Feature Writer: Imp of ink

Feature Title: Dreaming dark

Published: 26.07.2014 / Copyright© 2014 by Imp of ink

Story Codes: Erotic Horror, Science Fiction, Mystery, Voyeurism

Synopsis: Supernatural horror mostly true.

Quote: “I never ask a man what his business is, for it never interests me. What I ask him about are his thoughts and dreams.” HP Lovecraft

Dreaming dark

Kansas is a hell of a diverse place. Urban metropolises are surrounded by vast countryside dotted with small towns. There is something about living in a small town that fosters extreme living. Some have an extreme work ethic, others turn a relaxing hobby into monuments. A man rolled a ball of twine until it became the centerpiece of Cawker city Kansas. Political commentary became a statue garden in Lucas. A civil war vet named SP Dinsmoor created concrete caricatures surrounding his property, he is entombed in one of them. Look it up. Its called the Garden of Eden.

A two hour drive east from the—Garden of Eden—will bring you to a little town called Stull, or as it is locally known, the—Gateway to Hell—The story is that somewhere in the cemetery there are steps leading down into the land of the dead. Ruins of a burned down church were supposedly used for satanic rituals, and human sacrifices. Locals swear that if you cross two glass bottles in the shape of an upside down crucifix they cannot be broken upon the walls of the unhallowed chapel. The chapel was torn down two years ago but people still talk of weird events happening in the site.

I have always believed this crap to be the wild imaginings of liquored up bumpkins board and exhausted from being out in the sun too long. Why else would you spend your evenings wrapping twine or creating a statue of doctors crucifying the working man. SP Dinsmoor was a cheapskate who hated anyone who billed for services. Tours of his property start at five dollars.

However my friend Dave was a believer. Oh boy did he believe. Stories of crop circles, the Illuminati, ghosts, and goat eating monsters all fascinated him. How a man who is almost finished with his doctorate in drone avionics can be so gullible I really don’t know. Most of the year indulging his hobby is pretty easy. If he starts talking about some crazy pyramid scheme—some involving actual pyramids— just redirect the discussion to airplanes. Aeronautics might get boring and technical, but they tend not to lead the discussion into flights of fancy.

The only time of year that my friend becomes truly insufferable is Halloween. Each year he plans a trip to somewhere strange in Kansas with an odd history. Last years’ exploration of the murder house from Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood was actually a pretty great trip. Nothing like scaring your wife a bit with something creepy to make an exciting night in bed. But the build up before the trips is a bit wearing. For three weeks the only topics of conversation are related to the trip and the research and plans he is making.

One time his wife Lee-may actually flashed him to pull him back from his thoughts of an upcoming trip to a haunted bridge. Right in the corner booth at Old Chicago, she straddled his lap, lifted her shirt, and made him motorboat. She tells him all his conspiracy talk gets her horny, but i think she just found a more effective way of changing the subject than airplanes. As for a detailed description of the shape of her breasts and nipple color, you will have to be content with guessing. The only view I had of the situation was that of my wife’s fingers quickly covering my eyes.

Anyway, this year Dave became very excited about mid may. He asked if we could move up the trip this year to next week. Someone had partially rebuilt the chapel in the Stull graveyard overnight, and we had to go and see it before it was torn down again by the city council. It was a little short notice but school was going to be over next week and Tracy wouldn’t have to teach. So I said Yes.

Two days later I got a call from Lee-May mid-afternoon, saying that Dave got a call that there were lights around the new chapel site and he left immediately. She has not heard from him in 24 hours and is worried. The police wanted 48 hours so she begged me to look for him. As soon as I said yes, the horn honked from my driveway.

“Well come on Harry,” she shouted.

I grabbed my wallet and my handgun. (concealed carry permit) left a note for Tracy, and got on the road to Hell.

xxxxx

“Well come on Harry,” she shouted.

I grabbed my wallet and my handgun—concealed carry permit—left a note for Tracy, and got on the road to Hell.

The Drive from Mulvane to Stull would take only a few hours. Shortly after leaving my driveway and getting on the main road I heard a suppressed whimper from the drivers seat. I looked at the Blond half Vietnamese woman that i have known since freshman year of college. The easy smile that seemed like a permanent fixture on her face was pulled into a slightly trembling purse.

She was breaking.

“Do you really think anything bad has happened to Dave? I mean Its Dave. He is probably asleep in a pile of books and newspaper clippings.” I said trying to lighten the mood a bit.

Silence.

Damn it.

I’ve never been good at knowing what to say in tense situations. My general awkwardness in times like these has cost me two dates and earned me a kick to the kidneys from a very athletic but very sensitive Tae-bo instructor—Pro-tip: If you find out the boyfriend of an attractive athletic woman is cheating on her, don’t offer to help even the score. It may work in porn stories. But it has been my experience that women have trust issues with men. Probably because we are always fucking up.

Speaking of fucking up, Lee-May’s eyes started to tear a bit about 3 minutes later. Then at a red light, she took a few deep breaths.

At this point it is relevant to mention that she was dressed in a tight black t-shirt and jeans. The deep breaths in combination with the seat belt created some very eye catching geometry.

Before my guilt manifested in the imaginary hand of Tracy covering my eyes, a slightly blacker circle appeared upon the black fabric stretched over her breast. I looked up to see the line from a single tear upon her face.

I felt like a horrible son-of-a-bitch.

Imaginary wife Tracy gave me a punch to the gut instead. Real wife Tracy was Probibly just getting off work.

I looked down and reached for my cell phone to text her.

“Do you really think he is OK? You were in the IRAQ so you know about things like this right?

Davie is all right isn’t he?” Lee-May said as the light turned green.

Now was not the time to correct her syntax, nor her mistaken belief that sweating out in the middle of a giant litter-box on guard duty made me into some kind of Chuck Norris action hero. Hell it hasn’t even made me employable since I’ve been back. Life in general just seemed pointless since the sand box. Beer is good. Tracy is good. Dave. Dave keeps me feeling like a regular human being. If something has happened to Dave, however unlikely in bum-fuck booniville, i don’t know what i would do.

“Yeah, hes all right. but he is going to owe us after not calling, and making you worry. I say we make him designated driver for a month at least.” I said.

“Heh, sounds fun but it won’t work, neither of us would get to drink then.”

“Neither of you?”

It took longer than I care to admit for my light bulb to switch on, but I ain’t a dummy.

“Your pregnant?”

“Five weeks.”

“Does Dave know?”

“I just got back from the doctor. I was going to tell Dave when he checked in, but he didn’t. I called his cell phone over and over it kept going to voicemail, but then it picked up and I heard breathing”

“Breathing?”

“Woman breathing” she said with both a tremble and a growl to her voice.

My face contorted into disbelief. A lot of guys cheat. Its easy to think with your dick. Hell my eyes have been everywhere but where they should be in the fifteen minutes I’ve been in her car.

But Dave? Nah. He was too good a guy, too smart in the head to think with his pecker.

Lee-May is a catch too. That honey brown skin and blonde hair combo is sexy as hell. A paranoid little asshole voice in the back of my head told me that—Hallie Berry was cheated on, and genius Steven Hawking cheated on his wife without even being able to move his hips.

Still to comfort Lee-May I had to choose between telling her that her husband was in danger or was in the arms of another woman.

THE END