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.

Mishap on the Pennsy....

 

Welcome back to all my regulars...and a big hello for new readers

that may be joining for the first or second time. Hope you are all

getting some what back to some normalcy after this terrific year 

and a half we've experienced.  

This next tale was inspired by a friend I knew in the newspaper

business many years ago. The story is fictional, but if you are a

believer in luck, or bad luck, well, think this one will fit the bill.

It is not part of Tales Unleashed....this was a story published about

a year ago. 

‘Mishap on the Pennsy’     

 

     John Summer hadn’t traveled much by himself….living at 
home for the past fifteen years offered him little time to be
 adventurous.  His daily routine at the local newspaper office 
as a reporter kept him going to regular evening stops to gather, 
write and edit his stories for the next days’ 8:00 a.m. deadline.

   As John stood in the train station with his mother Martha…
he was most anxious….as much for her as for himself.

“Mom…do you really think this is a good idea? Traveling 
down to Scranton to see your sister Marge?”

“Oh I’ll be fine” she replied. “She’s not well you know…
and if I don’t make the trip today, well, every time the phone
 rings I worry about what news might be on the other end.”
 She continued with,  “You’re such a worry wart, I’ll be fine.”

     It was early in the day, just after eight, but Martha was always

the first to arrive for almost any event. “Mom…your train doesn’t

leave for another hour plus, let’s sit, get some coffee and relax

a bit.”  Martha closed her purse, shifted her hat slightly to the left

and responded, “Well, alright I guess…they wouldn’t dare leave

without me you know…my ticket number is 417 1313..and you know

that 13 is my lucky number!”

Giving a big chuckle John gently led her by the arm to the

coffee station, not far from her departing gate. For a woman

well into her seventies, Martha had kept her appearance up nicely

since her husband had passed many years ago.

As John and Martha enjoyed their morning coffee….John couldn’t

help but feeling very uncomfortable. “Mom…could you wait until

the weekend and then I could go down with you? I hate having you

on a train for two hours, alone, not knowing anyone.”

“Will you stop?” she said abruptly. “You’d think I was an

under-age child…or an invalid….I’ll be perfectly fine…and I won’t

talk to any strangers…unless of course they might be very

attractive older gentlemen and not wearing wedding rings.”

“Mother!” John quickly returned with, “What would dad say

if he heard you exclaim that?”

“He’d probably say go for it” which was accompanied by a

brisk and loud laugh that brought looks from two others

sitting close by.

As the pair enjoyed their morning coffee together, Johns’

feelings of uneasiness continued to nag him. He wrestled

with the newspaper in front of him, skimming quickly

through the sports section..and as always checking the

daily horoscopes.

Before reading his own for the day, he glanced at his

mothers’, she was a Gemini. John really didn’t believe in

all the mumbo-jumbo of astrology, but it was daily

entertainment…..just entertainment. Her horoscope

reading for this day said, ‘invest in oil today.’

John grinned and shook his head from left to right.

“What is it son?” his mother asked. “Oh nothing mom,

some things they put in papers every day to amuse you..

most of it is just a waste of ink.”

The time for Martha’s departure had arrived, and John walked

her to the gate, handed her the simple overnight bag

she had prepared. As he embraced her closely he said,

“Now give my best to Marge..and if you need anything..

just pick up the phone and call…you have the paper number

too right?”

“Love you son…talk to you in a few days” and with that

Martha took the three short steps up and into the railroad

coach.

 John returned to the office settling into the daily routine

 of the paper, making contacts on the phone for upcoming

stories he would be researching and writing. With almost

 fifteen years in, it just didn’t seem possible, but time has

a way of walking right by you.

It was well into the early afternoon when his boss walked into

his office and uttered, “John, you want to scoot down to the

Pennsy yard? Seems like there’s been an accident on the

southbound this morning heading into Pa….and there have been

fatalities.”

John’s quick deep breath and sudden jerk knocked over the

 stale coffee that sat near his note pad. Grabbing his hat

and jacket from the rack, John made a quick trip to the station

where just hours before had been his mothers’ departure point.

Several other members of the press, and some radio reporters

were all on hand… and had been shuffled into a meeting room

just twenty feet away from the main ticket windows.

As he and the others around him took seats, an elderly man

in his late seventies, looking very official, walked in and motioned

for everyone to be seated.

The silence in the room was deafening. The fifteen reporters,

photographers, broadcasters all straightened themselves with

bent ears for the news.

“At 1:13 p.m. this afternoon, the Pennsy train bound for Scranton

was T-boned by a Sinclair oil refinery truck which failed to

stop at a crossing near Groves Creek. I’m sorry to report that

there were thirteen casualties. We expect to have notification

to those families by nightfall. We’ll have more details to you

about the accident by ten p.m. tonight.”

And with that, the man at the podium adjusted his tie, did a

one eighty and left the room before any questions could be

brought.

John climbed into his station wagon and headed for the

newspaper offer…it was only a fifteen minute drive. His

boss, meeting him at the door started questioning him about

what he had discovered at the station.

John dropped his note book on his desk, looking up at his

boss and exclaiming, “I have to go home now…my mother…she

was on that Pennsy train today…and I know.. I know she

didn’t survive.”

Before his boss could reply with any comment at all, John

had left the building, heading home to receive the call that

he knew was coming.

His uneasiness that morning…her ticket number 1313…her

lucky number as she had reminded him. Then there was the

horoscope reading for her, ‘invest in oil today’… and the

accident itself at 1:13 p.m. Thirteen casualties.

Upon arriving at home, John hung up his jacket and put his

hat on the counter. Should he nap he thought? Maybe all

of this dizziness of the last few hours would just go away.

No, he wasn’t tired, he was just numb and limp. He knew the

 phone call would be coming before too long.

John knew that this was one story that he would not be

able to write for the paper.

John sat in his over-stuffed chair, put his feet up and flipped

on the television. He could see that there was a Yankees game

in progress and he turned up the volume as the announcer

said, “Can you believe it folks? We’re actually heading into

inning 13 here!”

John settled into his over- stuffed easy chair and waited.

The old AT&T rotary dial telephone was next to him…John

knew it would be ringing soon…bringing him the grim news

about today’s mishap on the Pennsy. 

Undertakings on a new high in the UK...

Amazing.  The world wide web is just that, amazing...

I just learned on my author page of my publisher Book Stand

Publishing that Undertakings sold a whopping 20 copies of 

the book at Amazaon.UK in June. Go figure....no speaking

engagments there...no advertising there...just word of mouth

I'm assuming. Naturally the publisher and I are both thrilled

with those numbers. Perhaps, in a few years, if I'm still on 

the planet...a follow up of the book might be in the offing...

we shall see.

For now...it's finish up the western novel I  started two years

ago...and I have a lot to go before 'putting it to bed' as they say.

Thanks for all your support, where ever you are reading this...it has

meant a lot to me knowing you've supported my work.. and I

hope that all of us may get back to 'semi-normalcy' before

the years end. Take care and thanks for checking in. SS

A Walk in Fog and Time...

 

Settle in and enjoy story #3 from Tales Unleashed.....

A Walk in Fog and Time

Is it possible to move through time? Is it possible that certain events are destined to repeat themselves, never coming to completion? Yes, yes indeed, it is possible. The story below is one of those events. Possibly a tragic event that would not allow the participants ever to have rest . . . read on, then decide for yourself.

The twilight was settling in quickly now. As I peered out the kitchen window, the impending darkness was bringing with it a thick fog bank, a result of the late afternoon rain and cooler temperature. The trees on the hillside beckoned me to take a walk among them, so I grabbed a light jacket and headed out the back door, paying little attention to the wet grass that clung to my scuffed-up oxfords. I’d been up and down these hills behind the house so many times, it seemed that I knew every tree, ditch, rock, and gulley that made it so friendly. As I made my way up the hill through the oaks and maples, their leaves rustled gently as the fog continued its downward spiral. I sat to catch my breath, feeling a bit faint from my fast ascent. No hurry, I thought. Sit and absorb the moment.

Sitting on a stump I knew so well, I watched the fog gain intensity . . . rolling down the hillside and enveloping me with a force I could actually feel through my thin summer jacket. I pulled up the collar around my exposed neck as the fog tried to invade my naked skin, giving me a chill that was unusual for this time of the year.

I listened intensely thinking that I was hearing a voice from further up into the woods, but I couldn’t imagine anyone else being out here at twilight. Zipping up my jacket to the top, I again headed up the hill, stopping every fifty yards or so to give listen.

Still, a faint voice, muffled by the fog, was descending to my ear . . . a man’s voice, soft-spoken, but authoritarian to some degree. I continued on and within a few moments I had crested the hill enough to look down into a bowl in the terrain. The man’s voice was slow and deliberate. The words spoken, I could not make out, but it was clear he was speaking to someone or a group. I moved between the large oaks, trying to hide behind trunks as I moved closer to make my discovery. And there before me, maybe a hundred yards ahead in the fog, were four figures cloaked in long grey capes with very large sleeves, almost choir robes. They all wore hats. The three shorter figures I presumed to be women, had bonnets tied at the chin, and the taller figure wore a wide brimmed, pitch black hat. He had in his left hand a seven-foot staff which towered above all four of the figures. Who were these people?

I moved closer . . . trying to look through the now very thick fog which was cloaking my view. Within another thirty yards or so my position had changed and my neck strained as I peered around the tree which hid me. On the ground in the middle of the group was a wood box, looking to be three feet long—perhaps a storage box for valuables, or a child’s casket.

All of a sudden the taller figure looked my way, sensing that he was being watched. I froze, hoping his eyes would not pierce the thick fog veil which surrounded me. He looked down at the book he had in hand and continued his speech to the group.

I’d had enough. My flight sense told me it was time to move away.

Slowly I backed away from the solemn scene, retreating back down the hill, my mind quickly trying to understand what I had just witnessed. The forecast was for clearing weather overnight, and tomorrow I would return to the bowl to see what I could find. In the meantime, I went to my encyclopedia and started to scan through examples of period clothing worn through the ages. When I got to the page of Quaker clothing my jaw dropped. Yes, this was the type of clothes these figures had on, right down to the length, cut and color. Now I had to know more.

The next day, the weather had cleared and I made my way to my local historian’s office. She was a gal just shy of being a hundred and she would know about my house, my town, and my hill. Sure enough, upon inquiry, she told me that Quakers indeed were some of the first settlers here. She asked me why I wanted to know, but I was not ready to relate to her my story of what I had seen.

Later that morning I retraced my steps to the bowl. The birds were singing. One lone turkey scratched for food as I entered the oaks that led to the bowl. I located the spot at which I thought I had seen the figures hovering over the small wooden box. The immediate ten feet of ground there was completely bare. There were no leaves, no twigs, no grass . . . just rich black earth. I had seen many times before spots in the woods that would be scratched by turkeys as they sought their daily feed, but this spot was beyond that. Not wanting to leave the ground looking so bare, I gathered a handful of leaves and twigs and covered the spot, trying to blend it in with all that was around it. The spot felt very lonely and strange, even with the mid morning sun now finding its way onto the site. I left the bowl and found that tree stump I had sat on the night before in the fog.

What had I seen last night? In the fog, a group of four in the forest standing around a small wood box. I had to think I had somehow been lost in time, or perhaps they had been lost in time. My conclusion was that I had witnessed a Quaker burial, but how could that be? It made no sense at all to me.

Now I’ll have to give serious consideration about going back to that same spot again. I won’t give up on the hill, it’s a fantastic place . . . but I know I will not return there in the twilight, and definitely not in the fog.

Stories to entertain you.....

 

A Walk in Fog and Time....a young man strolling thru the woods near

his home comes upon a very odd ritual...

A brief stop at Level Two....a young woman in a car accident suddenly

finds herself.......briefly in another place. 

A Skate on Strange Ice...a girl ice skating sees a mysterious face 

under the ice which she is skating on.

Lost at the Drive In....a young couple head for the drive-in but aren't

found until 16 years later.

Reflection at the Ardmour...a cleaning lady has a reflection in a mirror

at work follow her home...with dire consequences.

The Mason's Mark...a woman is drawn to buy a house that indeed had

very special signifigance.

A Rose in the Cemetery...a man doing photography has an encounter

with a young lady on a snowy day.

These are just some of the 28 enchanting short stories you will find

in Tales Unleased (Book Stand Publishing). You can see and open the

book at either Amazon or Barnes and Noble and read the first two

stories free!....now that is enchanting itself. 

Thanks for stopping in....drop a  note anytime at undertakings@inbox.com 

would love to hear from you. SS

It's just a number.......

 Do you believe in a lucky, or perhaps and unlucky number? Joshua Cobb's number was

3.  But  why a 3? Most of us are born with a number attached to us in some manner.

The story below is number 10, in Tales Unleashed.

The Haunted Belfry

The church near Berkley Creek, Pennsylvania has been closed many years ago. It’s pastor who had been loved by all, had been dismissed by the elders after engaging in an affair with a woman on the church’s finance committee.

And so it was that the church sat idle, entangled by the yearly growth of weeds and invasive vines which choked at it’s very shingles, decade after decade. The glorious Sunday morning worships which echoed the organ and choir sounds down the hollow were now silenced, replaced by the calls of wayward crows looking to roost. An occasional passerby walking on the dirt road out front would stop, give pause and try to imagine the building when it was king of the hill. It was now indeed a lonely place. The building had witnessed the baptisms, marriages and funerals of hundreds of it’s followers…..but now only silence, except for the occasional thrice ringing of the church bell. It was not a regular alarm in the tower….it only happened about three times a year, and it was usually on the third of the month, and it was always at 3:00 a.m., when all men and beasts within it’s range were nestled into their beds.

A bit unsettling to say the least, especially for neighbors who lived within the half mile separated only by the tall pines and sugar maples which buffeted the sound.

It had been rumored for years that the church was haunted…haunted by it’s organist Joshua P. Cobb, an elderly man in his 70’s who had played and maintained the pump organ for over sixty years. Joshua had met an untimely death in the church while practicing for a recital late in the fall of 1940. The custodian who discovered Joshua was stunned to find him face down, heading down the set of steps which numbered twelve. But Joshua had only made it part way down, his foot breaking thru the old board on step number three, his foot still lodged there… his body dangling down the remaining steps causing his demise.

The number three was Joshua’s number indeed.

Church records showed that he had been born on March 3^rd, 1873, and was one of three children.

So when that bell tolls three times at that ghastly hour, people think little of it….. they know that Joshua is still there, kind of a perpetual caretaker. But on that 3:00 a.m. ringing, people have a tendency to pull the covers up a little tighter and hope for early daylight.

Start your story......

 

You've thought about writing that story for some time now...but there

was always something else to take up that time....or perhaps you just

didn't know where to start. Both are possible explanations for not 

getting at it.....but maybe 2021 is the year you get it done....or at least

started.

So where do you start? One of the best places is to just sit down with

pen and paper, or at the keyboard and begin outlining the story you

want to tell.  

A good story, whether it's true or fiction will have a beginning, the

story, and the end. Some of the great writers will let you make up

the ending yourself....making for a real let down if you are looking for

that 'hook' that ends the read. 

Start your outline....put it down for a few days and go back to it.

You can change or re-organize the outline as you write....as new

ideas come to you...you'll incorporate those into your story...so 

the outline is not set in stone. 

So, with that in mind.....why not start your story.....it is a relaxing

way to spend some time....and down the road...who knows....

share with friends....publish on- paper or on line.... so so many

possibilties. Have fun with it, and stay safe.