Dr. Apopolus

First time poster... Let me know what you think. It's rough, just typed it up, so don't get too bent out of shape about the grammar.
--------------------------------------------------------

I met her at a convenience store - her bagging groceries, me buying push-pops. She looked like a fairly capable woman, 75; bagging groceries herself due to incompetence on the opposing side of the register. Her bag split, revealing a sea of Lima beans. Her Dunlop’s squeaked. I lent a hand.

Although my mother taught me never to talk to strangers, substitute any elderly woman for my grandmother and I’d be fucked if I could tell the difference. Far as I was concerned, she was my grandmother. I walked her to the parking lot.

She thanked me twice. Her voice had both the range and timbre of a broken cello though, of the two, hers appeared more difficult to operate. Subsequently, she told me an interesting story; she lived on the same street as I. I let her know I would have remembered her, and in turn, she let me know I had a bad memory. Apparently she’d even greeted me a few times. I was sad to learn I’d never returned the courtesy.

After loading her groceries into the trunk I waved goodbye, and that was that. I didn’t catch her name.

The following week her memory cropped up a few times. She seemed so lonely. An elderly woman with Dunlops shouldn’t be lonely. I wondered which house it was that she lived in, though none of them seemed overly befitting. It was strange when I learnt that hers was the one which blared heavy metal music, the house I used to shake my head and shout “Fucking apes!” at. I’d witnessed her enter. Though with whom she lived, I’d yet to discover.

I knocked on the door thrice, she answered twice. However, the door did not open with a greeting, instead, with the word boysenberry. I laughed, she frowned.

“Butterscotch” She offered gently.

“No thanks” I replied, as she slipped one into my hand and smiled. She motioned for me to come inside.

Dilapidated relics from a bygone era cast a shadow across equally dilapidated, and somewhat concave, floorboards. She had an antique oven. It was used for cooking. This was deduced via basted turkey.

She continued to refer to me by the name of Boysenberry.

“Boysenberry, would you like a hard-boiled candy?” She inquired.

“No thanks” I replied, as she slipped one into my pocket.

What’s with the butterscotch? I wondered, etching a little further away from the oven.

I felt a strangle tingle. Her hand had entered my sleeve, and slipped gracefully into the thicket of my armpit hair. Yes, my armpit! Not my shoulder, no, much too convenient. I was wrong, this bitch was creepy! Though, so was grandma, so I decided to stay.

“Turkey?” She asked.

“Yes please!” I replied. She slipped some into my pocket, which was cool because I was going to eat it later anyway.

“Oh, I almost forgot! Don’t want to miss the show!” She exclaimed excitedly.

Confused, I replied “What show?”

She didn’t answer but, alternatively, led me up a set of stairs… By my armpit hair of course, no, not my shoulder, much too convenient.

She paused. “Look at this crack in the stairs! Tim’s about as useful as a shoe-horn!”

“Who’s tim?” I queried.

She didn’t answer but, alternatively, removed a dead rat from her coat and threw it against a wall. I frowned, she smiled.

“That’s good luck” she informed.

I was taken into a room. It was dark. Three men lay manacled to a radiator.

“Who likes jokes?” She asked, looking at each of her captives, “Good! A priest, policeman, and a construction worker lie manacled to a radiator, a woman walks in, presses a gun to the priests skull and asks ‘What’s the punch line?’”

She produced a pistol and pressed the muzzle flush against the priest’s head.

He winced and said, “Please don’t kill me”

“Wrong, you decadent piece of shit” She exclaimed.

Bang! The priest slumped into a pile. “Next she asks the policeman”

She placed the muzzle against the policeman’s head. After witnessing the incident just prior, he was too shocked to answer.

“Bzzzz, Wrong!” She shouted.

Bang! Another shot was fired. A second lifeless body resulted. The woman spoke again. “Finally, she asks the construction worker.”

She placed the gun against the last man’s head”

“Wrong! There is no punch line” Bang! “They all die!” She broke out into a fit of hysterics. By the time the laughter had subsided, I had gone.

Several weeks passed without as much as a word from the old lady, when suddenly, in the place we first met, I heard a whisper on the wind. “Want to hear a joke?” asked the voice.

“No, but I’ve got one for you” I replied “Want to hear it?”

“Sure thing Boysenberry” she responded..

She didn’t get to hear the punch line because I ran her down in my car. She frowned, I smiled.

...I miss her.

__________________
Bath tub funeral, trash can reception - A collection of short stories:

The Lover,
The Whistler,
The Kidder,
And The Inquisitor.

Roman_Mitic

I love it the end maybye you could mix up, like how can he you hear her whisper you if you were in the car about to run her down? but other than that fuckin halarious.. just being honest. Nice work man, later.

Dr. Apopolus

Thanks. Yeah, rushed the end a little. Maybe when I'm bored I'll go back and add a little more in there.

Though, the way I pictured it, he's not in his car when he hears the whisper. The quick delivery of the car part is a deliberate choice. I feel it's funnier that way.

__________________
Bath tub funeral, trash can reception - A collection of short stories:

The Lover,
The Whistler,
The Kidder,
And The Inquisitor.

Wanderjahr

It's weird. I like it a lot.

Katastrof

What you have here my friend, is a diamond in the rough. When I was reading it I thought it was weird and exciting, and then a grammar or spelling error jumps out and it becomes really dull. Here's some critique that might make it flow better:

There's more of stuff like this in the story but I just wanted to give you an example with the first part. Read it over.

Also I enjoyed the theme of the story alot.

__________________
Read:

When The Man Comes Around

"Carpe Diem, quam minimum credula postero"
(Seize the day put no trust in tomorrow.) ~ Horace

Dr. Apopolus

Yeah I mentioned the grammar stuff at the start. It really needs to be edited.

Anyway, thanks for the advice. How's this?

---------------------------------------------

I met her at a convenience store - her bagging groceries, me buying push-pops. She was a fairly capable woman of 75; bagging groceries herself on account of incompetent store clerks. Her bag split, revealing a sea of Lima beans. Her Dunlop’s squeaked. I lent a hand.

Although my mother taught me never to talk to strangers, substitute any elderly woman for my grandmother and I’d be fucked if I could tell the difference. I walked her to the parking lot. Far as I was concerned, she was my grandmother.

She thanked me in a voice that had both the range and timbre of a broken cello. Subsequently, she told me an interesting story; her and I lived on the same street. I let her know I would have remembered her, and in turn, she let me know I had a bad memory. She’d even greeted me a few times. I was sad to learn I’d never returned the courtesy.

After loading her groceries into the trunk I waved goodbye, and that was that. I didn’t catch her name.

The following week I reviewed the encounter. She seemed so lonely. An elderly woman with Dunlops shouldn’t be lonely. I wondered which house it was that she lived in, though none of them seemed overly befitting. It was strange when I'd witnessed her enter the one which blared heavy metal music, the house I used to shake my head and shout “Fucking apes!” at. Though with whom she lived, I’d yet to discover.

I knocked twice. The door did not open with a greeting but instead, with the word "boysenberry". I laughed, she frowned.

__________________
Bath tub funeral, trash can reception - A collection of short stories:

The Lover,
The Whistler,
The Kidder,
And The Inquisitor.

spider8

I enjoyed it for its madness. Too mad to take it seriously enough to critique, but not too mad to enjoy.

HippoHead

someone tell me how to delete posts! i've had to edit my repeated post for this message!

HippoHead

this is fantastic. i loved it. make more creepy tales :}

nia mora

I really like this.

__________________
Let the monsters see yousmile
-Vega4