Posts Tagged ‘Rick McQuiston’

DINNERTIME: By Rick McQuiston

Friday, April 22nd, 2011

I’d never noticed it before, the way my wife’s left eye twitches ever so slightly when she smiles. Don’t ask me how I never noticed it till now. I like it though, it gives her character. Makes her human…well, almost.

“Do you want some more hon?” she asks sweetly.

I couldn’t help but smile myself. After fifteen years of marriage she still holds the key to my heart. And then there’s the kids. They are the glue that holds us together. We’re the bread, they’re the peanut butter and jelly. We’re the gloves, they’re the hands. We’re the…well, you get the picture.

I reply politely, “Yes dear, just a little more.” I know I need to watch my weight but its not often that we have such a delicious meal like this.

I love meat. My whole family does. Barbecue, broiled, smoked, whatever. They are all good.

My wife smiles again, twitching eye and all, and shovels another large portion of juicy red meat onto my plate. My two young sons both look up at me. Their faces reflect their love, which is matched only by their innocence.

Life seemed incomplete before they came along. I felt like I was on a boat sailing endlessly through open waters with my wife along for company.

Kevin, my youngest, flicks tiny pieces of meat between his knife and fork. I sternly tell him that’s its dinnertime, not playtime. Sometimes you have to be firm, although I must admit that my wife is far better at tough love than myself.

Dinnertime has always been somewhat sacred to me. Sitting down with loved ones to enjoy a good meal is one of life’s greatest unsung pleasures in my opinion.

Stevie, my oldest, chuckles loudly.

“What a dummy,” he says while looking at his brother.

“Stevie!” my wife snaps just as I nearly choke on a piece of meat too large to swallow. “That’ll be enough! Now finish eating.”

Stevie was always on watch for his little brother to make a mistake or say something foolish. I guess siblings can be like that sometimes. But Lynn and I know they really love each other.

After three servings I concede that I’m full. I push myself away from the table and saunter lazily towards the couch in the living room. Lynn soon joins me. She looks over toward the window to the left of the front door. A perfect circle the size of a grapefruit decorates the glass pane. Directly above it, the lock mechanism remains unlatched.

“I wonder why the thief bothered to close the window,” she says while positioning a mauve colored pillow underneath her arm. “Like we wouldn’t notice.”

I smile at her and add, “Well, those types aren’t the brightest sort.”

She nods and pulls the afghan she’s been stitching up onto her lap. She then begins her work.

After finally settling on a channel, a rather graphic documentary about lions, I notice the pizza boxes stacked by the front door. I’d left them there earlier, forgotten all about them. They were meant to be our dinner.

“Think we should put the pizza in the fridge for tomorrow?” I ask.

Lynn pauses from her stitching only long enough to respond.

“Good idea honey. We can have it for dinner then.”

I nod and get up off the couch. Picking up the white cardboard boxes, I stride into the kitchen and toss them into the fridge. Then I begin to clean the kitchen. I toss the hands and feet into the trash can, never did like the extremities, and begin to wash the dishes. My thoughts drift back to dinnertime. Such a well-prepared meal as only my lovely wife could do. I lick my fangs at the thought of it.

_____

©2004 Rick McQuiston

Rick McQuiston been writing horror fiction for over ten years and has had nearly 200 publications so far, including in Demon Minds, Alienskin, Horror Library and Dark Distortions Vol. II from Scopia Press. He’s written four anthology books, “Many Midnights”, “Chills by Candlelight”, “Beneath the Moonlight, and “As Mean as the Night”, which are available on Lulu and Amazon. Currently, he’s working on his first novel, a zombie tale titled ‘To See as a God Sees’. Rick is also a guest author at Memphis Junior High School.

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THE PATIENCE FACTOR By: Rick McQuiston

Monday, March 16th, 2009

Everett Stones was a patient man. He wore the virtue like a coat, immersing himself in it, using it as a tool to deal with life’s unexpected and inevitable twists and turns. Whenever something would come his way, such as an illness or a car repair, he would simply deal with it in his own sweet time, allowing his patience to steer him through it.

Now he would be the first one to admit that his life was basically unscathed by any real tragedy. He’d never lost a loved one and his health for the most part remained stable despite a few maladies such as migraine headaches and minor back pain from time to time. But he always felt his patience was what would pull him through. His philosophy was to let time itself heal all wounds, whether they were physical or mental.

His successful book detailed many different forms of patience that he had developed over his life, each carefully tailored to specific situations that one might encounter.

Most psychiatrists and other professionals in the field dismissed him as a quack whose theories were only based on such practices as meditation or religion. But the book sold well nonetheless. So well in fact that he could afford to retire early and live in comfort for the rest of his life.

If he actually believed in the patience factor, which was the title of his book, he himself sometimes doubted it. But such doubts would always be suppressed by referring to chapter nine:

ACCESSING DIMINISHING BELIEFS IN ONE’S BELIEFS.

His ego sometimes swelled beyond the boundaries of what most people would consider normal or even acceptable but he did not care. It deserved to roam as it wished, unhindered by other people’s perceptions. He, Everett Stones, had applied the patience factor to his life and ascended above all complications. He had conquered all of the difficulties that were slated to come his way and he had done it with his own methods. No amount of money or success could compare to finding a true path by one’s own means. The Patience Factor had worked for him and that was his true reward.

For the most part, he believed it had worked somewhat well for other people as well. He received numerous accolades regarding his work and he felt confident he had helped many people. Perhaps not to the degree that he had himself, but many people nonetheless.

So now here he was, Everett Stones, acclaimed author of The Patience Factor, sitting in his wheelchair covered with layers of wool blankets as the trees outside his library window swayed back and forth in the cold January air. They seemed to be beckoning him to his eternal rest. He knew fully that he didn’t have much time on Earth left. His one hundred and second birthday was only four days away. and his body was slowly beginning to succumb to old age.

But it didn’t bother him, however. He was already a living example of his book, a shining advertisement for the effectiveness of his work. Very few people lived to be one hundred and one and he had managed it due to his theories in the art of patience.

This fact had caused a surge in the popularity of his book. Fifty-seven years after it was first published it was still selling millions of copies and he had found himself to have become something of an icon.

The knowledge of this soothed his mind. He pulled the blankets up to his chin and gazed out at the gray scenery. His aged but still sharp mind jumped back to a young man he remembered from almost fifty years earlier. His name was Richard and he was a very emotional person prone to acting rashly. Everett recalled when he first met Richard; it was at a book signing. Richard had told him how he had lost the love of his life. How his beloved bride-to-be had cancelled the wedding a week before it was scheduled to take place. How he had utilized the methods in The Patience Factor and how his fiancé had committed suicide when she had not heard from him in weeks.

Tears welled in Everett’s eyes. Richard, stricken with unbearable grief, also said that he had learned one thing from The Patience Factor… infinite patience, for better or for worse. Unfortunately in his case, it was for the worse.

The next day, Richard was dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.

Everett felt bad, even somewhat responsible, but he quickly got over it. Chapter four of The Patience Factor helped him immensely.

He felt a sharp pain in his chest that radiated into his left arm, increasing in severity rapidly. His head grew light and breathing became very difficult. It felt like his chest was locked in a vice with death’s bony hand turning the rod.

The realization that he was dying settled on him like a cold, wet blanket. He struggled to maintain his composure, to assure that he would be found in a dignified manner befitting an icon such as himself.

Then just as the remaining breaths left to him were dwindling to nothing, a vision manifested itself in the window. A weak smile formed on his face.

“An angel,” he croaked. “An angel has come for me.”

“Yes, I have come for you Everett,” it said softly. “Although I am no angel. Nor do I come from where angels do…suicides are damned.”

It was Richard! The young man who had lost his fiancé all those years ago.

The figure quickly grew in size, blotting out the January sky with its dark form.

“I have waited nearly fifty years for you,” it said in an eager tone. “I do not think I could have done it were it not for your book.”

—
©2005 Rick McQuiston

I’ve been writing horror fiction for over ten years and am currently working on my third anthology book, a horror novella, and running my own horror fiction ezine, Many Midnights.

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