by Mark Nutter
Cover art by Michael Johnson
Copyright 2019 Mark Nutter
Print ISBN: 978-1-5439-880-6
eBook ISBN: 978-1-54398-809-3
For Charlotte, Cynthia & Chris,
and Drew & Christine.
Contents
Sunset Cruise On The River Styx
Survive Or Don’t!
The Final Interview: Only One Qualification
Moving Day, Moving Day, Moving Day
New York Has Everything
Postmortem For A Boston Tea Party Party
The Final Interview: A Bold Experiment
Kidnapping Is Not For Everybody
Let’s Be Felonious Out There
Eight Minutes To Kill
Usually Found In Pairs
The Final Interview: The Final Interview
Par Amour D’un Tree
The Three Musketeers Vs. The Extraterrestrial Menace
My Dead Muses
A Boy, A Girl, Or Something Else Terrifying
Fenestrum Anterium
The Inconvenience Of The Undersea City
Mr. Swill And Mr. Muck Who Are Not Murderers
One Last Thing Before I Save The World
The Baby Shredder Song
About the Author
Sunset Cruise On The River Styx
My wife and I stood on the bank of the River Styx. The water was dark, the fog cold and clammy. I was dead and disoriented, not at my best.
“I can’t see anything. It’s too foggy. Why is it so foggy?” said my wife who was also dead.
“I don’t know, dear. This is all new to me.”
“I’m cold.”
“I’m cold too.”
“Let’s go back to the car and turn on the heater.”
I bit my lip. Wasn’t death supposed to be a release from worldly cares? Why, even in death, did I still have to patiently explain things to this woman?
“We can’t go back to the car, Donna.”
“Why not? Did you forget where you parked it? Like you always do?”
I bit more of my lip, tightened my sphincter, and continued.
“We were in an accident. The car was totaled. We were killed. Now we’re waiting on the bank of the River Styx for the ferryman Charon who will take us across to the Underworld. Understand, dear?”
“Of course I understand. You don’t have to use that tone.”
In the silence that followed, I considered untightening my sphincter, then thought that might be premature. I was correct.
“This is all your fault, Ray.”
“No. No, it isn’t.”
“If you’d only listened to me — ”
“If I’d only not listened to you!” That came out louder than I intended.
“So that’s what this is about,” said Donna in a hurt voice. “I only made suggestions because you were paying more attention to the GPS lady than you were to me.”
“Well, yes, because she’s the GPS lady.”
“They’re not always right, you know. Plus she sounded slutty.”
“She’s a mechanical voice.”
“But why does she have to sound slutty?”
“Your directions were louder. I couldn’t help but listen to you. I got rattled. I made a sharp right turn and we plummeted over the cliff.”
A three second pause.
“You don’t love me anymore,” said Donna.
“Let me be dead in peace — listen!”
We could hear water splashing against a boat.
“Is that a boat —?” began Donna.
“Yes, it’s a boat! Of course it’s a boat!”
“Why are you so grumpy, Mr. Grumpy?”
The boat emerged from the fog. An unkempt bearded figure, clad only in a loin cloth, used a long pole to push his boat up to the bank.
“I am Charon the Ferryman,” he rasped.
“Donna Steinke. This is my husband Ray. Aren’t you cold?”
Charon let this remark pass. He pointed to us, then pointed to his boat.
“Come,” he said.
“If I were you I’d be cold.”
“I’m used to it.”
“I’m cold just looking at you.”
“Really I’m fine.”
“Don’t you have a jacket or something?”
“Just get into the boat.”
He helped us in.
“Where is the coin for the ferryman?” he said.
“What?!” snapped Donna.
“Please lower your voice,” said Charon.
“What was that about a coin?”
“Donna,” I said, “it’s an ancient Greek tradition. You pay Charon to ferry you across the river and into the Underworld.”
“You’re kidding. We have to pay to go to Hell?”
“It’s not Hell —” began Charon.
“Why should we have to pay? Why is that even a thing?”
Charon stared at me. I fished in my pocket for a quarter.
“Jeez, Ray, that’s too much,” said Donna.
I found a dime and passed it to him. He gave me a dirty look.
Donna countered with her own dirty look. “You should consider yourself lucky to get anything, Mr. Row Row Row Your Boat.”
We bounced around as Charon poled the boat through the water.
“These seats are too hard,” said Donna. “Don’t you have cushions?”
“No, I don’t have cushions.”
“Does your pole really reach the bottom?”
“Yes, it really reaches the bottom.”
“How long does the trip take?” continued Donna.
“It takes as long as it takes.”
“That’s not an answer,” she said.
“A couple hours, maybe.”
“That seems like a long time.”
“Donna, please,” I said. “Let the ferryman do his job.”
Donna ignored me. “Why don’t you use oars? You could go faster with oars instead of with that skinny pole.”
Charon turned to her, exasperated.
“I like my pole. Please be quiet.”
Donna was quiet for fifteen seconds.
“We’re going the wrong way,” she said.
“I know where I’m going,” said Charon.
“That’s exactly what I told her in the car,” I said to him.
“We’re supposed to cross the river, right?” said Donna. “But all we’re doing is traveling along the bank.”
Charon made a strained face that indicated a tightened sphincter.
“I’m aware we’re traveling along the bank,” he began.
“Then why don’t you —?”
“There are other dead souls to pick up.”
Donna looked around the boat and sniffed. “There isn’t enough room.”
“Mm,” said Charon, poling along grimly.
“You should have told us this is a local and not an express.”
“Mm.”
“Why don’t you drop us off first, then come back for the others?”
Charon threw a tantrum. He pulled his pole up and down in the river, making repeated sucking sounds.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” he said, doing a little dance until his loin cloth fell off.
“Oh please,” said Donna.
Charon quickly covered himself up and resumed poling.
Ahead on the bank we saw a young woman. Charon poled up to her.
“I am Char —”
�
��This is Charon. I’m Donna Steinke and this is my husband Ray.”
“Hi —” I managed to say.
“Get into the boat,” said Donna, “and don’t bother tipping the pole guy because he’s taking us to Hell.”
The bewildered young woman stepped into the boat. “I’m Alice,” she said. She gave a coin to Charon.
“What did I just say?” said Donna. “Aren’t you cold in that little skirt?”
“I’m fine.”
“If I wore a skirt like that I’d be cold. Plus I’d be worried people would call me ‘slutty’.”
“Jesus, Donna.”
“Ray likes that sort of thing, don’t you, Ray? He would love to run off with the slutty GPS woman.”
“What’s a GPS woman?” asked Charon.
“Someone you could use right now. Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
The next hour was a blur. Several more people got on the boat. Donna methodically annoyed them all.
Eventually, there were nine of us, plus Charon, all huddled at the stern. Donna was alone at the bow. She continued to find fault with each passenger.
“What are you supposed to be with that mask?” shouted Donna.
“I’m a wrestler,” said the Mexican wrestler.
“Well. Trick or treat.”
“I can’t make any progress this way,” said Charon, struggling to pole the unbalanced boat. “Some of you need to move up to the bow.”
“Not me,” said a middle-aged man. “Not if she’s going to keep criticizing my cologne.”
“I can smell you all the way up here, Mr. French Whore House,” Donna called out.
“I hate being called a slut,” said Alice.
“And we hate being called ugly,” said the ugly father of an ugly family of four. Donna was right on the money there. Still, I wished she’d shown more respect for the dead.
“If you don’t distribute your weight we’ll be stuck here all night,” said Charon.
The Mexican wrestler drew me aside.
“Listen, amigo. We’re all tired. We want to reach our final destination. I implore you; do something about your woman. Por favor.”
“What’s all that whispering about?” shouted Donna.
I looked at the pleading faces surrounding me. It wouldn’t be murder, not if she was already dead. And none of us could be tried and executed, again for the reason of being already dead. It was a win-win situation.
I let out a war whoop and charged. Everyone else whooped and followed.
“Ray, what the hell? — ”
We threw Donna over the side. All that remained were bubbles. She was probably complaining underwater.
“I could use a few bodies back here,” said Charon, dangling from the stern.
We distributed our weight and balanced the boat. Charon sharpened the tip of his pole, then stabbed repeatedly into the water, at the spot we dumped Donna, for good measure.
Somebody broke out a jug of moonshine and passed it around. The ugly family produced musical instruments and played a hoedown. The youngest son, who was also the ugliest, turned out to be the best musician, and took an extended banjo solo. Then the ugly family tried to improvise a song about how nice it was that Donna had been thrown overboard, but I told them not to sing and just play.
I danced with Alice, the cologned middle-aged man, and the Mexican wrestler. I slipped Charon some folding money to pole up and down the river for an extra couple hours.
Eventually, we all collapsed in the middle of the boat, exhausted and content. I hadn’t had such a great time since before I met Donna.
“Okay, Charon,” I said. “Take us to the Underworld.”
As we approached the far shore, we heard a familiar voice through the fog.
“What kept you?” said Donna.
Sphincters audibly tightened.
She’d survived. That woman was tough. She probably thought we could have done a better job of ditching her, that’s what kept her going.
We got closer to the bank where we saw Cerberus, the three-headed dog. One of his heads was barking, another was asleep, and the third head was trying to sniff its own butt.
And now we could see Donna. She was hanging upside down by her feet from a barren tree branch. She bled profusely from cuts that covered her body. Flies swarmed over her face. Tree rats nibbled her toes.
“Hi, Ray,” she said.
“Hello, Donna,” I gasped.
Everyone in the boat stared in horror, except Charon, who checked his watch. I guess he’d seen it all before. The ugly family picked up their instruments and began making up a song about how horrified they were. I shushed them up.
Then a figure, like an enormous shadow, appeared out of nowhere and towered behind Donna. When he spoke we felt it deep in our stomachs.
“I am Hades, Lord of the Underworld.”
“Hi, boss,” said Charon.
“Hello, Ferryman.”
“So I’m in Hell now,” said Donna.
“No,” said Hades. “This is the Underworld.”
“What’s the difference?”
Hades pointed a shadowy finger at Donna.
“You will soon know the difference. You are going to Tartarus to experience an eternity of torment,” he said with finality.
“What’s Tartarus?”
“Tartarus is Hell,” said Hades.
“So we’re not already in Hell?”
“Are you listening?” said Hades, getting testy. “This is the Underworld.”
Alice called out to Donna, “Tartarus is like the Hell of the Underworld.”
“It’s way worse than the Underworld,” said the middle-aged man, trying to be helpful.
The ugly family was relentless. They began to improvise a song about how Tartarus was way worse than the Underworld. The Mexican wrestler seized their instruments and threw them in the river.
“Then what is Hades?” Donna asked.
“I am Hades.”
“And who is Tartarus?”
“Tartarus isn’t a person, it’s a place. Will you please pay attention?”
“Donna!” I called out, “I wish I could do something!”
“It’s okay, Ray, it’s not that bad. I’ll be fine,” said Donna, choking on her own blood.
“How can you say that? You’re bleeding all over.”
“It looks worse than it is,” said Donna, choking on more blood plus a few flies.
“What about those rats chewing your toes? Does that also look worse than it is?”
“Is that what they’re doing? I can’t see very well from down here.”
“You must be able to feel them.”
“Okay, Ray, fine, I feel my feet if you say so. It’s really not that bad. I can’t complain.”
“But you always complain.” I looked up at Hades’ enormous shadow head. “What have you done to her?”
“I hung her —” began Hades.
“I mean besides bleeding her upside down. Why doesn’t my wife want to complain anymore?”
“It’s my choice, Ray,” she said. “I don’t want to complain about anything, anymore, ever again, for all eternity. I used to be able to find fault with everything, even when there was nothing wrong. Now it seems like everything is wrong, and I’ve decided not to complain. It won’t be easy. It’s a challenge. I’m up for it. I’m actually excited by it.”
All of us paused. We felt inspired. Hades smiled a half smile, his faith in humanity restored. Cerberus stopped sniffing his butt and wagged his tail.
“Wow, Donna,” I said. “I think we can all become better people thanks to you.”
One of Donna’s toes fell off and hit her in the chin.
“You know what?” said Hades. “I’m suddenly in a good mood. I’m sending you all back acros
s the river. I’m giving you a second chance. I forgive you for your misguided lives. Mexican Wrestler, I pardon you for the men you killed in the ring. Ugly Family, I forgive you for those open mike nights.”
A wave of relief passed over everyone in the boat. We were returning to the land of the living!
“Thank you, Donna!” I shouted.
“Yes, thank you, Donna,” echoed everyone else.
“You’re welcome,” said Donna, as Hades lit her on fire.
“Charon,” said Hades. “Charon, wake up.”
Charon had been leaning on his pole, snoozing.
“Take them back.”
“All right,” said Charon, “but I’m keeping the coins.”
And so, as my flaming wife faded into the distance, we began our return to the land of the living.
I suddenly felt empty inside. I mentioned this to my boat mates. I said, “it’s funny but I’m going to miss her complaining. You were only with her a short time. I had to endure her for years. I know, I know, she was annoying. I’ll go so far as to say she was insufferable. And yet, she was Donna, simply being Donna, being the best Donna she knew how to be.”
They threw me over the side of the boat.
Survive Or Don’t!
7 October. I am Sir Desmond Carlyle, and I am leading an expedition to the North Pole. Okay, that’s not entirely true. I’m not English or a knight, and my name is Ed Panke. But this is my first Arctic expedition, and I thought I’d have more credibility if I said I was English and I put the date in front of the month. But that’s where I draw the line. I will never say 19:30 hours when it’s really 7:30 PM. Am I supposed to do a math problem just to check the time? Come on. I have an expedition to run.
I’m heading to the North Pole to counter the outrageous claim that if you stand on the North Pole and take a step in any direction, you’re going south. Right. What do you take me for? When I get there I’ll prove them wrong with thirty compasses, everything from a tiny souvenir one in the Statue of Liberty’s belly, to a big one I took off my uncle’s wall and may actually be a barometer, but it has the look of real wood.
I have been dropped here on the frozen tundra by the American Red Cross who laughed in my face, then gave me a card with their 800 number on it. I tore it up and threw it in the snow. Who needs them? I’m well-prepared. I’m wearing two pair of socks.
***