Week 14(a): The Nail

This is my entry for LJ Idol: Wheel of Chaos, with the topic "a nail is driven out by another nail."

The Nail


The short-term memory can hold only
five things at a time. A loaf of bread,
a stick of butter, fresh Tasmanian salmon,
brown rice, and a bunch of broccoli. Did you say
Tasmanian? Like the Tasmanian Devil? Now,
that's six. Something will fall out, be it
bread or broccoli or something else beginning with "B."

Like a science project, where you add one
element at a time, in order to see the effects.
Combine polyvinyl alcohol with
borax solution (borax powder and water).
Then add food coloring for fun. Stir
with a craft stick until it pulls away
from the side of the cup. Wait. What size
cup? A 5-ounce cup. But now,
that's six things. Something
will fall out, and the slime will suffer.

Could you learn to do better? Improve
your retention? Perhaps. But only by endless
repetition. Rambling on and on, underneath
your thoughts, the list of things
you can't forget. Or better yet,

write it down. Use a stylus or pen,
or a pencil pared to a point, or
a nubby crayon. Or Sharpie. Or maybe
a paintbrush. Except that
would be six things. And vanquish
all your efforts. Perhaps

you see it now: the secret power
of the five. The way it can keep you
pondering on nothings, awash
with minutiae. Swirling in the surf
of conscious jetsam. Grasping
to recall the faintest whisp
of fleeting thought, the mind
aflame with muted meaning. Only

to have that song you can't unhear
whoosh through your ear canal,
obliterating reminiscence as
it promises to never, ever
give you up.

KFP as a first grader, dressed in a mint button-down shirt and gray vest with a tie. He was ready to play the piano at his first talent show. I've put him on a background of music notes. I just loved the expression of excitement and a touch of impishness in his eyes!

Week 14(b): Ambuscade

This is my entry for LJ Idol: Wheel of Chaos, with the topic "Ambuscade."

The dusty chandelier suddenly dropped and nearly hit her head, but stopped with a jerk. She stifled a scream, then reminded herself to breathe. Staying calm was the only way out of this place. Against her will, she continued moving forward, stepping into the darkness.

Something brushed against her shoulder and scuttled away. A giant spider? She shuddered. "It can't hurt me," she told herself, the mantra she kept repeating, as she took each trembling step.

Through the doorway, a light flickered. Shadows grew on the wall as she approached, and then she saw a piano, sitting in the center of the room, which her eyes now realized was a sort of dilapidated ballroom. The piano was spotlit by a patch of moonlit, shining down through a hole in the ceiling. She couldn't stop looking at it, but knew that she probably shouldn't because...

Behind her shoulder, a spooky voice growled deeply. "Are you here for the party?"

As she turned to look at the phantom voice, the vacant piano suddenly started playing, an ominous tune that grew louder as she whipped her head back around to view it. Frozen in space, she didn't know what to do. Should she walk closer to that damned piano? Or try to find a way around it?

Her decision was made for her as the voice behind her said in booming tones: "Get ready for the dance of the dead!"

A cadre of skeletons emerged from the corners, their faces wide with toothy smiles as they clanged their bony knees together in the rough semblance of a dance. They chased her into the next room and then, just as suddenly, stopped at the doorway and slunk back into the shadows.

How long had she been in this place? Ten minutes? More? It felt like hours, as her legs shook with every step. Naturally, she was in another featureless black corridor. No way to see what surrounded her, but she felt feathery things brushing her face. "They can't hurt me, they can't hurt me," she breathed.

A red light grew ahead, flickering like a fire. She didn't know where this hallway was taking her but figured it couldn't be worse than the Dead Can Dance party.

A squealing sound next to her -- like a cat whose tail had just been stomped -- forced her to walk faster, despite her desire. Before long, she found herself in a cave-like room, with alcoves lit by flickering candles. In the center lay a sable coffin, with a barely perceptible name carved into the sides: D-R-A-C-U was all she could make out.

To her dismay, she knew she would not be able to get through this room without walking right next to the coffin. Perhaps if she sucked her breath in, she could go by unnoticed. Or maybe the right thing to do was just run? As terror drove her knocking knees forward, the lid of the coffin creaked open. Her breath caught. Then, behind her and much too close, she heard a heavily-accented voice: "I vant to suck your blood!"

By instinct, she whipped around and punched blindly into the dark, colliding with a surprisingly warm and soft body.

"Damn it!" the vampire shouted, bent over in pain. His black leatherette cape hung over his shoulders like an oversized towel. "They don't pay me enough for this," he gasped.

Immediately, her brain cleared, the fear that had clouded it dissipating like a bad dream. "I'm -- I'm so sorry," she muttered.

Like a prizefighter who had just lost the match, he remained bent over. "I know, I know. They all say that," he said. "But you're the last one. I'm done with this." He straightened up, he threw up his hands and started marching out of the room, to a door she hadn't even noticed before. As she watched, agape, he turned around and asked, "So, are you coming, or what?"

"You'll show me the way out?"

"Yes, of course," he said. "No reason for you to fight your way out."

The door he opened didn't creak: it barely made a sound. And once they were through it, the lighting switched to a dim fluorescence. The floor was clear of obstructions. She could see on both sides of her: nothing but a nondescript hallway of simple boards.

As they made their way through the snaky hallway, she could hear phantom moans and groans through the walls. Occasionally, she heard an unprogrammed scream, often followed by nervous laughter. She felt ridiculous, having ever been fooled by all of the sounds and visual tricks.

She wanted to talk to the vampire, but she didn't really know what to say to someone she'd gut-punched. Other than to apologize again, profusely, and assure him she'd never done anything like that before.

The pain must have worn off, because he brushed her apology aside with an easy laugh and said, "Don't sweat it." While the first part of her journey through the haunted house seemed to take hours, exiting it this way seemed to take mere seconds. She was almost sorry for the experience to end.

He opened the last door, the one that led to the carnival outside. A blast of color and noise met her, and she laughed at herself for ever being afraid. A carnival barker drew her attention, asking her if she wanted to win a purple gorilla. She said no.

Then, she turned back to her hero. "Thank you," she said, but her words trailed off, unheard. He'd already disappeared into the brightly-lit carnival grounds on the crisp fall evening.

---

This was based on a dream I once had. I used to have recurring dreams about going through a terrifying funhouse. While I knew it was fake, I was still very frightened.

Then, one night in a dream, I actually punched a vampire who jumped out at me. We had an exchange very similar to the one recounted above, with him leading me out of the haunted house. Since then, not only have I not had this recurring dream, but I've been more at ease with visiting real-life haunted houses when the opportunity arises.

A blurry photo of some of the day-glo spooks in my favorite haunted house, at Knoebel's Grove Amusement park in Elysburg, PA.