​     I getting to that point in my life where my memory doesn’t serve me. I make notes to remind myself of everything. I have shopping lists, do lists, passwords and reminders for appointments. I find if I put something in my line of sight, I’ll remember it. To help myself remember or to remind myself of future events, I post notes to remind myself, mark up my calendar and use visual aids. I put them on my computer, refrigerator, and kitchen counters. I even put outgoing mail near the door where I’ll see it as I leave the house.
     The other day I went to buy groceries at our favorite big box store. When I got inside, I realized I forgot my shopping list at home. After berating myself for one minute, I told myself to put on my big boy pants and try to remember everything on the list.
     I decided if I went down every aisle, whenever I saw things that I use, it would remind me to buy it if I needed it. I went down every aisle and loaded up my cart. By time I was done, the cart held twice the amount of groceries that I usually buy. I figured it was all consumable, so no waste, no harm done. I was proud of myself for shopping without my usual list. When I got outside, it hit me; I forgot where I parked.
     My memory is a strange beast. I think now that I’m older, my brain can’t retain any more data. Therefore, it seems to be doing a data dump. It pulls up an old memory file that I haven’t thought about in years. For example, it might pull up a name of someone from high school. Then my brain asks, “Do we need to keep this file?” If I don’t immediately try to contact that person, my brain dumps that memory. It’s lost forever. That leaves a little storage space for a new memory. I’ve learned how to use this to my advantage. Before I fall asleep, I might ask my brain to find the name of a long-lost friend. Bingo, the next morning, my brain shows me the file.
      The other day I forgot what day it was. I thought it was trash day. I got up early and took out the trash. When the trash truck didn’t come, I figured out I was a day early. No sweat, lots of folks take out their trash the night before. I was just early. The problem is that I have done this before. I often run into a person I haven’t seen for a while and can’t remember their name. I have on a couple of occasions, let the dog out and forgot to let her back in.
     In my experience, there seems to be three types of memory lost: the first is a total loss of memory of names, places or events; the second is a mixed match of memories (not remembering correctly or mixing two separate events together); and finally, false memories (remembering things that never happened – duh).
     What I really hate is remembering things that never happened. For example, I was trying to remember if I took my morning meds and decided that I did. Later, I discovered that I hadn’t taken them. I was remembering something that never happened.
     As we grow older, our memories are often the best things we have. I hate losing them. They say the memory is the second thing to go as you get old. I forgot what the first thing was. I thought I’d better write this blog before I forget. 

WIP—Junk Yard Dog

Here’s another page of my work in progress, a sci-fi short story. Please feel free to provide feedback. Recall from my last post that the Junk Yard Dog is a spacecraft designed to collect space junk. Zoe is the commander. They tried to capture a satellite and ran into problems when they touched it. I’ already rewriting—in my head. Here’s page 3.


“How far?”

Try a hundred meters for starters.”

Rudy reached over Walt and released the arm and claws from the satellite.

“Roger that,” Cyril said as he used the thrusters to maneuver the Dog away from the satellite. As the Dog moved farther away, the visions subsided until there were no more visions. Walt stopped screaming.

“A hundred meters and holding,” Cyril announced.

“Hold for now. Walt, take some deep breaths. Okay, talk to me. Is everyone okay?” Everyone said they were uninjured. “Does anyone have any idea what just happened to us?”

Rudy was the first to speak. “I think we experienced a self-defense feature of that satellite. That buzzing sound we all felt when we approached it was something probing our minds looking for our greatest fears. Then the sat somehow projected images of our greatest fears into our minds. Mine was a fear of drowning.”

“Mine was fire,” Walt added. “My house caught fire when I was a kid. I nearly died.”

“Mine was a car crash from a few years ago. I too almost died. I went through the windshield.” Cyril said. “What was yours, Commander?”

“Never mind. It’s not important. Which country has that technology?”

“None,” Rudy answered. “I don’t think this satellite was put here by any humans.”

“You mean it’s an alien satellite?” Walt asked.

“That’s the only possible answer.”

“Why would they put a sat in orbit around the earth and why in a polar orbit?” Zoe asked.

“I don’t know,” Rudy answered. “But think about it. In a polar orbit, the sat can see the entire earth in just a few orbits.”

“Okay, that’s enough talk for now,” Zoe commanded. “We have more questions than answers, Zoe said. “We’ll talk again later. Cyril, take us out of orbit and set a course for our barge. Let dump this cargo and then head back to ISS.”

“Aye, aye,” Cyril replied as he set a new course.

After a few minutes, Walt switched his communicator to a private channel to talk with Rudy. “Rudy, what’s the deal with the barge? I didn’t know we had one. What is it?”

Rudy chuckled, “Oh newbie. Our barge is where we stow the space junk until we’re ready to get rid of it. We get paid by volume since there’s little gravity. Every country has their own barge. By mutual agreement, once several barges are full, a space tug starts them on a collision course toward earth where they burn up in the atmosphere.”

“Cool. What about the rare earth medals?” Cyril asked.

“We keep those separate and get paid for them on the ISS?”

Unloading the space junk into the barge was routine, but everyone was still shook up about the encounter with the alien satellite. No one mentioned it. After a week of collecting space junk, the crew was looking forward to a day or two of relaxing, not to mention running hot water and hot chow.

As the Junk Yard Dog approached the ISS, Zoe said, “Let’s not tell anyone about what happened until we had a chance to figure it out ourselves.” Every agreed. Zoe radioed the ISS and received docking instructions and clearance.

The ISS consisted of three large rings or wheels, each bigger than the one below it. They were connected by a long center spoke that ran through the middles. Docking was done at the center ring where most personnel lived and worked. The top ring consisted of the life support systems needed to sustain the ISS. The bottom ring was the largest and was where more spacecrafts were built.
​
The Junk Yard dog docked on the center ring. The crew was met by a docking manager and a load master as they exited the airlock.

“Your barge is almost full,” the load master informed Zoe. “We can take control of it now and pay you if you like, or you can make one more trip to collect junk.” 

Here’s the second first page of my work in progress, the sci-fi story. Please feel free to provide feedback. Recall from my last post that the Junk Yard Dog is a spacecraft designed to collect space junk. Zoe is the commander. They’re trying to capture a satellite. 

“Let’s try to capture it. Cyril, do your magic,” Zoe ordered.

Walt switched his communicator to communicate privately with Rudy. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked Rudy.

“Sure, newbie. What’s up?”

“Why is the commander interested in a small satellite? It can’t take up much space.”

“True,” Rudy answered. “But these older sats often have gold or precious metals, even diamonds, worth more than their weight as junk. Now get ready.”

Cyril approached the satellite and matched its orbit. When he felt he was close enough he said, “Okay, Walt. It’s your baby now.” Walt extended the front arm and moved them closer to the satellite.

“Grab it gently, don’t smack it,” Zoe commanded.

Walt maneuvered the arm’s claws around the satellite and slowly began to close them. At this close range, he was using direct line of sight through the front windshield. As soon as the claws closed on the satellite, a small flame appeared on the claws and began to move toward the space craft.

“Uh, Rudy, are you seeing this?” Walt asked through his headset.

What’s wrong?” Rudy asked.

“The claws are on fire.”

“I don’t see anything. Anyone see flames?” No one answered.

“The claws are on fire, I tell you.”

“Okay, okay, settle down,” Rudy tried to calm Walt. “Was there a spark when you touched the sat? Could be static electricity.”

“I didn’t see any spark,” Walt replied.

“Okay then. Turn it loose for a sec.”

Walt opened the jaws on the claws and moved the arm away. “The flames are gone,” he announced.
“Fine,” Rudy said. “Now try again.”

Walt maneuvered the arms around the satellite and clamped onto it. “

The flames are back, Rudy.”

“Okay, stay calm. Do a thermographic scan. What are you reading?”

“I’m getting minus 455 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“That’s normal so something is off.”

As the flames grew larger, they started to extend along the claws and along the arm. Walt felt panic. “Rudy, the flames are coming up the arm toward the ship. What do I do?”

That’s impossible,” Rudy replied. “There’s no oxygen in space. Wait one,” Rudy replied. He switched on an outsider camera and remotely focused on the satellite and claws. He didn’t see any flames.

“It’s in your head, Walt. It’s an illusion. There’s no fire.”

Immediately Zoe saw the satellite explode, sending shrapnel every direction. Some pieces tore through the hull striking Zoe and ripping gaps in the hull. “Rudy,” she screamed. Cyril saw the satellite turn and crash into the Junk Yard Dog at high speed. Cyril felt himself flying through the front windshield, screaming.

Rudy watched in horror as water began to form on the floor of the spacecraft. The water started rising rapidly, burying Walt as it filled the cabin. By sheer chance, Rudy reached forward and felt his monitor in front of him. He was able to turn on an interior camera revealing that everything was normal: no flames, no shrapnel, no water and no collision. He tapped his monitor a few times until he hit the correct button to send the picture to all the crew monitors. “It’s in our heads. Look at your monitors,” Rudy said in as calm a voice as he could manage.

Zoe and Cyril both answered, “Copy.” Walt continued to scream. Walt was seeing the entire cabin engulfed in flames. Rudy unbuckled from his seat, climbed down to Walt’s seat, climbed onto him and rapped his arms around him until he stopped screaming.

“It’s all in your head, Walt. There’s no fire. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Walt nodded his head and said, “Okay. Okay.” As soon as Rudy returned to his seat, Walt saw the flames return. This time his space suit was on fire. He was paralyzed with fear.

“Cyril, move us away from the satellite,” Zoe commanded in a reasonably calm voice. Cyril didn’t respond and remained motionless. “Cyril!” Zoe shouted. No response. Zoe removed one of her gloves and threw it at Cyril. In the low gravity, the glove seemed to glide toward Cyril in slow motion finally striking him in the back of his helmet.

He jerked around in surprise. “Commander?”
​
“Move us away from the satellite—now.” Zoe repeated.

Works in Progress

I’m working on a few things at the moment. I hope to publish my next crime novel in December. I’m also writing a not so short sci-fi and a funny crime short story. Here’s the first page or so of the sci-fi story. Please feel free to provide feedback.

Junk Yard Dog by Monte R. Anderson

Junk Yard Dog wasn’t a very space-oriented name for a spaceship, but it was an accurate descriptive of its mission. The Junk Yard Dog was a spaceship built and commissioned to clean up the space junk orbiting the earth since the beginning of the space program. Space junk consists of over several million pieces of objects ranging from paint flecks to much larger decades-old, inoperative spacecraft. When it became impossible to avoid a collision with space junk, governments began commissioning contractors to start collecting and removing the space junk.

Commander Zoe Simonson owned the contract to collect space junk for the United States. The space craft she was assigned had no name She named it the Junk Yard Dog. She was one of the first to get a government contract for space junk removal. Now she has plenty of competitors. The Dog was equipped with four Remote Manipulator Systems (RMS), a series of robotic arms and claws used to capture space junk. One pair was mounted on the front and a second pair was inside the payload bay. Everyone just called them arms.

What’s our payload now?” Zoe asked the Arms Operator, Walt Stawski.

“The cargo bay is nearly full, Commander.” Walt replied. “We can head back to the space barrage any time. The barrage is three quarters full.”

“Any how much is that at current market prices?”

“We’re just shy of the $10M we need to break even,” Walt answered.

“Let’s keep at it for a while,” Zoe said. “We need to make a profit. Where is my science officer, Rudy?”

“Rudy is working in the bay cutting up junk to make more room.”

“Tell him to get back inside,” Zoe commanded. “We’re going hunting. Cyril, find me something valuable.” Walt relayed the order to Rudy.

“Yes, Commander,” Cyril the pilot answered. Thirty minutes later something caught Cyril’s eye. “Commander, I think I found a satellite.”

“Great. Pull it up on the screen,” Zoe ordered. Everyone looked at the satellite on the screen. “It looks small.”

‘Yea, it’s only about half a meter in diameter,” Cyril answered. “It’s not in a normal orbit for space junk. It’s in a polar orbit.”

“Is Rudy inside?” Zoe asked.

“I’m right here, Commander,” Rudy answered as he sat down and buckled up in his seat. “I’m checking this satellite against all registered satellites now.” No one spoke for a few minutes. “Nothing is coming up so far. It could be unregistered because it was launched prior to registration being required or it may be a spy satellite.”

“I don’t think it’s a spy sat,” Zoe said. “Spy satellites usually are much bigger and covered in antennae. This looks like a basketball--smooth as a baby bottom. Okay, let’s snag it. Cyril, take us in closer slowly. Walt, get ready to grip it with the front arms.”

“Okay, Cyril, take us in so we can grab it.”

“Roger that,” Cyril replied and began to maneuver the junk yard dog closer to the satellite. After a few minutes he had matched the speed and orbit of the satellite. Suddenly, everyone’s felt a buzzing sound in their heads. It wasn’t loud or painful, just annoying. After a few seconds it subsided.

“Rudy, what was that?” Zoe asked.

‘I’m not sure, commander. It felt like some sort of feedback.”

“How do you want to handle this sat?” she asked.

“Let me cut it in half with the laser canon. It’ll fit nicely into the cargo bay.”

“Okay, go for it."

Rudy flipped down a sight from his helmet down over his right eye. He opened a safety cover to expose the arming switch to the laser canon. Rudy used a hand lever attached to the arm of his seat to remotely move the laser canon and aim it. Finally, when he was satisfied, he said, “Fire in the hole.” He flipped the firing switch for the cannon. A beam of light instantly struck the satellite at the top of its mid-section and move across the satellite to the bottom side. Nothing happened. It remained intact.

 “What just happened?” Zoe asked.
​
“Apparently, nothing. The sat just absorbed the laser beam.”

It’s that time of year when we take stock of our blessings. I have been working on this list for weeks. I’ve eliminated the obvious things that people list every year: family, friends, health, blah, blah, blah. Here’s my list of things I’m thankful for:

1. Farts are colorless. Can you imagine what the world would be like if farts were blue or green? That would take all the guess work out of who farted and let the dog off the hook.
2. Lobsters don’t scream when you cook them (same goes for stepping on bugs). This goes without saying.
3. Cow can’t fly. Pigeons are bad enough. Thank goodness cows can’t fly.
4. Dinosaurs are extinct. Driving to work every day is enough of a hassle. Thank goodness, we don’t have to dodge dinosaurs too.
5. Fire. I’m not sure who invented or discovered it, but Thanksgiving wouldn’t be the same without fire. We’d have to eat cold turkey. What would a BBQ be without fire? Just a stack of wood or charcoal.
   
6. My secret bank account. I’m glad my wife doesn’t know about my secret bank account. Oh, wait! WTF? Never mind.Breathing is automatic. I’m certainly glad I don’t have to think about breathing. I’m so forgetful lately, I’d forget to breathe.Light bulbs. Because without light bulbs, we’d be in …wait for it… the dark ages.
   
7. Gravity. Where would we be without gravity? Flung to the far corners of the solar system, I imagine.
8. Control of my anal sphincter. Can you imagine what life would be like if humans had no control of their anal sphincters? It would be shitty for sure. You could say, “That depends.”
9. Beer. Ben Franklin said, “In wine there is wisdom, in beer there is freedom, in water there is bacteria.” Which is why I don’t drink water.
10. Coffee. The elixir of the gods. I plan to quit drinking coffee as soon as I find a better way to get it down.
11. The thermos. It keeps hot things hot and cold things cold. How does it know?
12. Golf Carts. A golf cart came in handy when my good buddy Ralph had a heart attack in the middle of our golf game. If we didn’t have a golf cart, we would’ve had to drag his body from hole to hole.
13. My brain. I’m thankful my mind is still tack as a sharp.
14. That marijuana is harmless. Thank goodness it haade ne efftive omn me abilly to rite.

Perhaps you have some non-traditional things to be thankful for. Let’s hear them.

The Missing Additional Ten Commandments
​
Recently, the Arc of the Covenant was discovered in Jerusalem, and inside were found not Ten Commandments but twenty. Okay, don’t get all bent out of shape… I made that up. But what if there were ten previously unknown Commandments, what would they be? You recall the Ten Commandments? May not. They were mostly the “you shall not” type; making idols, swearing in vain, murder, adultery, stealing, lying, and coveting. There were a couple of the “you shall” type: honor God, your parents and whatever day you believe is the Sabbath.
 
If we didn’t know about the missing Commandments, are we still label for obeying them or is ignorance of the Commandments no excuse?

Here are the missing Commandments with a short explanation:

1. You shall not cry over spilled goat’s milk. I guess we saw this one coming.
2. You shall not see evil, hear evil, speak evil, or bad mouth your political opponents. This is not the same as lying – it’s about doing evil things like gossiping or running hostile ads about your opponent.
3. You shall not poke the bear. Not sure if this referred to the Hittites, Canaanites, or Egyptians. It may have been a warning about the Romans.
4. You shall not bitch unless you have a better solution.
5. You shall not eat the fruit of the poppy plant or the cacao plant or the grapes of the vine plant. Okay, I guess we all blew this one.
6. You shall not say anything at all if you can’t say something nice. This goes hand in hand with number 2 above.

   7.raw to an inside straight. WTF? Who knew God was a gambler? Now I discover this.
   8.You shall get a life. Couch potato isn’t a life. Tweeting isn’t a life. Facebook isn’t a life.
   9.You shall close it if you open it. This may have come about after someone left the door open      and started global warming.
   10.You shall not think the world owes you anything you did not earn.
 
Moses went on to author many more laws, but the Ten Commandments were his best-known work -- the most controversial, and probably the most hated. Let me know if you think I missed some.

     November 11 is Veterans Day honoring the current and former members of the U.S. Armed Forces, including those who have died in the pursuit of freedom. This is my tribute to our veterans. When I write “brother” I am including sisters too. Enjoy.
​
     Were you there with me, brother, with muddy boots when we stormed Normandy and started to push back the Germany Army? Or were you with the 82d Airborne and Patton at the Battle of the Bulge? We liberated Paris. We stood in shook as we saw the survivors of the concentration camps. We saw the ovens and still smell the burning flesh. We saw the destruction of the German cities, many centuries old – the victims of war. We forgave but couldn’t forget. After the war, we helped to rebuild Europe.
     Were you there with me, brother, when the Japanese surprised us and bombed Pearl Harbor without a declaration of war? Maybe you were there when Bataan fell, and the Japanese bottled us up in the tunnels of Corregidor. We who survived made the Bataan Death March. We fought back at the battles of the Coral Sea, Midway and Guadalcanal. You walked with me and Mac in muddy boots as we leap-frogged across the South Pacific to push the Japanese back and finally returned to the Philippines. We are so few still living. We were the greatest American generation. Those who survived the war came home and built and rebuilt the United States industries to make the USA the greatest country in the world – a world superpower. We made the mold, set the standard and inspired future generations. Soon we will be gone but never forgotten.
     Were you there with me, brother, at Pusan when we stopped the North Koreans and held the perimeter? We held the line to buy time for Mac to organize a counterattack. Or maybe you came ashore at Inchon in an amphibious landing that turned the tide of the war and turned back the communists? Then we watched the massive Chinese intervention into the Korean War and fought a strategic withdraw. We fought at Bloody Ridge, Heartbreak Ridge and Old Baldy. We were the "The Chosin Few” or, as we called ourselves, “The Frozen Chosin.” We have been there ever since to protect the South Koreans.
     Were you there with me, brother, when we went to fight in a country we didn’t know to fight a war we didn’t start and didn’t want. We wadded through rice paddies and walked in elephant grass. We were in the Delta when the monsoon struck and soaked us until we looked like drowned rats. We fought at Khe San, in Hue during the Tet Offensive, and on Hamburger Hill. We felt the earth tremble during Arclight strikes by B-52 Stratofortresses, or when the artillery answered a call for fire support or when Hueys airlifted us into battle or for a medevac. We marveled when Spooky –Puff the Magic Dragon – delivered ordinance on Charlie, or when artillery flares lit up the night or when ice cream, still cold, made it to the field. Even now, on a clear day when the wind is right, we can still smell the burning crappers, the smoke from smoke grenades and the napalm. Our ears still ring from the sounds of claymores going off, from incoming rockets and the cries of our wounded. We fought to hold the line against communism until finally we withdrew and Saigon fell. But we fought mainly to protect our brothers on our flanks. When we came home, no one said “Thanks for your service,” or “Job well done,” or even, “Welcome home.”
     Were you there with me, brother, when we went into the Dominican Republic to stop a communist takeover? Or maybe you were there when we overthrew the socialists in Grenada? We captured the Panamanian dictator and drug-smuggler Manuel Noriega. We were in Lebanon when terrorists bombed the Marine barracks in Beirut. We lost many brothers that day. The cost of freedom is high and is paid in blood in places like Somalia, Bosnia and Kosovo. Freedom isn’t free.
     Were you there with me, brother, when Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait and crossed the line we had drawn in the sand? We countered attacked with Desert Storm. We liberated Kuwait in 100 hours. We stood in shock as we watched oil wells burn. Finally, we invaded Iraq and occupied Baghdad. We searched and captured Hussein. He was tried and hanged. The country held free elections to vote in a new government. We felt the heat in July and August and froze our butts in January. We are still there to help keep the peace and to fight terrorism.
     Were you there with me, brother, when we went after the Taliban and Osama bin Laden in Afghanistan?  We hunted down Osama bin Laden and finally found him in Abbotabad, Pakistan where Navy seals killed him. We participated in Operation Khanjar ("strike of the sword"). We felt the oppressively heat of summer in Kandahar. We finally left after 20 years., but we still are fighting terrorism around the globe. 
     On this day we honor all veterans, living or dead. We shall never forget. We stand shoulder to shoulder with all veterans whether we share the same foxhole or just the same experiences. We have your six.
 
--Monte R. Anderson
​
Honoring my dad (Dale Anderson), my uncles (Royal and Monte Anderson), my classmates who died in Vietnam and my good friend Steve Alber.

Veterans Day is coming up and every year at this time I pay tribute to the members of my family who are vets. My family has a long tradition of military service. My late father served in WWII, the Korea War and twice in Vietnam. I was born soon after he returned from the South Pacific. He named me after my uncle who was killed in the South Pacific. My uncle's name was Marlin, but he did not like the name. He went by the name Monte, and that is the name my father chose for me. Thank goodness, he did not pick Marlin. There is a VFW post in Wyoming named for my uncle in Wyoming. All of my father’s brothers served in WWII except one, but uncle Monte was the only one killed. My father and I had a six-month overlap in Vietnam.

My brother served two years in Japan during the Cold War listening to the Russian’s radio communications. Many members of my family continued to serve either on active duty or in the National Guard. My oldest son is a retired Air Force officer with over 20 years of service.

My late stepfather, Raymond Macera, was a 20-year career soldier. During WWII he was captured in Europe and held prisoner by the Germans for six months. I am also remembering some friends and classmates who died in Vietnam.
​
I think we tend to forget some of the non-military people who served in their own way. My mother, for example, was an Army wife for two military career officers and sent her son off to Vietnam (me). Even the children, the military “brats”, sacrifice when their parents serve their country. My own grandchildren sacrifice whenever their father had leave home for an extended tour of duty. I salute them all-the dead and the living heroes.

Here’s Part Two of my #shortstory in time for Halloween. If you missed Part One, scroll down to read it It’s titled, Don’t Panic. Enjoy.

“Yeah, like a voodoo head or something. Her nose too. The sewing needle’s still attached. That alone would’ve killed her. The plastic bag was just an extra measure.”

“And you consider this a suicide?” asked the Chief.

“Yeah. The woman in the other room is her sister. She said the vic was recently diagnosed with schizophrenia, so she called her every day. When she didn’t get an answer for 24 hours, she called the police. She IDed the body.”

The Chief ordered one of the officers, “Check the medicine cabinets. See what she was taking.” Turning back toward Sam, “What else?”

“No sign of forced entry. The door was locked and bolted from the inside. We can’t find any other fingerprints except for the vic’s. Also, no sign of a struggle. No sign of sexual assault.”

“Any note?”

“Nope. We checked her e-mails too. Her sister thinks it was suicide.”

An officer strode over and handed the Chief a hand full of pill bottles. The Chief examined the bottles. “No. No. Ah Ha!” Holding up two bottles for Sam to see, “Olanzapine and fluoxetine! Commonly used for the treatment of schizophrenia. Both empty.”

“How’d you know that?” asked Sam.

“I just know things,” said the Chief, handing the bottles back to the uniformed officer. “Call the pharmacy and find out if she called in a subscription. But why go to all the trouble of sewing your mouth and nose shut? That had to be painful. Wouldn’t be easier just to overdose with pills?”
“But if she was hallucinating maybe she didn’t feel the pain.”

“Could be. Keep checking for clues that someone else was here.”

“Chief!” called an officer from the phone, “The pharmacy says she called in a refill four days ago but never picked it up.”

“Thanks.” Then half aloud, “She ran out of her meds.”

The Chief walked over and stood over the body to examine one of the dolls.

The doll looked at him and said, “What are you looking at, fat boy?”

The chief picked up the doll and put it into his coat pocket. Okay, don’t panic. The doctor said this might happen occasionally. It is just a hallucination. Forgot to take my meds this morning, that’s all.

​THE END

Here’s another short story in time for Halloween. It’s a little long so I will post it in two parts. It’s titled, Don’t Panic. Here’s part one. Enjoy.
His shiny black eyes stared up at her from her lap as she admired his permanent red smile. Fingering his tiny overalls, she pictured the little ones' faces, pressed against the icy windowpanes, waiting for her to arrive with another basket of her homemade gifts. She put the last strand of hair was in place. As she inserted the needle to tie a knot, the doll lurched in her hand, and a high-pitched voice yelled, “That hurt!”

She stared at the doll squirming in her hand.

Okay, don’t panic, she thought. The doctor said this could happen. This is not real.

The doll grabbed the needle and stabbed her leg. She jumped up, dropping the doll to the floor. She watched in disbelief as the doll ran into her bedroom.

Well, I certainly felt that. She lifted up her dress and saw a small drop of blood where the needle stuck her. She touched her finger to the drop of blood and then put her finger into her mouth. It tastes like blood. I need to renew my prescriptions.

She walked toward the bedroom to get her jacket. She never saw the lamp cord strung ankle high across the doorway. Tripping and falling fell forward, she struck her head on the corner of her dresser and landed on the floor unconscious.

Twenty-four hours later...

Chief Williams flashed his badge at the officer at the door and walked inside. He saw detective Sam talking to a young woman in the living room. Sam looked up and came over to greet him.
“What have we got, Sam?” Chief Williams asked.

“I think we have a suicide, but you won’t believe it. Take a look, and then let me explain.”
Sam gestured toward the bedroom and both men walked over to the door.
“Brace yourself!” said Sam. You ain’t seen no suicide like this.”

Chief Williams entered the room. On the floor was a young woman laying on her back. A plastic bag was over her head and tied around her neck with a lamp cord. One of her arms was tied by the wrist to a leg of the bed with a cord while the other arm was tied to the dresser leg. All around the body lay pint-sized homemade dolls.

The Chief looked at Sam, “She’s tied up.”

“I know Chief, but I have seen it before. She made a loop like a noose on one cord and tied it to the bed. Then when she was ready, she tied the other hand, lay down and slipped her wrist through the loop. Once pulled tight, she could not untie it. That way if she panicked, she could not chicken out. Check the knot on her right wrist. It’s a slip knot.”

Chief Williams bent down to exam the knot. Then he glanced over to the young woman’s face.
“Damn!” he exclaimed and stepped back.

“That’s the part I was warning you about,” said Sam.

“Are her lips sewn together?”
​
End of Part One.