Tag Archives: short story

Doug’s Funhouse?

Doug’s Funhouse sounds like the title for an orgy porn. Guarantee you, it’s not.

He’s away on a reunion with old friends…literally. Doug might be the youngest one in attendance.

While he’s away, Doug wants to assure his plants stay alive. Why he asked me to tend to his plants is beyond me. One plant, resembling a young money tree, took a turn for the worse. Its leaves were bright, dark green when Doug first left. Three days later, they’ve browned.

There was a time when I thought I had a green thumb. Tended to a few gardens where cucumbers exploded to the hundreds. But isn’t that what cucumbers do?

Getting back to this funhouse concept, I was tempted initially to tidy his entire home. Everything similar would go into their own separate boxes. As I counted the number of categories of things Doug owned, I would buy Walmart out with all their plastic boxes. I’d still run short and then have to take a trip to Staples. No…thank…you

Organizing another person’s crap is no fun, anyhow. So, I sat on Doug’s massage chair, blasted Lonesome Doves, and pretended to be an eighty-two-year-old kleptomaniac. The vibration of the chair was so fierce, I couldn’t hear a thing..or maybe that was just me moaning?

Moaning from the vibration…not from being a sick pervert.

There’s only so much vibrating a man can do in one day. Just as I was about to head home, I saw it. The words “Soil Tester” was poking out of a pile of mail long before Doug head out on this reunion.

I pulled it out from under the mail. Turned it on and inserted the metal spike into each plant. All sorts of signals went off. I was alerted what needed water, what needed to be placed in sunlight and what would be left as is.

This soil moisture gauge is something else. Almost magical? I’m certain that money tree will turn around in a matter of days.

Honestly, this little device might be the only reason Doug still has a jungle to come home to.

For a second, I almost stuck the gauge up my ass, to see if I needed moisture, sun or if I was all good. Good thing reason stepped in.

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The Oysters Attack? Doubt it!

Thursday at 3:30 a.m., my phone rang. Apparently, I’d forgotten to turn it off. Thought it was the alarm, but no—it was Doug.

“Get over,” he insisted, then hung up.

I nearly called him back with a “Fuck off, who are you to call me in the middle of the night?” but then remembered: Doug’s eighty-two. Something in his voice—panic mixed with acidity—alerted me that he was in desperate need.

I threw on my sweats, a torn pair of sneakers, and three minutes later stood at his front door. It was left slightly ajar. Through the crack, I called for him.

“In here,” he mumbled.

Never in all my visits had Doug’s house looked orderly. There was always some pile of crap here or a box that needed to be sifted through over there.

That night, I caught something from him—it seemed he’d invited an organizer over earlier in the day. I almost asked if he was selling the place, but once I found him hunched over the toilet, conversation was limited.

He wore a raincoat and was probably naked underneath, but I didn’t dare ask.

“They served these oysters at the opera and now I can’t get up,” Doug moaned.

He wouldn’t answer a thing about the opera—where it was, who he went with, how he got back, or why he was wearing such a fancy coat while hunched over the toilet.

“Tell me I’m gonna be alright,” was all he said to my inquiries.

I didn’t care to lie, so I said, “My hope? You’ll be fine.” Then I suggested a trip to the ER might be to his advantage.

“No, no,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Doug stood up, thanked me for coming, and escorted me out.

Here I am, a few days later, shuffling through my house like my knees had been glued shut. I want to cry but worry the aching that’ll come with any trembling. How I managed to compose this entry without reaching for a pain killer is beyond me.

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The 1,000 lb. Brother, Part Two

Just like in the dreams when the dreamer struggles to open his eyes, such was the case with Anton. It wasn’t fear that prevented him from seeing what was on the other side of his lids, rather a thick layer of gunk coating his left eye.

While scraping the gunk off, he glanced over at a candle lit table using his perfectly working right eye. There sat Ursula seated in a tan sequin dress. Naughty thoughts filled his mind. If his head wasn’t pounding, he would have leaped off the sofa and tore the woman’s dress off.

His clean left eye revealed more at the candle lit table. Opposite Ursula was the fit man in the towel. He, however, had removed the towel at some point and slipped into business attire. The two held champagne glasses in the air and appeared frozen in suspense.

“Hello,” Anton groaned.

They did not budge.

“Ursula,” he said with greater diction.

Stillness.

“Yuri,” Anton shouted, gazing at the shut door of his brother’s bedroom.

Ursula and the fit man lowered their glasses. They winked at one another. Suddenly, the fit man bolted out of his chair and raced over to Anton.

“So glad you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Beside a throbbing head and a bit confused, fine. Where’s my brother?”

The fit man exploded with laughter. “You hear that, Ursula?”

“He’s a funny one,” she said, chuckling.

“Your brother, you say?” The fit man asked in jest.

Anton nodded.

“I don’t know.” The fit man looked around the room. “Ursula, have you seen this man’s brother anywhere?”

“Very good question. It seems, Anton, your brother has been a bit hard to find lately.”

“What do you mean?” Anton swung his legs off the sofa, nearly kicking the fit man to the floor. “Where has he been?”

“The only way to find out,” the fit man said, repositioning himself on the sofa, “is to go on a treasure hunt.”

“A treasure hunt!” Ursula guffawed. “Where do you think we’d find him? Under a rock?”

“If not there then inside the cupboard.”

“Come on, you two.” Anton pleaded. “I haven’t seen my brother in a year. I’m very worried about him.

The fit man shifted in his seat.

Ursula cleared her throat and then stood, making her way to the sofa.

Both Ursula and the fit man rubbed Anton’s back.

“Perhaps I knocked you over too hard,” Ursula said.

“Do you require medical assistance?” The fit man asked.

“Medical assistance? No. Why would I need medical assistance?” Anton felt them moving closer. He squeezed his knees together so his legs wouldn’t rub against theirs.

“You did bleed,” Ursula aid.

“You bled heavily, Anton. If mom were here, she’d take you to the emergency room, no questions asked.”

“You’re right if my mom was here, she would have checked me into a hospital a long time ago.”

“Oh God,” Ursula removed her hand from Anton’s back and placed it over her mouth.

“Anton, Mom did check you into a hospital a long time ago. A mental hospital. St. Ives.”

“St. Ives.” Anton frowned. “That’s a prison not a hospital.”

“Right. Hold on one second.” The fit man stood and then motioned for Ursula to join him in a far corner of the room. There he whispered, “I’m getting a weird feeling about this one.”

“Yea. Same here,” Ursula said, flashing a quick grin at Anton.

“You think this one is dangerous?”

“I wouldn’t say dangerous,” she studied Anton who was hunched over on his knees staring at Yuri’s bedroom door. “More clingy.”

“Like he’d never leave?”

“Yea,” Ursula gagged. “Yuck!”

“Yuck indeed. Tell you what,” the fit man said. “How about I take him around the block to find his ‘brother’ and then later, you and I can have a ton of fun?”

“Please hurry up, then,” she moved in for a kiss. It was too quick. She wanted more. As he moved to attend to Anton, Ursula grabbed the fit man’s shoulders and whispered in his ears,”I love you, Yuri.”