original ficlet: Point of Origin (part 3-final)
Last part. (part 2 is here)
Carol and Trish, both sobbing stupidly over me, were pleading with me to wake up and forgive them. I thought about letting them feel guilty for a few minutes more, but decided to be merciful. That and I had a killer headache and was lying on cold hard ground.
“For Pete’s sake,” I grumbled. “I told you I didn’t like Halloween and you decided to drag me out anyway. Now you ask me to forgive you. I will if you promise to never to ask me to go out on this night again. Sheesh! Stop already!”
They helped me up and hugged me, and I found we were in the middle of nowhere, near some parking garage instead of the bar they had told me about.
“What the hell?” I said.
Someone, or something, was crawling out of the garage. It was crying, or laughing, I couldn’t tell which, and it was coming right at us.
“Oh my God! Shelby, run!” cried Carol.
Trish grabbed my forearm and I gasped in pain. I shrugged her off quickly and looked at my arm. There was a piece of jagged metal in it. I pulled it out and then decided that had been a mistake, since I started bleeding. I ripped the fancy kerchief off Trish’s costume and tried to stem the blood flow.
“What did you guys do?” I asked. “And who is that?”
“A witch!” “And a mean one!” they shouted at me. “Run!”
I couldn’t. Whatever it was, it was pitiful, and I had to see if I could help. I pushed them aside and walked a little woozily over to the person as I searched my skirt pocket for my iPhone to call for help. It wasn’t on me.
“Call 9-1-1!” I said over my shoulder. “She’s hurt. Probably hit by a car.”
But a car hadn’t hit her, some metal had. When I rolled her over, she had a shard of it stuck in her throat. I wrapped the handkerchief around it, forgetting about my own blood already soaking it.
“Hold still.” I said. “Help is on the way.”
“Kill me,” she rasped, for it was a woman under all those rags and wild hair. “Kill me. I want to die.”
Then one of her hands snatched at my wounded arm and her fingers, though boney, squeezed hard enough for me to scream in pain.
“I will win,” she said as she croaked out a wicked laugh. “You will die with me.”
I pressed harder against the cloth, thinking she was delirious. “Did you call 9-1-1?” I cried over my shoulder. I was sweating now. Her grip was tight and it hurt like hell, but I couldn’t leave her to die like some dog in the street.
Blue-white halogen lights cut through the darkness and tires squealed on slick concrete. A car was coming, racing through the garage. Fearing a drunk driver, I grabbed the old woman, but I couldn’t move her. She had wrapped her other fingers around the heavy metal grating over the gutter between the parking garage and the street.
“Help me!” I shouted.
I turned as Trish and Carol rushed to me, but they didn’t help me with the woman. Instead they grabbed me and pulled me away and to the sidewalk as fast as they could.
The woman made a horrible noise as her fingers lost me. To my astonishment, she rolled over quickly and stood. For a second she seemed to tower over us, illuminated by the oncoming car. Her face was frightening, twisted into a rage I had never seen before.
She pointed a finger at me with one hand and jerked out the metal from her neck with the other.
“Die!” she shrieked as the handkerchief fluttered to the ground.
Then the car hit her.
-*-
The ambulance attendants did not like me not going to the hospital, but admitted I didn’t have a concussion from hitting my head on the sidewalk pavement. The goose egg on the back of my head would heal with time, but they wanted me to sleep carefully, with someone checking on me hourly if possible.
Carol and Trish were rambling on about a witch, but the police officers were more understanding of their story when I explained that my friends had gone a little overboard with the Halloween fantasy this year. I was the person they had thought stabbed with metal, just in my arm, not my neck. I was nearly struck by the car and flung to the ground, not some silly witch. After not quite an hour, they left to attend to other calls, leaving the three of us outside a parking garage where there was no body, no murder, and no witch. There had only been a teenager trying to make donuts in a parking garage and he had exited a little too fast so that we had to jump out of the way.
Which is how I fell and hit my head.
I think.
Trish walked around and stooped down near the gutter grate. “There is a pile of dirt here. She could have turned to dust.”
Carol agreed. “I’m still thinking the Wizard of Oz was right about witches.”
“You two watch way too many movies,” I said. “I watch too many movies, too. We need to get out more.” I sighed and picked up a once lovely handkerchief now covered in ash and tire tracks. “Sorry about your costume, Trish. Is this your blood or mine?” I did a double-take as I checked out her accessories. “What happened to your cutlass?”
Carol smacked her forehead. “The cutlass!”
She and Trish went running into the parking garage. I did not run, thanks to the head injury, but I did follow, only to find them picking up pieces of metal near a puddle of water and a bucket. The glittering metal shards in their hands were not the beautiful blade I expected.
“Did the car run over it?” I asked.
They looked at each other. “You don’t remember smashing it?” Carol asked.
“With what?”
“On the column. You smashed it on the column. This one,” said Trish, patting a black slash mark about shoulder high on the stone pillar.
“Nope. Does this have something to do with the witch woman putting a spell on me?”
“Not you, the pirate guy,” explained Trish.
“If you guys are going to start this again, can we please go and sit down and eat something? I’m starving,” I said. “You told me you would treat me to dinner.”
“You don’t remember that either?” asked Carol.
“I bet he bought the dagger, not Shelby,” said Trish.
“What dagger?” I checked my pocket. “Where’s my money?”
“Oh look! Here it is! Oh, and here’s the cutlass handle thingy,” said Carol. “It’s about the only big piece left.”
Trish dropped her metal pieces and put her hands on her hips. “Give them to Shelby. Let’s see if he takes her over again.”
I reached out both hands and took the weapons. The dagger was a nice one, but not something I would own. Though the more I turned it in my hand, the more I liked it. I then studied the cutlass hilt and what was left of the broken off blade.
“Feeling piratey?” Trish asked.
“I wonder what his name was?” asked Carol.
“Nathan Longenbaugh,” I said slowly.
“Oh my God!” cried Trish. “She’s at it again!”
“Arrr.” I said. I looked up at their now ashen faces and laughed. “I was kidding. No pirate. No witch. I swear. Look, his name’s on the handle. I just read it to you.”
“Wow! We have GOT to look that up on Ancestry.com. He’s your relative, I’m sure of it. You have pirate blood in you,” said Trish. She grabbed Carol’s arm. “What did the witch say, that everyone else was dead?”
“Are your parents alive?” asked Trish.
“My mom died about a year ago of a heart attack. Dad’s still alive. Does that count?” I asked.
“Okay, her mom. The bloodline is through her mom.”
Trish dragged Carol off and left me standing in the eerie orange lighting with weapons in my hand. I was hungry and tired and hurting, but I couldn't help but feel pretty good. A probably goofy grin warmed my face and spirit. Those two sure did know how to spin a good tale. I was starting to believe they actually saw a pirate and a witch. Maybe Halloween wasn't so bad after all. Maybe creating your own adventures was better than sitting around watching them in movies.
I swished the remains of the cutlass and held the dagger up as a guard.
“Arrr,” I said to no one.
A chuckle made me turn around and I saw a man standing in the shadows behind me. It could have been Trish in that costume, but he was taller than she is, not that I could see him well. He took off his hat and flourished it before him in a slow sweep as he honored me with bow of respect. I curtsied as much as my sore head would allow, and when I looked up at him again, he was gone.
“Now they have me seeing pirates,” I said, laughing to myself. “Arrr.”
Carol and Trish, both sobbing stupidly over me, were pleading with me to wake up and forgive them. I thought about letting them feel guilty for a few minutes more, but decided to be merciful. That and I had a killer headache and was lying on cold hard ground.
“For Pete’s sake,” I grumbled. “I told you I didn’t like Halloween and you decided to drag me out anyway. Now you ask me to forgive you. I will if you promise to never to ask me to go out on this night again. Sheesh! Stop already!”
They helped me up and hugged me, and I found we were in the middle of nowhere, near some parking garage instead of the bar they had told me about.
“What the hell?” I said.
Someone, or something, was crawling out of the garage. It was crying, or laughing, I couldn’t tell which, and it was coming right at us.
“Oh my God! Shelby, run!” cried Carol.
Trish grabbed my forearm and I gasped in pain. I shrugged her off quickly and looked at my arm. There was a piece of jagged metal in it. I pulled it out and then decided that had been a mistake, since I started bleeding. I ripped the fancy kerchief off Trish’s costume and tried to stem the blood flow.
“What did you guys do?” I asked. “And who is that?”
“A witch!” “And a mean one!” they shouted at me. “Run!”
I couldn’t. Whatever it was, it was pitiful, and I had to see if I could help. I pushed them aside and walked a little woozily over to the person as I searched my skirt pocket for my iPhone to call for help. It wasn’t on me.
“Call 9-1-1!” I said over my shoulder. “She’s hurt. Probably hit by a car.”
But a car hadn’t hit her, some metal had. When I rolled her over, she had a shard of it stuck in her throat. I wrapped the handkerchief around it, forgetting about my own blood already soaking it.
“Hold still.” I said. “Help is on the way.”
“Kill me,” she rasped, for it was a woman under all those rags and wild hair. “Kill me. I want to die.”
Then one of her hands snatched at my wounded arm and her fingers, though boney, squeezed hard enough for me to scream in pain.
“I will win,” she said as she croaked out a wicked laugh. “You will die with me.”
I pressed harder against the cloth, thinking she was delirious. “Did you call 9-1-1?” I cried over my shoulder. I was sweating now. Her grip was tight and it hurt like hell, but I couldn’t leave her to die like some dog in the street.
Blue-white halogen lights cut through the darkness and tires squealed on slick concrete. A car was coming, racing through the garage. Fearing a drunk driver, I grabbed the old woman, but I couldn’t move her. She had wrapped her other fingers around the heavy metal grating over the gutter between the parking garage and the street.
“Help me!” I shouted.
I turned as Trish and Carol rushed to me, but they didn’t help me with the woman. Instead they grabbed me and pulled me away and to the sidewalk as fast as they could.
The woman made a horrible noise as her fingers lost me. To my astonishment, she rolled over quickly and stood. For a second she seemed to tower over us, illuminated by the oncoming car. Her face was frightening, twisted into a rage I had never seen before.
She pointed a finger at me with one hand and jerked out the metal from her neck with the other.
“Die!” she shrieked as the handkerchief fluttered to the ground.
Then the car hit her.
-*-
The ambulance attendants did not like me not going to the hospital, but admitted I didn’t have a concussion from hitting my head on the sidewalk pavement. The goose egg on the back of my head would heal with time, but they wanted me to sleep carefully, with someone checking on me hourly if possible.
Carol and Trish were rambling on about a witch, but the police officers were more understanding of their story when I explained that my friends had gone a little overboard with the Halloween fantasy this year. I was the person they had thought stabbed with metal, just in my arm, not my neck. I was nearly struck by the car and flung to the ground, not some silly witch. After not quite an hour, they left to attend to other calls, leaving the three of us outside a parking garage where there was no body, no murder, and no witch. There had only been a teenager trying to make donuts in a parking garage and he had exited a little too fast so that we had to jump out of the way.
Which is how I fell and hit my head.
I think.
Trish walked around and stooped down near the gutter grate. “There is a pile of dirt here. She could have turned to dust.”
Carol agreed. “I’m still thinking the Wizard of Oz was right about witches.”
“You two watch way too many movies,” I said. “I watch too many movies, too. We need to get out more.” I sighed and picked up a once lovely handkerchief now covered in ash and tire tracks. “Sorry about your costume, Trish. Is this your blood or mine?” I did a double-take as I checked out her accessories. “What happened to your cutlass?”
Carol smacked her forehead. “The cutlass!”
She and Trish went running into the parking garage. I did not run, thanks to the head injury, but I did follow, only to find them picking up pieces of metal near a puddle of water and a bucket. The glittering metal shards in their hands were not the beautiful blade I expected.
“Did the car run over it?” I asked.
They looked at each other. “You don’t remember smashing it?” Carol asked.
“With what?”
“On the column. You smashed it on the column. This one,” said Trish, patting a black slash mark about shoulder high on the stone pillar.
“Nope. Does this have something to do with the witch woman putting a spell on me?”
“Not you, the pirate guy,” explained Trish.
“If you guys are going to start this again, can we please go and sit down and eat something? I’m starving,” I said. “You told me you would treat me to dinner.”
“You don’t remember that either?” asked Carol.
“I bet he bought the dagger, not Shelby,” said Trish.
“What dagger?” I checked my pocket. “Where’s my money?”
“Oh look! Here it is! Oh, and here’s the cutlass handle thingy,” said Carol. “It’s about the only big piece left.”
Trish dropped her metal pieces and put her hands on her hips. “Give them to Shelby. Let’s see if he takes her over again.”
I reached out both hands and took the weapons. The dagger was a nice one, but not something I would own. Though the more I turned it in my hand, the more I liked it. I then studied the cutlass hilt and what was left of the broken off blade.
“Feeling piratey?” Trish asked.
“I wonder what his name was?” asked Carol.
“Nathan Longenbaugh,” I said slowly.
“Oh my God!” cried Trish. “She’s at it again!”
“Arrr.” I said. I looked up at their now ashen faces and laughed. “I was kidding. No pirate. No witch. I swear. Look, his name’s on the handle. I just read it to you.”
“Wow! We have GOT to look that up on Ancestry.com. He’s your relative, I’m sure of it. You have pirate blood in you,” said Trish. She grabbed Carol’s arm. “What did the witch say, that everyone else was dead?”
“Are your parents alive?” asked Trish.
“My mom died about a year ago of a heart attack. Dad’s still alive. Does that count?” I asked.
“Okay, her mom. The bloodline is through her mom.”
Trish dragged Carol off and left me standing in the eerie orange lighting with weapons in my hand. I was hungry and tired and hurting, but I couldn't help but feel pretty good. A probably goofy grin warmed my face and spirit. Those two sure did know how to spin a good tale. I was starting to believe they actually saw a pirate and a witch. Maybe Halloween wasn't so bad after all. Maybe creating your own adventures was better than sitting around watching them in movies.
I swished the remains of the cutlass and held the dagger up as a guard.
“Arrr,” I said to no one.
A chuckle made me turn around and I saw a man standing in the shadows behind me. It could have been Trish in that costume, but he was taller than she is, not that I could see him well. He took off his hat and flourished it before him in a slow sweep as he honored me with bow of respect. I curtsied as much as my sore head would allow, and when I looked up at him again, he was gone.
“Now they have me seeing pirates,” I said, laughing to myself. “Arrr.”