pump me of information you already know and dispel rumors that are true.”
For a moment Joan was speechless. After hearing her speak and how evil she sounded…
“Uh… um…”
“Uhs and ums. The glue of hick language. Do you know how irritating it is for snot nosed brats who think they’ve got enough guts to come up here and annoy me with uhs and ums.” She kept moving closer to Joan. Joan kept moving back. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. You have no idea what it’s like, living alone. Not when you’ve got your mommy and daddy and a big, comfy house to live in.” By now Joan had been backed into a corner with old lady Knavish coming closer.
“Don’t eat me.” she squeaked, trying to press herself into the wall.
The old woman stopped. Joan could feel her breath, hot and rotting on her neck.
“I enjoy my privacy, Joan. I like to be alone.” this last word, a mere whisper on the wrinkled lips of old lady Knavish. It sent a pang into her spine. She wanted to run but she couldn’t move, her legs like lead and her head like jello. She felt faint. She did faint…
When Joan awoke, 3 hours later, she found herself in a dark room. At first she thought old lady Knavish had turned off the lights and left her there to die, but then reality hit. She felt the warm, fluffy fur of her stuffed cat, the smell of her sheets and felt the blanket slide off her left foot. She was home.
‘Was it a dream?’ she thought. She tried to sit up. Her head swam. Plan B… she rummaged for her flashlight on the bedside shelf. Turning the light on she found herself curled up tightly in her bed. The posters of famous actors glanced out at her from the wall, to the right of her, the purple paint, faded now, covered with old pictures from magazines and photos of friends. The dresser sat to her left, reflecting back her pitiful image in the bare mirror. The TV stand at the foot of the bed stood out from everything else simply because it was an old foot stool that was crimson and patched in several places with way too much duct tape. Perched on top was a 17 inch Sony TV. On top was a small satellite Joan had gotten for Christmas. Granted she didn’t get many channels, but the TV had a built in VCR.
She tried again to set up, slowly. That at least was do-able, for now. She glanced at the clock on the shelf. The ruby red numbers said 7:07. Joan rubbed her eyes, trying to adjust her vision. She was still a little sleepy.
Joan let out a low moan and flopped back on the bed. Mistake. “Crap.” she said. “Now I gotta pee.” Now came the laborious task of getting out of bed. At first she tried to throw the covers off of her. Stuck. Big mistake. Oh, now what? She tried to scurry out of the big jumble. Bigger mistake. She was in an even worse situation now, plus she still had to pee. Finally out of aggravation she started kicking and punching the covers. That did it. Joan went toppling into the floor, a giant ball of fluff. She leaned her head back and BANG! Hit the shelf.
“Ow…” her head ached, her stomach hurt, and she was beginning to sweat. What else could go wrong? After struggling for another 10 minutes, Joan was finally free from her cotton cocoon. Dashing to the bathroom, she tripped and fell on the carpet in the hallway. No time to worry about burns, her bladder was about to bust. She threw herself in and slammed the door. When Joan went downstairs she found a note from her mom.

“Gone to cousin’s play. Be home at 10.

Don’t stay up too late.”

Love, Mom.

“Oh, great. I’ve got a near lethal concussion and she’s at Joe’s Theatre. Perfect.”
At least she was alone. No embarrassing questions about how she got there…
“How did I get here?” Her mind wanted it to be a dream, but she found evidence it wasn’t. Joan trudged back upstairs. She turned the lights on in her room. Sitting there almost gleaming at her was a folded piece of paper next to her stuffed cat. Cautiously, Joan went over and picked it up. Nothing was written on the outside, but she knew it was from old lady Knavish.

 Hello, Clarice… 

It began. 

Feeling better? Good. I’d hate for your return visit

 to end like this one. However, I must warn you that

 police are standing by. Tresspassing is an illegal offense.

 Have a nice night, Joan. I’ll see you tomorrow. 

Angel

Angel? Had old lady Knavish just invited Joan back? Joan thought not, but still… sleep came little that night.
Saturday. Rest and relaxation. That was what Joan desperately wanted. However, duty called.
“Bye, mom. See you this evening.”
“Hold on one minute, young lady!”
Half way out the door… so close.
“What?”
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Out.”
“It’s raining.”
“So?”
Her mother raised an eyebrow.
“Moooom…”
“What is so important that you have to go escapading out there?”
“Well… I can’t say, but mom, please. It’s an emergency.”
“Joan…”
’ll take an umbrella.”
“Joan…”
“Come on. Have a heart.”
Her mother rolled her eyes. Joan pouted. “Fine.”
Joan hugged her mother, grabbed an umbrella, and rushed out the door.
Old lady Knavish’s place looked spooky before, but with the dark threatening sky and thunder and lightening it looked down right cadaverous. There now loomed a “No Trespassing” sign in the front yard.
Joan gulped. She took a step. She felt timorous, neurotic, and nauseous. ‘Just don’t blow chunks.’ she thought as she slowly walked up to the now open door.
“So nice to see you again.” came the old scratchy voice.
“Wish I could say the same.” Joan said. She closed her eyes and waited for the lights. Nothing happened.
“Well, don’t just stand there, shut the door.”
Joan was appalled. This was unexpected. By reflex Joan went to the door and closed it. Automatically, dozens of lights came on. She whirled around. BAM! Old lady Knavish was standing there, beaming. For an old lady she moved pretty fast.
“Can you see me now?”
“Uh huh.”
“Good. How nice of you to drop by. I was beginning to wonder if you’d woken or not.”
“Ms. Knavish, can I ask you a few questions?”
“I don’t know. Can you?”
“May I ask you some questions?”
“So is it some or a few?”
Joan was getting annoyed.
“Well, get on with it. I’m not getting any younger.”
“Uh…”
“Not that again. Honestly, what are they teaching you?”
Joan looked for an escape goat. She was feeling faint again.
“Please, don’t. It’s absolutely rude.”
‘She’s demanding.’ Joan thought.
“If we could maybe move…”
“I don’t know.” old lady Knavish said, turning and walking away.
Joan thought about leaving, just opening the door and running like crazy. Maybe that’s exactly what old lady Knavish wanted. So Joan stayed. Just to spite her. This time she would stick it through.
“Well, don’t just stand there.” old lady Knavish said. She was now halfway between the living room and kitchen. Joan slowly walked toward her. The floor creaked and cracked under her feet.
The kitchen was fairly small. The table only had one chair and the stove only had one eye. In the corner was a washer/dryer that stood behind a back door. Old lady Knavish sat in the chair.
“Well, sit.” she said.
Joan looked confused. “There’s only one chair.”
Old lady Knavish raised an eyebrow. She looked mad. Joan was scared. Quickly she plotted herself on the floor. Old lady Knavish smiled.
“Shall we begin then?”
Joan took a deep breath and began the interview.
“What’s your name?”
“Angel Nicole Knavish.”
“Date of birth?”
“January 1, 1906.”
“Wow. That would mean…”
“I’m old.”
“Do you have any family?”
“No.”
“That was abrupt.”
“I don’t have to go in depth.”
“Well, no, but I’d…”
“Why are you being so difficult?”
“Why are you so mean?” Joan did realize she’d yelled. Old lady Knavish stood. Joan didn’t know what to expect.
“You should leave.”
“But…”
“GO!”
Joan stood and looked her square in the eye. “People were right about you. You’re just a cowardly, scared old bat. You’re an evil, sadistical witch.”
Thunder boomed and lightening cracked. Angel walked away. She stood looking out the window above the tiny kitchen sink. Joan turned in anger and began walking toward the living room.
“They all died.”
“What?”
“My family. They all died.”
“I’m so…”
“Don’t say you’re sorry. Everybody always says their sorry for something they can’t prevent or do anything about. Death is an inevitable force.”
There was a long moment of silence. Joan didn’t know what to do. She felt bad for old lady Knavish to live so long and not have anyone around.
“Why didn’t you get married?”
“I was going to. He died.”
“How?”
Old lady Knavish went into the living room and brought back another chair. The two sat at the table and Joan listened attentively as Angel explained how her fiancé had gotten in trouble with some loan sharks who eventually shot and murdered him.
“It seemed like everyone I’d ever gotten close to died.” she said. “My parents, my fiancé, everyone. I’ve ever known has left me. Even my children.”
“Children?”
“Twins. One died the day it was born, the other didn’t make it past three.”
“That’s terrible.”
More silence. The storm outside had grown steadily worse. As the wind howled around the house, shaking things up, Joan noticed something. Angel Nicole Knavish, for the first time in 34 years, was crying. Joan smiled. Maybe she wasn’t such a cold hearted witch after all. The two spent the rest of the day just talking. Joan told about her family, Angel detailed her amazing life through the 10th century. She’s done several fascinating things like sports and competed in dancing competitions. She’d seen places most people haven’t like the Bermuda Triangle, the Canary Islands, Zimbabwe, and dozens of exotic places. Joan was fascinated and just by hearing her talk, Joan forgot old lady Knavish was an old lady.
“It’s getting late.” Angel said.
Joan looked at her watch. 5:30. “Whoa. Time flies.”
“Yeah, it does.”
Joan stood. “Why don’t you come and have thanksgiving with us?”
“I don’t know. What would people think about the wicked witch visiting a little girl.”
“Who cares?”
Angel smiled. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Well, if you insist.”
They laughed. Angel showed Joan to the door and Joan left with a final hug and a kiss good-bye. Old lady Knavish did go to the thanksgiving dinner. She ate, laughed, and talked with her family and felt that she belonged. It wasn’t long until the whole neighborhood was getting to know Angel Knavish.
Joan continued to visit old lady Knavish everyday for 5 years until one day she didn’t answer the door.
“Angel.” Joan called, banging on the door. Nothing. The door was even locked. “Huh. Strange.”
Joan went around back and tried the other door. She slowly stepped into the kitchen. “Anybody home?” No answer.
Joan walked down the hall and into her bedroom. Angel hadn’t even gotten out of bed. Then, Joan noticed she wasn’t breathing. “Oh no.”
Joan rushed over to the bed and threw her arms around the limp, cold, dead body of Angel Knavish.

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