The SoapBoxers

“And we’ll start the auction with this little box of treasures,” shouted the auctioneer.  He showed off the contents of the box – two small paintings and an assortment of door knobs. 

“Good lord,” muttered James Black.  “Leave it to Ronald Hamilton to squeeze out every last dollar.  Even after he’s dead, the old miser is trying to make a buck by selling his trash.”

“Oh, James, don’t be so critical.  That painting of the mountains looks very pretty.”

Brown snorted.  “You can get the same thing at a garage sale for a few dollars.  The only thing of value in this whole auction is the Shaker furniture.”

“What’ll’ya gimme for this,” asked the auctioneer.  “Do I hear a bid for twenty dollars?”  The auctioneer tried to work his magic on the crowd to elicit a bid, but the crowd remained silent.  The bid dropped to ten dollars, and then to seven.

Meredith Black poked her husband in the ribs.  “Bid on it, James.”

“Seven bucks for that junk?  No way.”

“Do it, James,” she said with a glare.

Black reluctantly bid, to the amusement of his friends and acquaintances in the crowd.  A moment later, he was the winning bidder.  It was the only of the junk lots to get a bid.  The auctioneer gave his best effort, but the bidders were all waiting for the Shaker furniture.

When the furniture went on the block, a buzz went through the crowd.  The items in Hamilton’s collection of furniture were in exceptionally good condition and were expected to fetch top dollar.  The bids came fast and furious, and soon shot above the level James Black was willing to pay.  Black was in a foul mood as they walked back to the truck.

“Hey, Black, you got the bargain of the auction.”  Black turned as saw the laughing figure of Charles Davis.  Davis had picked up a beautiful grandfather clock that James had coveted.

“I happen to like the painting,” retorted Meredith.  “It’s pretty.”

“Pretty,” replied David with a laugh.  “Pretty?  Yeah, that will help its resale value.”

An hour after they arrived home, Meredith Black had found the perfect location for her painting.   “James, could you hang the painting right here,” she asked, pointing to a spot near the window in her office.”

James Black quickly hung the painting and straightened it using his miniature level.

“What about the other painting,” he asked, holding up the paining of some boats.

“That one’s not very cheery at all.  Throw it out.”

“I know,” replied James with a grin.  “I’ll hang it above the toilet.  Hanging crap above the crapper –  get it?”

Meredith rolled her eyes but made no comment.  If letting him hang the dumb painting above the toilet would pull him out of his grumpy mood, it was OK with her.

When Elizabeth Black came to visit her parents over the weekend, Meredith proudly showed off her new mountain scene.

“Dad’s right, of course,” replied Liz, the art appraiser.  “Garage sale quality.”

“But it’s so pretty,” replied her mother.

“If it makes you happy, you should definitely hang it,” agreed Liz.  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  I’m quite partial to Norman Rockwell myself, in spite of the snide remarks of my colleagues.”

During supper that night, Elizabeth excused herself from the table to use the bathroom.  When she returned, she had a question for her parents.

“Have you contacted the MH de Young Museum about their missing painting?”

“Huh?” came the reply from her father.  “That worthless mountain thing?”

“No, that $200,000 masterpiece you have hanging so beautifully above the toilet.  It’s Van de Velde’s Harbor Scene – stolen from the museum in 1978.”

Note: Willem van De Velde’s Harbor Scene actually was stolen from the MH de Young Museum in San Francisco in 1978. If you happen to stumble across it at an auction, give them a call!

Today is the 600th article in the history of The Soap Boxers.  Recently, in preparation for the launch of The Victimless Crime and Other Stories, I’ve been looking back at some of my older stories.  I’ve featured 70 fiction stories on The Soap Boxers.   Today, I look back at some of my favorites.

The one that started it all – Although Tina was technically written earlier (years ago), Release Point was the first story written specifically for you, the audience of The Soap Boxers.  It features Jerome Franklin, a baseball prospect who is on the last of his nine lives in baseball and needs to have a breakthrough year.

The one that made a social statement – Most of my stories are simply pieces of fiction with no attempt to make any sort of statement.  The characters may advance their own agendas, but the author is not attempting to make a statement.  Warm Feet is the exception, as it puts a positive spin on the topic of gay marriage.  In spite of the fact that I have no openly gay friends, this issue has become a hot topic for me in recent years.  I expected this to be somewhat controversial, but nobody really had any comments for or against the story.

The freakiest one – A lot of people were freaked out by Tale of the Wolf, but I don’t consider it the freakiest story I’ve written.  That honor goes to Friends for Thanksgiving.  Oh, and I apologize for the second part of Tale of the Wolf – it’s quite weak.

Perseverance against the odds – Heidi and the Shark features a woman battling against a fearsome beast to save her life.  I hammered this out in about 20 minutes after an offhand comment someone made about looking for sharks on their next trip to the beach,

Favorite animal stories – This was a real toss-up.  I’ve written a few stories about animals.  Perhaps my favorite is What Really Killed the Dinosaurs, which puts that silly meteorite theory to rest.  I had a lot of fun with this story.  You’ll note that there is a base at Tulowitz.  The name is derived from that of Rockies shortstop Troy Tulowitzki.  Toronso is a twist of Toronto.  Look closely at other names and you might see where they came from.  I also had a lot of fun with The Attack, which tells the tale of a family of wolves launching an attack on a henhouse.

Favorite sports story– I’ve written quite a few stories about sports.  I’ve covered basketball, football, bull riding, track, and auto racing.  Most of the sports stories are written about baseball.  Additionally, baseball pops up in the background of many stories where it is not the primary focus.  This is, of course, due to the fact that I’m a huge fan.  My favorite baseball story?  The Rookie.

O. Henry – In recent months, I’ve been working on the technique of putting a surprising twist at the end of stories, in the manner of the great author O. Henry.  My favorite of these stories is the dramatic Second Chances and the humorous The Champion.

Of course, you can peruse all of the stories and pick your favorites.  Or you can purchase PDF versions at the Hyrax Publications store.  Not only do the PDFs provide a more user-friendly interface to the stories, but they’ve been given a second round of proofreading.  Quite a few items are on sale right now.

Long time readers – which of the stories was your favorite?

The alarm clock jarred Calvin Chance from a fitful sleep.  Calvin slapped the snooze button and pulled the blankets over his head.  At 6:22 AM the alarm erupted with noise again, and Calvin had to make a decision.

Calvin decided that he would not work today.  He called the boss and left a message saying that he was sick with the flu.  Calvin turned off the blasted alarm clock and once again used the blankets to shield himself from the outside world.

At the crack of noon, Calvin’s body was suffering an overdose of sleep, and he was thrust unwillingly into consciousness.  He yawned and finally arose from his bed.

First, it was time for a shower.  Calvin pondered the risks.  A surprising number of people died in shower-related accidents each year.  Water was truly the hidden killer.  On this, of all days, Calvin decided that he would forgo the shower.  It simply wasn’t worth the risk.

Calvin’s stomach had begun to growl.  It was time for lunch.  He was really craving a burger from the corner diner.  Calvin gave serious thought to leaving the house in pursuit of lunch.  Finally, he decided it was simply too dangerous.  Driving a car to the diner was essentially inviting an accident to happen.  Calvin was definitely capable of walking the three blocks, but that would mean crossing a busy intersection.  How could he be sure that a car wouldn’t run a red light and send him hurtling toward Saint Peter at the pearly gates?  No thank you.  Calvin would be staying home for lunch today.

Calvin wondered if perhaps he should have a pizza delivered.  He quickly abandoned this idea as well.  With his luck, the delivery driver would be a psycho who would slice his throat with a pizza cutter.  Calvin double checked to doors to make sure that the deadbolt was engaged.

He quickly ruled out anything that involved the oven.  Ovens were inherently dangerous.  Even if the gas stove didn’t leak and cause an explosion, he was likely to burn himself.  He thought about slicing some cheese, but decided that using a knife would not be a good idea.  Finally, he settled on a jelly sandwich.  He spooned the grape goop onto a slice of bread and took very small bites to minimize the risk of choking.

After lunch, Calvin decided that he would read one of the books that had been gathering dust on the shelf.  A moment later, he realized the danger that paper cuts could cause.  He could easily slice a vein on one of the sharp pages and bleed to death before anyone found him.  He turned to the television for a moment, before realizing the dangers of an electrical device.  His whole house was a death trap.  Calvin gathered up his blankets and pillow and barricaded himself into the safe room in the middle of the house.  Truly, this was a place for him to wait until the danger had passed.  Friday the 13^th was not something to be trifled with.

Calvin huddled in the corner for hours, afraid to make any sudden moves, lest he pull a ligament and become disabled.  As night fell, he realized that the game would be on soon.  He decided to take a gamble.  Calvin slowly made his way to the corner, where a small battery operated radio sat.  He turned the station to 850 AM and waited for the game to begin.

A few minutes later, the station noted the passage of the hour.  “The time is 7:00 PM on Thursday the 12^th of August.”

The impact sent the bucket of Gatorade crashing to the floor, covering the concrete with a sticky yellow mess.

Colton Zephyr spun around and directed his venom at a human target.  He zeroed in on his third baseman, Gary Butler.

“You cost us the game,” he yelled.  “You stupid little butthead.”   Zephyr got a firm grasp on the bat and took a stride toward Butler.  As he prepared to take a swing at the defenseless player, three teammates tackled him.

Perennial All-Star Gordon Howard took the lead.  “You’re coming with us, Volcano,” he said as he gave Zephyr a shove back toward the clubhouse.  When they reached the clubhouse, Howard shoved Zephyr into a storage closet and locked the door.  “Stay in there and cool down, Volcano.  Someone will check on you after the game.  Maybe.”

With no further eruptions from Colton “Volcano” Zephyr to distract the team, the Bears clawed their way back into the game before Gary Butler and Gordon Howard hit back to back jacks in the ninth to send the fans home happy.

As he watched his team celebrate the hard-fought win, Skipper McGee headed back toward the clubhouse to take care of business.  He unlocked the closet and marched Zephyr back to his office.  The manager collapsed into a chair on the opposite side of the desk from the pitcher.

McGee thought about the situation for a moment.  A couple of years ago, Colton Zephyr had been a top shelf starting pitcher – a rising star in the league.  Some observers felt that the Bears had achieved a coup by retaining Zephyr at a cost of $90 million over 5 years.  It was a lot of money, but the New York Bombers seemed willing to pony up even more cash.

Zephyr had always been an excitable player, but halfway through his contract, he was becoming a serious distraction to the team.

McGee looked up at Zephyr.  The pitcher glared back at him.

“Colton, my boy, we need to have a talk.  You’re becoming a serious distraction to the team.”

Zephyr interrupted his manager.  “Yeah, yeah.  I’m sorry.  It won’t happen again.  I’ll get some counseling.  Yadda yadda yadda.”

“You’re right,” agreed McGee.  “It definitely won’t happen again with the Bears organization.  The boys upstairs made the decision several months ago.  The next time Volcano erupts, he’s gone.  The Bears are going to sever ties with you.”

Colton Zephyr laughed hysterically.  “Is that supposed to be a punishment?  I get to escape from one of the worst teams in the league!  It’s a guaranteed contract, so you still have to pay me.  Thanks for cutting me loose, Skip.  Just cut me my check and I’ll be on my way to the bank.”

“No so fast,” countered Skipper McGee.  “Actually, you’re going to retire from baseball and forfeit the money left on your contract.”

Zephyr laughed.  “Walk away from $45 million?  Why would I do that?  You’ve been out in the sun too long, Skip.  You’re getting a bit soft in the head.”

“We discussed this with our in house counsel …”

“And the quack lawyers told you that you had a leg to stand on?  Forget it, Skip.  The money is guaranteed and the union will crucify you if you try to steal it from me.”

“We had them review video footage from your previous incidents.  In their opinion, you have committed no fewer than six felonies and a dozen misdemeanors.  If we were to turn the videos over to the district attorney and have your teammates serve as corroborating witnesses, you would be facing some serious time behind bars.  Twenty years was the conservative estimate.  If you walk away from the game and leave the money on the table, we’ll keep the DA in the dark.”

“You can have the $45 million,” continued McGee, “or you can have your freedom.  The choice is yours.”

The running back started to the left, then cut back to the right and had just broken into the open field when the television screen went dark – along with all of the lights in the house. The blizzard had been causing intermittent power outages, but it soon became apparent that electricity would not be returning tonight.

Steven immediately focused his attention on the highest priority task. He grabbed his crutches and hobbled around the house in search of a portable radio. He was convalescing at Amy’s house and was still figuring out where things were located. Ten minutes later, he was in possession of a state of the art boom box, circa 1985. The radio was even equipped with dual cassette decks (for easy dubbing, according to the manufacturer). Steven popped open the battery compartment and saw that he would need 4 D batteries.

His battery search bore fruit when Steven stepped into Amy’s “game room”. The room held dozens of board games, puzzles, golf clubs, a croquet set – anything you needed to have a good time. Steven could spot a cache of batteries on the top shelf of a closet in the room. He put all of his weight on his strong leg and reached above his head. He was able to reach the batteries, but they came down in a less orderly fashion than he would have preferred – the box of batteries conked him on the head on the way to the floor.

Steven grabbed a handful of D cell batteries and quickly had the radio tuned to the game. He looked around the room and saw that the pieces to a jigsaw puzzle had been laid out on coffee table in the middle of the room. Amy was crazy about puzzles – there were probably a hundred of them in the closet.

Steven decided to take a shot at the puzzle while he listened to the game. He took a seat on the floor and positioned his legs under the table. He began the task by separating out the outside pieces.

Two hours later, the football game was over – and Steven was becoming increasingly frustrated at the puzzle. He had only been able to put together bits and pieces of the outside of the puzzle. He had assembled some interior pieces, but he struggled to figure out how they went together. He had one chunk that pictured snow capped mountains, other pieces that showed a herd of elephants, and another portion an amusement park in a state of neglect – with roller coaster tracks that had begun to break into pieces and fall back to the ground. Other pieces didn’t seem to fit at all.

Steven was lost in his thoughts as was started when he heard the sound of a cough coming from the doorway. Amy had returned from work.

Steven smiled and looked up at Amy. “Finally, someone who can answer the great mystery of the universe. What the heck is this puzzle supposed to be.”

Amy laughed before responding. “Oh, dear. I hope you haven’t wasted much time. Those are all the extra pieces I found on the floor of the closet when I did spring cleaning. You’d got parts of at least a dozen puzzles.”

The fisherman cast his line into the water and grabbed a cold beverage from the cooler.  He cracked open the beer and  took a sip.  Truly, there was nothing in this world that was better than fishing from the river bank on a lazy summer day.

“Hey, Slugger, look alive.”

Slugger McCoy shook himself away from his day dream.  He was the designated hitter in this game, and his mind tended to wander between at bats.  He really wished that he could play in the field and be more involved in the action.  Even better, he wished he was fishing from a river bank on a lazy summer day.

A few minutes later, McCoy was taking a practice swing and stepped into the batter’s box.  A fastball came flying toward him at 95 miles per hour.  Slugger took a mighty swing at the pitch.  The bat made solid contact with the ball, propelling the white sphere into the center field bleachers.  Slugger pumped his fist as he rounded first base.  When he reached home plate, he was buried under a pile of humanity, as his teammates congratulated him and celebrated the team’s first title in thirty years.

“Paging Dr.  McCoy.  Dr. J.B. McCoy, please call extension 182.”

Dr. J.B. McCoy shook himself awake from a cat nap in the doctor’s lounge.  He had just finished a marathon surgery and the page likely meant that he would be heading back into the OR and picking up the scalpel again.  McCoy enjoyed his job – the money was good, and knew that his work had saved the lives of countless patients over the years.  He was at the pinnacle of his profession.  Still, every now and then, he wished he could have been a bit better baseball player and been able to play in the major leagues.

When McCoy answered the page, he found out that he was needed for an emergency surgery.  There was no time to waste – he needed to report to the OR on the double.  “I can sleep when I’m dead,” he muttered.  McCoy quickly finished his coffee and headed toward the operating room to save another life.

Jack McCoy felt a tug on the line and was now completely awake.  He’d only had a couple of nibbles all day, but this one seemed like the real deal.  He and the fish renewed the timeless battle between fish and angler.  Over the years, Jack McCoy had quite often been on the winning side of the battle – but many other times had seen the fish escape to live another day.  This time, McCoy emerged as the victor, reeling in a five pound bass.

McCoy was enjoying his retirement – spending many lazy summer days fishing from the riverbank.  Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if he had followed his dream and gone to medical school instead of following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather and becoming the third generation owner of the local hardware store.

When Betty arrived at her husband’s grave for her weekly visit, she was stunned at what she saw.  Next to Henry’s grave was another stone.  Someone named Eli Hart had been buried in her plot!  She and Henry had purchased the dual plot decades ago, with the plan to place two small marble stones atop the graves instead of a massive dual headstones that some folks seemed to prefer these days.

It seemed that those idiots at the cemetery had messed up some paperwork and this Eli fellow was buried in her plot!  Betty was mad  enough to spit nails.  The plots had cost them a pretty penny, and the funeral home had charged a small fortune for Henry’s funeral three years ago.  She wouldn’t begrudge them the money if they would do a competent job.  Who had ever heard of burying someone in the wrong spot?  Betty was going to storm into the funeral home the first thing Monday morning and raise holy hell with Samuel Clinton.  This Eli Hart fellow was going to have to be dug up and moved somewhere else.  After 50 years of marriage, Betty was damned if death was going to separate her from Henry.

Betty took a moment to regain her composure before beginning her time with Henry.  She decided that he didn’t need to be bothered with this nonsense about the grave mixup, so she didn’t bother to mention it to him.  Betty caught Henry up with all of the news in their family.  Their son David had finally been made a partner in his CPA firm – after many years of having the company drag their feet.  David and Amy’s daughter Melinda would begin her residency soon.  Melinda was going to make a great doctor some day.

Their youngest grandchild, Preston, was six months old and changing before her very eyes!  He was a happy baby, always laughing.  Betty remembered when his mother was the same age.  The smallest thing could set off Sarah into a half hour laughing fit.

The Cubs were off to a rough start again this year.  She hated to be the bearer of this bad news, but she also knew that Henry would want to know about his beloved Cubbies.  He had been the eternal optimist, always saying that “next year” would be their year.

Betty felt herself begin to get tired and knew that she had to wrap up the visit.  She said her goodbyes to Henry and prepared to leave.

The following day, two cemetery employees were performing routine maintenance at the cemetery.

“Jeff, take a look at that stone.  Grass clods from the mower are obscuring half the name.  Fix that, will you?”

The other man knelt in front of the stone and cleaned away the grass clods to reveal the name ELIzabetH ARThur.  As he glanced at the grave site, he was surprised at how rough it still looked.

“Betty has been dead for almost a year now.  Shouldn’t the ground be settled by now, Terry?”

“Maybe she rises from the dead each night and returns to her grave before the break of dawn.  That’s probably why the site appears to be disturbed, Jeffrey.”  Terry laughed at the absurdity of his response.

Marina pursed her lips and applied just the right amount of lipstick.  She took a long look at herself in the mirror.  She was wearing an absolutely stunning little black dress and had spent hours getting her hair and makeup just right.  She was ready for her big date.

Marina was going to be meeting her boyfriend for the first time in real life.  She had meet SportzNut99 several months ago on a blog devoted to their hometown Cardinals.  Marina – also known as CutiePie14 – had thought that his comments were smart and funny, and they quickly became friends.

They soon began conversing via instant messaging, beginning with innocent chats about sports before evolving into rather serious flirting.  Before long, love was in the air.  In a playful effort to keep some mystery in their relationship, they kept some personal details private.  Marina had no idea what this guy looked like.  In fact, she didn’t even know his real name – he was just SportzNut99.

At last, they had decided that this night could wait no longer.  They would finally meet in person and have their first official date.  They had talked about the date during their last online chat.

SportzNut99: How will we find each other?

CutiePie14:  Let’s play hide and seek.  I’ll hide and you seek.

SportzNut99: Sounds like … fun.  You’re definitely worth the hunt.

CutiePie14: You should be looking for a hot brunette in a sexy little black dress.

Marina took a last glance in the mirror before heading out the door.  The butterflies were starting to flutter, but she knew that a drink would calm them down.

A few minutes later, Marina entered The Den.  As she made her way toward the bar, she felt the eyes of every man in the bar following her.  It seemed that her assessment of this outfit was spot on – it was the perfect dress for her first date with SportzNut99.

“Marina,” yelled Mick from the other side of the bar, “you are looking hot, babe.  What can I get for you?”

“Double Dewars, on the rocks.”

“That’s my kind of girl,” replied the bartender.

Mick quickly brought the drink and added it to her tab.  Marina took a quick glup of the scotch in an attempt to gain some liquid courage.  First dates always made her look so nervous.

Marina grabbed what was left of the drink and found a nice, secluded table far from the front door of the bar.  SportzNut99 was going to have to make an effort to find her – Marina was going to play at least a little bit hard to get.

Marina wondered what SportzNutz would be like.  She was caught up in her daydreaming and didn’t hear the footsteps as the man stopped behind her.

“Hey baby, guess who?” came a voice from behind her, as hands quickly covered her eyes.

It took a half second for Marina to recognize the voice.

“Michael?” she exclaimed, as she jumped up and spun around to face her equally stunned brother.

For the last year, a serial killer had been slaughtering stranded motorists on the night of the full moon.  The Marauder had carved up twelve victims.  A motorist stumbling across the body of his fourth victim had glanced up and noticed a maroon car escaping into the distance.  This tiny scrap of information was the only clue to the identity of the killer.

From his home three states away, Dallas Roberts had been closely following the activities of the Marauder.  Dallas was unhappy with his own life.  He had failed to make any sort of mark upon the world.  He had failed in his career and failed in love.  On this night, he was determined to become famous.  He had driven six hundred miles to be in place for his destiny.

Roberts was parked on the side of the road with his hazard lights on.  The clock inside the car showed that the time was 1:45 AM.  Dallas was sure that his wait would be short – the Marauder always attacked between 1:57 and 3:48 AM.  Tonight, he would achieve fame – becoming the thirteenth victim of the Moonlight Marauder.

Dallas was shaken from his thoughts by lights in his rear view mirror – a vehicle was pulling up behind him on the shoulder.

A moment later, a form appeared next to his window.

“Need some help?”  Dallas looked up and saw a tall, blonde woman in her early twenties.

“Got a flat,” he explained.  “I’m waiting for a friend to get here.  Can’t very well change the flat with this broken wing,” he explained, showing off the arm sling that he was using as a prop.

“No need for you to wait.  Pop the trunk and I’ll change it for you.”

This woman was ruining Dallas’ perfectly laid plans – but he couldn’t think of a good way to get rid of her.  Dallas popped the trunk and jumped out of the car.

The woman effortlessly grabbed the spare tire and jack.  She loosened the lug nuts on the tire and quickly jacked up the car.

After changing the tire, she grabbed a flashlight from her back pocket and inspected the tire.

“Wow.  You’ve got a big chunk of metal in this tire.  I’m afraid you’re going to need a new tire, sport.”

Dallas was well aware of the magnitude of the damage to the tire.  After all, the damage was his own handiwork – to ensure that that Marauder wouldn’t sense a staged scene and pass him up as a victim.

“Name’s Megan White.”  The woman held out a dirty hand for Dallas to shake.

“Dallas Roberts,” he said, shaking the extended hand.

“What sort of work are you in, Dallas?”

“Unemployed at the moment, I’m afraid.  I’m a web developer when I can get work.”

“Oh?  What sort of web development?”

“Mostly PHP, but I dabble in Java from time to time.”

“Give me a call in the morning.  I run a small web consulting company, and we’re a bit short staffed on the PHP side of the house.  I wouldn’t mind seeing more of you,” she said as she smiled broadly and gave Dallas a wink.  Megan pulled a business card out of her pocket and handed it to him.

Dallas’ heart jumped in his chest.  Was she flirting with him?  He would definitely take her up on the offer.  He’d love to have the opportunity to start earning money again, and he thought he’d enjoy working with the smart, athletic, attractive woman.

“Keep safe,” she shouted, as she got back in her truck.  “The Moonlight Marauder has been known to strike in these parts.”

Dallas had a smile on his face as he jumped back into his car.  He pulled back onto the interstate and started looking for a motel that was open at this time of the night.  The few places he passed had “NO VACANCY” signs buzzing atop the inns.

Twenty minutes later, Dallas noticed a vibration and then felt a tire blow out.  He pulled to the side of the road and ditched the useless sling.  As he popped the trunk to grab the spare tire, he came to the realization that Megan had put on the spare to replace the perfectly good tire that he had carved up.

As Dallas pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and wandered around trying to find a signal, the sound of scattering gravel told him that another car was approaching.

“Help you, son?” asked a tall, grandfatherly man.  Dallas glanced up and noticed that that the car parked behind him on the shoulder was a maroon Taurus.  When his eyes shifted back to the right, he saw the light of the moon glinting off the blade of the Moonlight Marauder’s knife.

Kevin cursed as he saw that the side mirror was once again coming loose from the door.  This car was a cheap piece of plastic – nothing like the classic metal Detroit used to produce.  He had been getting the mirror fixed at least once a month for the last year.  He put the magenta sports car into gear and floored the accelerator as he exited the parking lot.

Kevin slid around the corner on two wheels and once again accelerated into the long straightaway.  When he popped up over the hill, he saw livestock roaming at the bottom of the hill – four cows, a pig, a few chickens, and something that appeared to resemble a buffalo.  The fence that typically restrained the animals was laying flat in the ditch – the apparent victim of the mid-day windstorm.  Kevin took evasive action, slowing the car slightly as he roared by on the shoulder – which had, fortunately, not become home to the mobile menagerie.

Kevin’s foul mood worsened when he realized that his mother-in-law was still at their house.  Was this woman never going to leave?  It seemed that she was constantly at their house.

“Leah, we must put a stop to this.  Your mother has to leave!”

“Stop yelling, Kevin.  It will just be a few more days.”

“It’s always just a few more days.  It’s been just a few more days for the last month!”

Kevin stormed upstairs to change into some comfortable clothes.  His head nearly exploded when he entered the room and saw that bedroom was missing the king sized waterbed.  An air mattress was now in its place.  To make matters worse, the twins’ bed and toys had all been transported into the room.  It was impossible to walk in the room without tripping over something.

Sarah had to be stopped.  It was bad enough that she was overstaying her welcome, but she was not going to steal his bed.  The woman was going to sleep on the air mattress and share a room with the kids.  If she didn’t like the accommodations, there was a hotel two blocks down the road.

Kevin finished tying his shoe laces and returned downstairs for the inevitable confrontation.  He spotted his mother-in-law in the kitchen.

“Sarah,” he began.  “You must stop –“

Kevin lost his train of thought when he looked around the room.  The refrigerator and stove had been torn loose from the wall, and the entire kitchen was in disarray.  What on earth had happened in here?  Had the old woman completely lost her marbles and attempted to destroy the house?

He had only a moment to ponder the question before he felt the earth move under his feet.  He made eye contact with Sarah and saw fear in her eyes.  This was an earthquake – a very bad one.  The house shook uncontrollably – debris flew in every direction.  This was the end – Kevin knew that he was going to die.

“Jennifer,” called out a voice from downstairs.  “Have you put your dollhouse away yet?  Supper is ready.”