Posts Tagged ‘Robert C. Eccles’

THE PATCH: By Robert C. Eccles

Monday, October 31st, 2011

Year after year, the humans traipsed into the patch near the woods with their long, sharp knives and severed pumpkins from the vine. One fall, the pumpkins decided there would be no more killing.

“It’s an outrage!” bellowed Atlantic Giant. “Who do they think they are?”

“What gives them the right?” asked Happy Jack.

Little Boo scrunched up his face. “How would they like it if we strutted into their homes, sliced off their heads and carried them away?”

“Then it’s settled,” said Standard Orange. “This year we fight back.”

“But how?” squeaked Sweetie Pie.

Autumn Gold looked determined. “Leave that to us,” he said. “This year when the humans come, we’ll be ready for them.”

***

Soon the day came when the shiny metal boxes brought the humans to the patch.The warning was sent along the vine.

“The humans are here!” said Happy Jack.

“It won’t be long now!” squealed Little Boo.

“This time they get a taste of their own medicine!” growled Standard Orange.

“Hush, now!” warned Atlantic Giant. “They’re almost here!”

Humans of all shapes and sizes sauntered into the patch that afternoon. They chatted excitedly amongst themselves, and many of them carried knives.

The first hint of any trouble that day was a muffled “Ooommph!” as a tall man tripped on a vine and fell to the ground. Of course, he hadn’t really tripped. The vine had snaked around his ankle and yanked him off his feet. The knife the man had been carrying skittered away. Another vine closed around the knife’s handle. Sunlight glinted briefly off the blade as the vine lifted the knife into the air and brought it down in the man’s chest. The man screamed, and the others in his group turned at the sound.

“Daddy, what’s wrong?” asked a child. A vine, lightning quick, whipped out and wrapped around the child’s neck, snapping it. The body fell limp to the dirt.

A woman ran into the patch.

“Oh my God!” she cried as she fell to her knees next to the child’s body. The vine holding the knife brought the blade swiftly across the woman’s throat, and blood sprayed out, soaking the earth. Some of the warm fluid fell upon Atlantic Giant, who smiled as it soaked into his skin.

Scores of other humans raced blindly into the patch, screaming and shouting.

“What the hell?” asked a large man just before a vine bound his ankles and brought him to the ground like a great tree. The man fell forward onto theknife he had been holding, lodging the blade deep in his gut.

Several children stood at the edge of the patch, watching in horror. Almost quicker than the eye could follow a set of vines reached out and wrapped themselves around their small legs, yanking the children off their feet and dragging them into the patch. One second the children were there, the next, a cloud of dust.

Humans continued to run into the patch. Sweetie Pie couldn’t move out of theway fast enough, and a man’s boot-clad foot clumped down on the tiny pumpkin’shead. Sweetie Pie’s guts and seeds spilled out onto the dirt. Standard Orange saw this and shota vine out and around the man’s throat and pulled him to the ground. Standard Orange squeezed and squeezed, and the man’s face turned first bright red, then purple. The man’s tongue stuck out and his eyes bulged, and then finally he stopped moving.

The farmer who tended the patch heard the screaming. He came running with abright red can in his hand. The farmer splashed smelly liquid from the can in awide circle around the patch and then lit a fire-stick and threw it into the liquid. Flames shot up, following the liquid’s path. Soon the entire patch was ablaze. For a while there were more screams, and then only the sound of the crackling fire.

***

Standard Orange, Atlantic Giant and Happy Jack watched from the woods as the farmer’s hands werebound behind him and he was led away to the metal box with the shiny lights ontop.

“They got what they deserved,” said Standard Orange.

“I miss Sweetie Pie,” sniffled Happy Jack.

“This is war,” grumbled Atlantic Giant. “Collateral damage.”

The patch was a charred ruin. Some of the body parts of the humans who had diedthat day would never be found.

Legend has it that on dark, foggy October nights a strange light can be seen inthe woods near the burnt-out pumpkin patch. If you explore its source, you’ll find several pumpkins sitting in a circle, their faces lit by an odd, red glow. In the center of the circle, flickering candle light shines from within a hollowed-out human head.

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©2011 Robert C. Eccles

SAND WOLF: By Robert C. Eccles

Monday, August 22nd, 2011

I used to be able to show people where I lived in Michigan by holding up my right hand and pointing to the spot on my palm I called home.  That was before a sand wolf tore my hand off at Sleeping Bear dunes.  Sure, I could use the back of my left hand to represent the state of Michigan, but it feels weird, showing the back rather than the palm.  So now I don’t even bother trying to show people where I live.

Back when I still had both of myhands I took my wife up to Onekama on vacation.  We stayed at a beautiful bed and breakfast on Portage Lake that was once a summercamp.  As a kid I spent several magical summers there, and one of the annual activities for campers was to travel north to Sleeping Bearand walk across the dunes to Lake Michigan.  I thought my wife would enjoy the same adventure, so off we went one beautiful summer morning.

The trip across the dunes started off well enough.  Truthfully, I had to stop and rest a few times onthe way up that first huge hill.  I’m not in the same kind of shape I was when I was a kid and could tear straight up the side of thething.  My wife mocked me from the summit as I stood with my hands onmy hips, sucking in huge gulps of air.  Finally I made it to the top,and our trek across the dunes began in earnest.

You have to understand that my wife is a driftwood freak.  She collects the stuff.  Our home insuburban Detroit is a clutter of driftwood furniture, sculptures and other knick-knacks.  Since the dunes were once under water, you can guess what they’re covered with.  Yep, driftwood.  So it’ll come as no surprise that we weren’t even halfway to the lakeshore by lunchtime, considering the fact that we had to stop and examine every chunk of driftwood along the way.

I think it was about one-thirty in the afternoon when things got weird.  My wife called me over toexamine an especially lovely piece of driftwood she’d found.  It wasa pretty good-sized log, with one end buried in the sand.  My wife reached down to pick it up, and the strangest look crossed her face when she touched it.  Looking back I guess she was probably wondering why a chunk of driftwood felt so soft.  So…furry.

The sand in front of my wife exploded upward.  For a split second there was a giant swirl of sand,fur, fangs and claws, then my wife was gone.  The sand wolf’s tail –which my wife had mistaken for driftwood – was the last thing tosink into the sand and out of sight.

I ran over to the spot where I last saw my wife and fell on my hands and knees.  I plunged my arm into the sand up to the elbow.  A searing pain shot up my arm, as if I had grabbed a handful of razor blades.  I yanked my arm out of the sand, and all that was left where my hand had been was a bloody stump.  I fell back onto the sand, clutching my arm to my chest.  I might have bled to death if not for a fellow dune-walker who happened to find me and apply a tourniquet.

 It’s not all that rare to hear oftourists going missing during a trek across Sleeping Bear dunes. Most of the disappearances are chalked up to folks drowning in Lake Michigan, and I’m sure some of them are just that – drownings.  But take it from a guy who tends to get a little sour these days when someone asks him what part of Michigan he’s from:  There’s something nasty out there on Sleeping Bear, and if you ever venture across the dunes you’d be wise to examine the driftwood very carefully before trying to pick it up.

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© 2011  Robert C. Eccles