Tales and Teasers

Flash fiction, book teasers and writing challenges to entertain the heart and mind.

Family

Written By: Kathryn C. Lang - Jun• 13•12

I sat there and stared at the blank screen but refused to let it crush me under its weight. “I need something.” I demanded from the cursor. It refused to reply. I thought about surfing around Facebook or even Twitter for a prompt. It had worked before. I remembered that Readers’ Realm offers up a Flash Fiction challenge each month. I jumped over to the site and had to grin. The words were interesting, to say the least, but I had my prompt.

The story probably was not what the site had in mind – I suspect most of the offering will be on the lighter side of disastrous vacation tales. I knew exactly where I was going as soon as I saw the prompt. The story had been swimming around in my head, I just needed the right hook to pull it out.

If you enjoy the short story, be sure to check out the novel, RUN, that launches the Big Springs series. Be on the look out for more Big Springs stories to arrive through out the year.

Family

The family chose the worst summer to take a vacation or maybe it was just the wrong time. Things went wrong from the moment they hit the road and it got worse from there. White smoke pouring from the tailpipe should have prompted them to stop and turn around, but the dad was determined.

The oldest daughter was not fourteen. He knew that family time would lose to friends and events in just a moment’s notice. He needed this to give him a chance to reconnect with his family and to build a stronger bridge with the child about to be a women.

The girl stared at the window. She had been watching the scenery slip past, but now a small spider had her attention. It had attached to the edge of her door and was holding on against the pressure from the wind of the car moving down the interstate. The white smoke saved it.

“Not now.” He slowed down and turned on his blinker. “We have to stop.” The girl waited for her mom to say something, but she never did. Her face said enough.

The girl turned her attention back to the spider. As soon as the car stopped the spider took the break to scramble down into a crevice of the door. It found safety.

The dad stepped out of the car and opened the hood. More smoke billowed out. “This may take some time.” Her mom finally spoke. Her mother offered her a blanket and a picnic basket. She and her two younger brothers climbed out of the far side of the car – away from traffic – and found a spot on the wooded hill just up from the car.

She watched her brothers run around hiding behind trees. Their giggle encompassed whispers revealed their locations and made it easy to keep an eye on them. She let her attention move down the hill to her dad.

He had been working on the car for a while before a white van pulled up behind him. The van looked like it belonged to some type of contractor, but there were no marks on the side. Two men got out. One had a swagger that made him seem more designed for one of the rock bands she listened to. The other man had the hair for the position though. Their appearance made her smile.

She followed the giggles of her brothers and found them again behind some nearby trees. She had the food and the drinks so she knew they would not stray too far. The men pulled more tools from their own truck and were now helping her dad. She was too far away to see what they were doing and her mind wandered up to the sky above her.

The sun sprinkled through the limbs above and the slight breeze danced a mosaic of light around her. She leaned back into the warmth and nibbled on one of the mozzarella sticks her mom had packed in the basket. The boys saw the food and rushed to join her. Their energy and excitement were contagious and she found herself giggling with them.

She never saw the third man in the van, but he saw her.

“Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.” She let the thought carry her into more play with her brothers.

The man watched from below. He had been watching for months and it was finally time. He smiled at her laughter. This would be a good day for his family.

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The Note

Written By: Kathryn C. Lang - Mar• 14•12


The words were probably Latin. He liked to write in the dead language so it was probably Latin. She could not read it and would not read it even if she could. Her instinct was to wad the letter up and throw it away – far away from her and her car. The mere feeling of it made the flesh in her fingers crawl. He was watching – he was always watching. She could feel him watching her so she folded the note and set it in the seat beside her. The rose was placed on top of the note.

The letters had been coming for over a month now. They first appeared after she broke off her relationship with him. The break up had been uncomfortable for her and apparently unacceptable for him. At first, it was only a note now and then, always written in Latin and accompanied by a single red rose.

The frequency had increased and the intensity in the letters seemed to grow – they were no longer just notes, but several pages of those dead words calling out to her. The paper showed the wear of him pressing down hard. Some days there would even be a tear in one of the pages. She moved her car, but he always found it. He was watching.

Some nights he would sit under her third floor window on the picnic table below. He never tried to get to her apartment. He never yelled or threatened. He would just sit calmly at the table and let her know he was near. She watched him and tried not to imagine what he was writing on the papers around him as he sat at the table below.

Other nights he would call. He wanted her back. He needed her back. All of the attention and all of the words were to prove to her that she belonged with him.

The evening before exams, he had watched her window until late. She looked out before crawling in bed and he was still there. Just the thought of him below her made sleep uneasy, but she tried. He must have given up his tableside vigil, because the ringing phone later disrupted her restless slumber.

“You have to come back to me.”

She had heard it all before, and nothing had changed for her. It was over and there was no going back. Words were not necessary. He would not listen anyway.

“I will not live without you.”

She was through. He would have to find a way to live without her. He pushed her to her limit and she was through. She hung up the phone and unplugged it from the wall for good measure. Sleep seemed to come much easier after that.

Morning came clear and bright and she chose to walk to class. Voices buzzed in the room until she walked in. They turned and stared and now everyone was watching her. Her roommate grabbed her arm and led her out of the room.

“He did it.”

She knew who the he was, but she shook her head because she had no idea what he had done.

“They found him not long ago. He had overdosed.”

She looked around and found a seat before her legs gave out. The unplugged phone left her with a knot in her stomach. He may have called her for help.

“That is not all.”

What else could there be.

“They found a gun next to him in the parking lot.”

She looked up with surprise and fear. Had he been waiting for her? She gathered her strength and began the walk across campus. They followed her – in part to be sure she was okay but also to see.

The yellow tape was obvious even before they got to her car. It was around the spots just up a few spaces from where she had parked. The rose was on the windshield, but there was no note. Was he waiting for me?

She sat down on the curb and could see the note that had fallen under her car. She crawled over and took it out. The words were not in Latin.

“I told you.”

She stood up and shook the dirt off her pants. These words would not rule over her any more than the dead ones that came before. She wadded up the note and threw it in the trash. She did not care if he was watching because she knew now that her freedom belonged to her and her alone.

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He Gave All

Written By: Kathryn C. Lang - Mar• 07•12

He came out of nowhere and offered me everything. I had to wonder if the cost that I would have to pay would be worth it all.

The man sat in the back portion of the children’s train ride. He should have been out of place, but for some reason he seemed to belong. I watched him for a while from my own perch on the bench by the pond. I often came to the spot to listen to the water lap up against the bank. He caught me looking and we shared a smile.

His ride ended and he walked over to join me on my bench. It was probably rude, but I had to ask about the train.

“Why were you riding the children’s ride?”

His smile beamed and I could see laughter in his eyes. “Actions of a child will help me keep the heart of the child. The heart of a child will help me continue to believe that everything is possible.”

I nodded, but tucked away his words to think over later. We continued to talk and I enjoyed the conversation. I found comfort in his presence.

“Excuse me a minute.” He walked over to a vendor and came back with two bags of peanuts and two drinks. “These are for you.” He handed one drink and one bag to me. Every third peanut he threw out to the squirrels and birds. I followed suit and we continued to talk while we snacked.

We parted ways, but his words followed me. It made sense to find a way to keep the heart of a child. Imagination would fuel just about any possibility. I just could not find the courage to ride the children’s rides in the park.

The thought of his smile combined with his words of wisdom. I spent several days looking for ways to capture my own attitude of childish joy. Singing along with the elevator music or doing a little spin while I walked helped but people kept staring. I struggled to continue down that same path day in and day out.

The man showed up again just when my efforts were about to wane. He was renting a bike at the stand up the street from my apartment.

“Care to join me?”

It had been years since I took a ride on a bicycle. Perfect weather settled in the afternoon. A casual ride through the park might be the perfect ending to my day. I looked at the bicycles with envy.

“You know you want to.” He was smiling that smile he wore after the train ride. I wanted that smile.

“I haven’t ridden in years.” It was an excuse. What I was thinking about was the others around me and what they would be thinking.

“All the more reason to come along.”

I noticed that he was not the only one getting a bicycle. There were about a half dozen men and women in differing types of clothing. They all looked as nervous as I felt and that made the decision a little easier. “I think I will.”

We peddled slowly around the trail that wound its way around a nearby pond. Each person became more comfortable in their seats and soon we were all chatting while we rode. We made our way back around to the rental location and turned in our bicycles. The man pointed at a diner. “Anyone hungry?”

A few in the group excused themselves but several of us nodded and followed him into the diner. The waitress greeted him and guided us all to a large table in the back of the place. “I have your table ready.”

Her words did not get past me. I started wondering how often he had to visit this place with this many people to have that special table referred to as HIS table.

We all ordered and continued the light conversations we had while riding around the pond. The meal was wonderful and the food was also good, but it was getting late. I motioned to the waitress and asked for my check. She nodded towards the man. “He took care of it.” He looked over at me at that moment and smiled that same, calming smile.

I left the diner thinking about his gifts. They were small when looked at individually, but they had to add up. I stopped and looked back down the street towards the diner. “He paid for the bikes, too.” Some of the people walking past stared at me as I talked to myself there on the sidewalk. I wondered the rest of the night just who this man was that had the heart of a child and was so eager to give everything away to anyone that would receive.

It was a week before I saw the man again. He was in the park behind an ice cream cart handing out cones to anyone that would accept. He smiled and I was aware of how much I had come to need that smile. “Want a cone?”

I shook my head, but he stepped around the cart with two cones anyway.

“I’ll have one if you have one.” He offered one of the cones to me.

I could not let him miss out just because of me. “Thank you.” I had so many questions for him, but he wanted to talk about me. He asked about my job and my family. The conversations with him were always so easy. By the time we made our way out of the park, the cones were gone and felt surprisingly refreshed.

We parted ways at the corner and he was lost in the crowd before I realized I knew nothing about him. I spent that night in my room staring at the ceiling and thinking on the man from the park. He seemed to have nothing, or at least he was just an ordinary man, but he gave so freely and with such abandon.

“He has to be rich.”

It made since that he would be a wealthy eccentric just throwing away money on anyone that he saw. But he did not seem like a rich eccentric.

“He has to be crazy.”

It made since that he was a man that had lost a grasp on reality and was just floundering through life without a care to hold him to reality.

Both answers seemed plausible, and I was sure that there was only one way I would ever know for sure.

The next several days I went looking for the man. I checked the train ride, the bicycle rental and the diner. Just when I was about to give up, he showed up still smiling. “Are you looking for me?”

I wondered how he could possibly know that, but did not want to get lost from my focus. “I have some questions.”

“I knew you would.” He motioned over to a bench and we sat down to talk.

“Every time I see you, you are doing something unexpected. Most of the time you are giving things away to anyone that takes them. Who are you?”

He smiled and for a moment I thought that was all that I was going to receive as an answer. He watched me and then spoke. The answer that he offered left me with more to think about than before I asked.

Jesus is either crazy or has it all and is willing to give it freely. It is that simple, but I want there to be more to the equation. There has to be.

I find that I struggle to accept His giving sincerity more than I want to admit – even to myself. I am not sure if I am willing to pay the price to receive what He has even though I know that the price has already been paid in full.

Jesus does not require that I make a payment for what He offers because He made the payment in full on the cross.

Jesus does not demand that I change to receive what He offers because He knows love will call me to that place in my own time.

My only requirement is a choice – to follow Him – and even He paid the price for me to be in a position to do that.

He did the work and I receive the benefits. Jesus either has it all or is crazy. Each person has to make the choice.

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A Mother Lost

Written By: Kathryn C. Lang - Feb• 27•12

His presence filled the room. The man behind the desk was not diminished by sitting down in the chair. Even the impressive desk did nothing to reduce his importance. His eyes were sharp and so deep that they appeared hollow. The crease on his tie held a perfection that showed his importance and even the bold colors re-asserted his position of authority.

The visitor stood in the room with his own authority. He did not shy or cringe from the presence of the one behind the desk. The visitor spoke first. “We have found her.”

The man behind the desk sat staring at the visitor before he spoke. “She will run again?”

“There’s no reason to expect any less.”

“Can you get her to cooperate?”

“It’s doubtful.”

The man turned in his chair to face out the window. Quiet settled in the room. The visitor stood straight even with the quiet. He knew the man was balancing a future in his thoughts. The man turned back with a nod. “Try, but handle it however is necessary to make it happen.”

The visitor nodded and left. He had expected the outcome of the meeting before walking through the door, but he still had to wait for the order. The parking garage echoed his footsteps as he crossed to his car. He would try, but he knew she would never agree. It would be sad to see her go.

His car stopped in front of the diner where she had breakfast. She was not alone so she would not run. Her eyes flashed with fear the moment he stepped through the doors, but his instincts held true. She did not run. The baby in the highchair beside her giggled when he sat down in the booth.

They stared at each other. She looked over at her child and smiled. Her fear had turned to anger when she turned back to face him. “Leave.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“You can do whatever you choose to do.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“I left.”

“You can never leave.”

“I left.” She moved the highchair closer to her side of the booth.

“There are consequences to our actions.”

She sat up straight and tried to hide all of her emotions. One tear ran down her face and it gave her away. “Leave.”

He stood up and walked through the door. It would have to be handled a different way.

The man sat behind his desk and watched the clouds move their reflection across the water. The visitor had returned, but the man knew what news came with him.

“It is done.”

“She knew the consequences of breaking the agreement. She made the choice.” The man did not turn away from the window.

“What of the child?”

“She will be watched. She is part of the family as well, but we will bring her in when the time is right.”

The visitor left the man once again balancing a future in his thoughts.

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Keep the Prize

Written By: Kathryn C. Lang - Feb• 02•12

The ringing phone interrupted their afternoon on nothing. Karen looked at the number on the caller idea and then at Beth. The smirk made Beth wonder what she was up to.

“Hello?” Karen answered.

“Ms. Henchey?”

“This is Ms. Henchey.” Karen winked at Beth and Beth tried to lean in close enough to hear both ends of the conversation.

“Ms. Henchey, my name is John and I am very happy to inform you that you have won front row seats this weekend’s gala even in . . . ”

“Thank you, but I am not interested.” Karen interrupted him in the middle of his presentation.

Silence crackled on the phone line and it made her smile widen. Beth shook her head and tried not to encourage her.

“You do not understand, Ms. Henchey. You have already won.”

“I understand perfectly. I am still not interested.” Beth wagged a finger at her and mouthed “you are BAD.” It only made Karen grin more.

“Um, Ms. Henchey, could you hold on a second.” She could hear the confusion in his voice.

Karen covered the mouth of the phone. “I went off script.”

Beth shook her head again. “That is never good.”

“I think he went for reinforcements.”

“You could just hang up.”

“I tried that alreadh of the phone. “I went off script.”

Beth shook her head again. “That is never good.”

“I think he went for reinforcements.”

“You could just hang up.”

“I tried that already. They keep calling back.”

“So this is your plan B.”

“It is something anyway.” They both giggled.

“Ms. Henchey?”

“This is Ms. Henchey.”

“Ms. Henchey, this is Shay. John said you needed to speak with me.”

“I think it was the other way around.” Beth laughed and Karen gave her an evil look. She covered her mouth to muffle the noise.

“I’m sorry?”

Karen had to bite her own lip to keep from joining Beth in the fit of laughter. “I mean that I believe that John wanted YOU to talk to me.”

“Oh? Could you hold on a second?”

“Why not.” Karen answered the empty line. The voice on the other end had already vanished. She covered the mouth of the phone again. “I think Shay and John must be having a pow wow.”

“You are WAY more patient than me.”

“I am just determined to win this game.”

“I thought you had already won. Isn’t that what got you here in the first place?”

Karen threw a pillow at her head but she ducked. The voice on the other end returned. “Ms. Henchey?”

“This is Ms. Henchey.”

“Yes, ma’am. John was telling me that you have won two tickets to this weekends . . . ”

“Did John mention that I was not interested?”

“But you have already won.”

“But I am not interested.”

“But the tickets are free . . . because you won.”

“But I am still not interested.”

Beth had her head buried in the pillow Karen had thrown. The tears of laughter were pouring down her face. Karen struggled to contain hers.

“Ms. Henchey. I am confused. Do you not want what is rightfully yours?”

“Wow!” She held back none of the sarcasm. “You mean the tickets are mine?”

The voice was excited now. “Yes. You have already won.”

“Oh, in that case . . . I am still not interested.” She winked at Beth again. “I have an idea. Why not pretend that I never answered and just give those tickets to someone else. I think John has earned his way, give them to him.”

“Ms. Henchey. The tickets are yours.”

Beth had all she could take. She snatched the phone from Karen. “This is Ms. Harris.”

“What happened to Ms. Henchey?”

“I am sorry. Ms. Henchey was called away unexpectantly.”

The silence returned. Beth covered the receiver and whispered to Karen, “this is fun.”

“Do you know when I can reach Ms. Henchey?”

Beth thought for a second and then smiled from ear to ear. Karen looked at her sideways. “Ms. Henchey has to be away until Monday. Can I leave her a message?”

The crackle almost hid the flurry of voices on the other end. “Um, I guess there is no message. Thank you”

“No thank you.” Beth hung up and the two erupted in laughter that left them with a full ab workout.

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The Application

Written By: Kathryn C. Lang - Jan• 30•12

“We are so glad you made it back today.” The usher was pumping my hand like he expected to get water.

I smiled politely. “What do you want?” I thought the words, but they were never allowed to escape my thoughts. I said, “Thank you. I have been enjoying the services.”

He cast his line. “You ought to think about joining us.”

“You know, I have been thinking about that.” He had a nibble. With lightening precision, the application and pen were thrust towards my hands.

“Huh?” I was startled, but followed the billowing paper.

He guided me to a back room. “We have a place set up just for you to fill this out.” They had a place just for me. I liked the feeling the idea brought with it. I settled into the chair that the usher pushed my way. I was certain that there was laughter coming from somewhere behind the wall, but past it off as a conversation with another member of the congregation.

APPLICATION FOR MEMBERSHIP. The billowing paper again caught my attention. I looked at the paper the usher was holding. I could make out the words even from this distance. “Do you mean I need to apply to your church?” The memory of my first job interview swept into my mind – sweaty palms and shaking resume not excluded.

“No. It is not like that. We just like to know more about you when you join. That way we can make sure we get you plugged in to the right place.” He jiggled the paper a little, and I reached out for my chance to become a part of it all.

NAME, ADDRESS, PHONE NUMBER, DATE OF BIRTH. It all seemed harmless. I glanced up at the usher and thought I noticed him in the corner dancing a jig of excitement – he’d hooked one. Then I noticed him still by my side and realized it was just a mirage, or a dream, and I returned my attention to the paper.

HOBBIES, INTERESTS, GIFTS. I guess this kind of information could help them find a place for me. I scribbled down a few of my favorites. The usher was grinning like a possum. Although I’m not completely sure how they do that.

EDUCATIONAL BACKGROUND, SPIRITUAL BACKGROUND. I was stumped. I knew where I had attended school, although I was not sure what it mattered. It was the spiritual background that had me concerned. The usher sensed my trepidation and was quick to guide me through this rough point. “That is nothing’. It helps us understand how to help you if we know where you have gone to church in the past.”

“Oh.” I nodded. “I guess that does make sense.” There was that laughter again. The usher tapped on the paper to focus my attention down, and I obliged.

EMPLOYER, WORK PHONE, SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER. He could see my anxiety before I had spoken a word. He tapped the paper at the line I was reading. “That is for your benefit. This ways, the accountant has a record of what you tithe, the percentage of your income, and he can have the tax papers ready faster. I heard more laughter, and this time I looked around. The usher seemed oblivious on purpose. I decided to read on before doing anymore writing.

SHIRT SIZE, PANT SIZE, SHOE SIZE. I shook my head. “That is for the uniform – for the choir of course.” His grin only worked to make my hair stand on end.

EYE COLOR, HAIR COLOR, WEIGHT. “Is this a misprint?” I was pointing to the weight portion of the list. It all seemed to be getting a bit Stepford for me. I looked over my shoulder, but the coast seemed clear.

“Oh no, that bit of information helps protect the entire congregation. You see, this church is built on a faulty foundation. In order to keep it from falling in we have to evenly distribute the people. We need to know your weight in order to do that.”

I watched the usher for a moment, but he was serious. This was more in depth than I wanted to get into at the moment. “Um, I think I will just take this home with me for now.” I folded the form and put it in my purse. “I do not want to rush things.” I stood up. His look seemed to crush in on itself. It was not going to happen this time and he knew it.

“No, you should fill it out now, really,” his heart was not in the plea and he sighed. He gazed longingly at my purse and the now tucked away application as he walked me to the door. He noticed another new couple out of the corner of his eye – two for one – and I was no more than a story in the back of his mind about the one that got away.

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Lost

Written By: Kathryn C. Lang - Jan• 26•12

I remember enjoying the crisp fall day. I remember a squirrel barking at something from his perch in the tree near the porch. I remember the breeze sending a rain of yellow leaves down on the lawn. That is all that I remember until I woke up in the crate.

The dampness of the crate and the way things moved made me suspect that I was on the water. The muffled sounds around me were faint and foreign. I knew I was in trouble, but it would be a while before I realized just how much trouble.

Instinct had me check my pockets for something – anything – that might be able to help me from the dark place where I was now trapped. My cell phone, my keys and everything else that tied me back to that crisp day on the porch were gone. It seemed impossible, but it sure felt like that crate got even darker in that moment.

A faint spear of light managed to pierce one corner of the crate. I was thankful for the last few months of yoga because it would take some serious maneuvering to make use of that crack. The twisting rocked the crate enough that it should have attracted attention, but no one noticed or cared. The darkness now seemed to be sucking out the oxygen around me.

The first look was of nothing but other crates. I twisted a little more and saw what I took to be the edge of a ship. Footsteps closed in and I managed to rock the crate and cry out, but the steps faded without even slowing. Any hope of getting help faded with those steps. I was alone, with no idea of where I was, no idea of how I had gotten into the darkness, and no idea of what I would do next.

The moment allowed for a small amount of panic – it even seemed to cry out for it. Instinct insisted that panic should not be released. I needed to control if I wanted to get through this mess alive.

It took several deep breathes, but control came. It helped that the footsteps had passed without acknowledging my presence. I kicked at the crack in the crate and heard the squeaking sound of a nail dragging loose from the wood. I managed a few more kicks and was free.

The pungent odor of seawater and dead fish made me almost wish I had stayed in crate. I made my way to the edge and noticed that the boat had docked. The area seemed clear and I took the advantage to make my escape.

Looking back, maybe I was not escaping as much as digging in deeper.

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