Posted in Blogging, stories, Truth or Fiction, writing

Truth or Fiction

Pretty good guessing last week. The story I wrote for last week’s Truth or Fiction was… Truth! In fact, it happened as recently as last Tuesday night. You would think crap like that would happen on a Saturday night like in the good old days. Nope, Tuesday. The guy is still in hospital in critical condition last I read of the accounts. I cleaned Wednesday and got all the dried blood out of my mud room. It was everywhere! Floors, walls, deep freeze. Amazing how much one man can bleed out of a stomach wound and a few more elsewhere.

Ah, the exciting life of a couple of retiree’s.

Now that’s over with, let’s move on to this weeks story. Is it Truth or Fiction?

 

Image by tookapic from Pixabay

 

 

Steps in the Night

 

The footsteps were moving away from the bedroom door. Huddled under the blanket she wondered who could be in the house with her? A burglar? Or worse? She tried to gather her courage to find her phone. Where did she leave it? It wasn’t on her nightstand where she usually kept it at night.

She didn’t hear anything for a few seconds and was hoping fervently that whoever was in the house had left. Her hands covered her mouth to keep the scream in when she heard the unmistakable sounds of footsteps once more. They sounded like they were headed towards her bedroom door again! She jumped out of bed and with her hand shaking, she quickly reached out and locked her door then raced to the other side of the bed and crouched down behind it.

The steps stopped outside her door and she watched to see if the person tried to open it. Nothing. She didn’t see the knob move. She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she let it out when she heard the distinct sound of footsteps leaving her door once again. Why didn’t they try to come into the room? The suspense was driving her crazy! Her heart dropped when she remembered her phone was in the kitchen! The battery had been super low earlier so she plugged it in the charger and left it on the kitchen counter. Damn! There was no way she could get to it without passing the person who was in the other room. Double damn!

She had just moved into the house last week and was still unpacking boxes. Her first real house. She had always lived in apartments before but when she saw this cute little bungalow one day a few months ago she fell in love. There had been a for sale sign up in its neat flower-filled yard and on impulse, she called the agents number listed on the sign. Now she was the proud owner of the house.

And there was a burglar in HER house! Her cute little house and she felt her anger rising. She was not going to cower behind her bed like some….some…..whiney little coward! She would confront the person who entered her dream home and scared her stupid! How dare they? She had confronted worse in her life. This cretin wasn’t going to make her hide inside her own home.

With that thought, she stomped over to her bedroom door and quickly unlocked it and swung it open. She was primed and ready to fight whoever she confronted but the room was empty! Where were they? Her heart pounded as she slowly walked towards the kitchen. She glanced at the windows and doors as she went and saw they all were closed and locked just like she left them when she went to bed. So how did the intruder get in?

She gathered her courage and found her voice to shout, “I’ve called the police! You better get out of my house now!”

Silence. No footsteps running, no doors opening or closing. Nothing.

“I mean it! The cops will be here any second!”

Nothing but silence answered her. She ran to the kitchen and turned on the light. It was empty. The back door was closed and locked as was the windows. What the hell? She grabbed her phone and was about to dial 911 when she paused.

Her house was small. Tiny some would say. There were not a lot of ways someone could have broken in. There were no windows in the tiny basement. All the windows in the house were closed and locked as were the doors. She was positive she had heard footsteps outside her bedroom door. Was she going crazy? She drew in a shaky breath. No need to call the police then. They would just make the assumption she was some hysterical female hearing bumps in the night.

She was positive that she heard the footsteps but she knew the police probably would doubt she heard anything. She glanced at her phone and saw the time. Four thirty in the morning. She knew she wouldn’t get any more sleep this morning. Might as well unpack some more boxes.

Night time came once more to her little home. As she got ready for bed she felt a bit nervous because of the previous night but crawled into bed and shut her light off. She double checked to make sure she had her phone and it was fully charged. She also took the precaution of leaning against the wall a hefty wooden baseball bat, newly purchased earlier that day for protection next to her bed. She almost felt silly taking so many precautions. Almost.

Her eyes flew open and she was fully awake but a little disoriented. Then she heard it. The sound that woke her up. There! Footsteps. Just like last night! She grabbed her phone and noticed the time. It was the same time as the footsteps last night! But how? Why? Who was it?

She threw her covers off and reached for the bat. She slowly crept over to her bedroom door and listened. Yes! There were footsteps. Distinct. Unmistakable. Footsteps coming towards her door. Her shaking hand reached for the doorknob. The bat in the other hand. She opened the door swiftly when she heard the steps stop by the door. She lifted the bat with both hands and was ready to strike whoever was standing there.

Nothing. The door frame was empty! The room beyond was empty too. But…but…how? Then she heard them again. The footsteps walking slowly away from her. Just footsteps with no feet to make them. There was nothing but emptiness. Nothing but the sounds of her fast beating heart and the ghostly footsteps.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, what do you think? Is it Truth or Fiction? How would you react if you heard something but couldn’t see anything? Like footsteps in the night? Let me know!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Blogging, stories, Truth or Fiction, writing

Bettering Oneself

Thank you to everyone who read last week’s story. I must have given something away in the story as everyone got it right! Yes…it was based on true events. I was working at a casino in Wisconsin at the time and the man really existed and the story of his murders and suicide are true. He was creepy and I always got bad vibes off of him but he insisted on standing at my cashier window every time he came in. He would just stare at me and never say a word.

So, when I heard of what he did, I was shocked. Not so much at what he did but because it came a bit too close to home as one of the men he killed was my brother-in-law’s brother. It was a strange experience in my life. Ok, another strange experience in my life. Seems I have had quite a few of them as my friend Marlene stated.

So, thank you again for participating last week and guessing correctly! Now, onto this weeks story.

Is it based on truth…or fiction? You tell me!

 

 

Bettering Oneself

 

She sat at a small, scarred wooden table which wobbled if she didn’t stick a magazine under one leg. A dim flickering light shined down on the paper she so studiously copied from. A short stub of a pencil was wrapped in her hand as she tried to copy the flowing letters on the piece of paper.

The lettering itself was of the alphabet. Beautiful flowing cursive letters of the ABC’s done in black ink that was a bit smudged and dirty from constant use. Her mouth pursed in concentration, her black curly hair falling in disarray around her hunched shoulders. Her brown intense eyes, usually seen with a sense of sadness behind them were focused on the letters she so diligently copied.

Behind her lay in darkness, as the dull flickering bulb was not strong enough to penetrate the shadows of the small room. A single small bed sat neatly made next to her and an even smaller window sat above it. Curtainless, the glass clean with a tiny porcelain figure of a woman sitting on its tiny ledge. The figure had been broken at one time and one could hardly see the lines of glue holding her together. A broken beauty in a stark bare world.

The woman, girl really, should have been in bed. Her workday started early in the mornings. She was up at 4 am every morning but Sunday. That was her one day off a week. Tomorrow was only Saturday. She promised herself a few more minutes of work with the stub of pencil, then she would crawl into her bed and go to sleep.

Her maid uniform was neatly hanging in her tiny closet. Pressed earlier in the night so that any errant wrinkles were ironed out of existence. Her employer, Mrs. Hightower, hated an unironed uniform. She said it was a slight towards her if any wrinkles should be present. The young woman didn’t want to slight Mrs. Hightower. She had a lot of respect towards her employer, if not outright love.

Mrs. Hightower hired the young woman six months ago over her better judgment. She knew in her heart the woman was more a girl, at least two or three years younger than the eighteen she stated. She was small, young and vulnerable. She was also quick, smart and willing to learn, Mrs. Hightower found out within the first few weeks. They quietly settled down to a routine.

The girl was fascinated with the flowery, flowing handwriting of Mrs. Hightower. In her mind, it was a symbol of wealth and breeding. She wanted to learn to write like that, so secretly she started copying the beautiful penmanship of her employer. She already copied her speech, her walk, her posture of shoulders back, spine straight. Young women didn’t sit with their legs crossed either. They kept their persons clean and neat along with their surroundings. It was lessons learned that would stick with her for a lifetime.

By chance, Mrs. Hightower caught the young woman picking an example of her handwriting out of the trash and asked her what she was about. The girl stammered out an answer. Embarrassed that Mrs. Hightower caught her stealing a piece of trash, she thought for sure she would be fired. Once it was explained why the girl wanted the castaway, unfinished letter to a friend, she stood a moment in silence than smiled.

She turned, sat at her writing desk and pulled a clean sheet of paper out of a drawer. That’s when she started to write out the alphabet for the girl stating that if she wanted to learn she can’t have her learning only half the alphabet when she could learn it all. With that, she handed her the paper with the letters on it and several blank sheets of paper as well.

“Never stop trying to better yourself, my dear.”

The girl with the big brown sad eyes and dark curly hair turned off the dim bulb, crawled into the small bed and closed her eyes to sleep. Four in the morning came quickly for young girls who were far from home and trying to better oneself.

 

 

 

So, what do you think? Is it truth or fiction? Have you ever had an employer you really admired? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Blogging, Fiction, Humor, postaday, Wednesday Whatever!

Wednesday Whatever!

I’d like to introduce everyone to Aunt Maimie. Now, Aunt Maimie is the relative we all have in our family tree. You know the one. She’s the one that’s a bit…eccentric. A bit weird. A bit loud. A bit outspoken.

The other thing about Aunt Maimie is that you really don’t mind listening to her advice because it’s given with good intentions. Her heart is well-meaning, even if her stories sometimes go off track a bit.

Aunt Maimie is a widowed woman of undetermined age. She could be anywhere from fifty to ninety years old. All I know is she has been around forever and never seems to change much. She wears bright red lipstick. In fact, I have never seen her without her signature red lips and cat-eye shaped glasses.

She loves to tell stories. The stories all have one thing in common. Aunt Maimie. Her life. What she’s learned and is now passing on to you.

So without further ado…I give you…Aunt Maimie!

 

Aunt Maime's

 

Aunt Maimie’s Unsolicited Advice on Life, Love and Other Assorted Things

 

Never hook up with a ‘Mama’s Boy’. Trust me on this one, my pets. Long ago when I was young and naïve I did that very same thing.

Of course, it didn’t last long. It was doomed from the start. He was also thirteen years my senior. Can you imagine? Sure, I was young and looking for adventure. I thought an older man would give me some stories to tell when I got older.

Well, he did that! Just not in  the way he nor I would have wanted. So, I’m warning you. Do NOT hook up with a Mama’s boy!

I’m not going to tell you how I got to know this man. No, no. Some things a lady should keep private. Anyway, it only lasted six months. A tiny amount of time in my life.

He took me far away from my boring life and into his boring life. I have to laugh at that one, my pets. Oh my, yes.

Now his mother was this red-headed witch of a woman. She hated me on sight. I didn’t know he lived with his mother until it was too late. So there I was, ensconced in her home and in her life and in her son’s bed.

In all honesty, she never saw us in bed. I had my own room. He had his and she had hers. As soon as she left in the mornings for work, there he was, sliding into bed with me to have his fun. Ah, I was so young. I soon learned he not only left out the odd bit of him living with his mother, he also left out the bit about him being a jackass.

You see, my pets. He was also divorced with a teenage son. Seems he left out a lot of things about himself. His son was a good kid. I met him a few times during my brief stay. I liked him more than his father. Ha!

Now back to his mother. She was a hateful woman. Full of bitterness and anger at the world. She worked as a waitress in one of the restaurants at the airport. She loved her son….I mean she worshiped the man. It was unhealthy what was between them. What made it much stranger was she had two other children. Both nice people.

This one, though, she treated differently. Gives me the creeps just thinking about it all these many years past. Ok, let’s just skip that.

This woman had the cutest little dog. A Yorkie. Tiny little thing. Never could get friendly with the animal, though. He stayed hidden away most of the time. Unless the wicked witch was home. I quickly learned the reason why. This man was mean to it! I once heard him kick the little fellow clear across the room! That’s when I decided to start making plans to leave. I never could abide a person who was mean to animals.

Over the months I was there the mother grew more and more hateful toward me. I had less and less respect for the man and his mother. We disagreed about a lot of things. The man and I. The mother wouldn’t interfere, she managed to do her damage in other ways.

I do not believe in violence, my pets. I’m a peace-loving soul. This man made me resort to violence. One time only but still….it wasn’t pleasant and I still cannot believe I did it.

You see, he called your Aunt Maimie a nasty name during one of our….um…disagreements! Yes, he did. Well now, I couldn’t stand for that. So I sort of slapped him. Granted it was with a closed hand. I didn’t even know I was going to do it. He called me that vile name and I just turned around and decked him. Didn’t realize I had it in me. The look on his face while he was holding his sore jaw was almost worth it.

But, no, no, no. I do not approve of violence to resolve your difficulties. So take heed, my pets. Don’t do what I did.

I was so bored living there I used to go out for long walks. By myself. I would walk to the stores or just around the neighborhood. Got me some good exercise, I did. One benefit of that is I became quite fit, not that I needed to, mind you. It was just something to do to get out of that house.

Now back to his mama. That woman got to the point where she refused to feed me! Yes, she did. She told her son that I was his responsibility. To either send me back where I came from or feed me himself. Now I tell you, is that any way to treat someone? No, it isn’t. So I would walk to the grocery store every few days and spend what small amount of money I had to buy me a package of bologna and a loaf of bread.

That’s pretty much what I ate for those six months. Bologna and bread! Not a diet I would recommend, my pets. No, no. I was a proud woman and refused to ask for food. I wasn’t working, there were no jobs around and believe me, I looked.

I got my revenge on the mama one day. I still laugh about it all these many years later. Small of me, I’m sure. One rare occasion, she was being pleasant and she showed me a picture of herself when she was my age. Early twenties or so. She was beautiful. I had to admit that as much as it pains me to. She had glorious red hair back then and beautiful blue eyes. I looked at that picture and looked at her sitting across from me with the bitterness showing in her face and the meanness of her soul shining in her eyes and I said……”You used to be beautiful! What happened?”

Yes, I said it out loud! Oh, my. I was so young and naïve. It just burst out of my young mouth. Ah, to be so young and innocent again.

Well, my pets, I’m sure you can guess what happened after that incident. She became my mortal enemy after that day.

As for me, I couldn’t get out of that noxious home fast enough. So with what little money I had left I bought a bus ticket out of there!

No, I didn’t go home. I went and visited a relative in another state and there my pets is a whole different story! My life was just beginning to open up to many more of its lessons.

So do what your Aunt Maimie advises and don’t hook up with a mama’s boy! It will just lead to all sorts of trouble.

 

 

 

Do you have any questions about life, love or other assorted things you want to ask Aunt Maimie? Please do! Aunt Maimie will answer your questions in a later post and of course give you credit! Don’t be shy. She really is harmless….sort of.