Tales Unleashed, 28 very unique short stories....

 

Published in a pocket sized book you can put in your purse or back pocket,  

Tales Unleashed is a book you can 'sample' read right now at Amazon....

go, take a look, read a few stories for free...you'll get the idea of what the 

book is all about.

Top reviews from the United States

Posey picker 48

5.0 out of 5 stars Cute stories

Reviewed in the United States on May 7, 2019

Verified Purchase

Very well told with a bit of "Alfred Hitchcock" type stories with humor. Highly recommend this for fun, light reading.

Helpful

Report abuse

Good cooking

5.0 out of 5 stars Appropriate spooky stories for any age

Reviewed in the United States on July 9, 2019

Had to get this book for my daughter after reading a copy I got from a friend. It is rare to get “spooky stories” that are appropriate for any age group. Great short stories for reading around the campfire! (Does anyone do that any more?). A good read that makes you look over your shoulder at twilight time!

It's family.....from one generation to the next.

 

This story was posted here a few months ago......I don't have anything Christmas related,

but this truly is a 'feel good' story...and is about family....and the holidays are about

family indeed.  So indulge me here.....and follow Mary Pritchard in her quest for a 

retirement home. 

   Is it possible to be 'drawn' to a certain place? Can your 'sixth sense' take

over and actually lead you to a place where you are supposed to be?

It does seem so.  Mary Pritchard found that out upon her retirement...drawn to

a place, and actually to a time that she had experienced before. Mary did find

that perfect retirement home....in Morgantown. It's chapter 4, 'The Mason's mark'

one of 28 stories to be found in Tales Unleashed.  

The Mason’s Mark

Mary Pritchard had always wanted to live in a nice quiet home, one with a front yard, perhaps a porch, maybe even a large dining room. But as a youngster in the 1950's, she had little choice about where she would be. Her mother had passed when she was a very young girl.

Mary possessed the one and only doll that her mother had gifted her on her fourth birthday. Soon after that, with her mother’s passing, she would have to go live with her Aunt Trudy, her only known relative. Mary’s father Miles had also passed away very tragically while on a job near their home in Morgantown. Miles was a master mason . . . a bricklayer, if you will. His work was beyond compare and Miles had helped build dozens of homes that were the envy of all who viewed them.

As Mary neared her retirement age, the call of returning to Morgantown kept coming to mind. And so, a year before retiring, Mary contacted a number of real estate agents in the Morgantown area to arrange to look at some homes there. By email, Mary finally had two or three very nice homes to look at . . . and her excitement grew as she marked two walk-throughs on her calendar, scheduled on the same weekend.

Meeting the local agent at a small friendly coffee spot in Morgantown, Mary looked at the information about the two homes that the agent had laid out in front of her. Both were well-kept homes, in nice neighborhoods, and each offered the right accommodations for someone soon to retire. But there was something about 151 Spruce Street that drew Mary’s attention more than the other property. The front yard was small and easily maintained, a nicely decorated porch graced the front, and the home was entirely made of brick. It weathered well over the years and had been maintained beautifully by its previous owners.

That same afternoon the real estate gal drove Mary to 151 Spruce. My, it was a lovely home, and even had a picket fence!

“The price is a bit high,” Mary exclaimed to the agent as they made their way up the front walk. “Do you think they might come down a bit?” The agent assured her she would see what could be done if Mary decided she wanted to buy. The agent gave Mary the quick tour . . . guiding her along the way from room to room and pointing out the amenities as they went.

“I must show the basement,” said the agent. “It has a new furnace, new water heater, cement floor, and it’s completely dry!”

As the two descended the ten short steps down, Mary felt a warm sensation, as if someone was welcoming her to this place. Yet she had never been in this house before. She was sure of that.

As the two gals chatted back and forth, Mary made her way to the straight and square red chimney on the west side of the basement. Old it was, but showed no signs of wear or deterioration. Two bricks up from the basement floor, Mary spotted an irregularity on one brick’s surface. Squatting down and brushing the dust from the brick she read, MJP, 9-’50. As she touched the brick a second time, a wave of exhilaration came over her. She knew then and there that her father Miles James Pritchard had helped build this house, presumably in September of 1950.

She stood up, turned with tears in her eyes, and said, “I’m home, I’ll have a check in full for you tomorrow.”

After more than fifty years, Mary had come home to Morgantown . . . not just a home, but a home that her father had helped to build for her. A better retirement gift, no one could ever have asked for.

"Undertakings" now in it's sixth year.....

 

Wow....how the months fly by.  Hope your Thanksgiving was a good one...

even in this strange time we continute to live in. Hopefully sometime in 2022,

we'll all have an end in site from this Covid thing....it has been long and tedious

for everyone.  And before you know it.....that time will come for those new

year's resolutions...you know... those things you say you are going to try and

accomplish, but can't quite get past the starting gate....lol...well, that's me in a

nutshell!

January will mark year 6 for Undertakings of an Undertaker... and I'm amazed 

how well the book continues to do....especially overseas in the UK. For some

reason, folks there keep buying the book, month after month after month. 

And it's practically with no advertising on that side of the globe....just word of

mouth and the internet.....simply amazing.  And a shout out here to my undertaker

friend Peter in Bristol, England, he has been a loyal supporter and follower. 

Well, some interesting projects in the works for 2022...and I'm hoping I can get

back to some speaking engagements....the last 20 months or so have been pretty 

lean....let's hope that can be turned around... I miss getting out in front of people

and telling stories.  Stop back soon... and check out some of the writings you'll

find in the column on the right of this posting....and don't be too scared... just 

leave a light on!  SS 

What did Julie van Buren experience that day?

 

It's story number 24, page 91 from 

Tales Unleashed.

A Skate on Strange Ice

At age nine, Julie van Buren loved playing in the shallow McHenry Creek, just behind her house in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. She would sit on the bank of the creek with her mother and toss stones into the water; on occasion they would launch a paper boat, set it in the water and watch intently it as it slowly made its way southward. 

Winter time was just as much fun. Her mom would let her skate unattended on the very shallow creek which had a few pools of water less than ten feet across and less than nine inches in depth. It was a safe and gleeful place that had entertained many families over the years. 

Today was a beautiful sunny day in February of 1954. Julie laced up her skates and shoved off from the bank onto the frozen surface of McHenry Creek, its ice lightly covered with fresh snow from the night before. Julie’s smile was ear to ear as she pushed herself around the frozen pool. The scarf wrapped around her neck barely kept the cold air from creeping under her collar. As Julie completed her fourth or fifth trip around the ice, she dropped a glove and quickly turned to retrieve it. She didn’t know why she even had the gloves with her today—it was cold, but the sun was warm, and they were tucked in her coat and out of the way. Julie arrived at the spot where the glove laid, and as she reached down to pick it up, something beneath the ice caught her attention.

She sat down, moved the glove, and brushed away the light snow with her left hand. As she peered down through the ice Julie was startled to see a young girl’s face just below the surface. It was a young face, perhaps about her same age: rounded, highlighted by chin-length blond hair with curls on the forehead. The eyes were closed, and Julie thought it resembled a Halloween mask. The face was pale with no color and no movement whatsoever.

Julie was startled and tried to get up quickly, but lost her balance and fell back to the ice. She struggled to get away from the face that she had just seen. She made her way quickly to the back door and went to the kitchen to report to her mom of her ghostly encounter. Her mother assured her that it was just her imagination, but she persisted and the two returned to the creek and the spot that Julie had told her about. They found nothing.

The next few days passed with little being said about the incident by Julie or her mother. On the fifth day, her mother’s curiosity had gotten the best of her, and while Julie was at school, she went to the local library to do some research.

Finding some Lancaster history books she started thumbing through the pages of gathered materials looking for anything out of the ordinary. One story in particular jumped off the page at her. The headline from 1928 read: Lancaster girl Ruth O’Brien still missing.

Reading on she discovered that the young gal had disappeared in February of that year while playing in light snow. A total search of the area, including local waterways, had shed no clue. Along with the article was a pencil sketch of what Ruth looked like at the time of her going missing. Julie’s mother copied the article and the sketch and took it home, it was something she wanted to study further as time allowed her. 

Three days later young Julie discovered the article and the pencil drawing at her mother’s desk. Picking up the picture and going to the kitchen, Julie said to her mother, “Mom, where did you get this drawing? This is the girl that I saw in the creek last week. Remember me telling you?”

“I’m sure it’s just coincidence, honey,” said her mother. “That little girl lived here a long time ago.”

Julie’s mom decided to call the sheriff the next day, just to report what Julie had seen. The sheriff, getting on in years, chuckled and said, “There have been numerous other sightings over the years of young Ruth, but nothing has ever come of them.”

And so, Julie’s sighting in McHenry Creek would be the latest to be lodged with the local authorities.  

 The girl Ruth, who had vanished almost three decades ago during the month of February, had just made another brief stop near Lancaster.   

Staying in touch...

I like getting feedback from those that check into my blog from

time to time. You'll find some pretty good stories I think on these

pages...and multiple stories listed here on the right of your screen...

many are from both books....all stories have been published in some

shape, manner or form. 

Drop a note anytime.....I will respond in kind if you leave an

email wher I can reach you...

    reach me at:   undertakings@inbox.com 

 I kept it simple.... much like me I guess.... lol...

Halloween... almost here....a few good stories below on the

subject....don't be too scared....it's only make believe. SS 

Jimmy's nighttime visitor.....

 

It's October.....a time of year that is majical indeed...when shadows become

longer and the daylight slips by into darkness quickly. 

Take note here..anything can happen during this time of year....and young 

James discovered such shortly after retiring for the night. 

Jimmy’s Nighttime Visitor

Jimmy’s family farm was just outside of Harrisburg, and Fall was his most favorite time of year. The crisp air, the bright blue skies, and the changing leaves on the sugar maples made October magical. The house and two accompanying barns sat in the middle of about one hundred acres that was the small family farm. His dad now worked away daily and dabbled in some livestock, keeping his hand in the business but not depending on it as a living anymore. 

Surrounding the well-weathered barns was about fifty acres of corn that his dad had planted and would later harvest to help feed the young cattle through the winter. Adjacent to that, Jimmy and his mom had a beautifully-tended garden which kept them canning and freezing the abundant harvest at each summer’s end. Smack dab in the middle of the garden was the scarecrow he helped his father put  together so many months ago. Hoisted up and attached to a cross eight feet high, the figure truly was a masterpiece. 

His dad had stuffed an old work shirt and pair of jeans with golden straw, covered the figure with an old choir robe that his mom had brought home from church. On the scarecrow’s head sat an old black work hat. The scarecrow was most scary at sunset, with the sun actually setting behind the figure which stood so bravely looking over the garden and repelling any bird that would come within its shadow.

It was late afternoon and Jimmy was in the garden, picking beans and squash, smiling as he made his way on hands and knees, not wanting to miss a vegetable which was ready for his willing hands. As Jimmy worked his way down the last row for the day, he found himself in the long shadow of the scarecrow. He stopped, looked up and examined the figure that towered over him. Something, he thought, had changed. He hadn’t remembered the left arm being bent and pointing downward. He was sure his father had secured both arms straight out. Jimmy studied the figure. Its darkness had the ability to give you slight chills if you looked at it too long. A light breeze came in as Jimmy studied the figure, moving the straw fingers of the scarecrow, almost making it look lifelike. He could see why birds and other creatures would feel the need to stay away, as it was quite intimidating for sure. 

That evening just before bed, Jimmy looked out of his upstairs window that overlooked the garden and  sentinel scarecrow. It was almost dark now, and the shadows around the buildings and garden were growing in their length as the night air began to cool.

Jimmy’s eyes focused on the scarecrow, and to his amazement, the left arm was no longer bent and pointing down, but rather was back in its straight out position, matching the one on the right. Funny, thought Jimmy, maybe his dad had seen it late that day and felt a need to re-figure before the upcoming rain could do more damage.

Jimmy read a couple of comic books and turned the light out. Bedtime always came too early. He hadn’t been asleep very long when he became overwhelmed by a dream he couldn’t wake up from. He dreamt the scarecrow was at his window, climbing the flower trellis along the outside of the house which reached almost to his room. He woke in a panic, kicking his covers off, jumping out of his bed and turning on the night light. He noticed the window curtains moving in the slight breeze, a bit of light rain hitting the upper pane. 

His mother had heard him moving about in his room and came to him. She knocked twice before she entered the room.

“Jimmy, are you alright?”

“A bad dream mom, real bad. The garden scarecrow was up the trellis, outside my window.”

His mom made her way to his bed, tucked him in, and said, “You’ve got to stop reading those comics before bedtime young man. They get you all worked up, it was just a dream kiddo. But many times they can seem so real. Go back to sleep.”

She turned off the light, walked over to the room and pulled the window shut. How many times had she told him not to sleep with it open, especially if it was threatening rain?  As she turned from the window to leave the room, her bare foot stepped on something that felt foreign on the worn carpet. She reached down and picked up what felt like wet grass. There were several pieces in a clump, and she  continued out of the room to the light of the hallway. 

Opening her hand she discovered eight or ten pieces of bright yellow straw, which were dripping with an abundance of rain water.  She disposed of the straw in the waste basket and headed back to her room, thinking as she went that she should have gone to his room earlier to secure the window.

Her mind recalled the words she had spoken just minutes before: “Many times they can seem so real.” Did Jimmy have a near-visitor that night? Perhaps. It’s a definite reminder to always check your window before retiring . . . just in case.

The Pumpkin weeps........

 

from Tales Unleashed.....'tis the season for; 

The Pumpkin Weeps

“Slow down, Jimmy! Carving a pumpkin takes patience, a keen eye, and most importantly, a steady hand.”

Chad Osborn was sitting next to his son Jimmy as the eight year-old boy inserted the knife into the outer skin of the pumpkin they had just purchased a half mile down the road. The knife was not a sharp one—which was probably part of the problem—and Jimmy tried in vain to accomplish a deep cut. Chad knew that his wife would not approve of this whole plan, but under strict supervision, Chad thought Jimmy could at least do the task without taking a finger off.

“I want to make a big frown on the face, Dad.”.

“Why a frown?”

“Well,” replied Jimmy, “I can’t be too sure the pumpkin would have a smile on his face after being pulled out of his patch. That was his home, right?”

His dad chuckled. “I guess that’s right, son . . . I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

And so the two continued for the next half hour to make the face that Jimmy had envisioned, Jimmy getting his wish as he put the finishing touch on the pumpkin that made it quite sad-looking indeed.

“Can we put in on the front stoop tonight with a candle inside, dad? I’ll be careful. I promise. And I’ll watch it closely.”

“Okay” his dad said. “We’ll come out at dusk and light it up for a couple of hours before you go to bed.”

And so the plan was in place. Jimmy couldn’t wait to eat his supper, get his homework done, and prepare for the first pumpkin lighting of his young career. Wow, what a night it would be! A couple hours had passed, and Jimmy became increasingly anxious to start the night’s festivities. Jumping on his dad’s lap and knocking the newspaper from Chad’s hands, he asked, “Can we go out front and light it now dad? Can we, can we?”

“Okay son, I’ll go get some matches and we’ll see how that project of yours turned out.” His dad put down his paper, grabbed his son, and they headed out the front door with a shared mission in mind.  

Sitting on either side of the pumpkin, Jimmy and his dad examined the masterpiece they had created earlier in the day. The face wasn’t scary—it looked more sad than angry. Jimmy lifted the stem attached to the top and sat it aside as his dad struck the match and reached down inside to light the small white candle. 

Replacing the top and getting down in front of the pumpkin, Jimmy exclaimed with joy, “Dad, look at it . . . it’s perfect!”

 But Jimmy’s broad smile became a straight line as his face went from joyful to serious.

“What’s wrong, son?” his father asked.

“Dad, look at this.”

Coming around front, his father knelt beside Jimmy and saw what had changed the child’s face.  On either side of the pumpkin, and at the outer corner of each eye, several drops of water dripped down the pumpkin’s cheek. Almost a stream, if you will. “Oh that’s just condensation from inside son. Pumpkins are very wet inside you know.”

“No, dad. This pumpkin is most unhappy that we have ripped it away from its home, and it’s crying. Look at it.” Jimmy started to well up himself, his bottom lip quivering. “We have to take it back tomorrow. It has to go back.”

“Son, nobody’s going to take back a carved pumpkin . . . but we’ll try.” With that, the pair blew out the candle and retired for the evening.

The next day being Saturday, Jimmy and his father placed the pumpkin in the front seat of the station wagon and headed back down the road to the stand from which it came. The old man who operated the stand sat on a rusty old milk can and struck a match to his pipe as the pair approached him.

 “Problem?” inquired the man as Chad and Jimmy placed the carved piece at his feet.

“No, none at all,” replied Chad. “It was nice, but my son wants it returned to where it came from. Can you do that?”

“Well, I’ve never had anyone bring one back before, rather unusual, but guess I could. Can’t give your money back though.”

“Oh no, don’t expect that. Thanks so much, we’ll try and get back next year.”

“Suit yourself,” said the old man as he loaded the pumpkin into a wheelbarrow.

Sitting in the car, Chad and Jimmy reviewed the day that had just passed between them and the pumpkin.

“Do you think that pumpkin felt it when I cut it with the knife dad?”

“I don’t think so Jimmy. Many say that plants can communicate with each other, but I don’t believe that a plant can show any kind of emotion, let alone produce tears. How about an ice cream?”

 As the two drove away, they watched the old man as he moved the wheelbarrow out from behind his stand. Picking the pumpkin up and gently placing it back near another of its kind, the old man walked away with water dripping from his hands. “Boy, I don’t think I’ve ever handled one that wet,” he remarked as he dried his hands with his well-worn handkerchief.

Jimmy’s pumpkin was back home, as Jimmy had requested. Had his pumpkin produced tears after being ripped away from the fertile ground? Had it felt not only the separation, but also the knife that Jimmy had held to produce the frown that now adorned its face? Lots of questions indeed to ponder.

The sun settled two hours later on the old man’s pumpkin patch. Tonight, there would be a new face there, one with a most distinctive frown, and perhaps even a dried tear or two to reflect the moonlight that was yet to arrive.

Zodiac case finally solved?

 

This was a most interesting case in the late 1960's in and around

the San Francisco area....the Zodiac....killing and then sending 

cryptic messages to newspapers ...teasing them to identify who

he was. The New York Post today, published this story,

saying the case has been solved. For more details, to to Google 

and search Zodiac killer identified....

Zodiac Killer identified, linked to sixth murder, cold-case squad claims

By 

Joshua Rhett Miller

 

A cold-case task force claims it has identified the notorious Zodiac Killer, who terrorized Northern California in the late 1960s and taunted authorities with cryptic notes.

Investigators with the Case Breakers told Fox News that the group — led by former FBI agents and retired law enforcement officials — has identified the infamous killer as Gary Francis Poste, who died in 2018.

They also tied the infamous serial killer to a sixth murder in Southern California.

The Zodiac Killer had already been linked to five murders in 1968 and 1969 in the San Francisco area by the FBI.

During his spree, the madman sent a series of letters to local newspapers, in which he coined his nickname and threatened more slayings if they weren’t printed. Some letters included ciphers — with some puzzles still unsolved decades later.

One cipher received by the San Francisco Chronicle in 1969 was finally cracked in December, revealing a message that said he wasn’t scared of being executed if ever caught.

But years of digging led to new forensic evidence in the case, including photos from Poste’s darkroom that show scars on his forehead match scars on the sketch of the Zodiac, the team told Fox News.

The lantern......

 

A simple nightly ritual has an unusual ending....it's story number fifeen 

in Tales Unleashed and can be read below.  

 

 

The Lantern

Jacob Frawley had lived on Baker Road for almost 80 years. His father and grandfather had lived there before him. Their home was a modest two-story framed farm house that looked worse for wear, but it was home to Jacob and his late wife Elizabeth. The house was lonely now, but the reminders of Elizabeth still stood: her picture on the wall, the kitchen kept tidy as she had always requested, and two places set at the table. Jacob kept that setting for himself and Elizabeth in loving memory. It has always been that way and he would not abandon it.

Jacob lived a simple life, doing odd jobs around town, digging a few graves when needed, and tending to his small herd of eight to ten beef cattle. The barn on the property was a good hundred yards from the house, and each morning and night Jacob would light his kerosene lantern and walk at a snail’s pace down the winding road to the barn to feed his animals and check on their condition. They waited for him with great anticipation and patience, knowing that before too long Jacob would be striking the metal feed pan with his scoop, signaling that the feed was there and ready to be enjoyed. Jacob loved taking care of his animals. They had a special bond. He fed and cared for them; they, in turn, rubbed their heads on him to show their appreciation.

This night was like any other night. At twilight, Jacob lit his lantern, put on his well-worn barn coat and headed down the road to tend to his lovely little herd of cattle. But tonight Jacob would not arrive. Within a couple of hours of his not arriving, the cattle started bellowing, calling for their master.

A few hours later, Jacob’s  neighbor Bill who checked on him daily, drove his old pickup to Jacob’s house, jumped out and ran up the porch steps. There was a light on in the house. Bill called for Jacob but heard no response, and Bill assumed that he was still at the barn. It being a pleasant fall evening, Bill decided to walk the hundred yards down to the barn and surprise his friend.

As Bill meandered down the old dirt road, his eyes caught a light halfway down the roadway. As he got closer he recognized it as Jacob’s lantern. Getting close and finally stopping within a few feet of it, he saw the lantern along the roadway, upright, still lit and giving a soft glow to those who approached. A quick search did not yield Jacob’s location. A search of both the house and barn were unsuccessful. Several days of searching by the local sheriff and volunteers were fruitless. There were no signs of Jacob, anywhere. He had simply vanished into the night, leaving nothing behind but his trusty lantern.

For several seasons after, the townspeople whispered about Jacob and his sudden loss from their midst. His information went into the state’s missing persons file and the case remains cold today. Jacob had moved on, but where? Jacob slipped into the shadows that evening. Many in town felt the shadows hid the spirit of his late wife Elizabeth, who begged him to rejoin her.

The barn and the house are gone now. But as a tribute to Jacob and Elizabeth, the lantern was hung on an oak tree just yards from where it was found along the roadway. If you drive or walk along that road today, you’ll see the rusted-out lantern, maybe waiting for its owner to reclaim it and complete his daily ritual of tending to his herd.

That haunting season..........

 

It won't be long....that season of ghosts and goblins and spooky

houses and long dark roads on rainy nights.....will you be ready?

I'll be posting some interesting stories here in the next few weeks...

hope you'll check in often and enjoy this mysterious time of 

year. SS 

Overwhelmed by the response...

 

The responses to my appearance Sunday morning on Coast to Coast AM with

guest host Connie Willis has made me speechless....and if you know me, you

know it would take a lot to make that happen...lol...

In the last 72 hours, including the 3 hours on Coast Sunday morning, I've had

over 1154 hits on this blog, literally from everywhere...even over seas....

the internet has indeed connected us all....for both good and bad it seems.

Thanks to Connie for a great night on Coast...and I'm putting a little plan

together for a couple of future things I am going to 'pitch' to her in the

near future....

in the meantime...stop back here often...I'm generating some new stories

yet to be told....and you'll remember the late, great Karen Carpenter...

I had a huge 'crush' on her way back when...and a pretty cool story I 

will share with you shortly about my 'almost' encounter with her about

3 decades ago... will post it in a few days.

Where ever you are, stay safe, we are not rid of Covid yet...pray for our

resolve....we can't keep going on with this too much longer.

By the way... you can find some great reading, parts of both books in 

the archive; see the right hand side of my page.....lots of stuff to keep

you entertained in those wee hours when you can't sleep!

Back soon... you be too.  SS

 

Thanks to all...

 

Thanks to everyone who listened in and/or participated in my 

appearance on Coast to Coast AM Sat. night/Sun. morning. The 

response to the program was tremendous according to host

Connie Willis.  I don't believe I could do too many of those

1 a.m to 4 a.m slots....tuff on the ole body... lol...

Have a great week coming up....will be posting some new things

here shortly for your reading entertainment...and thanks again 

for the continued support on Undertakings and Tales Unleashed. 

SS

Honoring a last request....

 

Some times in life....you just have to do the right thing, especially when asked

by a complete stranger. And so it was for this young man who purchased

an antique trunk at a road side sale. (This is a copy- writed story, and not 

part of Tales Unleashed.) Enjoy the read....and be aware of that next 

purchase you make along your way. SS 

                                         The Trunk    ©

Daylight was quickly being extinguished as I pushed the car up

the county road that headed home. The sugar maples had dropped

at least half of their leaves…and they quickly gave way to the push

of the tires on the ’56 Ford. Oh that glorious Ford…pure steel and

heavy as a tank…a car you felt secure in…and you knew that it would

get  you home thru almost any set of circumstances.

It was getting late in the day….the sun had just started to descend

behind the trees in the West as I made my way up a county road

that I had not driven in years… it was a little off the beaten path..

but who knows what treasures might be found around the next

corner.

Just yards ahead and to my right an old farm house came into

view, surrounded by broken down pines and a fence that looked

well in need of repair. The mailbox out front leaned dismally to

the left, looking much like the house itself which was crying

for some attention. A small sign tacked onto the mailbox

post simply said, “many items for sale…make an offer”.

I braked the Ford quickly as the car rolled up close to the

driveway…..a cloud of dust engulfing all within a few yards

of my approach.

 

I exited the car and strolled through the tall grass and walked

to a rickety lawn chair that sat in front of a pile of junk…well…

maybe the man’s treasures…you know the old saying.

His head perked up from what appeared to be a quick nap as

I approached and he said to me “Make an offer on anything

you might like…gotta git rid of some of this stuff before they

come and carry me away.” He took a swig from an old canteen

that looked like world war two vintage and re-looped it around

the front of the chair.

“Been collectin’ this stuff way too long now…and much of it

belonged to the Mrs… but she’s been gone now many years ..

so it’s time it’s out of here.”

My eye scanned from left to right, seeing not much of anything

I’d be interested in…but one item pulled me to it. The old

trunk had a bunch of other stuff piled on top of it.. and I

slowly removed the items…revealing what appeared to be a

very old trunk…you know the ones that your grandmother

kept in the attic with family heirlooms in.

I quickly released the trunk from it’s doomed position and

flattened it out on the long grass which really was in need

of mowing.

 

“I’ve got the key that goes to that trunk if you want to make

an offer.”  My eyes quickly scanned the outside of the trunk…

it’s aged and cracked black covering hinted that it was at least

from the 1940’s…maybe before.

“What are you asking for it….just as it is…without me even

looking inside?” The old man sat up on the edge of his chair…

rubbing his bearded chin as if it was going to give him a number.

“Well young fellow….I’ll tell you…you give me $20.00 for it.. and

It’s yours.  Don’t think you’ll find much in it…but I really haven’t

gone thru it stem to stern.”

    “Deal” I blatted out quickly before he could change his mind.

As I lifted the trunk and headed to his position, I could see he

was getting a well worn key off his chain. As he handed it to me

I traded the key for a folded twenty that I had in my right pocket.

“Pleasure doing business with you” I said as I hurriedly headed for

the car…hoping he wouldn’t change his mind on the deal he had made.

    As I drove away from the old house I had a sense that this

trunk was something special, but I had no idea why I would

think that.

   I left the trunk in the car overnight as it was getting late and I

had encountered a long day, not including the stop at the old

man’s place.  The next morning I arose early… I was anxious.

 I placed the trunk on the kitchen table, looking it over very

carefully as I fixed my morning coffee and listened to the over

night news on the radio. There was something odd about this

trunk…it felt familiar, almost friendly….but I thought why should

that be? I’ve never owned trunk before… and had really never

looked at one..even in some of those fancy antique stores that

I’d  been into over the years.

Yet, this trunk seemed inviting. I gave the latch and lock a quick

squirt of 3 in 1 oil and gently eased the old scratched key into place,

turning it ever so gently. Nothing. I exerted a little more force…and

within a couple of moments the latch gave a loud pop…and it sprang

at me…almost like a lion after a fresh piece of meat.

The ‘old smell’ hit me directly in the face as I gently lifted the top

of the trunk to its open position. My eyes glance quickly from right

to left trying to take a review of what was in front of me.

Old pictures to the left, stacked neatly by order of their size …

aged newspapers on the right… yellowed and tattered from being

prisoner in this dark and murky place that had no sunlight.

I removed all the contents gently, placing them on the table

nearby…..a small cloud of dust arose after each pile was

brought out into daylight. Interesting I thought. How long had

these items been in place… and why hadn’t the owner wanted to

take the time to sort them, keeping and throwing as he went.

But, it was not my concern, and I continued to handle the items…

curiously looking at each bundle as they came out.

The last picture at the bottom of the trunk was of a younger man…

looking to be in his twenties, in a military uniform appearing quite

handsome and robust. I removed the photograph with great care…

two of it’s corners were bent and nearly detached. Flipping the picture

over I read the following which had been printed in what appeared

to be pencil…although faded, it’s message was clear as if had been

written yesterday.

‘Dad…I wanted you to have this…it was snapped of me just

last week and I wanted to post it to you before we head to

Pearl Harbor next week. Hope you are well…love you lots…

take care of yourself.’ In an elegant written signature it was

signed ‘your devoted son William Garson. Nov. 27^th, 1941.

I stopped for a moment…..thinking of the dates in my mind.

Had his father sold me the trunk not aware that this photo

was inside? Perhaps. Either way, it had to be returned.

I immediately sat my coffee down, grabbed my keys and

headed for the door, I wanted to return the picture to his

Dad…I’m assuming who was the man who sold it to me.

As I drove up that same dirt road… I glanced over at the

picture which sat in the seat next to me….what a handsome

young man this was, and I was sure his father would like the

picture returned.

A hundred yards out from the old man’s place I saw the blinking

lights of an ambulance parked out front…and immediately

behind it, a Sheriff’s car… it’s flashing lights also illuminating

the shadows of the new day now in progress.

I grabbed the photo and ran to the house just as the ambulance

crew with stretcher in hand made it’s way thru the tall grass.

The old man, pale but somewhat alert seemed to recognize me

as I approached. “Mr. Garson…. Mr. Garson….I’m sorry you

are not doing well today…but I need to ask you about this

photograph.”

He raised a hand to the attendants to halt them in his

removal as I positioned the photo within a foot or so

of his direct eye contact. His demeanor went to immediate

sadness as he recognized the picture displayed before him.

“That’s my son William….he was 20 years old…in the Army,

and was killed the morning they attacked Pearl. His mother

died 3 months later from a broken heart… I had forgotten

all about the picture… placed it in the trunk fifty years

ago…it was too painful to look at. Do me a favor young man?”

I opened my mouth to speak but my throat was so dry, no

words came out…only a nodding of my head in and up and

down movement. “I’ve got a bad ticker so they say…this might

be my last trip out of the house…will you make sure William’s

picture is buried with me?”

Again, I was speechless, and repeated the head nod in the

affirmative. A strong hand grabbed my left arm and the

attendant’s voice cracked with “ we have to go sir…he has

worsened greatly in the last few minutes.”

With that, they loaded the senior Garson in the back of the

ambulance and it sped away. I stood there, numb, looking for

someone I could speak with about his situation. I asked the

deputy that was there if Garson had any family, and he replied that

he did not…he had lived alone many decades since his wife

had passed away.

I took the picture, returned to the house and sat in the

Kitchen, gazing at the old trunk… and the story that it had

brought to me just twenty four hours ago.

For the next day or two I kept tabs on Mr. Garson and his

condition…knowing that if he did not come home..the promise

I had made to him regarding William’s picture would be kept.

I wasn’t family…. I never knew this man……not until yesterday,

but sometimes you just are thrust into a situation that happens

to you, and this was one of those.

I knew that soon I’d be placing that picture with Mr. Garson…

and that he and his son would be together again.

It was a tough week…but it was my destiny, and when called

upon I would complete the task.

A night to remember ......

 

It was August, 1965...a mid summers night and perfect weather for

young Donnie to pick up his girl Elaine and head to the local drive-in 

movie. But this evening would turn into a rather strange one as you 

shall see.  It's story number 6 in Tales Unleashed. Read it and 

experience for yourself.....a night of summer fun could into a most

confusing evening. 

 

A Night to Remember

It was late August 1965, and Donnie was thinking for sure this would be the last hurrah of the summer before Labor Day arrived. After that he was off to his first year at a two-year junior college, just ninety miles to the east. Thinking about going to college put a few butterflies in Donnie. It would be the first time he had really been away from home, except for a summer scout camp years ago.

It had been a fantastic summer, and Donnie and his girl Elaine had spent tons of time together. But as summer’s long days started to wane, and fall approached, Donnie was concerned about how his relationship would survive him going away in just a couple of short weeks. He and Elaine had gone together since 8^th grade, lived four houses away from each other, and were voted the Most Compatible Couple in the school. Donnie knew in his mind that Elaine was worried about losing him to some new college girl who could easily sweep him away from her.

They really never talked about what would happen as he neared college, and he knew that this might be the weekend the discussion would go that route.

But for now, it was time to relax. It was a perfect week, weather-wise, and Donnie decided a long Saturday night at the Starlighter Drive In would be in order. As Donnie finished up his part time job at the filling station, his boss Bill Whipple gave him a wave as he rushed out the door.

“Big night tonight, Donnie?”

Jumping into the ’59 Plymouth his dad had got for him, Donnie yelled back, “Oh yeah boss. Elaine and I are Starlighting tonight. Might be one of our last before off to school in a couple of weeks.”

His boss was a big happy guy, in great spirits all the time and he had been very generous with Donnie in his time and pay. Following Donnie out to his car, he grabbed his arm, turned him around, and said, “Hey, you two have a good night, watch the driving okay? There are a few maniacs out there.” And with that he tucked a ten-dollar bill in Donnie’s soiled work shirt.

Donnie grabbed the bill and said, “Bill, you’re the best, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it kid. Give my best to the little lady . . . going to tuck her into your bag for school in a couple of weeks?” and he started laughing loudly as he headed back into the service station.

Within a couple of hours, Donnie had a quick bite to eat, showered, put on clean clothes, and went out front of the house to check the car briefly. He wiped it down, inside and out, emptied the trash bag, and tucked a new air freshener under his seat.

All was ready.

Within minutes he was in front of Elaine’s house and up the sidewalk knocking on the big oak door. Elaine ran out quickly and yelled back through the doorway, “Don’t wait up . . . I’ll be here before morning.”

That brought a quick reply from her dad who appeared in a tee shirt right behind her saying, “That’s not funny young lady. No later than midnight, okay?”

“That’ll be fine, sir,” returned Donnie as he escorted Elaine down the sidewalk and into the Plymouth.

Donnie and Elaine were off for the night, each in their own mind knowing that a discussion of their relationship might come up before the night was over. But for now, it was time to enjoy the date, the clear sky, the fresh night air . . . all was well.

Donnie guided the Plymouth through the gate after the attendant collected a five-dollar bill for the night’s entertainment. He hated to be parked too close to the screen. Back was better . . . way back . . . and preferably towards the center of it all if he could find the right space. Ah, there it was. He eased the blue and white coupe into the spot, reached for the speaker and barked, “Let the fun begin!” This got a quick laugh from Elaine, who had already slid over to his side of the seat.

The pair watched as the giant screen previewed some of the upcoming attractions that would play before the theatre closed around Halloween. Donnie thought in his mind that maybe he could make it home in late fall and they could do this again before the snow started to fly. Oh boy, he thought, here comes that discussion topic again . . . what about our relationship . . . do we each want to date others? Do we stay true to one another? Too much pressure. For now, it was best to enjoy tonight’s movie, Thunderball . . . a 007 movie that he definitely had wanted to see.

The seat was adjusted back slightly, Donnie pulled up the lap blanket he had in the back seat and the two got snuggled in as the opening credits hit the big screen.

It was to be a long movie, and at about one and a half hours in, it was intermission time. A quick break to go to the restroom, head to the concession stand for popcorn, candy, a soda, maybe a hot dog. The drive in food was always fresh and hot.

“I’ll go get some stuff babe. Keep my spot warm for me.” With that, Donnie was out the door heading about fifty yards to the cinder block concession stand in the rear. It was a great night, and the sky was clear with just a few light clouds. The crowd was good and there were only a few parking spots left that Donnie could see.

After grabbing two hots and two drinks, Donnie headed back towards the Plymouth, thinking more about the possible upcoming discussion than the rest of the movie. We’ll see how it goes, he thought. As he balanced the cardboard container with the hots and the drinks, he looked intently ahead trying to spot the Plymouth’s tail feathers which were quite remarkable, even in the dark.

He didn’t see the electrical cord that was stretched across a driveway and only partially covered. His left foot caught the cord and sent Donnie tumbling to the ground.

As the food and drink hit the road, Donnie’s last recollection was the pavement coming up quickly to his face, his forehead striking firmly and seemingly in slow motion, and then, all went dark for Donnie.

The next thing Donnie remembered was his eyes opening slightly, and seeing a middle-aged woman kneeling over him gently patting his face.

“Are you alright young man? Can you hear me young man?”

Donnie opened his eyes wide, taking in the surroundings. He was circled by about twelve people, many on their knees looking closely at him . . . the others clustered around tightly looking down at him as he laid on the ground.

“That’s a pretty nasty bump on your forehead young man . . . perhaps we should take you to the hospital to get it looked at.”

Donnie reached up with his left hand and felt the large lump on his forehead, feeling about half the size of a golf ball . . . and it hurt big time. His eyes weren’t quite focused as he sat up with the help of an older gentleman positioned behind him. Who were these people? They all looked older, well over fifty . . . there wasn’t a young person among them. And their clothes. Many of the women had blouses with sweaters over them, and others with old looking dresses with big flowers on them. The men were sporting sport jackets, some with shirts and ties on . . . what was going on here? Two fellows helped Donnie to his feet and the crowd around him started to disperse. The bigger mystery was yet to come.

Scanning ahead of him he didn’t recognize anything at all. Where did all these old cars come from? He could see old Hudsons, Pontiacs, Dodges and Oldsmobiles, but they all looked thirty years old . . . or older. On the screen, there was a war movie of some kind playing, with which he wasn’t familiar at all.

“You’re kind of young to be out this evening by yourself young man. Are you with your folks?”

Donnie looked at the man with the question who stood to his right. “Uh, no, just me and my girl Elaine. What’s this movie playing?”

“Opening night here for Back to Bataan. Actually it’s premiere night. That’s why there’s such a big crowd tonight . . . great movie so far.”

“I need to sit down for a moment,” Donnie said, as the man next to him took his arm and assisted him in getting to a nearby bench.

“You okay son? I think you look a little bewildered. That hit on the noggin’ must have been a good one.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need to rest for a bit.” With that Donnie folded his arms and put his head in his lap, trying to comprehend what was going on around him.

He wasn’t sure if five minutes, ten, or twenty passed by. But within a bit Donnie lifted his hand to examine his bruise. It was still there, and would be a fine color of black and purple by morning. As he raised his head and opened his eyes . . . the people in funny clothes and the old cars were all gone. In front of him he could see the parking area as it was just a little bit ago. He got up and headed to find his Plymouth and his gal Elaine. He spotted the car immediately and pulled opened the door, sliding in next to his gal.

“Where’s the food Donnie? Oh my God, what happened to your face? Did you get in a fight or something?”

“No, no,” replied Donnie. “I had some stuff and was on the way back, but fell down and . . . well, I really don’t know what happened after that. But I was gone from here for a while.”

“What do you mean you were gone for a while?”

“Well, I was here at the drive in, but it wasn’t today, it was a night like tonight a long time ago.”

Donnie and Elaine’s last night out of the summer had turned into something that was not of the ordinary.

A couple of days later, Donnie’s quiet demeanor got the attention of his father. Sitting on the front stoop, his father asked him straight out, “Are you okay, son?”

“Yep, fine Dad. Did you ever hear about a movie called Back to Bataan?”

“Why sure, son. It was huge, a big war movie, think John Wayne was in it . . . believe it was made back in the mid 1940’s.”

It was a lot for Donnie to contemplate. He knew the bump on his head was real. He also knew the people who attended to him in those old funny-looking clothes were real. And the movie on the screen? Yeah, it was real too.

He’d rent that movie on his first break from college. After all, he had previewed it, all on a summer’s night at the Starlighter.