ONE AFTERNOON IN CLAIREMONT

Composed for National Public Radio's "Three Minute Fiction" Contest

 

ONE AFTERNOON IN CLAIREMONT 

 

     "Some people swore that the house was haunted," the tour guide noted, with a sneer in her voice; it was apparent from the outset that she did not number herself within that particular set of people. 

 

     Nor did I. Apparently, there WERE some feeble-minded souls who chose to let their imaginations run rampant, randomly accepting all the tripe foisted on them by movies and dime novels. How I had cackled (surreptitiously, of course) when my American History teacher had spoken in hushed tones about the thousands throughout the nineteenth century who gave complete and unstinting credence to Ouija, seances and such-like. I took no end of pleasure in mocking those who had paid to see the Bates Motel set, and the Munsters', Addams' and Amityville houses, which at least had the grace to look as though they could have been haunted.

 

       The example in question at this moment had not even that good grace. The small, nondescript house, was, although a trifle shabby, in no wise haunted-seeming. "How did this crackerbox even get onto a tour in the first place?", I could not help asking myself.

 

     As had so often happened in the past, though, my mocking drowned out my learning. For had I been listening, I might have heard the guide, intoning in her cartoon-eeriest voice, of the two little boys who wandered up and down this otherwise normal street, carrying things little boys are not typically pictured with; no Rockwell etching, this! The smaller toted a zippered bag which might have passed as a bowling bag, but upon closer examination became the enclosure for a Naval fighter pilot's helmet. The larger carried only a claw hammer, and a cold chisel. None of these three items was pristine.

 

     Had I been listening, I might have learned how two little boys were incarcerated in the Ju-Vee, for having driven a chisel into the skull of their drunken father, who had passed out after administering a horrible beating--by no means the first--to their pregnant mother back in 1964, then severing his head with a hacksaw. Saw and head then went into the newly-emptied helmet bag. Then they struck off down the street, with no actual plan besides removing themselves from the scene. Whether they might have stayed, had they known that the helmet bag's blow, freighted as it was with a fresh fifth of Cutty Sark, had broken their mother's neck instantly, no one can say.

 

      "Now, that's a queer coincidence," I remarked. "I was born in 1964, and MY father died in 1964, AND I have two older brothers, who don't talk about 1964!"

 

     Had I been listening, I might have realized that the tour guide had momentarily stopped her droning, and that all the other occupants on the tour had turned to face me. But perhaps "FACE me" isn't wholly accurate, as none of them had what you might call a face, but only facial bones and tatters of flesh. About a third of them had epaulets, though, as a Naval Junior officer might have had, and wore cavalier sneers across their ripped, disfigured maws. Another third had torn, stained dresses, and rather disarrayed bouffants. Their expressions were merely hopeless. The last and most intense third, and the only ones who seemed to have eyes, stared at me with a solemn mixture of envy, shame and pain.

 

     At this point I began to scream. I am not sure I have ever stopped screaming. I am sure, however that  nothing was ever the same again after that.

Author's Note

I submitted the first draft of this yesterday, but in order to meet NPR's "thyeeminutefiction"'s 600 word limit, I had to edit mercilessly. I like the language of the original better, so I'm leaving it up as well. Anyone willing to read them both is welcome to offer their opinions and suggestions. This is the "as-submitted' version.

Reviews

[Muse]

I think you did very well. Flash fiction is about capturing a moment. You cannot tell a whole story, but if you can dive that reader into the moment, and get them to feel you....mission accomplished. I felt like you were in a nightmare...or some sort of zombie apocalypse. lol

About a third of them had epaulets, though, as a Naval Junior officer might have had, and wore cavalier sneers across their ripped, disfigured maws. Another third had torn, stained dresses, and rather disarrayed bouffants. Their expressions were merely hopeless. The last and most intense third, and the only ones who seemed to have eyes, stared at me with a solemn mixture of envy, shame and pain.

Or maybe..the first person in the story was just having a moment of "over-active" imagination...a daydream confused by his reality.

[Mark]

...or maybe the Author (who, for the record never ACTUALLY did murder) was being just the slightest bit autobiographical...He does, in fact have a sister born in 1964 (your protagonist), who DOES have two older brothers....

[Muse]

ha ha ha...I thought this was flash fiction...not a biography?

[Mark]

What IS fiction, after all, BUT fantasy?

[Muse]

Our perception of reality can be drunk and diluted...point well taken.

[Olive Gabriel.]

I like it. I don‘t understand it but it has a strange appeal that I find endearing. Thank you for sharing this with us.

[Mark]

Flash fiction is kinda new to me, but this is my third entry to NPR's "Three-Minute Fiction", and I'm really enjoying it. Really makes you think hard about your word choices, when you're strictly limited to 600 total

[Gray Witch]

Amazing....I love Flash Fiction and I really didn't see this coming...Well written and suspenseful...I write short, short stories but they are for the most part true and I can't find a category other than autobiographical fiction... a short word version ...LOL

[Jack...]

This was great, I love Flash Fiction and enjoy reading an entire story in such few words. I do know the craftmanship it takes to pen one of these babies. Nice work.

[Mark]

Thank you, Jack...and here I was thinking I'd worn you out!

[Claire Twinn]

I love the contrast between the bored viewer and the horror that happened in the house, the way it is described so casually and the twist at the end.

[Mark]

Thank you, Claire, and thanks for the friend request as well (accepted). I have to get home, now, but I will be to your page for a look-see real soon.

[bob, small b. aka invs]

i'm thinking I like the shorter version better, but then I've always been a fan of brevity. nice story with a very creepy feel and a nice twist. well done.

[Kaylor Mason]

This is really cool . . . sounds like a dream that turns into a nightmare, and the main character doesn't realize he's dreaming till it's too late. Carries a bit of the "evil is passed through the bloodlines" theme, since they were his brothers, and the visions came to him. Makes one wonder if he went insane and committed horrible atrocities because of it

[LouieBee]

Had you been listening, you would've noticed the tour was for zombies only! ha! Great story! I really enjoyed the roundness of it. It's slick humor and self awareness set a great tone. I love a story with a great twist at the end. It really puts the whole piece in perspective. Great work. Hope to see more! Cheers!

LB

[An owl on the moon]

What a brilliantly twisted scene unfolding within your masterful write! Each detail lends itself in a chain of events that transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary!