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#488659 04/01/07 06:09 PM
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This is the last one for a while, I promise smile but this is fun, great idea for a forum, thanks Brian. In the meantime, I've read everything here and I'll comment. Fine writers here at JPF.



Grandma
(c) 2007 by Mike Dunbar

"Billy, Billy Boy."

"Grandma, is that you?"

Something was wrong, but Billy couldn't put his finger on it.

"Come here Billy."

Billy smelled Chanel no. 5, Grandma's favorite perfume, but he couldn't see that well. He rubbed his eyes, but it didn't help. He was in a fog.

"Come here Billy, come and see Grandma."

In the distance he saw a silhouette, hazy and dreamy.

"Grandma" Billy's heart started beating faster. "Grandma." Something was wrong, but what was it? It was...what was it? It was...that was it. Grandma was dead.

"Grandma, no!"

She sounded stern. "Billy come here right now! Listen to your Grandma and get over here."

"No Grandma," Billy thought he should wake up now. "I'm not going over there, you're dead." Billy kept thinking he should wake up. Usually it's easy in a nightmare, just say, "wake up" and he'd do just that.

"Come here now, you little pest, get yourelf over here, now, you're coming with me." She had that sound in her voice, the one that scared Billy and made him cry.

"Grandma, where are we going?" Billy's voice sounded like a little kid. He sounded to himself like he did when Grandma was bringing him to the coal shed.

"To hell."

Billy cried out, "WAKE UP" and he sat up in bed, soaked with sweat, gasping. He tried to calm himself down, a cigarette would be good now, but the doctor made him quit smoking years ago. Billy took a a breath. Chanel no. 5. He pinched his nose and jumped out of bed. He could feel a crawling tingling feeling from the back of his scalp down his spine to his rectum which was squeezed tight. He tried running to the bathroom, but his legs were asleep and he fell against the night stand hitting his knee. Billy kept his nose pinched and stifled a yelp, then did a quick limp to the bathroom. Trying not to breathe through his nose, he ran the hot and cold water together until it was pee warm, he then cupped his hands under the water and brought it up to his face where he snorted at least an ounce into his nostrils. The water burned his sinuses and brought tears to his eyes, he sneezed it out and coughed from the bit that trickled down the back of his throat, then he pulled a few
sheets of toilet paper off the roll and blew the remainder into it.

Slowly and carefully, after turning on the light, Billy took a breath. No perfume.

He sat on the edge of his bed. His heart was pounding. Grandma. She used to do just that, take him to hell in the coal shed. That's where she kept the stick. Sometimes, especially when she'd been drinking Peppermint Schnapps, she'd bring him in there for no reason and make him take down his pants...underpants too. Then she'd go to work. Billy sat on the bed and started crying. "I thought she'd leave me alone" he laughed and cried at the same time. "I thought it was over." Silly thoughts. It was a nightmare, and now his heart was slowing down and he felt the effects of the evening's sleeping pill.

Reluctantly he settled back, leaving the bathroom light on. He closed his eyes and thought about his favorite movies, trying to recall the dialog. "Here's looking at you kid." "Luke, feel the force." "Life is like a box of chocolates." "Hello Clarisse." "Come here, Billy!" He knew it was wrong. But she sounded sweet this time. Like sweet Grandma, not like beating Grandma, like nice Grandma. "Grandma, be nice, Billy loves you." "And I love you my little pet"

"I love you except when you're being naughty."

"I'm not naughty, Grandma, I'm never naughty."

"Oh yes you are. You've been naughty."

"No, Grandma, I've been good, don't take me there, please."

"Billy...come with me."

"No Grandma, it's not good there. You'll hurt me. Please. Please."

"Billy, you're getting me angry. You don't want to get Grandma angry!"

Billy stepped into the fog. He could smell Chanel no. 5.

"Wake up!" he screamed to himself, but he couldn't hear his voice. I'm moving my lips but I've got to hear my voice, he thought. If only he could hear his voice he could wake up. "Wake up, he screamed" but he couldn't hear his voice.

"Take down your pants."

Noooo. Nooo. Not that, not the stick, please Grandma. He couldn't hear it.

"Take them DOWN."

Please no. Can't hear it. Billy tried to sit up, but he still felt like he was standing. Like he was drugged. It was the sleeping pill, why did he take it? If he only knew. Please.

"TAKE DOWN YOUR PANTS AND COME WITH ME TO HELL."

Billy fell out of bed. Chanel no. 5. He tried to crawl under the bed. He thought he heard a voice. "I'll get you." He couldn't hide under the bed. It didn't work when he was a kid. It wouldn't work now.

Now. Now, now...now. Calm down. Just a dream, just a nightmare. Billy started sobbing. "I need sleep" he said. The sound of his voice startled him. "I...just need...sleep."

He crawled into the bed and laid back spent and exhausted. "I'll face up to her. I'll confront her. Then, finally I'll have some peace." Billy had a strange feeling again. Like Deja Vu, only different. He exhaled, almost whistling through his lips and let himself drift to sleep.

"That's my sleepy baby. Come here and sit on Grandma's lap."

"Grandma, don't hurt me any more."

"I don't hurt good boys, have you been good?" Billy could smell the Chanel no. 5, stronger than before.

"Yes, Grandma, I've been good."

"Are you sure you've been good?"

"Yes, Grandma, I've been very good."

"No you haven't you little pest." Billy felt scared, but exhausted. He felt sad. Sad for himself. Sad for the little boy he was at one time. Sad for what he knew was coming.

"Please, please." he said, and began convulsing.

"Come with me, pull down your pants and come with me."

"Oh please, no, please no, I'll do anything."

"No you won't you little pest, you won't do anything. You're coming to hell."

Billy screamed, he screamed with everything in his power, but he couldn't hear it. His heart raced and he tried to wake up. But he couldn't. So he screamed more, and more, and more.

###################

"What time did you find him?" Doctor Finnerty asked.

"Oh, it was about seven fifteen this morning. I came in to wake him up and saw him like this."

The body was on the bed, pajama bottoms pulled down to it's knees and mouth frozen wide open.

"Looks like a heart attack." said the doctor. "We've had him here for quite a while. A troubled soul, sometimes incommunicative, other times just as affable a young gentleman as you could wish for. He would probably never leave here, extreme trauma. He'd killed his Grandmother for beating him. Stabbed her forty two times with a kitchen knife."

"How sad," said the nurse, "everyone here liked him."

"Say nurse," the doctor asked, "What kind of perfume is that you're wearing?"

"I don't wear perfume." she replied.




You've got to know your limitations. I don't know what your limitations are. I found out what mine were when I was twelve. I found out that there weren't too many limitations, if I did it my way. -Johnny Cash

It's only music.
-niteshift

Mike Dunbar Music

Mike Dunbar #488675 04/01/07 07:24 PM
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ooh, creepy. Maybe you should title it Chanel no. 5 rather than Grandma.


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Jean Bullock #488678 04/01/07 07:36 PM
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Very clever. Enjoyed it. I think Jean has a good idea for the title, although I might go with a different perfume. Do they still make My Sin by Lanvin? (Never seen it spelled..was pronounced "lawn-van") That was the one they mentioned as a prize on old game shows when I was a kid, but since this happened in the undetermined past, it would work....
Ben

Ben Burton #488846 04/02/07 11:38 AM
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One hec of a story, Mike. I think this is the best one I've read from you yet. The suspense is present from the beginning and never lets go, and I love the way this ends with the doctor/nurse perfume conversation.

Great job. smile


~Christine


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Thanks Jean,

I like the idea of "Grandma" as a monster. I always thought that movie where Santa Claus was the killer was a great idea, the title was what I got first.

Thanks Ben,

My Grandma wore Chanel no. 5 and she beat me in the coal shed with a stick if I was bad, didn't hurt me much, but I didn't dare laugh. One day I burned the stick in the coal furnace. Good old Grandma, she got a bigger stick. That one I felt. She was a lovely, wonderful woman, just needed a stick to keep a rowdy boy in line. My Sin came around much later. When I write details, I need to keep them real so I can keep it real.

Thanks Christine,

I read a lot of scary stories when I was a kid, and graduated to Stephen King as I got older. I loved the idea of making Grandma a monster, my Grandma would have probably loved it too...after she beat me with that stick.


You've got to know your limitations. I don't know what your limitations are. I found out what mine were when I was twelve. I found out that there weren't too many limitations, if I did it my way. -Johnny Cash

It's only music.
-niteshift

Mike Dunbar Music

Mike Dunbar #489654 04/04/07 07:01 PM
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Hi Mike,

This is a riveting piece. I liked everything about it but I wouldn't want to read this if I was alone at night. I am not good with scary stuff.

Hugs,
Bobbie


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Howdi Mike... I thought for sure this was going to go the direction of Little Red Riding Hood... grin......

Scarily Well Crafted!!!

All I can say is...You and Ben better not collaborate...
Or I'm going to be Very.....afraid smile smile

best...to ya...
Kaley

Kaley Willow #489723 04/04/07 10:15 PM
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I don't like scary stories or scary movies, either. I almost quit reading about 1/2 way through. Call me a wuss. smile Had me sitting on the edge of my chair. You have a couple of other good stores, too. I wish you'd post them.


"Grits is one of those country-boy words that is both singular and plural-like deer, elk and sheep. I think the singular is appropriate when there's a modifier that makes it clear one is talking about something specific. Like, 'Grits are good for you, but these here grits is tasty.'"~~Joe Wrabek
Tricia Baker #489876 04/05/07 12:22 PM
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Mike,
very good bedtime story. Actually a wake up story like I used to hear on the radio as a kid. The alarm would turn on the radio to a station that had a story playing. That would really wake me up. Stories on radio really are better than TV. Sometimes I can find 'em on the Fm late at night in the truck.

Mostly this is a good one,

John


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John Hoffman #495325 04/22/07 01:25 PM
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Hi Bobbie,

This scared me while writing it.

Kaley,

You touched on what I wanted to do. I thought, let's take ordinarily friendly and loving images (grandma and her perfume) and make them sinister. It's little red riding hood with a chain saw.

Hi Tricia,

I'll keep posting here and there. I've got about a dozen stories that are half finished and the start of a novel that's along the lines of my story "Another One." I've always loved the short story form, though.

John,

Those radio stories made a big impression on me. I wanted to write something that would be a good story to read aloud.

Thanks to all. "Grandma" just took second place in a horror story contest. Grandma would have been proud of me. She'd have whipped me good.


You've got to know your limitations. I don't know what your limitations are. I found out what mine were when I was twelve. I found out that there weren't too many limitations, if I did it my way. -Johnny Cash

It's only music.
-niteshift

Mike Dunbar Music

Mike Dunbar #496001 04/24/07 03:26 PM
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Congratulations on placing 2nd in the horror story contest.

I read this days ago and it scared me speechless. But now I know what perfume we should wear to Pineyfest.

Vondelle #503519 05/15/07 11:41 AM
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Hey Vondelle,

Thanks. You're going to Pineyfest? Great! My wife wears Chanel no.5 and she scares me more than any human.

Mike


You've got to know your limitations. I don't know what your limitations are. I found out what mine were when I was twelve. I found out that there weren't too many limitations, if I did it my way. -Johnny Cash

It's only music.
-niteshift

Mike Dunbar Music

Mike Dunbar #503879 05/16/07 03:03 PM
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Wife vs the human?
Sounds like you are going to do some more writing.
Great grandma story by the way.


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Jerry Jakala #504438 05/18/07 06:24 AM
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Hello Mike,
My Grandma used to beat me, too. She used her walking cane. It was very difficult to live with a large-bodied person who kept me in fear most of my childhood. When I got older and learned about the reasons why people act out in such ways, it replaced my anger with understanding. So, your story was very real to me.

Now, the writing was very well done, too. I enjoyed the imagery, suspense and especially the last line. How wonderful it must be to create such effects with your talent! It sure is great to see a craft well executed! Thanks for the fun read! It brought back memories of garlic...

I guess an alternative title might be, "The Scent of Fear." Do you smell something scary? Oh, that's my critique!

Heidi

Last edited by Thompson; 05/18/07 06:37 AM.

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Heidi Thompson #504911 05/19/07 01:45 PM
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Yes, I am going to Pineyfest, as God wills. He works in mysterious ways.

Just think of being in a room of women all wearing the same perfume. That does sound like a horror story.

Tsch,tsch,tsch. You haven't read the small print on the bottle of Chanel no. 5.

Vondelle


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