Mixed Bag

by Marva Dasef

  “Well, that’s just bull!” I couldn’t help exclaiming.

  I was beginning to suspect he was a few cards short of a deck. He didn’t seem to have much more to say. I think I’d actually hurt his feelings.

  “Look,” I said, getting a little huffy, “I said in the first place that I thought Bigfoot might exist and you were the one who said that was all tourist crap.”

  He glared at me for a moment. Then, he realized either what I said was true or he wasn’t being a very good bartender.

  “Yep,” he said with a crooked grin, “I sure did say that. Sorry, ma’am. I don’t mean to make you mad.”

  Still, I was getting the impression that his smile was a little too forced. I was starting to think, just a little, that he was serious. He really did believe in Bigfoot and he really did believe they lived up in these woods.

  He looked at me with an intensity that made me squirm a little. Then, he said something that took me completely by surprise.

  “I am one.”

  “You’re kidding!” I exclaimed, and started to laugh until I saw how serious he looked.

  “We’ve got to hide out, so we fit in wherever we can. You know those linemen in the NFL? You don’t think they grow people that big, do you?”

  “Well, football. They are pretty big guys.” I was getting a little worried, so I tried to sound normal, kind of light so he wouldn’t see I was getting a little scared. If this guy thought he was a Sasquatch, then he was crazier then I thought.

  He sighed deeply and I could feel his hot breath cross my face.

  “Yeah, my cousins both play for the Seahawks. I’ve got an aunt who’s a linebacker for the Chicago Bears.”

  I relaxed a bit. Now I knew he was putting me on. Must be boring out here in the woods and the favorite game was to goon the tourist.

  “How could a wo...female, uh, Sasquatch play football?” I played along.

  “She doesn’t take showers with the team. Hell, they wouldn’t notice anyway.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. It was bad enough that he was taking this joke so far, but he sure was big...and hairy. I didn’t think I wanted to sit here by myself with a guy who thought he was Bigfoot. Possibly, it was time to move on. I shoved my beer to his side of the bar.

  “You all done?” he asked, gesturing at my half full glass.

  “Yep. I’m all done.”

  He gave me my change and I walked out as fast as I could short of running, got into my car and drove away a little quicker than was good on this road. I decided to head back to the main highway. I think I had found a little more than I wanted off the beaten path.

  I wonder to this day whether that big bartender is still up there serving beer to the occasional hunter or hiker and telling his story. I can promise you, I won’t tell.

  Heather’s Pain

  Suspense

  Originally Published in “Weirdly, Volume 2” from WildChild Publishing.

  Heather woke up every morning for the last week well before dawn. She couldn’t get to sleep, stayed awake almost until morning, only to have her racing mind kick her into wakefulness after too few hours of sleep.

  Her doctor prescribed a new medication, but she didn’t think it was working very well. Hers was a pain a chemical could not easily mask. Dr. Montoya said it might take time for the drug to take effect. She was way past the point of narcotic drugs helping.

  I’ll call the doctor today for an appointment. There has to be something else he can do.

  She scrunched to one side, putting her legs over the edge of the bed, allowing gravity to draw her feet to the floor as she performed a slow motion roll. Once she was kneeling by the side of the bed, she pushed herself up, wincing from the pain in her back. She ached all over, but her back was the center. Jetting pain shot down from her hips to her ankles.

  Sciatica. And I’m only thirty.

  She shuffled to the bathroom. Grabbing the handicap bar she had installed, she slowly lowered herself onto the toilet. Finishing, she pulled herself up with the bar and tottered to the sink.

  To keep from falling, she stood straight upright as she brushed her teeth. Barely tipping her head forward, she managed to spit the toothpaste into the sink rather than down her front. Sick to death of this pain; yes, she’d see the doctor and tell him she must have the surgery, despite the risks. She could not continue to live like this. The constriction on her spine had grown steadily, the pain getting worse. Osteoporosis coupled with stenosis. It sounded almost lyrical, but the pain felt far from poetic. She had no reason to wait any longer.

  Pushing her feet into her slippers, she held the door jamb for support, glad she didn’t have to spend another day in her nightgown. Her mom was coming over this morning to help her out. Maybe then she could get dressed.

  For now, all she could do was lower herself stiffly onto the lounge chair. She picked up the remote, turned on the TV, and flipped through channels. Nothing held her attention for long, but it helped to pass the time. Reading was impossible; she couldn’t concentrate. Even something light like a Harlequin Romance required more thought than she could muster.

  She wished she had a cup of coffee, but didn’t have the energy to fight to get herself up and shuffle to the kitchen.

  I’ll wait until mom gets here.

  Heather dozed for a while, only to wake at the same time the back door slammed.

  “Mom?” she called out, but got no answer. Again, “Is that you, Mom?”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have left the door unlocked for her. I should have given her a key. Why didn’t I think of that?

  She sat and waited, hoped her mom had simply not heard her call out. Maybe she was putting up groceries in the kitchen. Was the kitchen out of earshot? She stared at the entrance to the living room from where she sat in her chair. The hallway led to the kitchen with a swinging door she usually left propped open, but it could have swung shut. That was it. Her mom was in the kitchen putting away food and didn’t hear her call. She’d just wait and soon her mother would come down the hall.

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

  “Mom?” she called again.

  A man, short and close to being fat, appeared in the doorway. Dressed in a dark blue hooded sweatshirt, with the hood up. Heather absurdly noticed his muscular chest and that he’d covered his face with something. A black ski mask? The man hesitated for a moment, as if surprised to see her.

  Heather opened her mouth to scream, but he was across the room much faster than she thought possible. He jammed his hand against her mouth, stifling the scream before it could get started.

  “Shut your mouth, bitch, or I’ll kill you.”

  She looked into his eyes and knew he wasn’t lying. She nodded her head slightly to show she understood. Slowly, he drew his hand away from her mouth.

  He glanced around the room, probably looking for anything valuable to haul off. His gaze fell on the side table by her chair, where she kept her array of daytime meds. He grabbed them up, reading the labels. He shoved the bottle of oxycontin into his pocket and swept the rest onto the floor.

  “You’re sick, eh?” he said while prowling the room picking up objects and discarding them as worthless. “What’s amatter?”

  “My back,” she whispered. “I’ve got a bad back.”

  He jerked her to her feet. She screamed in pain and collapsed to the floor.

  “Get up,” he said, his voice rough and menacing.

  “I can’t!” Heather stifled a sob.

  “Well, that’s a good thing,” he said, “for me.” He looked around and saw the door leading to her bedroom. She left it ajar as she always did. He went into the bedroom and she heard him rummaging through her things; the sound of glass breaking, a heavy thump as something hit the floor.

  Sudden anger overrode her fear; the feeling of violation she’d heard described by people who were robbed. It drove her mad she was so helpless. All she could do was listen as her cherished things crashed to the floor. />
  She couldn’t take it any more. Gritting her teeth, she grasped the arms of the chair and pushed herself up from the floor. Staggering to the fireplace, she grabbed the poker and moved quietly to her bedroom door, standing to one side of it, hidden from view. She raised the poker over her shoulder and tightened her muscles in anticipation. As the thief came out, she smashed his face with the poker. He dropped to the floor, no sound coming from his mouth. Raising the poker, she hit him again. And, again. Anger overwhelmed her, and she struck the man’s head until it was a bloody mess.

  Heather stood panting over the lifeless body. Oh, my God...What have I done? I should have hit him only once. Now they’ll arrest me, put me in jail. At the very least, the police will question me. They won’t care if I have a bad back or not, whether he’d robbed me or not...

  Was this self-defense? She didn’t know, but was afraid to find out.

  The back door opened and closed again. Her mother called out, “It’s me, dear. Shall I make you a cup of tea?” before walking into the living room. She stared at the body lying on the floor and her daughter still holding the poker. Her mouth opened and closed in an attempt to speak.

  “What happened? Who is that?” she finally gasped out.

  Calm now, Heather told her what happened. Her mother took all of this in, then said, “We’ll bury the body. Nobody will think to look around here for him.” Heather breathed out in relief. Her mother, what would she do without her?

  Between them, they dragged the dead thief out to the backyard. The high fence and shrubbery hid the yard from possible prying eyes. In the far back corner, Heather had started a compost heap. No longer used as she couldn’t take care of a garden, it stood heaped high with dead leaves and grass clippings.

  The two women looked at the compost heap, then at each other. Heather found two shovels in the shed, handed one to her mother without a word, and they began to dig. The compost had been warmed by the sun, yet still held dew enabling them to dig down through it easily. Too bad. This stuff would be really good for the garden.

  As they dug, she realized her back didn’t hurt. This turn of events surprised her. The violent actions had loosened the grip of her spine on frayed nerves. She would be better, at least for a while. This thought made her grimly happy. Two birds with one poker.

  She started to cry and her mother embraced her.

  Tears streaming down her face, she loosed herself from her mother’s grasp and bent down to toss the last handful of dirt on the compost pile.

  The Delegate

  Science Fiction

  Originally published in Lorelei Signal and “A Time To..., Volume 1” from Wolfsinger Publications

  Noiba Kune scanned through the files in her diplomatic queue and found the Twelfth Day Proceedings record. She recited her mantra, then breathed deeply ten times before playing it. Tired of the nonsense, her sense of duty nagged sufficiently to keep her at it. She’d already watched for hours, quick scanning for the relevant items.

  On the forty-eighth day of the proceedings, the delegates were getting testy as they began to tire. Besides the daytime sessions, every meeting was recorded, even the nightly cocktail parties where the real business occurred. Every conversation, every speech, they saved every word for later analysis.

  Noiba wondered if her selection as a delegate to the World Congress was such a great assignment. Of the five hundred delegates, ten were at-large positions selected by computers from the general population. Noiba’s background provided racial variety, feminine outlook, and an average educational level for the population. The other nine at-large delegates were selected on other factors, such as type of employment, religion, artistic talent, lower-level education, upper-level education, and a dozen other demographic characteristics.

  Each at-large delegate represented at least three of the general categories. One thing they could not be is political. No offices held, no large donations to campaigns. The delegates must represent the average citizen–no activists, no titans of business, no psychological problems.

  Noiba Kune: Serial number 536549921187, NorthAm/Chi-Afr. Education: PhD in Metaphysical Science. Employment: Client Metaphysician for Terr-Lunar Robotics, Inc. Marital Status: Significant Other to a genetically paired and licensed procreator.

  Her ID card psych plus codes showed her to be stable, dependable, intelligent, self-reliant, and capable. She didn’t consider important the items listed on the negative side. For the record, she showed more than average reluctance to accept authority decisions–nothing that would flag her as unstable, but a slight black mark which kept her from advancing to management. A worker bee, she was perfectly happy doing her job without supervision and without supervising others.

  Noiba began to fastscan the document, skipping over the opening benediction. She had no proclaimed religion and the one hour sermon by Gari Ram Falwell did not interest her. She wanted to review the speech by the Lunar Colony representative, a long and boring diatribe which included remarks on the question brought before the assembly today.

  The ‘Elfivers’ resided on the chain of stations orbiting midway between the earth and the moon–the L5 or Lagrangian points. They threatened to secede from Lunar Governance, to declare themselves a free state with full representation on the World Council and Congress.

  The Lunar Governance argued that since the Elfivers did not actually hold any real estate, they were not eligible for self-governance. The Elfivers responded that the five space stations they occupied seemed real enough for them. Lunar Governance countered that they didn’t own those stations since the Earth-Luna Consortium had funded and built them as halfway stations between the earth and the moon. They claimed the Elfivers were simply caretakers, not owners.

  Further the Lunies, as they called them, believed the L5 stations were not economically independent and relied on both the earth and lunar governments for supplies. The Elfivers pointed out the research results over the last hundred years had more than paid for the initial construction costs plus a nice profit. They contended they should now be free to run their own affairs.

  Noiba stopped the fastscan at the beginning of the Lunar rep’s speech and started to listen more carefully. Finally, she found the place where the moon’s delegate said, “We must have assurance of continued commerce between the earth and moon. We must not allow power hungry politicos of any type to threaten us. The Greater Luna Republic declares, here and now, and in no uncertain terms, that any attempts to halt or impair this commerce will be dealt with rapidly and severely.”

  Noiba heaved a deep sigh. It seemed on the face of it the Elfivers didn’t have a case for independence, but the vehemency of the Lunar threat was troublesome. Rather than a flat-out threat, it seemed to her the Lunies would be better off if they proposed some type of compromise. Perhaps, Luna could offer independence sometime in the future based on assurances of the continuation of the L5 colonies’ role in the Earth-Moon commercial trade. Non-negotiable threats would not win any friends.

  The various earth-based governments tried to be more conciliatory. However, they didn’t have as much to lose if the Elfivers gained independence. Clearly, the Luna Governance was on shakier ground when it came to their assertion that L5 was not economically independent. After all, the moon, while producing many metallic elements used in manufacturing, could not support itself with its hydroponic farming. They, too, depended on earth for a lot.

  Race was the unspoken aspect of the argument. Everybody knew it, but nobody came right out with it. Earth and moon were human-based, while androids occupied and ran the L5 colonies. As a representative, she had to decide how her demographic group would feel about this issue and vote accordingly.

  She had walked from the hotel to the World Congress building that morning and passed through a line of demonstrators. Their picket signs were troublesome. ‘L5 Belongs to Humans’, ‘Android Go Home’, and the worst of them, ‘Kill All Androids’. She wondered where the protestors thought androids were at home. If n
ot the L5 colonies, then where?

  She also wondered what the android representative would think. Earthborn, he had no demographic connection to the Elfivers. As an android, he should have an unemotional reaction to the issue. Noiba thought she’d give him a call to get his thoughts on the matter. Finding him in the representative list, she clicked on his voice connection. He came on-line immediately.

  “Hello. This is Noiba Kune. Do you have a few minutes to talk?” she asked.

  The android paused a moment to access his database. “Most certainly, Citizen Kune. I am always pleased to speak with one of my co-delegates. May I ask the topic of this conversation?”

  “Thank you, Citizen Tentwofive. I watched the Twelfth Day proceedings, specifically, the Lunar representative’s comments on the L5 request for independence. While I realize your demographic is Earth/High Ed/Non-joined, I was curious if you have a viewpoint on the issue as an android.”

  “As you say, my demographic representation is not as an android, although I happen to be a member of that racial group. Because of that, my oath as a delegate precludes me from considering it in my deliberations.” He paused, then added, “Of course, ignoring one’s essence when deliberating is sometimes difficult.”

  “I hoped you might give me your thoughts, not as a delegate, but personally. I realize I’m asking for private information and fully understand if you don’t wish to share, but I’d appreciate the android point of view.”

  “Please, Citizen Kune, may we meet face-to-face on this?”

  “Certainly,” she said. “Where would you like to meet?”

  “The lounge here at the hotel would be convenient.”

  “That’s fine. Say in ten minutes?”

  “That is agreeable.” The android cut the connection.

  Noiba arrived at the hotel’s lounge precisely ten minutes later. She saw Tentwofive in a corner booth and she joined him. She punched her order into the servo and, within seconds, the slot opened and her drink appeared.

  “Citizen Kune, may I call you Noiba since this is no longer an official communication?”