Trimixer by Eric Price

Scary does not need darkness.
It doesn't require monsters, ghouls, or ghosts.
Not all evil lurks in human form.
The most ordinary day can become a horror story.

****

Aiden’s childish screams pierced the humid air as he ran through his sprinkler. Water warmed in the inflatable pool. The cool, cloudy morning had turned into a bright, hot day.

Steve stood on the edge of the wet grass watching his son play. Matted hair dripped water from his head, and his soaked green and blue swim trunks clung to his legs and made a sloshing sound as he ran. Steve’s wife, Annie, sat on the front porch step. She looked striking in her cutoff denim shorts and maroon bikini top. He could think of a handful of things he’d like to do with her instead of work, but none of them would happen during the day with Aiden awake. Oh, well. Nothing wrong with planning ahead for tonight.

Once they wanted to have another kid; a girl would have been nice. A boy and a girl, what more could they ask for? But after three miscarriages in a row, the hurt became too much, and they decided Steve should get a vasectomy. With Aiden turning seven, they didn’t want to start over with a baby. This would mark the last time Steve would wonder what it would have been like having two children.

A dull, splashing sound brought Steve out of his daydream. He looked down to see water droplets splatter the toes of his work boots turning the tan leather a reddish brown.  He remembered he had work to do. As he walked to the silo shed, Annie’s phone rang. “Hello. Oh, hi Clarisse. Thanks for calling me back. Hold on, I have to run in the house to find the paperwork.”

He passed the barn door and remembered he needed to take another bale of hay to the orphaned calf. He had thrown several bails down, so as not to half to climb the rickety latter to the hayloft more than every couple days. After carrying a hay bale to the stall where he kept the calf, pulling off the twine, and breaking the bale apart, he checked the water tub and found the calf still had plenty before setting off for the silo shed again.

He found the light on in the shed. He had finished chores at dusk the night before; had he left it on? Mistakes like that happened when he hurried. He flipped the switch off, turned on the fuel to his old tractor and worked his way to the rear of the Trimixer to open the silo shoot. He turned on the silo unloader and gave it a few minutes to fill enough for the cattle.

When silage piled to the opening of the shoot, he started the tractor and turned on the power-takeoff (PTO) to bring the silage to the front of the wagon. And earsplitting screech cut deep into his sole. Something must be grinding. He reached for the PTO lever, but the noise stopped.  The shrill screech happened again, this time much shorter, and stopped. The sound couldn’t have come from metal grinding metal as he first suspected. It came from a living creature.

A raccoon? The mixer wagon had killed them from time to time. Usually their head would get crushed when he shut the door. Occasionally one would get ground up by the three augers used for churning the feed, hence Trimixer. But he never heard one scream out before.

The scream sounded almost human, and the only animal he knew of that could make such a human like sound when in distress was a cat. He must have turned the wagon on and caught one of the farm cats. This would devastate Aiden. They had a lot of farm cats, but the boy had a name for each one, and he could tell them apart from a hundred yards. Should he tell Aiden, or just let it go? Let him think the cat ran off? The toms would do that.

Steve’s mind flashed to a time when Aiden climbed into the feed wagon. The boy was a climber since before he could walk. He climbed out of his crib and crawled into their room at nine months. Last winter Steve rounded the Trimixer to open the silo shoot when a voice screamed, “Hi Daddy!” Aiden’s head popped over the side of the mixer and Steve’s heart damn near stopped.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” He had screamed, before he could catch his language.

Annie came around the door and yelled, “Aiden! How dare you run off!”

His stomach did flips, and he shook the memory away. A replay of the sound occurred in his head. His stomach churned again. Steve didn’t particularly care for cats. Death didn’t bother him. He hunted every fall, and brought home the occasional deer. But the sound. Oh God, the sound! Ugh!

He turned off the silo unloader, and climbed on the tongue of the wagon to look in. A streak of crimson impregnated the silage’s normal tan color. He looked away. He closed his eyes and thought he would puke the reminder of his lunch. After a few deep breaths of the sweet, fermented smell of fresh silage, he felt better. He stepped off the tongue without looking at the mess again.

After a tough drought, cattle feed had already grown scarce. Steve didn’t want to waste it, so he drove the wagon to the bin to add corn. The normally herbivorous cattle would have to be omnivores for the day.

He could see the house from the corn bin. The sprinkler shot streams of water in the air, but Aiden was nowhere around. Annie walked around the house apparently looking for him. Lust for his wife and anger for his son tore him in two. They had told Aiden countless times not to wander away…especially while Steve did chores.

Steve filled the wagon with corn, and while it mixed, he searched behind the Trimixer for Aiden. When he knew the boy wouldn’t get ran over by the wagon, he backed up and drove to the cattle lot.

Steers lined up at the bunks jostling for a better position when he turned the corner to the feedlot. Steve wondered if they’d be so anxious if they knew what they were getting this time.

The wagon unloaded, and Steve half turned to the rear watching the feed fall into the bunk. A flash of movement in front of the tractor caught his eye. He instinctively hit the brakes, certain Aiden had managed to elude Annie and come to the cattle lot. They had stressed over and over not to go near the cattle lot, especially while Steve did chores. A brown tuft of fur disappeared under the bunk. Just a groundhog.

Steve released the brake and turned to watch the silage fill the bunk again. The light colored silage looked wet with crimson. Even as he drove, the blood didn’t stop; in fact, it seemed to grow thicker. I must have killed a whole litter of cats.

The grain turned to a trickle as the wagon emptied, and Steve increased the throttle to get the remainder out of the Trimixer. He reached for the lever to stop the PTO when a piece of tattered material dumped into the bunk. Even through the dark red stains, Steve recognized the green and blue pattern of Aiden’s swim trunks.

“What the —?”

He didn’t understand what he saw. How could Aiden’s swim trunks have gotten into the feed wagon? The humanlike scream replayed in his mind. But there’s no way. I went straight to the tractor from the house. Aiden played in the sprinkler.

A dark shadow of realization crept over him and he vomited. He had stopped in the barn and checked on the calf. How long was I in there? Several minutes. Where was Annie? She went in the house when the phone rang. He stumbled off the tractor and snatched a piece of the fabric from a steer’s mouth.

“Oh, God. Oh, please God no.”

He looked at the trunks and tears blurred his vision. His head grew light, and the world faded dark. He thought he would pass out, but he vomited again instead.

Carrying the remains of the trunks he left the running tractor and headed for the house. Annie came around the corner of the house looking worried. “Steve, I can’t find Aiden anywhere. Steve. Steve! What are you holding?”

He stopped and looked at her from across the yard. He wanted to speak, but desert sand tore at his vocal cords. The worried look on Annie’s face stretched into complete horror and she ran. She didn’t run to Steve. Instead she ran in the direction of the feedlot. Steve wanted to follow her. He wanted to grab her and stop her from seeing the nightmare, but he couldn’t. Something in him refused to take even one step in the direction of his son’s mutilated body.

****

The sound of sirens snapped Steve out of whatever kind of daydream or blackout he had been in. A look around revealied he sat on the end of his bed. How did I get in the house? And who called the cops?

He felt a weight in each hand and heard a voice. “Hello? Sir? Are you still there?”

His left hand lifted a phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Sir, the police and an ambulance are on their way. I need you to stay on the line with me.”

“I killed my son.”

The phone clattered on the hardwood floor. His right hand raised the barrel of a .22 caliber pistol to his mouth. The barrel tasted like metal and oil with a faint hint of smoke. Steve never heard the report or felt the recoil when he pulled the trigger.

****

Eric Price lives with his wife and two sons in northwest Iowa. He began publishing in 2008 when he started writing a quarterly column for a local newspaper. Later that same year he published his first work of fiction, a spooky children’s story called Ghost Bed and Ghoul Breakfast. Since then, he has written stories for children, young adults, and adults. Three of his science fiction stories have won honorable mention from the CrossTime Annual Science Fiction Contest. His first YA fantasy novel, Unveiling the Wizards’ Shroud, received the Children’s Literary Classics Seal of Approval and the Literary Classics Award for Best First Novel. His second novel, The Squire and the Slave Master, continues the Saga of the Wizards. It is scheduled for a Fall 2015 release. Find him online at authorericprice.com, Twitter, Facebook, and Goodreads.

ALL IS FAIR IN LOVERS' WAR or How I Got Schooled In Love by Eric Price

Through the window of the taxi, I could see a tear in her eye. She still had feelings for me. When she rolled down the window, I knew I would take her back the second she said, “I love you.”

Thunder cracked, and the downpour of rain splattered her face. She looked ready to burst with emotion, and she said, “If I ever see you again, you will regret ever meeting me!”

She rolled up the window and the taxi sped away. I thought it was a tear in her eye–I guess I was mistaken.

****

From the moment I met Mariana, I knew she was “The One.” She had everything I was looking for in a woman: intelligence, a sense of humor, light-brown hair flowing halfway down her back, perky breasts, a Russian accent–I didn’t even know I was looking for a Russian accent until I met Mariana.

I got a job right out of college designing set pieces for plays. Skip ahead a few years to when I landed a job to create the set for MACBETH. I delivered it to the theater the day of the first dress rehearsal. Enter Mariana.

Mariana had gotten her first acting role as the Third Witch. I should have guessed I would fall in love with a witch.

I wasn’t supposed to be at the theater when the cast arrived, but I had gotten a late start that morning. Nelly, a girl I had been seeing for a few weeks, got suspicious that I was cheating on her. Her suspicion aroused when my phone rang. I had gone to take a shower. The caller’s name was Tiffany, and she introduced herself to Nelly as my girlfriend.

In my defense, Tiffany was not my girlfriend. Nelly was. Tiffany was just a girl I had met at a bar a few nights before. I had drunk too much to drive, and she lived within walking distance. I don’t even remember giving her my phone number.

Nelly didn’t give me a chance to explain. I’m finishing my shower when her hand reaches in and turns off the hot water. I scream and turn off the cold. I can hear her yelling about “some slut on the phone,” not wanting to be “the other girl,” and “we’re through!”

I grab my towel and follow her into my kitchen. As she slams the door and leaves, I finally figure out what has happened. I step onto my second story balcony and waited for her to appear outside.

“Nelly, come up here so I can explain,” I say. But she grabs a flowerpot from the patio below and throws it at my head. I duck and the pot shatters against the wall behind me–covering me with soil.

Nelly climbs into her car and peels away, and I have to take another shower. This in turn makes me late setting the stage, and gives me the chance to meet Mariana. To quote MACBETH, “So foul and fair a day I have not seen.” If I had known how bad showering would soon become for me, methinks I may have quit bathing.

Exeunt Nelly and Tiffany–so to speak. I had never intended on talking to Tiffany after the night we had met anyway. Now I was free to see other people.

I took Mariana out for drinks. We had an amazing connection, and the next thing I know, I’m at the theater every day.

Enter Francesca. About a week after the play opened, Mariana’s sister, Francesca, came from Russia to see the play. The three of us went out to dinner, and Francesca made eyes, brushed against me, and tried to get my attention every way she could.

Mariana was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, until I met her sister. But I didn’t care; I loved Mariana.

The third day after Francesca arrived, I had worked myself to the point of exhaustion on a new set. Mariana had the night off, but I had forgotten she had a cast-only party. I went to her place to find Francesca home alone.

I hesitated when she invited me in, but she insisted, “A friend of my sister’s is a friend of mine.”

She opened a bottle of wine and we sat and talked. After two bottles of wine, I said, “Francesca, were you coming on to me the other night?”

She didn’t answer with words. She leaned across the table and kissed me. For the record she kissed me! When she pulled away, any thoughts I had of Mariana left with her. I leaned over for a second kiss.

When Mariana walked in, I can only imagine what it must have looked like. Francesca and I had made a bed out of cushions from the couch and chairs. We lay naked and wrapped in each other’s arms.

She shouted at us in Russian. I stumbled around trying to find my cloths–I hate getting yelled at while I’m naked. Mariana rushed out the door, and I followed only half dressed.

It had started storming sometime after I had fallen asleep. The streetlights shining off the wet pavement made it hard for me to see Mariana. Then I spotted her climbing into a parked taxi–probably the one she had just taken home from the party. Not knowing what else to do, I shouted, “At least we didn’t use your bed!”

The taxi didn’t leave right away. That’s why I thought she had had a change of heart. When she rolled down the window and said I would regret meeting her if she ever saw me again, I took the comment as an empty threat, nothing more than a rage of anger. I realize now she was making a prophesy—like her character in MACBETH.

****

My actions over the next few days eclipsed all the other foolish things I had done to that point. But I was in love. I had never been in love before. You’ve heard the cliché blinded by love. I disagree with it completely. Blind and stupid are not one-in-the-same.

I waited three days to call, and when I did, I got no answer. I left three messages every day for three days. I should have realized all these threes would come back to haunt me. She played the third of three witches, after all. She finally returned my call after the ninth message. I pleaded and begged until she agreed to give me a second chance.

Mariana came to my apartment. She said she wasn’t ready to see me at hers again. I had been working night and day on my sets. I had intended to cook a romantic meal for her, but I ran out of time. When she arrived, I hadn’t even showered. I stunk from sweat, sawdust, and paint.

I opened the door for Mariana and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled and came in. I explained that I had been working all day. I told her I would like to take a shower, and then take her out to dinner at the restaurant of her choice. She agreed and sat down in front of the television. I was hoping she would take a shower with me, but I thought it may be too much to ask presently. So I went to shower alone.

Do you remember when I mentioned I should have quit bathing? Here’s why.

I stood in the shower for about five minutes, letting the hot water sooth my sore muscles before I started shampooing my hair. With my eyes closed, I heard the shower curtain pull aside. Mariana had decided to join me without me having to ask.

I said, “Did you come to get in? The water’s hot, so watch yourself.”

She didn’t reply.

I said, “Mariana?” and opened my eyes a sliver, expecting to see her standing naked.

What I saw, made my eyelids snap open like window blinds in a cartoon. Mariana stood fully clothed holding a huge dagger. She stabbed at me and I instinctively reached for her arm. My hands must have been slippery from the shampoo. Her arm slid through and the dagger dug into my shoulder.

She pulled it out and stabbed at me again. I shouted, “Mariana!” but she was in a trance. I noticed a gleam on her arm as it raced toward me. In what seemed like an eternity, my mind thought, Vaseline? She’s covered her arms in Vaseline? And then the dagger bored into my other shoulder.

The shampoo dripped, stinging my eyes, blinding me. I felt the dagger dig into my stomach before my world went black.

I awoke in the hospital the next day. I’m told that she dialed 911 before leaving my apartment. She never wanted to kill me. She wanted me to suffer.

My lawyer told me I should get my story on paper while it’s still fresh in my memory. So that’s what I’ve done.

****

Eric Price lives with his wife and two sons in northwest Iowa. He began publishing in 2008 when he started writing a quarterly column for a local newspaper. Later that same year he published his first work of fiction, a spooky children’s story called Ghost Bed and Ghoul Breakfast. Since then, he has written stories for children, young adults, and adults. Three of his science fiction stories have won honorable mention from the CrossTime Annual Science Fiction Contest. His first YA fantasy novel, Unveiling the Wizards’ Shroud, received the Children’s Literary Classics Seal of Approval and the Literary Classics Award for Best First Novel. His second novel, The Squire and the Slave Master, continues the Saga of the Wizards. It is scheduled for a September 2015 release. Find him online at authorericprice.com, Twitter, Facebook, and Goodreads.

Free At Last

The face in the sun, which looks like the man in the moon, grins at me through the window. I burrow deeper under my covers so I won’t see him.

“It’s up time, Joanie,” Mama hollers from the staircase. I put the pillow over my head, hoping to disappear.

Hands lift the covers off me and rub my arms. “C’mon, Joanie. Get up. You need to get dressed for school.”

           

“No, mama, please don’t make me go.”

           

“But you have to. You’ll have fun. Let’s get you dressed in something special. Let’s see…” She pulls out the crimson, taffeta dress, the one the other kids laugh at, the one she made for me. “You haven’t worn this in a while.”

She slips it over my head. It crinkles every time I move. I can’t tell her I don’t want to wear it. I used to like this dress. When Mama was making it, I begged and begged to try it on. The first time I wore it, I practically danced to school.

But then Herman pulled on my hem and said, “Sounds like a Christmas present.” The other boys started tugging at me. After a bit, I got so upset, I peed in my panties. I have not done that since I was a real little kid.

Mama buckles my shoes over my socks. “We’ll braid your hair later. Get on downstairs and eat breakfast with your sisters.”

I trudge down the stairs, looking for a place to escape.

Grandma is at the table with my sisters. She gets up when I enter the kitchen.

I plop down next to Lottie who was eating a disgusting bowl of Graham crackers and milk. The smell makes my stomach turn.

“I don’t want that,” I say, pointing to the mush Lottie is putting in her mouth. Lottie grins at me with brown flakes in her teeth. Ellen, at the other end of the table with her elbows firmly in place shoves cereal in her mouth. She barely looks up when I sit down.

Grandma puts a bowl in front of me. “How about some Rice Krispies?”

I eat as slowly as possible, counting to ten before taking a bite. Maybe I’ll miss school.

           

Mama comes in and braids my hair as I eat. She pulls it too hard and makes me whimper. “Sorry, sweetheart,” she says.

Ellen walks me to school even though I know the way. I memorized the path the first time so I could come home. I did that until Mama got real mad at me and told Ellen to make sure to hand me over to the teacher.

Ellen doesn’t take my hand but she pushes me as we make our way to the school. I want to run away, but she keeps giving me a nudge. Finally we are at the door to my classroom. She shoves me toward the teacher and says, “Get lost.” Then she disappears in the crowd of kids.

The one thing that keeps me coming back to school is Rosie. She’s my favorite doll. They keep her in a big chest with other toys. The second day of school I found her tossed in the box with big trucks and other heavy tractors on top of her. I pulled her out, rescuing her from that awful place.

As soon as I get in the classroom, I go to the chest and dig for Rosie. Someone shoved her way down in the dark. I twist her out. Her legs are bent. I can’t straighten them. Some of her hair is missing. I tip her back and one of the eyes closes, but the other stays open and stares at me.

The teacher calls us to our seats. I take Rosie. When it’s time to go home, I keep Rosie tucked under my arm. I don’t want to put her back in the box where it’s dark and where she’ll get hurt.

On the way out, the teacher says to me, “You need to return the doll to the toy chest.  You can’t take her home. She belongs here.”

           

A tear rolls down my cheek, but the teacher grabs Rosie from my grasp. “The toys are for all the children. Not just for you.”

The rest of the school year drags like waiting for Daddy to come home or for Christmas to come. I ask the teacher to let me stay inside during play period. I don’t want to go out in the cold with the other kids. The boys hit me with a ball, and I don’t want to play with them. She makes me go until I pee on my dress.

           

“Why didn’t you say you needed to use the bathroom,” the teacher says. Her face is red with anger. I didn’t know I needed to use the bathroom until I got scared. I try to tell her, but she just thrusts me in the bathroom and closes the door. I cry for long enough to miss play period.

Finally when the last day of school comes, I tuck Rosie under my sweater. I can’t leave her here in this awful place, alone, cold, and with no one to love her. I hide her, and walk slowly so no one will see.

We are nearly home when Ellen tugs on my arm and Rosie nearly falls out on the pavement, but I catch her. “What’s that?” she asks.

“The teacher said I could have her,” I lie. I don’t usually lie but this was a special situation. I had to save Rosie. Free her.

Ellen doesn’t care. She slams the backdoor entering the house. Grandma says, “What have you got there?”

Getting better at lying now, I tell her, “It was a prize. I won it for being good.”

“How nice. Let’s get her cleaned up.” My grandmother takes her and cleans her face and brushes her hair. Now I can see Rosie’s cheeks and her lips.

That night I take Rosie to bed. Just before Mama turns off the light, I look at Rosie. She’s lying next to me with one eye open and the other closed. It’s as if she’s winking at me. She knows my secret.

I freed her, and she’ll never tell.