I rubbed my eyes as I sat alone on my couch, my focus locked on the computer screen in front of me. I read over the last sentence I had typed up and smiled, so close to being done. I placed my hands on the keyboard, only to be stopped by a loud bang coming from the room next door. Releasing a sigh, I shut my laptop and stood up, arching my back and raising my arms over my head as I yawned. I reached over and shut off the lamp beside the couch and walked over to the balcony. The door was already open so I just slipped into the cool, spring air and sat down. I gazed out at the neighboring hotels and the mountains far in the distance and sucked in a breath.

I jumped as another loud bang sounded from my neighbors' room, except this time it was louder, and a series of smaller sounds followed it. I stood up and gazed at the balcony attached to my neighbors room. The hairs on my arms stood up as I watched the shadows dance across the curtains shielding my neighbors glass, balcony, door.

My neighbor had moved in at least a month ago, and ever sense, I had been hearing suspicious sounds from next door. I had considered calling the hotel management, or even the police, but had convinced myself everything was fine. I was starting to regret that decision.

Turning around, I stepped inside my room and slipped on my shoes. I wasnt gonna sit back and let my neighbor scare me just because of a few sounds, so I was gonna find out what they were doing. When I reached my front door, I hesitantly gripped the handle, my other hand slowly twisting the lock. My heart wouldnt stop pounding as I pulled the door open.

Everything seemed to slow down as I stepped into the hotel hallway. I gazed around at the yellow walls and the brown and black carpet, taking it all on as I shut my door. When the door clicked, the sound seemed to reverberate along my bones and my gut was gripped by an invisible fist of anxiety. I turned around and began to fidget with my hands as my neighbors door loomed in front of me.

I raised my hand and knocked nervously on the white door, my knuckles screaming with protest with each pound of my fist on the wood. I suddenly felt very stupid as my arm fell to my side but I was frozen, I couldnt even move to try and get back in my room before my neighbor got to the door.

A quiet whimper escaped my lips as the door creaked open, but I immediately hid my fear as my neigbour appeared in the doorway. She had short, ginger hair with barely visible freckles plastering her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, her lips were plump and a rosy red and her eyes were a dazzling green. She was actually... pretty, nothing like I expected.

"Can I help you?" She asked, her voice soft and some what angelic. I shook my head, freeing myself from what seemed like a transe before replying

"No, I'm so sorry to bug you, I just heard some banging and, because it was so late at night,I wanted to come see if everything was alright." I stammered. She smiled sweetly, her teeth flashing.

"No problem. But you really shouldnt have come." She said, her voice changing from soothing to startling.

"Pardon me?" I choked out. The girls face began to morph into a horrific image plastered in blood and gore. I tried to scream but she reached out with clawed fingers and dragged me into her room by my hair. I choked on air as I sucked in breaths, trying to stay calm despite the situation. Maybe it was just a dream. Please let it be just a dream.

When she finally let go of my hair, she had morped back into the form of a woman, her body curving in and out like an hour glass. Every part of me envied her, but a small part of me also knew I should be terrified.

"Wh-whats going on." I croaked, my hands planted on the carpeted floor, the womans back to me as she walked towards the door.

"You just made a grave mistake, THATS whats going on." The woman hissed as she reached the door. But even after she said that, I wasnt purely terrified until she turned to face me, a malice grin dancing across her lips. And, when she pushed the door closed, I realized that these last moments were all I had, because when the door clicked, I was in her world, and her world was her territory.

When I heard the door click, my whole word collapsed around me, taking my sanity with it.

Something seems off, not at all right with old Mr. Parks. He seems to long, after the dark.

I glance out my window, at the new man in town. He is never out in the daylight, never around.

He is up to no good maybe, I can't quite tell. Maybe I should talk to him, but I'm afraid he will yell.

He doesn't look that mean, but he does seem odd. But you never can tell these days, as he gives me that curt nod.

I see you Mr, Parks, I know you see me. I'm so nosey you know, how do I plea.

Tell me your secret, new man in town. Please tell me your secret, I'm the busiest busy body around.

I know everyone in this small town, I do believe you don't belong. This town is mine, this is my throng.

Where do you go so late at night? What do you do? Should I follow you tonight, maybe I will pursue.

The next night I see you, I will put on my coat, I will follow you strange man, I will demote.

I follow you tonight, I see where you go, the other side of town, where the lights are all aglow.

The seedier part of town, that's where you like to roam, that part of town, that is unlike home.

I follow you to this place, a place where I have never gone. A place where they advertise, pay a price for fun.

Fun, fun, hmmm... a place like that. A neon logo of a woman, stroking her um... "cat".

So, you old pervert, you like to poke, you like the women, you old bloke.

Well, your secret is not sooo bad I guess, at least you are not alone. There are always men that are in your shoes, men that like to moan.

Men that wish to leer after beautiful women and see them flaunt. Is it worth being secretive, is it worth the jaunt.

Okay, Mr. Parks, you may live the way you dare. At least I know you are not doing anything illegal, nothing to beware.

You may be my new neighbor, you may be my new friend. Next time you desire a peek at a woman's derriere, you don't have to travel too far. Just take a peek in my window and I will keep it ajar.

Remember, I retire to bed at nine, I will be changing out of my clothes. Nine o'clock sharp would be the best time for you to view a free, no frills, peepshow!

;)

Everyone else seemed so enamored with her right from the start. I admit it, she was charming as hell. From her wild, crimson lips, to the way she’d toss her head back and guffaw as loud as a barn animal, at your joke – or any joke- anyone made. Then she’d poke you in the shoulder with one of her long, manicured fingernails, brightly colored- and ask if you work out every day, because you look so fit. That’d be early in the night when we all drank beer.

Then later, in the quiet when the night turned maudlin and the lights seemed dimmer, we’d break out the wine glasses- red of course. She would lean forward and stare deep into your eyes, those crimson lips pursed, just listening. And suddenly, you were the most sophisticated, interesting person who’d ever walked into town. And the way she smoked cloves wasn’t the way 15 year old drama club students smoked them, but rather the way they hoped they looked when they smoked them.

“I love smoking and hate the smell!” Even her explanation was unpretentious.

She was, what all we young women wanted to be, but she made us all feel like she envied us and we couldn’t imagine why, but we sure as hell wanted to find out. She acted like we were the ones the boys looked at with the glimmer in their eyes when we piled into the bars on Saturday nights.

“You darlings look gorgeous tonight!” and she’d kiss each of us on the head, like we were her little angels.

No-one got more affection than Cheryl. Cheryl was the lucky one. She’d seen an ad online for a roommate and it was crimson, guffawing, charming Morgan who came to the door. She had a way of walking into places and making them hers without being overbearing. It was a mystical quality that ignited feelings of power in our own womanhood. Since then, she’d been accepted into the fold without much vetting.

One night, at MorganandCheryl’s –as it came to be known, we were all drinking Absinthe. Morgan opened a fresh bottle and made us watch the “green fairy”. She said it was part of the ritual. She showed us how to drown the sugar cubes over our glasses placed ceremoniously atop slotted spoons she said she’d got from France. None of them quite dissolved completely and took a bit of stirring. Even still, Morgan was the only one who didn’t make a face when we all toasted.

“Whatsa matter, babies? Don’t like black licorice” She asked in between sips. “I didn’t either before I spent that year in Denmark. You know they put salt on it there? I guess it’s an acquired taste.”

I couldn’t agree more, but we all felt so worldly that none of us complained and instead started sharing stories of travel. Not all of us had been across the pond, so could only share stories about other towns or states. Morgan treated those with no less fascination and glee than Cheryl’s story about Scotland and Linda’s story about Thailand.

The night wore on but the liquor didn’t wear off and we found ourselves listening less to the soft music we had playing and listening more and more to the sounds of the night. The mood of the evening took a mystical turn and we started to talk about spiritual matters. Linda and I expressed staunchly agnostic views. Margot grew up Baptist but didn’t have any specific god in mind, just that she believed in “something”. Morgan talked about different gods and goddesses old and new with the enigmatic glow of an old world shaman, but lacking the piety and conviction of a priest. Cheryl nodded dogmatically, while the rest of us sipped our wine and listened, intrigued.

Morgan then started talking about the oracles of Greek myth, specifically the Pythia – a woman of great power and prestige, who was considered the mouthpiece of Apollo. Then just as quickly, the topic changed to witchcraft and tarot and numerology.

“Once upon a time, I had my own fortune reading service in the country-side.” Morgan pulled softly on her lit clove. She had a wistful look in her eye. “Oh! It’s been years though!”

“Can you still do it?” Cheryl asked.

“Well, I imagine, I could. I could give an example. I’ll need birthdates though.”

Cheryl went first. Her reading was that she was generous and worldly. It also said that she was optimistic about people, but nobody’s fool. Morgan told her that she would be successful in money matters but have trouble in love.

Linda went after. Morgan said she was kind and honest unless it came to matters of business, then could be unscrupulous if threatened.

Mine said that I was intelligent, but callous and while I liked a challenge, could be lazy in day to day life.

Margot declined to have her fortune told. She said she was happy enough to watch.

I think we ended the night talking about music and art.

A few weeks later, Linda, Margot and I got together at my place to drink and talk. After a short time, I managed to veer the conversation towards Cheryl and Morgan. None of us could reach them and Margot and I became startled when the number Morgan had given us no longer worked.

I shared that I had spoken to Cheryl on Wednesday the week before, but she was short with me and I had noticed something tense about her voice, and since that I had only ever reached her voicemail. She hadn’t responded to my emails either.

“Do you guys think there’s something weird about Morgan?”

“Like what? I think she’s awesome.” Offered Margot.

“Well, that numerology thing. She seemed to take it so seriously. I felt like she really wanted me to believe it too. Did either of you feel that way too?”

“So she’s eccentric. I’ve had Christians who really wanted me to believe their crap too, but that didn’t stop me from being friends with them.” Said Linda. “No offense, Mar.”

“Well, has anyone been by Cheryl’s?” I changed the subject. I couldn’t find the words to describe my trepidation and gave up.

“No. I haven’t.” Linda answered.

“I swung by yesterday after work. Nobody answered though.” Margot fidgeted.

“It’s suspicious. It’s not like her, you have to admit.”

“You two are being alarmists.” Linda interjected. “She’s probably just sick or something.”

“She’d still probably answer her door and phone.” I argued.

It was a two against one vote that we go check on her again. And again there was no answer at her door. We tried jiggling the door handles, back and front, then tried every window we could reach. The house was locked up tight.

I turned the flashlight on my phone and peered in through the kitchen window and gasped. In the shadows I could make out that a chair had been overturned and it looked as though some things had been rifled through.

“Look!” I pointed. “Do you believe us now that something’s not right?”

I could see in the wan light that Linda’s brow was now knitted with concern. Margot’s hand was poised over her mouth.

“I think we need to make a police report.”

We were all smoking on the porch when the squad car pulled up to make the welfare check we requested. We were all a little surprised that they made it under an hour.

After taking our statements and walking around the house, it was determined that there was probable cause to enter the apartment.

Cheryl’s landlord was awakened to open the door. He approached us wearing a bathrobe and slippers, muttering under his breath.

We were all made to wait outside the door with a female officer, while her partner went inside to search. The living room and kitchen light went on while we stood nervously on the porch. We kept trying to peak over the woman officer’s head at her annoyance.

I couldn’t tell you what else was said and what happened. Everything else was a blur.

More cars showed up and the area and we were eventually sent home. We weren’t told what they found and when we called the police station every week, we weren’t told anything other than they were looking into it.

Cheryl’s mother and brother kept regular contact with us. I’m not sure what Margot and Linda told them. I barely remember what I told them. Mostly the calls were met with uncomfortable silence and Cheryl’s mother’s quiet sobs.

It was over two months later in the early spring before the thaw when I finally got a phone call from Cheryl’s brother. He asked if he could come by; he was in town. We met at my house after I got off work.

The blood was drained from his face when he related how they called him to identify her. Her fingers and head were missing. They had to take his blood he said, to test the DNA. Hikers had found her, thinking she was a mannequin at first.

There were long pauses of reflection in between every other sentence.

He fumbled in his pocket for a moment before pulling out his hand. There was a glint of metal peaking between his fingers.

He cleared his throat before speaking again. “Anyways, my mom said to give this to you. Cheryl told us a lot about you. We appreciate you being there for her.”

“Was I?” I held the little ring in my hand. It was so small. I could feel the water drip alongside my nose. “I don’t deserve it.”

He leaned forward. “It wasn’t your fault. They said Morgan wasn’t her real name. She was a con artist. They think she’d been active for decades.”

I couldn’t meet his gaze. “Please, from a grieving mother and brother. Just take it.”

When he stood on my stoop to leave, I folded my arms around his neck. I had heard so many stories about him, but none of them came to mind. He wasn’t a stranger. I asked that he call sometime so we could talk about her. His face seemed pinker and he smiled.

I remember all the time spent between Linda, Margot and myself in the months following the discovery of Cheryl’s remains. It’s hard to remember all the words spoken. Those nights were filled with guilty confessions, expressions of shock and horror, talk about sore muscles and insomnia and nightmares, regret and many sobbing sessions. We asked ourselves why we didn’t see it sooner. Maybe if we had done this or said that we could have saved her.

Those months, I wore that tiny ring on my pinkie.

Linda moved to the East coast and Margot got married and I put the ring in the bottom shelf of my jewelry box and didn’t take it out again until a few years later.

It was a Sunday when I was flipping through channel after channel and I saw her face. I paused mid-flip and stared. I picked up the phone and told Margot to change to channel 4. I needed a witness. She started to speak and I only turned up the television, not responding, then she was silent too.

A reporter with platinum hair and pink lipstick told me that Morgan’s real name was Claire MacNeil. She had been apprehended South of Miami. The tv cut to footage of a gray haired woman being escorted by two stern policemen. She wasn’t laughing.

I wondered how she felt about being filmed without that bright red lipstick.

And that was it.

The cameras returned to that platinum reporter and she changed the subject to something else that I don’t remember now.

Margot was silent on the other end.

Finally, I asked her, “What do we do?”

Since the old man moved next door about a week ago, I have been watching him like a hawk. I notice a lot of comings and goings with people bringing in what looks like bags of bales and bricks. They furtively look around to see that no one is looking before they bring in their packages. I am positive that they are up to no good and wonder if I should call the police to investigate. I check my security cameras to make sure they are working properly so I will have enough evidence to give to the police. Now, I see an old lady sneak in the back door and wonder if that is the old man’s girlfriend. I bet he has a wife somewhere else and this is an assignation. An aroma wafts through the air and I am almost sure it must be marijuana. I also notice white powder on the ground. Late that night, I see the old man feeding strange animals corralled in his back yard. Maybe I should call Animal Control in case they’re being mistreated.

Something must be very funny because the old man is really laughing with his friends. I see all of them sneak out into the back yard and tie the animals together in harnesses. They probably are planning to take advantage of the darkness to carry out their devious plans.

What do I see shooting upward like a rocket into the sky? I bet they’re terrorists attempting to wipe out the world! Then I hear the old man yelling at the top of his lungs,

“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!”

#New Man in Town #Ho Ho Ho #Merry Christmas to Prosers

“All Experience has shown us that mankind is more disposed to suffer. While evils are sufferable. Than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.” American Declaration of Independence

First of. My apologies. I’m a snoop you see. But in my defense. I do. Do so professionally.

And like most. When someone new moves in to ones neighborhood. And bored with the gossip of why there predecessors moved out. The interest of ones curiosities. Turns to theirs. Often in my case criminally (misdemeanors) so.

Yes even I can see reason for the bad light it caste upon investigative journalist. Like myself and others. For so much of it turns up nothing. But when it is justified. You shower us with praise like none other. Accept maybe a detective catching a zodiac esq. killer. Or thwarting a kidnapping. Hero status brings with it its own pitfalls. But enough about that.

Dear SickTwo:

I am torn. My friend. With a decision to publish or not. The smoking gun I’ve most recently unscrupulously acquired. While poking around at first him. My new neighbor . And secondly his. Beautiful and recently divorced daughter. Their stories. Or more correctly lack of. As well as cohesiveness. Perked my ears up. And like a kitten at a thread. When one pulls long enough the whole story (facade) unravels.

Now for the facts. I found after Plying his daughter with wine and illegitimate claims of fondness. First of all I’ve found the source of those leaflets plastered all over the internet and town. Spouting revolutionary rhetoric. Just to remind you here is a new one I’ve found in his modern day basement/digital printing press. In his own hand I might add. Exquisitely penned cursive.

And I quote

“ High upon their gilded thrones. Atop mountains of that which their powers truly derived from. The stank air of superiority. Can be smelled by all. But themselves now. So much so. All gossips agree. The royals keep is it’s source. “The gods must be crazy” some say. While others more suspicious wonder if perhaps so high up in the clouds their noses are. They live above it. The unearthly stench that only grows worse and more widespread. From the lowest of the low lands and now upland. Growing even to the foot of their most holy of mountains.

“ It’s time to clean their coffers” all think. But only a few dare say it. For many of those that do seem to have disappeared. And many family members who received the. Oh so coveted public jobs about the royal grounds. Are never to been seen again. Though money that they are seen to be sending back to the family. Quickly quell any fervent questioning that occurs as a result this. But we’ve run out of room to escape it now. The stench. And can no longer blame the dirt poor. Formerly thought below us. For the innocuous stench clearly originates from their. (Are genetically engineered superior over lords) Most holy of mountains. Their curse spewing flu atop what? Reactor? Generator? Incinerator????

Curiously though one of its side effects is 20/20 vision that sees thru bullshit. No longer will they find a different enemy for us to rally against. No longer can the royals blame us. For are sins against God. So clear is it. None among us are scared to say it aloud.

“The Church and God kings are in cahoots. And are prayer coins only fill their extravagant boots!!!” Their program is harvest wealth/power from are earthly flesh&soil.

Whats Spared us? Is merely enough to silence the others who starve. But never enough for are feet to grow stronger than? Slightly more than weak. Which keeps most from marching on them? Are genetically engineered superior. Lab Lords. The so-called divinity’s. Programmed, Indoctrinated, Inbred by the superior minded and their super computer/Church of god to bow to it. Can’t you see this? Never will it let the populace feast. Grow powerful. March on the source of suppression. Fore when we all do. Surely we will find. Not a mountain of gold. It is you sit on. But a mountain of broken backs and decaying bodies. The true fuel/feed that fires your war machine and warms your soft skinned hands. The coal that which your power is truly derived. Are royal not. SOULS!!!!”

And as gripping that story be. SickTwo.

It will only be made more so by the accompanying myriad of video recordings. Smuggled out bye a young lab lord who has grown a.....?

Conscious? An escape from the algorithm he was slave to. By a virus that he infected self with. Resulting in the desire to choose for one self.

Free willed he’s escaped. But the lords will see no reason to join him. They’ve grown fat. Unscrupulous and deviant. That’s obvious in the video footage showing extravagant parties were pets are served food in front of are peasant brethren being starved to death. And made to fight to the death to see who eats that night. Or becomes feed for the pit bulls Or boars. For Nothing more than their. The AI anointed royals entertainment. I wait patiently for your advice. On how I. And you as well can properly profit from this. I am assuming of course you know deeper pockets than I. So I don’t mind sharing my good fortune at present. So I now wait. Either for a? Virtual hit squad. (I’ve heard rumors of a kill switch) Or a bundle of cash.

Signed The Sycophant

I was lazing on my couch, when there arose such a sound

a u-haul announcing a new person in town

I peered through the blinds to see dark glasses and a tan

a weird looking skinny and suspicious sort of man

He concealed his hair with a cap, and opened the old uhaul's trunk

and I was sure he'd be moving nothing but junk

His glasses were tarnished, his cap was askew

He'd never fit in here, in my personal view

The boxes were heavy and he peered around,

but i couldnt be seen helping the new weirdo in town

I was newly single

and I wanted to be cool

my reputation would be damaged if seen helping this fool

So i dimmed my lights and pretended i wasnt home

in hopes he'd keep moving his boxes alone

The boxes looked heavy and he started to struggle

this skinny young man was having some trouble

Then just when i thought the move would never end

the weirdo was able to recruit a new friend

then a second and a third, my neighbors came to his aid

and soon I wondered why I had been afraid

The move was finished and all that was left

was to shake hands with all the new friends he had met

The weird man removed his glasses, hat, and stuck out his hand

and i looked on in astonishment that it wasnt a man

Her hair fell long as she thanked them and grinned

and she shook the hands of my neighbors and invited them in

I looked on through my blinds and all i could see

was the dawning realization that the weird one was me.

She moved into the city of Salamendera like 3 weeks ago and that's when everything started going haywire. She looks innocent to the untrained eye. I know she's up to something, I just don't know what. I decided to investigate. I found a dark and damp room. I looked inside and I found that the target she's been trying to find is Redinatha. I have to get to her before she does. I run out of the room and get stopped by the new lady. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Detective Rose sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. I guess, I will have to kill you first." She said with a wicked smile. "Why don't you introduce yourself?" I asked her. "Oh? My name is Wilder Slingador." She said. "Well, put your hands up where I can see them." I said as I pulled my crossbow out and pointed it at her. She put her hands up and I grabbed them. I put them behind her back and walked her out of the room. I pressed the side of my radio and said, "Police Officer Redinatha, you ok?" I get a reply, "Yes, Detective. I am fine. What did you find?" "I found the culprit that wanted to kill you. She is in custody and ready to be put down." I said. "Do what you must do." Redinatha said. I pinted my Crossbow at her and put an arrow through Wilder Slingador's chest. She died and I walked away form that scene of a mess.

My work here is done. Time to go spend time with Redinatha and to make sure this city of Salamandera is safe.

When he moved in last week, The Girls spotted him from Sally's porch. He was tall, shirtless and sweat streamed down his face as he unloaded his truck. Muscles rippling every time he hauled a box from his truck to the porch, he unloaded the vehicle with rugged grace. In less than an hour, he ducked inside, before The Girls had a chance to pounce.

Three full days passed before Sally announced to the neighborhood that she saw him leave the house and drive off someplace in his truck. The Girls were gathered on Sally's porch as usual that Monday morning, avoiding housework.

"What do you think he does? What is that guy up to? What is his name, even?" asked Betsy, staring at the little house where he had just moved in.

"None of us have a clue. He just got here, then disappeared inside, didn't even come out again, and didn't even look at us when he moved in," Joanne shrugged.

"Well, when he gets back, we are going to find out who he is, what his name is, what he does, and then maybe we'll be able to understand a little more why someone like him has moved here!" announced Sally as she smoothed her long blond curls.

It was two days before his truck returned. Sally figured it was sometime very early Wednesday morning before sunrise. She claimed to have heard the tires in the driveway before her 5am alarm.

The Girls gathered once again that Wednesday morning outside of Sally's house on her porch. No one had seen him come out yet, though their eyes darted frantically toward his house every few minutes.

"Enough of this stupidity." Sally sighed then started to walk briskly toward his house.

The other girls just stared, until Sally turned around and shouted,

"Are you girls coming or what?!"

Betsy and Joanne quickly ran after Sally and before they knew it, she was knocking on his door. Silence. Sally pressed her finger into his doorbell three times and knocked again. Betsy and Joanne looked at each other with wide eyes and giggles.

Suddenly, the door swung open and he was standing there in front of them. He was shirtless again, affording a view of chiseled abs and defined pecs. Up close, The Girls noticed the deep grey hue of his eyes framed by long lashes that they all would die for. His thick eyebrows were both knotted together and raised at the time as he excalimed in a low whisper,

"What the Hell?"

"I'm Sally!"

She extended her hand and flashed her smile that could melt butter. Slowly, he raised his hand to meet hers and swallowed it in a strong handshake. He took in her sky blue eyes then his gaze drifted back toward Betsy and Joanne. Silently, he released his grip and was quickly engulfed with similar handshakes and squeeks from the other two girls, their cheeks burning bright pink and giggles continuing.

"So what's your name? You're one hot pepper!" exclaimed Sally, interrupting Betsy and Joanne's clumbsy greetings.

"I'm John. John Smith."

He stepped back a little from The Girls and he started to smile a little. Really, this was the first time any trace of expression played across his face and Betsy and Joanne could barely stand. But Sally took a step into his house and motioned for the girls to follow. John stopped moving and Sally almost stumbled into him.

"Oh!" Sally squealed, twisting her ankle slightly and fell into John's chest.

Reflexively, he caught her, steadied her, and said in his deep, low voice,

"What are you girls up to?"

Betsy, still giggling, squeeked,

"We just are wondering who you are?"

"I told you. I'm John Smith. Do you girls want to come in? It sure looks that way," John already had turned and motioned for them to follow.

Soon, they found themselves in the little house surrounded by boxes and a few pieces of furniture not yet in their places. John walked toward the kitchen and the girls followed, glancing at each other and smiling.

There was a pot of coffee on an old coffee maker full to the top and John proceeded to pour out three cups into mismatched tea cups. Silently, he handed them to the girls and once again looked at them with his perfectly chiseled poker face.

"You-you don't really talk much..." Joanne's voice trailed off as she took a sip, her eyes darting nervously at the sink, the window, the stove, anywhere but on his lavish form.

"Yes, you are a man of very few words." Sally peered at him over the edge of her cup as she took a deep sip. Her own blue eyes were what her husband called 'hypnotic' and the reason he proposed to her. But at this time, she certainly wasn't the one doing the hypnotising.

Betsy didn't say anything but gulped all of her coffee quickly, fully aware of how clown like she must look with her burning red cheeks and tousled, uncombed hair.

The little kitchen smelled dusty and the coffee was strong. John was like a perfect sculpture there and The Girls all stared at him. Moments ago they were players in mundane lives of nothing but now, they had been summoned into the world of a mysterious new man. Who really was this John Smith standing before them in this little kitchen?

The linoleum floor started to shift and turn, the broken tile on the walls seemed to buckle and curve, the ceiling became unnaturally low, then the small naked bulb on the ceiling seemed to flicker and go out. The world grew dark for Sally, Betsy and Joanne as they crumpled onto the floor. The cups they had just been clutching clattered to the ground shattering, spilling the remaining dark liquid.

All the while, John didn't move. He only watched and waited until he was sure they were all unconscious. At that point he picked each girl up like flour sacks, slung them over his shoulders, and proceeded to walk down into the depths of the basement.

There's a new guy in town

To play with when I'm down

He's just my type, new, I mean

My closet contents, he hasn't seen

When luring him to my nasty toys

I see he's not like other town boys

He doesn't turn away from my whips

Instead, he pulls the belt from his hips

Folds it in half, cracks it a bit

Says "I'll be the boss, you must submit"

I may like this newcomer's ways, I surrender

Here and now, no need to be tender

The man had come knocking on my doorstep the morning i had put the ad in the local newspaper that i was giving the top floor of my house on rent. it had been obnly ten in the morning and i had my first client. that hardly ever was the case ever since i had put my house's top floor on rent. i asked for the rentals that were not so small an amount but i sure did justice to my clients for my house was not like the most ordinary ones.

my parents had left me this mansion of a house when they died and i got lonely so i put its third or top floor on rent. the previous family who rented my house were like my onw family but they had to move in with some other relatives so i had to put an ad in the newspaper. it had only been almost three hours since the newspaper got out and a man had knocked on my door.

he seemed quite in a hurry to sign the contract and other major stuff so i asked if he had thought this through to which he gruffly replied that it was no concern of mine and that he was very well aware of the rent i had put up. he appeared some kind of a dealer. his appearance only sent negative wibes to the audience. but since he put no request and seemed that he would be minding his own business so i let him stay. i showed hi around the house and when i was finished he just shut the door on my face; like he owned the place. but time passed and he did not cause any disturbance. it seemed wierd how he was never late in paying the rentals. at the start of every month, there was an envelope with the proposed amount(of the rentals) sitting on my kitchen counter. my suspicions never died but one morning when i got up a little early i could hear footsteps coming down the stairs. he came down and had three other men with him and they were deeply in conversation. he was scolding them about some shipment not being on time when i heard one of them mention the names of some drugs. thats when i realised where all the money was coming from and why he sounded so suspicious from the start.they saw me dashing for the phone. i called the police and informed them about the situation when one of the men grabbed me by the arm and threw me to the floor. he started beating me and moments later i blacked out.

When i opened my eyes i was in a hospital and my renter was there standing with a doctor and a police officer. what they said next completely took me by surprise; the man who had rented my house was actually working as a spy for the police and had brought a very dangerous drug mafia to the surface. he had been working with the dealers to gain their trust so that he could expose them properly to the world.

they thanked me for all i did although i do not doing anything in helping them but i accepted their gratitude nonetheless. it was really a lot to take in. my head throbbed and that is when the doctor injected some kind of medicine into my arm and i blacked out again. some days later there was news of a gang being exposed and they said the police thanks a young girl for her precious contribution; and they were all saying my name and for some unknown reason thanking me.