Just One Thing . . .

This story won 2nd place in the April contest on LinkedIn (Aspiring Writers group). Genre was open, theme: April Fool, focus: Uncle Bud and a silver flashlight.

My Uncle Bud worked for the government. At least that’s what he claimed. The grownups would all roll their eyes when he’d say, “If I tell ya, I’d hafta kill ya kid.” But they never could explain all his travels or the cool stuff he brought me.
 
When I was ten, it was a moon rock. Oh, he told the adults it was from a crater in Hawaii (cool enough in itself), but he explained the REAL story to me. See, there’s a law that no private citizen can have a moon rock, so he had to PRETEND it was from Hawaii. He showed me an autographed photo of Neil Armstrong that read, “To Bud, who knows how to keep a secret.” He gave me a sly wink when the grownups wanted to examine the rock.
 
After that, whenever he gave me a present with a wink, I knew a swell story was coming later. A lot of his presents were small rocks. They might look ordinary, but his tales of how he got them were exotic and magical. Like the piece of sandstone that was from the hidden treasure chamber of King Tut’s tomb—the chamber that National Geographic said was never found. Uncle Bud described all the treasures it had contained, and how he barely escaped when the chamber collapsed, dynamited by a splinter group that didn’t want the Egyptian government to get the treasure.
 
Then there was that small piece of crockery that was from the cheek of one of the Terra Cotta Warriors unearthed in China. Bud was on a spy mission that time, so all he could tell me was the details of the chase as he dodged bullets among the statues. I was honored that he took the time to pick up a fragment to bring home to me.
 
But the best present he ever brought me was the little silver flashlight from the UFO. That was the only adventure he didn’t even mention to the adults. He was sunburned all down one side of his face and just let them tease him about falling asleep at the beach. But when he got me aside, he told me he had seen a UFO, “up close”. He described the blinding light that burned his face, and the strange creatures that beamed thoughts into his head, telling him not to be afraid. He said they let him come aboard their craft and showed him lots of wonderful things.
 
He looked me in the eye, “I did a bad thing, Jem,” he held out his closed hand, “I stole something from the ship.” He opened his hand and I saw a small silvery object, about the size and shape of a stack of 3 quarters. It had a tiny clear bulge on one side of the rim. “Go ahead, take it,” Uncle Bud said, “I got two of them, and I want you to have this one.”
 
“What is it?” I asked, holding the shiny disk in the palm of my hand.

“It’s a flashlight, just point it at something and squeeze.”

I tried it and was amazed at the tiny beam of light that sprang out.

That was the last time I saw my Uncle Bud. He swore me to secrecy and said he was going into hiding to try and discover how the flashlight worked. “If I can figure this out, I’ll make a fortune,” he swore.
                                                                 ***
The flashlight is still magical to me. The beam has never faltered, and I’ve used it for fifteen years. My husband laughed when I showed him my rock collection, saying it sounded like my uncle made up tall tales because he couldn’t afford presents for his favorite niece. I was insulted, so I never told him about the flashlight.
 
When the story came on the evening news about an inventor who claimed to have gotten his idea from a UFO, the announcer made jokes, but admitted it was patented and stacking up pre-orders like crazy. The product was a quarter-sized flashlight with a ‘lifetime’ battery. The company was ‘Budco’ and the product, the ‘little Jem’.
 
When I pulled out mine and explained its origin, my husband’s jaw dropped. Then he asked, “Could I have another look at that moon rock, honey?”

This story won third place in the Aspiring Writers March flash fiction contest. The challenge was genre: mystery, theme: buying an old house in the country, focus: a worn hand-written letter found in a safe hidden behind a picture.

The Green Monster (711 words) 

“I can’t believe this house is all ours,” Kate sang out as she danced the length of the old-fashioned porch. “I know it will take more upkeep than those cookie cutter suburban boxes, but we’re in the country!  No pollution, no crime, and just look at all this nature.” She skipped away while Alan carried in the three suitcases and four boxes that had been deemed sufficient to sustain them until the movers arrived in the morning. He had to admit, this place was a heck of a deal. It came with several acres–all the land between the road and the river. Their nearest neighbors would be across the highway.  

The door slammed as Kate scurried in to warm her hands at the fire, “Brrr, it’s like an icebox out there. But just think how beautiful it will be in a few weeks, when everything turns green.” Alan gave his usual ‘yes, dear’ grunt and continued pumping the air mattress. “The first thing that has to go is that UGLY painting. It’s not even hung at the right height.”

“That’s because it covers the wall safe. Didn’t you pay any attention when the realtor walked us through?” 

“What do I care about a stupid wall safe? Can we just get rid of it?”

Alan examined the safe, using the combination provided. It was too small to be of much use, best to yank it out. Maybe an antiques dealer would buy it, it was ugly enough. The only thing inside was an envelope, addressed “to the new owners”–curious. There was a note inside, written in crabbed Spenserian script. The ink had turned brown and spread in small purple blotches. He had to take it to the fluorescent lights in the kitchen to be able to read it.

“K. returns every Spring–cannot be killed. Creeps from woods. Keep windows closed, or be strangled in your sleep. Keep guard!”

“What does that mean?” Kate said, “It sounds like a warning. Who is K.?”

“I’m sure it’s just some practical joke on the city folk—that’s us.”

“You said we got a real deal because the owner had died…how did he die?”

“How should I know? Ask the neighbors if you’re that curious.” Alan took her by the hand and led her to where he had spread sleeping bags over the air mattress. “Let’s hit the sack, the movers will be here early and I have a longer commute from here.”

                                                            ***

Kate was unpacking wardrobe boxes when the voices of two movers carried up the vents.

            “Say, this is the old Kinsler place–you know the ‘Green Monster’ guy,” said the first voice.

            “Him? My ma always said he was crazy. Didn’t he die of a heart attack?”

            “Some say . . . , I heard Doc said Kinsler died fighting the Monster.”

            “Ya think these new folks know?”

            “Naw, they’re city folk. They’d never believe it. They’ll have to see it for themselves—won’t be long now.”

            “Hope they got a good price, doesn’t seem fair to hide something like that.”

            Too embarrassed to ask the movers about what she had overheard, Kate was standing on the porch when a station wagon pulled up.

            “Hey there,” the driver called, rolling down the passenger window, “I’m your neighbor, Mary Lou. We’re the blue rancher down to your right. Gotta run, but wanted to drop off some cookies and wish you luck with the Green Monster. I’m sure glad it can’t cross the road or we’d have to deal with it too.”  Kate was left holding a plate of cookies as the woman sped off.

She was afraid. What kind of creature was living in their woods? Had it murdered the previous owner? “Strangled in your sleep” the note had said. So much for no crime in the country. Kate shivered, but not from the cold. She called Alan, but got his voicemail. She left a long, teary message about what she feared. Maybe they could still reverse the sale.   

Alan arrived home and waved away Kate’s tumble of words. “I found out who ‘K.’  is,” he said, “according to the Farm Agent, K. refers to Kudzu–It’s a vine that grows really fast. Folks hereabouts call it the Green Monster.”