The Creepy Man

The first time she saw the creepy man, she was a young girl on her way to school.  She had to walk across a rickety bridge that had broken rails so most of the time, she walked in the middle of the road.  One day she got too close to the rails and when she looked down, she saw a man standing in the dry creek bed.  He was staring up at her.  She thought it was strange but smiled at him.  He didn’t smile back.

He had jet black hair and was wearing a light blue shirt.  The way he stared at her made her uncomfortable.  It was as if he was looking straight through her.  She thought he was “creepy.”

That afternoon, she was a little afraid to walk home by herself but she didn’t have any friends who lived nearby so she didn’t have a choice.  Not far from the bridge where she had first seen the creepy man, she saw him again.  This time, he was standing behind a tree.  She started running and never looked back.  She ran all the way home.

The next several weeks, she saw the creepy man both on the way to school and on the way back home.  She knew the streets well and even though she walked different ways, he always seemed to be lurking around, watching her.

She never told anybody about him because she was afraid that somehow, she might get into trouble.

Years later, she was walking home from high school and decided to cut through the parking lot of Sears.  She saw a man walking through the lot and it looked like he was trying to open car doors.  Suddenly, he turned around and saw her.  She was terrified when she realized that he was the creepy man.

His face was weathered now and it reminded her of a hound dog.  He had bags under his eyes and his jowls drooped.  He had on a navy blue stocking cap, a torn, tan corduroy shirt and a pair of dark blue pants.

She quickly walked into the store.  After a few minutes, she noticed the creepy man hiding behind one of the pillars, watching her.  She got on the escalator and went to the second floor.  She was the one hiding now and found a rack of clothes to stand behind.   A sales clerk walked up and asked if she could help her, thinking she was shopping.  She told the clerk that she was being followed.

The sales clerk called for the manager.  As they were waiting for the manager, the creepy man came floating up the escalator, like a ghost.  The manager finally came over to them and suddenly, the creepy man disappeared around the corner.

The manager offered to walk her out of the store.  She only had one quarter that was for lunch the next day, but she used it to catch the city bus which would take her close to her grandma and grandpas’ house.  The manager stood with her until the bus came and the creepy man didn’t get on.

After she graduated from high school she went to work at Sears, in the credit department.  About two months after she started working there, she looked over the counter and there was the creepy man, watching her.  As she stepped away, her supervisor said “you look like you have seen a ghost.”

She told her supervisor about the man and how she had been seeing him since she was a little girl.  When the supervisor looked, the creepy man was gone.

After the creepy man left, she went to the break-room and a man she had befriended from the automotive department was there.  She told him about the creepy man.  He asked her what time she got off work and that night, he took her home in his red, 1966 corvette.

Two weeks later, she left town but for years she looked over her shoulder…for the creepy man.

Kêt Thúc.

 
This is actually a true story.

 

More Misheard Lyrics

I needed a laugh today.  Here are some more misheard lyrics….some by me and some by you.

“Blinded by the Light” by Bruce Springsteen.  The line is “revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night.”
I thought it was “wrapped up like a douche-bag in the middle of the night.”

“Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me” by Elton John.  The line is “although I searched myself, it’s always someone else I see.”
I thought it was “although I hurt myself, there’s always somewhere else to see.”

“Bennie and The Jets” by Elton John.  The line is “she’s got electric boots.”
I thought she had “electric boobs.”

“Waiting On The World To Change” by John Mayer.
I thought it was “waiting on the welfare train.”

“Bernadette” by The Four Tops.
snakesinthegrass2014 thought they were saying “burn to death.”

“Run To Me” by the Bee Gees.  The line is “run to me if you need a shoulder.”
snakesinthegrass2014 thought it was “run to me if you need a show girl.”

“The Wreck Of The Edmond Fitzgerald” by Gordon Lightfoot.  The line is “they may have broke deep and took water.”
I thought it was “they ne’er broke even took water.”

“We’re going to Ibiza” by the Vengaboys.
survivednarc thought it was “we’re going to eat pizza.”

“I’d Really Love To See You Tonight” by Dan Seals.  The line is “I’m not talking about moving in.”
I thought it was “I’m not talking about meridian.”

“Me and Bobby McGee” by Janis Joplin.  The line is “one day up near Salinas, I let him slip away.”
I thought it was “one day I missed a leavin’ and let him git away.”

“Addicted to Love” by Robert Palmer. The line is “might as well face it, you’re addicted to love.”
I thought it was “might as well fake it, you’re a dickhead in love.”

“Secret Agent Man” by Johnny Rivers.
I thought it was a “secret Asian man.”

Another Hacker For Hire

Apparently, “Micheal Derik” read the post dedicated to Doris Brown and felt compelled to offer “hisservices but this time it wasn’t to catch a cheating husband.  (Did that on my own.)

I’m looking at the spelling of “his” name and wondering if “his” parents were real rebels or if “he” just doesn’t have the smarts to be able to spell “his” own fake name correctly.  Or could “his” real name be Paul Bradley?  I’m a little confused.

Which email address am I supposed to use when I decide to commit a cyber-crime and possibly become a felon by hiring “somebody” to hack into somebodys’ email or Facebook account?

“He” also offers “financial services.”  Does that mean I can hire “him” to clean out somebody’s bank account?  “He” lists some sort of link to a Facebook address.  I’m not on Facebook but if I was and I checked, would “he” show up as a “hacker for hire?”  It that even legal?

I love the “we aim to serve you better.”  Better than what?  Better than the last “hacker” who offered their services?  I think I would need a more detailed definition of that promise before I entertained hiring you.

And, who’s “we?”  How many of you are there?  Let’s see.  So far, there has been Doris and “Cyberlord” and now, there’s Micheal and Paul.  (It’s interesting that Michael and Paul were names I used in one of my stories, but I didn’t misspell Michael.)

A couple of possibilities come to mind.  Either “he’s” just your run-of-the-mill con artist troll…or “he” is somebody who intimately knew and still knows a convicted felon…or “he’s” somebody who has access to a computer geek who knows how to spoof an email address and it’s a fishing ploy to…set a trap, maybe?

Maybe I should email “him” and say “hey!  Stupid head!  I was born in the morning but I wasn’t born THIS morning!  You’re going to have to get up a little bit earlier to make me fall for this crap.”

So…fuck you very much but I’m not interested.

Micheal Derick
facebook.com/app_scoped_user_id/253907598340384x
michealderck@gmail.com
162.243.162.59
Need Financial or Cyber Services? Hire a reliable hacker for discrete custom cyber services, from wire transfer (bank account funds transfer, western union/moneygram transfer/debit/credit card top up to discrete hack services. Do contact: Paul.bradley299@gmail.com or text: +14843905131.
We aim to serve you better…..

One Halloween Night

Halfway down a dark, seldom traveled side street on the poor side of town, stood an old two-story shack.  The paint was peeling off the clapboard siding and a few cracked windows were held together with cardboard and tape and seemed to give a death rattle when the wind blew.

It had a wrap around front porch, complete with rocking chairs that had been painted a hundred times and were mended with wires and screws.

It was set far back from the street with a long, badly broken walkway leading to the front door.  Two huge oak trees flanked the house on either side.  A few leaves were still clinging to limbs with their last ounce of strength and lent eerie shadows in the moonlight.  It was the perfect setting for a haunted house and Halloween was fast approaching.

The little girl who lived there was excited but at the same time, she was a little frightened.  She had always quietly feared Halloween.  She was afraid of ghosts and goblins who would rise out of their graves and inhabit your body.  She was afraid the Devil would come out, snatch your immortal soul and take you to Hell.

She had heard tales of werewolves and vampires, who would emerge from dungeons and coffins, looking for the blood and brains of easy prey to turn into zombies.  Yet she longed to go trick or treating.

When Halloween arrived, she knew that all the neighborhood children were going to dress up in their costumes, expect treats and be ready to get up to mischief, if none were provided.

She also knew that she wouldn’t be one of them as there was no costume for her, nor were there going to be treats to hand out to any children who might come knocking at the door.  Costumes and candy cost money and money was something that her grandparents didn’t have.

The little girl hid behind the front door, peering through the glass, watching children walking down the street with their trick or treat bags.  They laughed and giggled as they went from house to house.

The soft glow of the street light illuminated clowns, princesses, cowboys and frontiersmen wearing coonskin caps.  Their bags were laden and she wondered what scrumptious goodies they might hold.

They would bring their delicacies to school the next day and sneak a piece when the teachers weren’t looking.  It was that way every year.  Sometimes one of them would give her a piece of their candy.  She would be so proud of that piece of candy but she wouldn’t eat it.  She would just hold it tightly in her hand until most often, it melted.

They passed by her house because it was dark, with the exception of the dim flicker of a kerosene lamp in the hallway.
There were no carved pumpkins with candles lighting up scary faces sitting on the front steps and the spider webs across the front door were not there for decoration.

She found herself looking for the silhouette of a witch against the full moon.  She had always heard that witches were evil.  She heard they made potions from eye of newt, legs of frog, lips of fish and tails of alligator.  She heard that they could at will, cast a spell and make you grow warts or turn you into a toad.

She watched for hours until her grandma told her it was time to go to bed.  She put on her pajamas but sneaked back to take one last look.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.  As she peeped through the glass, she saw five children standing on the front porch, screaming “trick or treat!”

The little girl didn’t know what to do, so she ran to tell her grandma.  Her grandmas’ eyes were misty as she told her that she didn’t have anything to give to the children…but they kept knocking.

Her grandma went to the kitchen and picked up the only piece of fruit they had, which was an orange.  When she made it to the front door, the children had given up and walked away.

The little girl felt so sorry for her grandma.  She never forgot how sad she looked as she stood in the doorway, holding that single orange.

 

Slutten.

 

This is a true story.

 

Rose – The Final Chapter

Franklin wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse after he talked to Hunter.

He stopped by the cemetery on his way back to the office.  Memories of Rose were flooding his mind.  He had never told a soul about what happened.  He had thought about telling Gwen but it had just been so strange, he wasn’t sure she would believe him and even if she did, he wasn’t sure she would understand his emotional connection to Rose after all these years.

His mood was subdued when he got home that night.  He felt a sort of peace but at the same time, an even greater sorrow.  He tried to dismiss his thoughts as he and Gwen talked about the upcoming special occasion.

Frankies’ sixteenth birthday was that weekend and he had gotten those days off to get his drivers’ license and then go look for a car.

The Middle Earth had been transformed into an Arcade.  Teens would go there and play pinball and stand in line for a chance to play Pac-Man.  Frankie had plans to drive his new car there to show it off to all of his friends, just as his daddy had done back in the day.

On his birthday, Franklin and Gwen took Frankie up to the dealership to meet with Hunter.  As soon as they pulled in, Frankie said “that’s it!  That’s my car!”  He was looking at a fiery red GTO convertible with white leather bucket seats.

When they went inside, Frankie could hardly stand still long enough to shake Hunters’ hand.  He wanted to talk about “his” car.

It was a muscle car and it came dear but Franklin reminded Hunter of his promise “to take real good care of his boy.”  After a little negotiating and a little extra money from Franklin and Gwen, Frankie signed on the dotted line and his dream car belonged to him.

There was just one little problem.  There had been an error in the title work and it would be the next week before Frankie would officially own it.

Frankie was disappointed that he wasn’t going to be able to drive it home and even more disappointed that he wasn’t going to be able to show it off to all of his friends, who were expecting him to bring it to the Arcade that night.

When they got home, Franklin noticed how downhearted Frankie was, although he was trying hard to hide it.  Franklin looked at him and said “how about you go tonight and take the ‘stang’?”

Franklin had never let Frankie drive the mustang but he thought this was a special milestone.  Frankies’ eyes lit up as he said “really?”  Franklin said “there are only a few rules.  Drive carefully, no drinking and you need to be home before midnight.”  Frankie hugged him and said “dad, you’re the greatest.”

Frankie hurriedly got ready and he was almost as excited about getting to drive the mustang as he would have been about getting to drive his own car.  As Franklin tossed him the keys, he said “remember.”  Frankie enthusiastically said “I know, dad.”

Frankie had called his friends and told them about his car but then told them that his daddy was letting him drive his mustang.  As Franklin watched Frankie get in the drivers’ seat, he was taken back in time to when he got in that car for the first time.

Frankie drove the mustang up to the front of the Arcade.  His friends were as excited about seeing it as Frankie was about being able to drive it.  They ran their hands over the sleek body that didn’t have a scratch on it and then teased Frankie about the old-fashioned radio that Franklin had never replaced.

Frankie parked it and went in the Arcade.  Just as his daddy had done, he stayed close to the door so that he could keep a watchful eye on the car…but suddenly, his eyes locked on a girl standing in the corner.

Fin a.

Rose – Continued (2)

Hunter began to tell Franklin the story about the car.

“That car belonged to a man named Carmichael,” he said.  “Bud Carmichael.”

As soon as Hunter said that name, Franklin felt a shiver go through his body.

Not too many people knew it but Bud and Hunters’ dad had actually opened the dealership together.  It was the only one in town and everybody came there to buy their cars.

Bud kind of went off the rails when his wife died suddenly.  She had been born with a heart defect and time and rearing a child had taken its toll.  Bud hadn’t been much help because he was always trying to sell “one more car” before he called it a day.

The guilt he felt was all-consuming and he sought comfort in a bottle.  He basically turned into the town drunk.  He stopped coming to work and instead, spent all day and most of the night in bars.

He had a little girl at home but left it up to friends and neighbors to look after her.  He would leave her with anybody, if it meant he could have a drink.

He tried to stop several times and would be successful for a while but he would always go back to the booze.

By the time she was fifteen and after several more visits from Social Services, Bud came to his senses and finally quit drinking but he virtually drank all of his money away, so he had to sell his interest in the business to keep from losing his home.  He had already lost his car and even his most prized possession, which was a coin collection he had inherited from his daddy.  That had to be sold to pay off his credit cards.

He took the only job he could find, which was the manager of the local 7-Eleven.  Sobriety had made him determined to be a good father and try to make up for the time he had lost with his little girl when she was younger.

When he sold his part of the business, he made one condition.  A brand new white Ford Mustang convertible with a fiery red interior had just been delivered to their lot and Bud wanted to give it to his daughter on her 16th birthday.

Old man Phillips agreed and told Bud that he would keep it in the back lot until then, even though it was going to be a year away.  Bud knew that car was going to be a far cry from the 1940 Chevy that old man Phillips had given him.  He had named it “old Huldy” and often wondered if his daughter was ashamed to be seen in it.

But the mustang was waiting.  He wanted to give his daughter something nice and that car was going to be perfect.

Rose inherited her mothers’ heart condition and aside from being warned by her doctors to not get too excited about something, she enjoyed a full life.  She wasn’t able to take part in sports, so she focused on academics and became an outstanding student.

Franklin looked at Hunter and said “what was her name?”  Hunter said “I don’t really remember.  Seems like it was some kind of flower.”  Franklin said “Rose?”  Hunter said “that’s it.”

As Hunter rambled on, Franklin stared at the floor, remembering that night so long ago.  He was taking in everything that Hunter said, collecting the information that maybe he would later use to later fill the hole that had been left in his heart.  It wasn’t until Hunter leaned forward and said “hello” that Franklin came back to the present.  Hunter laughed and said “where did you go, man?”

Franklin said “what happened to her?”  Hunter, now distracted by a potential buyer he spotted through the window, said “what happened to who?”  Franklin said “the girl.”

Hunter said “oh.  Apparently when Bud brought her up here to get the car, as soon as she sat in the drivers’ seat, she got so excited that she went into what they called cardiac arrest.  Isn’t that a pisser?”  Franklin, said “and that happened on her birthday?”

Hunter said “yeah, I guess.  She went to the hospital but they couldn’t save her.  She never even got to drive that damn car.  Like I said, a real pisser, huh?”

Then Hunter asked to be excused so that he could go see if the person wandering around the lot was interested in a new car.  He stopped at the door and said “you let me know when you’re ready to bring that boy of yours up here.  We’ll take real good care of him.”

Franklin said “before you leave, how did you get the car back?”  Hunter said “ole man Carmichael never came back up to get it.  After almost six months, dad finally put it on the front lot but nobody would even look at it.  He didn’t think he was ever going to sell it.”

Hunter winked when he said “and then you came along.”

 

 

Rose – Continued

I didn’t intend to continue the story of Rose but a few of my readers wanted more.  So here it is.

___________________________________

Franklin was an up and comer in the law firm where he worked.  He was referred to as the “one to watch.”  After a couple of years, he decided to leave and start his own firm.  With regret, his former senior partners wished him the best of luck, hopes for great success and a bright future.

He met a wonderful woman named Gwen at the local Starbucks and theirs was a whirlwind romance.  On their first date, he picked her up in his “stang” as he had come to call it.  He still had it and it looked just as good then as it had the first day he drove it home, all those years ago.

When Gwen looked at it and said “I love your car” he knew she was the one for him.

They got married and when his firm took off, they were eager to start a family.  It was decided that she would stay at home and raise their children, while he ran the firm.

The next year, they welcomed their first child, Franklin, Jr.  They decided to call him Frankie.  Franklin and Gwen were overjoyed but Frankie had been a difficult birth and the doctor advised Gwen that she should not have any more children.

Frankie was the spitting image of his father.  He shared his work ethic as a young child and his belief that anything worth having was worth working for.

Frankie loved Matchbox cars.  With his own money, he had bought every single car he owned and his most prized possession was a white convertible mustang with a fiery red interior.

Every weekend, Frankie would walk up to the golf course and look for balls that unfortunate golfers had lost.  He would bring them home, wash them and then sell them back to the golfers for a quarter each.  He saved every dime he made until he had enough money to buy another Matchbox car.

As he grew, his love of miniature cars eventually waned and he set his sights on a real car, just as his daddy had done when he was as boy.

Frankie knew about his daddys’ paper route and weekend job as a bag boy at the supermarket.  It didn’t take long for Frankie to get his own paper route and a job as a weekend stock boy at the local Dollar Store.

Franklin and Gwen made the same promise to Frankie that Franklins’ parents had made to him.  They would match what Frankie saved so that he could buy his first car.

Old man Phillips, who owned the car dealership where Franklin found his mustang had died and his son, Hunter took over the business.  Franklin and Hunter had gone to school together and were friendly enough to speak when passing each other in the hallway, but they had never traveled in the same social circles.

Hunter had been a bit of a rebel when he was younger and had a few encounters with the local sheriff but he had settled down.  He was grown now and running a business so he had put those days behind him.

Franklin drove up one day to look at the inventory and stopped in to chat with Hunter.  They talked a bit about their families.  Hunter had two little girls, who he described as “a handful.”  He knew that Franklin had a son and expressed the obligatory congratulations.

Franklin told Hunter that pretty soon he would be bringing Frankie up there to find his dream car.  As they chatted, Franklin mentioned to Hunter that he had found his first car there and still had it.  “A white mustang convertible with a fiery red interior,” he said as he smiled.

Hunter said “I remember that car.  When dad came home and told us that he had sold it, we couldn’t believe it.”

Franklin looked puzzled and in more of a statement than a question, said “really.”

Hunter said “yeah.  My dad didn’t tell you the story about that car?”

To be continued………..