The Well

     Every morning Mr. Jones would walk a mile down the dirt road, wooden bucket in hand, from his cottage to the well for his daily water. Neighbors who saw him thought him crazy to walk such a long way to a well long dry, and never miss a day no less. No one ever bothered to watch for his return with his bucket brimming with water.

     One day one of the neighbors did bother  and asked if he could walk along.

     'Suit yourself. It isn't my road.'

     The two walked along in silence. When the well came into view, the neighbor ran ahead.

     'I'm going to prove to you this well is dry. Then I want you to show me where you really fetch the water from.'

     That said, he picked up some stones and dropped them into the well. Instead of a splash, the stones landed with a clacked when they landed.

     'See? Now we both know there's nothing down there but dry ground and some stones.'

     Mr. Jones said nothing. He removed a pocket knife from his dungarees, rolled his shirtsleeve and sliced his forearm.

     'What are you doing, man? You are as crazy as everyone says!'

     Mr. Jones paid no attention to his neighbor as he let his blood drop into the well. After a few minutes he tied his kerchief around his wound and lowered his bucket into the well. When he drew it up again, the bucket was filled to the brim with water.

     'I don't believe this! I want to taste this water of yours.'

     Mr. Jones presented his bucket and the other man dipped his cupped hand into it.

     'That's the best water I ever put to my lips! Amazing! We both heard those rocks I tossed in strike the bottom. Yet you have a bucket filled with fresh cool water.'

     Mr. Jones only shook his head and turned to walk back home. The neighbor grabbed his arm.

     'You're not going anywhere until you to tell me how you did this.'

     Again, Mr. Jones shook his head. 'You were hear. You saw everything I did. That's all there is to it. I'm going home now. Come or stay.' Mr. Jones shook his arm free of the other man's grip

and proceeded to walk away.

     The other man returned his attention to the well. 'Jones didn't drop his bucket that far down. I bet I can touch the water,' he thought to himself as he bent over the edge of the well. He couldn't feel any water, so he stretched himself a bit further over the wall of the well. This time when he reached down he lost his balance and fell in.

     Mr. Jones heard the thud of the body hitting the bottom. Without looking he knew the man's fate and smiled as he continued his homeward trek.

     The next day Mr. Jones grabbed his bucket as was his daily ritual and headed down the dirt road. When he was close enough he saw only the pitched roof of the well above the surface of a beautiful pool of clear water.

     'This should get me through the Summer,' he whispered to himself as he dipped his bucket.

 

Dark Moon Harvest

     Midnight. Dark of the moon. A time for planting, they say.

     Fog rises into the cold air like an exhaled breath. I'm out with my sack of seed potatoes and peas. We should have both in time for Easter. Fortunately, the earth is warm and willing so the digging takes little effort. I make mounds for the potatoes and massage the soil over the seeds once they're in. The fog blankets by work. A nearby voice moans.

     'Who's there? Someone there?'

     I hear neither voice nor footstep. I progress to the next mound where I again plant seed potatoes and massage the soil over them. There's that moan again.

     'Are you hurt, whomever you are?'

     No answer. No further moans. I feel the nervous Nell. Foolish to let the dark and the fog play me this way. I tell myself I'll not ever finish if I let my imagination stop me every two minutes. I move to the next spot. 

     I pack the soil into a mound into which I place the seed potatoes and cover them with more soil. I continue to the next and the next in silence.

     'Touch me  as you did before.'

     I straighten my back in my kneeling position. 'What's that? Who's there?'

     'Touch me as you did before.'

     'I don't know what you mean. I haven't touched anyone. Who are you? Where are you?'

     'Rub me like you did and I'll give you more than potatoes.'

     A woman. Out in this at this time of night did not bode well. She must be some sort of witch. I sprang to my feet. The fog was denser at my full height of six feet. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, much less some woman begging me to touch her.

     'Go away, Woman. I have work to do. I'm not interesting in whatever it is you're offering.'

     'I said touch me. Get back down on your knees as you were and massage my mounds some more. I'll give you more in return than you can imagine.'

     Intuition told me to run. Apprehension and the fog forced me to stay. I got down on my knees and proceeded as I was told to do. I gathered the soil into a mound. Planted the seed potatoes and covered them with more soil which I massaged into form.

     'Oh, yes. That's it. I want you.'

     The ground shook under me. I tried to get on my feet to run, but the tremor keep me aground. A chasm opened and I fell in.

     'Now, my darling, it is my turn to return the favor' is the last thing I heard before the earth closed over me.

     Another Dark Moon. I rise from the earth like an exhaled breath. Touch me.



Adam

     Moonless night so dark and deep the stars were concealed. A flash of lightning ripped and penetrated. Rolling thunder moaned in pain then pleasure. He slid out of the channel created by the lightning to unfathomable depths below. As he descended tissue formed and bone gave it shape. He grew eyes and opened them just as he landed in the sea. Waves carried him to shore and presented him on a white sand beach. He lay for a while on the beach, his back relaxed on the white sand feeling  gentle ocean waves caressing his body.

     The present moment was all there was. The past whispered no secrets to him about where he had been before he arrived here. No future beckoned him to plan or fret. He stood and walked a short distance into a jungle, uninhibited and unaware of self or time.

Shameless Appeal For Mister R

Here's a link to my project submission to Amazon Studios, MISTER R.

Please take a look. Write a review, even if only a line or two. I can only learn from whatever you may feel about the work. I appreciate your willingness to allow me to entertain you a little.

Thank you for your support.

Best,
Mdan

http://studios.amazon.com/projects/65549

The Back Porch

1782

     "What are you doing? Spot, I told you to stay away from there. Go on now. Go catch yourself a rabbit or something if you're hungry."

1882

     "That's not for you. Go on, now, Ringo. Look at you with blood all over your face. People will think you've gone mad."

1992

     "Dammit, Patches. How did you get back here?  I thought I hooked that screen-door. That meat has to last us a while. Drop that now."
     Patches looks at her master, wags her tail, but she doesn't drop her quarry.
     Patches, I mean it now. Drop that.
     Patches drops her prize on the plank floor of porch and sits looking up at the man.

    " Good girl, Patches."

     Her tail still wagging, she bows her head. She takes a quick lick of the fingers she had nibbled as her reward.

Manhattan Spirit Guides

     Wind plays dry leaves hanging on the dry oak trees like Chumash turtle rattles 

as he walked along the bank of the Hudson River. Flotsam caught in cross-current 

formed the ripples of spirit canoes. Early winter limits food sources as wildlife 

holes up in their dens. The village depends on its band of hunters for survival. 

Squirrels rustle in the dead dry leaves on the ground looking for fallen nuts. The hiker

turns to look, but the squirrel disappeared without making another sound.

     The hiker pulls his hat down to cover his ears and his coat

up tighter around his neck as he surveys the woods around him. The occasional crackling

of almost frozen earth and the turtle rattles in the trees keep his eyes sharp.

     A firm grip on his shoulder pulls him into the underbrush. The branches arch

into a low canopy providing a place out of the wind to sit a few minutes and

get a little warm before continuing on his journey. He relaxes. An arrow whirs

near his ear and pins a rabbit to the ground a few feet away. Before he can get

on his feet again, the rabbit and the arrow vanished. The sound of the

turtle rattle fades in the distance. He is warm enough to continue on his way

to the car park at the beginning of the trail. 

     A wolf howls and others join in. On impulse the man also howls in reply. A good howl seemed like the polite thing to do.

A Christmas Ghost

     A doorknob turned. The front door opened. The old wood floor creaked moments after I settled into bed and turned off the lamp on the nightstand. Creaking footfalls led to the other bedroom and that door opened and closed.
     My roommate was on his way to Europe for the holidays. He and I possessed the only keys, yet he sound of the front door opening was preceded by the click of a key in the locks. I lay still and listened. Minutes after the other door, the one to my roommate's bedroom, opened and closed it opened once again. Once again the floor creaked with footsteps. This time the footsteps paused outside my own door.
     Silence and curiosity overtook me and I got out of bed. I clasped the doorknob. I listened. I sensed someone waiting on the other side of the door. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
     The other door once again opened and a hooded black silhouette emerged into the hall. the door closed behind it. I stood agape. Whoever this was, he was searching for my roommate.
     There were no lights on in the apartment, so the blackness of the entity was indeed a deeper black than night. Ignoring me, the ghost proceeded down the hall to the front door. Outhouse stench trailed this being. No, the odor was worse than an outhouse. Death, slaughter mixed in. Rotted meat with maggots I once discovered in an abandoned refrigerator dumped on the side of a country road sprang to mind. I held my breath and observed the being as it passed through the front door.
     The noxious odor left with the being and was replaced with the smell of a Spring garden. I returned to my bed wide-eyed by the scene I witnessed. I couldn't help but to wonder why this entity was looking for my friend.