Hell’s Home: Better run like hell

 

2 blogs, 1 story

 
Lightning pierced the sky. The air was becoming heavier and the filtered sunlight that shone down through the tree canopy within the woods was almost gone.

A storm was coming. A big one from the looks of it and Roger wanted gone. Despite these things, Roger’s truck keys remained undaunted-and hidden from view.

He had no idea how long the woman had been standing in front of him before she tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to jump and let out a very unmanly squeal.

Just a little one, she probably didn’t even hear it, but still.

Getting startled and jumping made for a bad impression when the paranormal was supposed to be your thing.

“Hey! Pay attention when you’re being spoken to. I know who and what you are,” the woman snarled up at him without preamble, her features twisting into a mask of contempt, her hands on her hips.

“And you aren’t welcome here.”

Oh now everything was perfect. Because dealing with a harpy, a storm at night in the woods, and looking for his keys was exactly what he needed this very moment.

“Yeah? You’re at the advantage then. Who are you?” Roger asked, resigned.

The woman peered at Roger in exasperated annoyance. “Why don’t you ask Addie?”

She nodded at his surprise.

“Mmhhmm, I thought you’d run into to her. Look, what you think you know? You don’t. Go home, we don’t need you getting in the way.”

She jangled Roger’s errant keys in his face for emphasis and he jumped. Again. What was wrong with him?

He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Why are you so angry? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

The woman rolled her eyes, plunked the keys in the palm of his hand and turned away from him, letting the wind carry back her answer.

“We don’t want you here. None of us do. Keep your nose out of what doesn’t concern you. You’ll be much safer.”

Rog wondered uneasily if she weren’t right, as he (ran) made his way back to towards the house and the truck.

He managed to kick off his muddy boots before he hit the bed and slept soundly, only to awaken with the feeling of someone standing next to his bed. No one was.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was only 5:15am but he felt like he was already hours behind schedule.

Hell’s Home was the holder of secrets and full to the brim with the angry, the restless and agitated, and the lost.

He had the strangest feeling that time was running out. For himself and for Addie and Aaron. Trick was, figuring it out before time was up.

 

I would’ve blogged but…

 
I would’ve blogged sooner, I really would have, but a plastic grocery bag monster tried to eat me.
 

candid can shots of plastic bags
It’s just a plastic grocery bag…(yeah but it’s got big teef!)

 
Then a camera eating snake tried to snatch my cell from my hand, but just before it could…
Getting the one snake in a bucket pranked. With a real snake.
Wait, what?! This is a LIVE snake?

 
I was saved by a dirty Redneck who only rode to my rescue in the first place (and with much laughter at my expense) because he wanted free labor, go figure.
Not as easy to choose over blogging but necessary. If I want a ceiling anytime soon
Talking dirty with Rednecks. “Dammit, I said HOLD THIS!”

 
So I decided to call it a day and sack out next to a possum-playing Duck.
Fun with Duck over blogging
Having fun with Duck

 
Only to be awakened by my flowers banging on the window. Seems they were miffed over my mistreatment of them and of their photogenic beauty so I needed to take pics of them.
I chose my flowers instead of my blog
My flowers needed photographing

 
So I did.
 
Then the green beans demanded I pick then and…
Fresh green beans over blogging
Pick me! No, pick ME! Pick me!…

 
I did as they commanded, lest they loose the horde of steroidal stink bugs on us.
 
But mostly?
 
I think I’ve been procrastinating.
 

Early wardrobe mishaps gave me precocious humor

 

My creativity started early in retaliation for bad dressing
Mom dressed me like this.

 
I went looking through the family album the other day, which is never a good thing. But I think I finally know why my humor is so twisty and warped.

Despite what the picture above might suggest, I had a happy if spectacularly poorly dressed, childhood. I blame my mother for my wardrobe malfunctions. She blames the 70’s.

Probably a little bit of both.

As far as I can recall, there was no need for me to kick-start early production on my Humor Development line.

Certainly there had been no childhood traumas bad enough to act as an evolutionary trigger.

 

Maybe I de-dressed myself, to show my dis-taste for my summer attire
This can’t be a wardrobe improvement

 
Unless it was a by-product from my choosing to go topless rather than be made to wear anything else that made me a Chi-Chi’s restaurant poster child or a runaway picnic table-cloth thief. Not exactly some of my best moments.

Now I suffer from Precocious Humor (NOT an official medical term), no doubt brought on by a mother who had way too much time, her own sense of humor, and a camera.

It all makes so much more sense to me now.

Hell’s Belles

 

Blog ping-pong with Random Thoughts

 

Addie stared at her iPhone in horrified fascination a moment longer before something within her snapped. She gave in to the anger that had simmered far too long,  and let open the flood gates with something very much like  relief.

“Okay, I really don’t give a crap who you are, what you are, or why you’re trying to drive me insane, but let me clue you in.

I’m not the chick who see’s dead people, I damn-sure don’t talk to them, and if you think I can help guide you into the light, then you’ve got an even bigger problem than being dead.”

The iPhone abruptly stopped mid-lyric. It gave a small burble of laughter and turned itself off and Addie huffed out a breath in triumph.

So take that you pathetic paranormal miscreant

But try as she might, it was the sound of that laugh that stuck with her.  Her mind kept replaying  it to the accompaniment of the many cherished memories she had, of her and Mandy and their adventures.

The woes of dating to which they’d both suffered and the incredibly hot summers with the picnics they never seemed to time right. Just as they set the food out on the picnic tables, the dark clouds started rolling in. Funny how that never failed to happen.

Long after she had retrieved her car, had gone to her office and told her secretary that she was taking an overdue vacation, that laugh ate at her.

Wide eyed and awake well after 12:28 am had come and gone, the laugh taunted her, refusing to be relegated to things best left forgotten, in the back of her mind.

Because that laugh sounded exactly like Mandy. If she were drowning and found that to be funny.

It sounded just like her and that just couldn’t be. Because Addie knew she was dead and gone. She’d made sure of that. Hadn’t she?

 

 

Finding humor in an ADHD life without water wings

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