Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 44, January 2021

INDEPENDENT REVISTA
MONTHLY LITERÁRIA
LITERARY INDEPENDENTE
MAGAZINE
MENSAL

ADELAIDE FOUNDERS / FUNDADORES
Stevan V. Nikolic & Adelaide Franco Nikolic
Independent Monthly Literary Magazine
Revista Literária Independente Mensal EDITOR IN CHIEF / EDITOR-CHEFE
Year V, Number 44, January 2021 Stevan V. Nikolic
Ano V, Número 44, janeiro 2021
[email protected]
ISBN-13: 978-1-954351-32-5
MANAGING DIRECTOR / DIRECTORA EXECUTIVA
Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent inter- Adelaide Franco Nikolic
national monthly publication, based in New York and
Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco GRAPHIC & WEB DESIGN
Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality Adelaide Books LLC, New York
poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as
well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS IN THIS ISSUE
English and Portuguese. We seek to publish outstanding
literary fiction, nonfic-tion, and poetry, and to promote Aliyah Smith, Andy Martin,
the writers we publish, helping both new, emerging, and Diane Unterweger, Marissa Glover,
established authors reach a wider literary audience. Zach Murphy, Carol Pierce, Brian Quinn,
Ciaran McLarnon, Cathy Carroll-Moriarty,
A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação men-
sal internacional e independente, localizada em Nova Marie MacBryde, Jade Gabriel,
Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Ade- Ashley Hajimirsadeghi, Ramsey Mathews,
laide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da revista é
publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia de Thomas Elson, David Obuchowski,
qualidade assim como entrevistas, artigos e críticas Kim Harrison, Cezarija Abartis, Luke Black,
literárias, escritas em inglês e por-tuguês. Pretendemos
publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim Angelo Sylvester, Lynn Dowless,
como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudan- Jacob McLaws, Shelley Joy, John Zurn,
do os autores novos e emergentes a atingir uma audiên- Vivek Nath Mishra, Sacha Paterson,
cia literária mais vasta.
Joanna Kadish, Frank Kowal,
(http://adelaidemagazine.org) Diane Finlayson, Elizabeth Bernays,
Ken W. Simpson, Nardine Sanderson,
Published by: Adelaide Books, New York Ranjith Sivaraman, Susan Waters,
244 Fifth Avenue, Suite D27 Sharon Lopez Mooney, Byron Hoo,
New York NY, 10001 Sam Barbee, Pernille AEgidius Dake,
e-mail: [email protected]
phone: (917) 477 8984 Ken W Simpson, Keith Hoerner,
http://adelaidebooks.org Alan Berger, Omar Reyes, John Dorroh,

Copyright © 2021 by Adelaide Literary Magazine Eve Rifkah, Roger Singer

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission from the Adelaide Literary Maga-zine
Editor-in-chief, except in the case of brief quo-tations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.

CONTENTS / CONTEÚDOS WHERE I’M FROM,
THEY STILL CELEBRATE VJ DAY
FICTION by Angelo Sylvester 82

SLEEP WELL, SHADOW THE BLIGHTED MADONNA
by Aliyah Smith 7 by Lynn Dowless 91

MEETING KAFKA THE HEART OF A REVOLUTIONARY
by Andy Martin 10 by Jacob McLaws 94

PETUNIAS URIEL FOX AND THE MYSTERY OF
by Diane Unterweger 16 THE DYING CHILDREN
by John Zurn 100
THE LOCUSTS HAVE EATEN EVERYTHING
by Marissa Glover 21 A LESS PAINFUL END
by Vivek Nath Mishra 108
BLUE EARTH COUNTY
by Zach Murphy 23 NONFICTION

THERE’S NO LASAGNA IN HERE WINTER IN CANBERRA:
by Carol Pierce 25 TIME TO HEAL
by Sacha Paterson 115
TONY’S PLACE
by Ciaran McLarnon 31 WHETHER THE PATRIARCHY
by Joanna Kadish 119
THE MOMENT
by Cathy Carroll-Moriarty 37 WHAT LIARS THEY ARE
by Frank Kowal 127
IN THE NEGEV DESERT
by Arielle Prose 41 BREATHING ROOM
by Diane Finlayson 129
HUNTER
by Jade Gabriel 46 ROAD TRIP
by Elizabeth Bernays 134
SUMMER’S SILENCE
by Ashley Hajimirsadeghi 49 POETRY

BENEATH THE GRAY BRIONI SUIT THE LAKE
by Ramsey Mathews 51 by Nardine Sanderson 145

SICK HEADACHE BAR-TAILED GODWIT
by Thomas Elson 61 by Ranjith Sivaraman 151

BURNT UMBER, BURNT SIENNA I CAN TELL NO-ONE, EXCEPT THIS POEM
by David Obuchowski 63 by Susan C. Waters 152

THE GIRL BY THE LAKE SOMETHING IS HIDING
by Kim Harrison 66 by Sharon Lopez Mooney 154

THE PRINCESS IN THE TOWER
by Cezarija Abartis 72

BAR HARBOR, MAINE
by Luke Black 74

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THE SEVENTH DREAM INTERVIEW
by Byron Hoot 158
LIBBY BELLE
NET WORTH Author of The Juicy Parts
by Sam Barbee 160 and Other Quirky Stories 181

KETTLE JUDY HOGAN
by Pernille AEgidius Dake 165 Author of BABA SUMMER I & II 185

X FILES TIMOTHY RYAN DAY
by Alan Berger 167 Author of BIG SKY 189

A SWELL GUY NICK PADRON
by Omar Reyes 169 Author of SOULS IN EXILE 193

COFFEE AND BEANS
by John Dorroh 172

THE WORD
by Eve Rifkah 176

SOFTLY ABOVE
by Roger Singer 178

4

FICTION



SLEEP WELL,
SHADOW

by Aliyah Smith

Every day, the same routine. Alarm pierces “Hello! Thank you for calling Dr. Arin’s
through my skull. Wake up in a cold sweat. Sleep Office! Walk- ins are welcome! This
Stand up from the mattress on the floor. Eat is Shannon speaking, how may I take your
breakfast. Take a shower. Go to work. After call?”
12 grueling hours of sitting at a desk, I go
home. Repeat. The only thing that changes “Um...” I was taken aback by the exag-
is the fact that my sleep is getting worse. A gerated nice voice. It sounded like someone
new nightmare emerges from my cerebral with an automated message system and
prison every night. The shadows from my held it at gunpoint. “My-my name is Will…I
nightmares take over my life. I often wake would like to make an appointment with Dr.
up, shaking and quivering, wondering, Arin please–”
when will this end? I tried talking to many
therapists and doctors and they all shake “One moment.” The cheery voice cuts off
their head at me. Like those shadows. abruptly and music starts playing. Twelve
Nothing can be done, they said. So, I suffer. minutes of awkward music plays before the
Until one day, I just happen to watch TV and ‘Shannon’ lady speaks on the phone again.
see an advertisement for a ‘special’ sonol- “He can see you today. Is that fine?”
ogist. “He will make your dreams become
truth!!” the TV blares. “100% guarantee or I frowned. I almost wanted to wine like a
your money back!” puppy. I didn’t want to see anybody today!

“Is that so?” I mumbled under my breath. “This is his only day that he is available.
My inner thoughts perk up at the sound of Would you like to see him in the next 10
my voice. Maybe you should call him. After minutes?”
all, you have nothing to lose. Except your
mind. I call the number on the screen. A I wanted to scream profanities. How can
cheery-high pitched voice answered on the I trek to the other side of town in the next
other end. ten minutes? Before I answered with the
thought I had in my head, she spoke again.

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“Video chat, of course. You’ll be seeing sleeplessness.” He spun around in the chair.
him on the computer. Unless it is an emer- “Am I right?”
gency. Then you need to call 911, not us.”
“…You are.” I say. I want to be annoyed
“No-no, its fine. I can see him today.” I but I can’t when he is right. “I want to be
said, anxiously. able to sleep without the shadows torturing
me. I haven’t had a decent sleep in years,” I
“Great. Ill will give you the connect code put my head down. “Please Dr. Arin, how to
for the online appointment now. Mr. Will, I I make the shadows go away?”
hope you have a great day.” She hangs up
as soon as the connect code shows up on Dr. Arin spins around in the seat slowly.
my phone. His smile is gone, and it seems like he was
thinking. “Shadows, you say?” He mumbles.
I look over the numbers tensely. What Then he stands up and goes to the back of
will he say? Will he shake his head like the the room. He tinkers with some unknown
others? Will he believe me? objects in the back before he turns around
towards the screen. “What’s your address?”
“It doesn’t make since to worry, I’ve
already made the appointment.” I say out I tell him.
loud to convince myself. I walk to the other
side of the room to get on my old desktop. “Great. I’ll be sending this medicine over
The black screen shows a reflection of a man to you in a drone. I’m afraid that this cannot
who has straggly sable hair, ivory skin, and wait until tomorrow.” He turns back around
tired brown eyes. The bags under the reflec- and continues working on whatever he’s
tion’s eyes look like they were painted on doing. “Listen, those shadows… will overtake
with a grey permanent marker. If it wasn’t you soon. Either you face them, or death. You
my reflection on this dusty screen, I would may never wake up if you don’t. I will send
pity you. The desktop powers on without over some medicine that will help you sleep.
any problems. I put the connect code in But listen closely!” He sprints to put his face
the computer and waited. After a while, a on the monitor. “Count to sixty. Sixty min-
slightly young handsome man comes on utes is all you need with this medicine. Be
the screen. At least, I thought he was hand- warned, if you break focus, the shadows will
some. His smile is similar to a theater mask pull you with them. Don’t ever lose focus. Do
and his hair is curly and unruly like beige you understand? The pain will be greater, the
tumbleweed. His legs were crossed on the noises will be stronger, but your mind must
seat unprofessionally, like a teenager who be stronger than all of it. Got it? This will be
is in their parent’s office for the first time. Is the worst sixty minutes of your life.”
he my doctor? Or Is he a kid?
I am horrified. But it must be done. I will
“Hello! Nice to meet you Will! I am Dr. trust Dr. Arin.
Arin!” A jolly, bright voice speaks up from
the unkempt ‘man’. “As you know, I study Soon after I bathe and prepared for the
sleep patterns and abnormalities. You must night, the pill comes in a small helicopter
be having nightmares. I can tell from your drone by my window. Although I am weary
body language. I can also tell that you are an of the medicine, I must take it so this will
overthinker, which adds to the problem of end. I must not falter now. I take the pill with
a full glass of water and lay down on the
mattress. The clock says 10:00pm. Here I go.

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Tick. Tick. Tick. The grandfather clock “53…54…” I open my eyes while I was
in the hallway ticks loudly. The mono- still counting. The figures mouth is still
tone tick of the clock is summoning the moving, but now its salivating. A feeling
shadows here. They begin to stretch their of dread comes over me. It’s so close! Get
hands on the wall, almost like seduction. away from me! The pressure on my chest
The shadows tap the walls with their long becomes greater.
and sharp pointed fingers. Beckoning me to
come closer. Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock con- “55...”
tinues to hum ominously. Now it is not the
time to be scared! I begin counting. Closer.

“1…2…3...” “56.”

Something moves in the corners and The walls groan. They scratch. They want
I open my eyes without breaking count. me to be distracted.
A figure stands in my room. It is vaguely
shaped like a man, but with elongated lips “57.”
and limbs. No eyes.
I felt hot air go down my neck. Breathe,
“41…42...” Even with this monster in Will. Although their rough, sandpapery
my room, I still kept counting. The figure hands scratched on the walls felt oh, so real.
in the corner starts moving its lips like it’s
in a conversation but no words are coming “58.”
out. Then I realize while I was counting, its…
copying me. Will this truly be the end?

I quickly shut my eyes and kept counting. “59.”

“50…51...” “60.”

I hear footsteps now. They are on cue It was pure, serene silence. Relief washed
with the clock in the hallway. Coming closer over me like a cold rag on a hot summer day.
to the mattress. Closer. Closer. Tick. Tick. Before I could think about another thought,
the sandpapery hands of slumber wrap
around my body. Slowly, I descend and suc-
cumb to the sweet nectar of sleep.

About the Author
Aliyah Smith is a novice writer currently studying Creative
Writing in Full Sail University.

9

MEETING KAFKA

by Andy Martin

Morning, I’m calling about the room you’ve who didn’t hide the fact that she needed a
got advertised.” lodger. She greeted me warmly and spoke
of the house’s many conveniences: the
“Sorry, it’s already taken.” AGA oven, the washing machine I could
use whenever required, cost of electricity
“Okay, thank you.” I drew a line through and gas included. The only potential issue
the phone number on my piece of paper. might be the size of the bedroom. Upon in-
Another one gone. Surely, I wouldn’t end up spection, it became apparent I would have
homeless on my first day at university. to look elsewhere. A single bed took up the
majority of floor space and there wasn’t
My family weren’t interested in helping. even room for a desk.
“What are you wasting your money on that
for? You should be finding yourself a rich Mrs Johnston told me of a room down-
man to take care of you.” That’s the reac- stairs that a man kept all year round for a
tion I received from my dad when I told him discounted rate, and mainly used during the
about my offer from Exeter. He had no in- summer. “He might offer it up during the ac-
terest in encouraging me, with my ‘highfa- ademic months. It’s a very good size.”
lutin ideas’ and I had to make my way here
this morning by myself, on the National Ex- I thanked her for her enthusiasm in
press coach. The Student Union gave me a finding a solution but told her I would try
list of potential accommodation, but they elsewhere.
all proved unsuccessful.
Sitting in the university canteen, con-
All, that is, except one. It would take cerned about where I was going to stay that
two bus journeys to get there but had a night, I received a phone call from Mrs John-
sea-view. Without any alternatives, I went ston. The man who rented the downstairs
to see it. room had agreed to give it up during term
time. “I knew it would be no bother. He’s very
The three-story house stood alone at the kind. He’s currently in London and won’t need
end of a sandy dirt-track. The landlady, Mrs the room until June, should you want it.”
Johnston, looked to be in her forties, dark,
deep-set eyes, auburn hair gathered at the I moved in that evening.
back and secured at the top of her head
with a butterfly clip. She wore expensive A wooden door opened up into a huge
looking clothes over her full figure. A widow space with high-reaching ceilings and

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Revista Literária Adelaide

white painted walls. Wooden floorboards “Like I said, artists are funny folk. I saw
stretched the expanse of the area leading him wandering round the garden one night.
to tall patio doors, where the back garden Must have been about three in the morning,
was faintly visible through muslin curtains. lost in thought. Anyway, I’ll leave you be.”
Picture frames hung on the walls with prints
by Edward Hopper and Magritte. Amongst Intrigued by the enigmatic character
various pieces of oak furniture, a king-sized who’s room I inhabited, I browsed the
brass bed took up one corner and in an- books lining his shelves. Near the bottom
other stood a shelving unit holding dozens I spied his name on a spine and lifted out a
of books. Despite the owner’s personality short collection of his poems. With special
stamped everywhere, it matched my taste. attentiveness, I read his verse:
I moved in without changing a thing. Even
the pictures were to my liking. “As winter howls with driving rain,

A knock at the door interrupted my I roam the lonely hills again.
thoughts and Mrs Johnston peered in. “He’s
a poet.” In secret pleasure, secret tears,

“Sorry?” My vision of you disappears.”

“You’re studying literature aren’t you?” I read on through beautiful, lonely
prose. Words that I would have loved to
“That’s right.” have written myself, and being here by the
coastal hills, they felt particularly poignant.
“Well, Kafka, the gentleman whose room
you’ve got, is a published poet. Been renting Despite the long distance to the univer-
here for five years. Lovely fellow. He’d do sity, I enjoyed my time in the house. My
anything for anybody.” landlady often cooked me meals: Home-
made soups, beef casseroles, sometimes
“Kafka?” washed down with a glass or two of red
wine. I also appreciated the chance to
“His parents named him after Franz wander up on the heath or along the beach
Kafka.” when the fancy took me.

“Kafka?” I paused. “I’m familiar with I loved studying the Romantics and im-
him.” The previous summer, I had had a mersed myself in Blake and Shelley, Byron
poem published in a magazine. It was printed and Coleridge. Mrs Johnston shared my in-
at the bottom of a page in small writing, and terest in literature and we often discussed
above it was one of his. His name stood out. them over dinner, but for both of us, none
The editor had commented on how both of them held quite the same fascination as
poems expressed similar emotions, which the man whose room I inhabited. Every now
lead him to place them together. and then I would see one of his poems in a
magazine, and Mrs Johnston would speak
Mrs Johnston raised her eyebrows. of him: “He would often wander in here and
“Well, there you go. He’s a little dreamy.” hand me one of his new poems, written on
She smiled. “But that’s poets for you.” the back of an envelope or something sim-
ilar. I’m sure you’d find him interesting. He’s
“Dreamy?” very shy though. Spends most of his time
reading or writing and doesn’t see many

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

people. Such a lovely young man too. You fascination grew, intensified by living in his
don’t meet many like him.” environment, and topped off with informa-
tion from our mutual landlady.
“I’ve read his work but I’ve never seen
him. What does he look like?” One evening, a tapping sound alerted
me to Mrs Johnston by the door. “Sorry to
“Some might call him attractive. Some bother you.” She held a long, dark overcoat
might not. There’s a photo of him in the in her hands. “It belongs to Kafka. Would
wooden frame on the dresser in your bed- you mind keeping it in the wardrobe for
room.” me?”

I paused in thought. “That’s a Man Ray “No, not at all.” She placed it into my
picture.” arms, and left me to put it away.

“Yes, but he’s behind it. When he agreed I held it close and breathed in the musky
to let out his room, he told me to cover it aftershave scent. When I put it in the ward-
up. ‘I don’t want anyone looking at me and robe, something fell to the floor. A small
I’m sure she wouldn’t want me staring at notebook, patterned in black and red roses.
her.’ So, I put the Man Ray over the top. If It contained scribblings and doodles, ideas
you take it out you’ll see him underneath.” and reflections. Sitting on the bed, I read
through them. Half-finished verses spoke
When I got back to my room, I re-read of solitude and loneliness and a need for
one of his poems. One that captured his vul- deep connection. I wondered if I’d ever
nerability and intensity: meet Kafka.

“My heart longs for a touch divine, *

And for another soul to find At the end of the first term of universi-
ty, some friends on my course told me of
Me here, beside the wild sea, a room going in their house. One of their
friends had dropped out and left a vacant
To cherish and to comfort me.” place. When I mentioned this to Mrs John-
ston she let out a small gasp and put her
I picked up the picture-frame, removed hand over her chest. She composed herself.
the back, and set it on the dresser. It was “Do what feels right for you.”
a striking image. Dark hair, combed back
but slightly thinning, sideburns down to That evening, I noticed some faint
the collar of a leather jacket that covered writing on the wall by the side of my bed.
the bottom of his chin. Hazel eyes, looked When Mrs Johnston called at my room to
out without giving anything away, like a ask if I wanted any food, I pointed it out to
character from an Edward Hopper painting. her. “Here. I’m surprised I didn’t notice it
Here was the man who expressed thoughts before.”
and feelings that I identified with, in ways
nobody else seemed able to. She stepped into the room and climbed
onto the bed to get a closer look. “It looks
I read his whole volume of work and like the beginnings of a poem. He probably
learned some of his poems by heart. I tried woke one night and wrote his ideas down
to emulate his style in my own writing, before he forgot them.”
but no matter how hard I tried, couldn’t
get close. The more I read, the more my

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“I think you’re right.” sat. Taking a deep breathe, he tilted his
head back into the night sky. A cloud cov-
Mrs Johnston started to read them out: ered the moon and he glanced around. My
heart raced, I pulled back into the shadows,
“My darling pain, both day and night, and headed back to my room.

You are my intimate delight.” *

That night I couldn’t sleep. After glancing I decided to stay at the house. My friends
at the scribblings again, I got out of bed. A couldn’t understand why, but I told them I
silvery light shone through the ghost-like enjoyed the beach and the home-cooked
curtains, and I walked over to the door. I meals too much. Deep down, I always knew
pulled back the drapes and looked into the I wouldn’t leave.
garden. The bright moon gave the world a
strange grey hue. I turned the key slowly Blood Ink magazine published one of my
so as not to wake anyone, and stepped poems, along with three other previously
outside. The clear air was perfectly still. I unpublished writers, and to my surprise
stepped onto the lawn, and with the dewy and delight, Kafka, being a regular contrib-
grass clinging to my feet, made my way to- utor to the magazine, reviewed them. He
wards the shadowed woodland at the end wrote that mine was sensitive and moving
of the garden. and showed promise of more to come. The
magazine printed another of his pieces
Such a beautiful night. alongside mine and my longing to meet him
overpowered any other ambition.
A small creature scuttled over the grass
in front of me and disappeared into the un- I took advantage of the email address
dergrowth. Leaves stirred on the bushes, printed next to his name and wrote to him.
and I turned to look back at the house. I thanked him for his review, expressed my
Part of me wanted to leave and be with my admiration for his work, and informed him
friends in the hive of student activity, but that by strange coincidence, I temporarily
another part felt an immense connection resided in his room.
with the poet and this building. I stood a
while and was about to go back when I no- When I told Mrs Johnston this, she
ticed a dark figure move through the trees showed palpable excitement. “You’ve got
and disappear into the blackness. a real soft spot for him haven’t you?” She
smiled. “Let me know if you hear back from
Kafka? He wouldn’t be here, surely. He him.”
was in London.
That night, I placed Kafka’s picture on my
There again, further on, a man walked bedside cabinet and scanned the scribblings
towards the beach. I could hear the gentle on the wall. While I reclined on my bed, I
roll of waves, and watched him sit down spoke out my favourite lines from his poetry,
on the sand, facing the sea. His hands sup- warm and sweet as they brushed my lips.
ported his body as he leaned back. Who was
he? What was he doing out at this time? I “With a tender heart, I swore
stood for a while, watching.
To give my spirit to adore
The tide came in on a strong current and
washed under him but he stayed where he You, ever present, phantom being,

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

My slave, my poet, and my queen.” took it to heart. Too raw and passionate is
how the poems were criticized. It really got
Now I lay where he had, my face on the to him. The problem is he spends so long by
pillow where he had slept, immersed in his himself that he has the time to dwell on that
presence. kind of thing.”

An email from him the following day “He was here?”
elated me. Kafka expressed a genuine en-
thusiasm for my poem, delight that I had “He was. He’s just not up to socializing at
been the person who took on his room, and the moment.”
a promise to look out for more of my contri-
butions in the future. Mrs Johnston advised I rushed forward and opened the door. I
me to continue with the correspondence descended the steps and looked down the
and showed a real interest in my feelings street but there was no sign of him. I had
for him. “You know, you’d make a lovely come so close. Would I get the opportunity
couple.” again?

The emails continued between myself “He’s gone.” I told Mrs Johnston.
and Kafka daily, and one Friday, he informed
me that he would be calling in at the house “I’m sorry.” She held my arm, and our
to collect some books. He wrote that he eyes connected. She would be ready to con-
looked forward to catching up with Mrs sole me should I need her.
Johnston and meeting me in person.
I returned to my room and immersed
That morning, I chose my clothes care- myself in Kafka’s words. Surely our paths
fully. A pale pink top and jeans that fit par- would cross eventually.
ticularly well.
Racing thoughts prevented me from
The curtains moved gently with the sleeping that night.
morning breeze, the waves audible in the
distance. Mid-morning, a knock at the front- “And reason mocks my muddled thoughts,
door informed me of a visitor. I waited a
few minutes and then, unable to stay in my That deaden me to real cares.”
room any longer, stepped into the hallway.
*
Mrs Johnston closed the front-door
and turned towards me. “Oh, you’re going Two days later, sitting at the kitchen table, I
to be so disappointed. Kafka changed his glanced over at the paper:
mind. I’m sorry. I know how much you were
looking forward to meeting him.” “SUICIDE WITH EXETER CONNECTION.”

“He changed his mind?” I puller the paper closer:

“He called, but decided against coming “The body of up and coming poet, Kafka,
in. Headed into town instead at the last was discovered yesterday afternoon. He had
minute. He’s not been doing great to be begun to recieve international recognition
honest with you. His last collection of poetry for his sensitive and moving poetry, but was
got slated in a review recently and he really found dead in his London apartment. Next
to his body was found a collection of unpub-
lished works. His latest collection, ‘To An
Unknown Woman’, had just been released.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

About the Author

Andy Martin is a Philosophy teacher from England. He has a number of short stories
published in online magazines as well as in Adelaide LitMag.

15

PETUNIAS

by Diane Unterweger

“So how’s it going at the not-home-alone no-nonsense bodies. Linda’s worked the
house?” Darci asks Linda. They’re arranging one-to-nine shift here almost fifteen years.
some new dahlias on a two-tiered round Darci is younger, newer, dependably def-
table just outside the entrance to Bernie’s erential, but sometimes a little too eager.
Hometown Hardware. Every spring Bernie Linda knows darn well that Darci doesn’t
expands the garden department to the give a hoot about hair. Darci caught a whiff
large concrete area in front of the store. of trouble on the home front and now she’s
sniffing around for more.
“Going great,” Linda answers heartily
though it certainly is not. She picks up an- It’s Linda’s own fault for bragging so
other dahlia, snaps a dried bloom, then much about Tess and that high-end Chicago
thunks the plant—a little harder than nec- salon. She should have kept her big mouth
essary—on the table. Her grown daughter, shut.
Tess, came home from Chicago almost four
weeks ago. An elderly couple shuffles past, their
flat-cart loaded with variety-pack annuals
“Is she doing hair while she’s here?” and several large bags of moisture control
potting mix. They’re angling toward the
Linda shakes her head. “I keep telling checkout.
you, Darci, Tess is on vacation. You know
how it is—she’s their top stylist. Everyone “You’re up,” Linda tells Darci. Probably
wants her—there’s a waiting list for her not, but Darci trots off after them.
waiting list.” Linda manages a dry chuckle.
“She had to come back home here, just to Just as Linda turns back to the dahlias,
get a few days off.” she spots a young women in the next aisle
reading the tag on a hydrangea bush. Be-
Darci nods. “Must be nice. A month va- hind her, unnoticed, her little boy is plucking
cation.” She runs her fingers through short, all the blooms from a flat of petunias. Linda
limp hair. “I just asked because I need a trim. frowns, clears her throat, and moves with
I know sometimes stylists do a little work on brisk authority.
the side.”
*
Linda slams down another dahlia. Linda
and Darci are both strong, tanned women, Something is very wrong with Tess. Linda
their denim Bernie’s aprons tied over solid, doesn’t know what or why but since she’s

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Revista Literária Adelaide

been home she is locked in a cold troubled worlds apart they got along in their own
silence. Thinner than Linda has ever seen way. There were some difficult times—the
her—painfully thin—her once lustrous dark fiery divorce when Tess was just five, then a
hair is startlingly cropped. It looks like she few bad months with a guy who drank—but
took to her head with hedge clippers. Why Linda cut her losses and moved on.
would a stylist do that?
And Linda was so proud of Tess—pretty,
She arrived home, unannounced, on a stylish—how she knew what she wanted
Sunday afternoon, pulling up the drive in and made it happen.
a silver Accord. She brought a backpack,
two canvas totes, and her battered old Now Tess is completely unreachable. She
white-box MacBook. She had on black capri says her art is coming along, but she’s not
leggings and a tie-dye camisole, an outfit yet ready to share.
she wears—with little variation—every day.
If Tess is feeling so artsy maybe she
Now Tess spends hours and hours alone should go back to Chicago and start styling
in her old upstairs bedroom, the door locked hair again.
shut. She’s in there when Linda leaves for
work, she’s there when Linda comes home. *
Mornings, occasionally, she’ll waft through
the kitchen with a cup of peppermint tea It had been a challenging evening at Ber-
or a plate of the special vegan cookies she nie’s— the registers went down for a pan-
keeps on her shelf in the fridge, but even icky twenty minutes and while Linda was
then she’s dodgy and silent. She calls her dealing with that, two punk kids brazenly
room her studio. She tells Linda she’s jumped into an idling Camry with a stash
working on art. of jerky and Red Bull. Then, minutes before
close, a guy without a receipt demanded
If she leaves the house at all, Linda can’t full refund for an orbital sander. She told
be sure, though twice Tess hurried past him to take it back to Home Depot.
with Hobby Lobby bags, like she didn’t want
Linda to see. So it’s in no great mood that she drags
herself into the house, wagging a Subway
Nothing Linda tried has worked: the first Italian Beef only to discover—surprise!—
barrage of baffled questions now more in- Tess at the kitchen island swiping her phone.
sistent and patently pointed; stops for Thai
carry-out on the way home from Bernies; Linda barely stifles a sigh. She’s cer-
gentle taps on Tess’s door, walks suggested, tainly in no shape for another tussle—tired,
shopping, movies—all cooly declined. Linda hungry, low on patience and probably blood
even offered to buy her a cat. Growing up, sugar too, but Tess’s camisole exposes so
Tess begged for a cat. starkly the sharp jut of her collarbone, the
deeply shadowed hollows that Linda’s chest
Linda is down to her last bitter dregs of clenches with fear. How much longer can
patience. God knows she was never much this go on?
good at cajoling confidences or catering to
delicate whims. But Tess was always such She pulls out the stool across from Tess,
an agreeable girl, easy-going, hardly ever a slowly unrolls the sub from its wrapping.
problem, and though she and Linda were “Want some?” A little meat might do her
good.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Tess frowns at her phone. “No.” Employees aren’t supposed to linger after
closing—Bernie’s rule is to gather by the front
Linda struggles for her gentlest tone. register and leave as a group—but tonight
“Tess, hon, you have to know that I’m wor- it’s just the two of them. They’re sitting out-
ried sick. Look at me, please—I’m talking to side on molded-plastic lawn chairs—2/$25—
you.” drinking Cokes from the vending machine.
Linda’s bottle is cold and slippery.
Tess slides off her stool. “Ma. Just don’t.”
She slips past Linda and then quickly toward “I mean, really, Linda. What do you think
the stairs. she has in there? Dead people?”

Tess takes the stairs on a run, her too- Linda picks at the Coke label with her
thin back tensed tight under the camisole, thumbnail. Time was Darci wouldn’t dare
Linda pounding one step behind. “Don’t you spout off like that. Meek, timid Darci—
run away from me!” May I take lunch now, Linda? Please, Linda,
count the drawer, I always mess up. Where
They almost collide outside Tess’s closed do you want these tomato plants, Linda?
door. “Talk to me, Tess.” Linda pants, out of Linda wishes she could fling back something
breath, exasperated. “What the blazes do barbed and wounding, but she can’t even
you do in there?” think straight anymore.

Tess doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even Darci, clearly, is riding the crest of a
look. She’s concentrating on fitting a tiny heady new power. “You ask me it’s ulti-
key in the doorknob. matum time. Tell her she talks or she’s out.”

“Fine, then, don’t tell me. I’ve got a key Of course Linda never should have
for that lock, too,” Linda threatens. spilled to Darci—a regrettable act of weak-
ness brought on by last night’s confronta-
Tess draws herself up so she’s perfectly tion with Tess—but where Darci gets the
straight. Her head barely skims Linda’s chin, notion that Linda asked her anything is
but she looks her right in the eye. “Ma, simply beyond imagining and, anyway, it’s
please. Not yet.” A fleck of glitter sparkles easy for Darci to say—her daughter is five-
emphatically on the edge of her upper lip. years-old. Just wait, Linda thinks grimly.

It takes all Linda’s self-control not to grab Linda takes a long last slug of Coke, lobs
the door with both hands and yank it wide. the empty bottle into the trash.
“What is wrong with you?” she yells.
*
Tess flinches, just like when Linda was a
short-fused young mother. She closes the “Tess, open up. It’s me.” Tess must be
door. The lock clicks. awake. Linda noticed faint light in the win-
dows when she turned in the drive and
Linda stands there, reeling with impo- now she hears music—a woman’s voice—
tent fury. crooning, melancholy.

* Linda raps again.

“Oh my God, you are such a wuss,” Darci Driving home from Bernie’s, Linda built
wails. “It’s your house, dammit. March up herself up for this. No more pussy-footing
there with a battering ram.” around, scared of what she might find. No

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Revista Literária Adelaide

questions, no anger. Tonight she’s going to “Online, Ma.” Tess almost smiles. “It’s
get in that room and see for herself. kind of a niche. You’d be surprised what
people pay for a nice knee-hugger.”
Linda shifts impatiently, raises her hand
to rap once more, doesn’t. Finally, the music Linda walks to the bed and gazes down.
shuts off mid-note, footsteps, the knob Stuffed, big-faced, arms velcroed over their
turns and Tess’s pale face gazes out from folded legs, they look like hyper-alert clown
the half open door. fetuses.

“I’m here for the tour?” Light humor, In fairness, Linda can see a kind of whim-
she’d decided. Now her grin feels like sical effort here—one has a pile of cotton
rubber. candy hair, one is decked out like an ear of
corn, one sprouts glittery fairy wings. But
“Ok, ok.” Tess sighs, swings the door God Almighty—what a waste. Stupid, use-
wide. “Come in if you must.” less, ugly as homemade sin.

The room is dim after the bright hallway Linda sinks down on the bed and looks
but between the two windows, Linda can up at Tess. “I don’t get it, Tess.” Stop she
make out a long worktable, her old portable tells herself, but she can’t. “You were so suc-
sewing machine set solid at the center. A cessful, such a good stylist, doing so well. I
jointed task lamp pools yellow on a tangle was proud of you. What happened?”
of fabric and white stuffing.
“You mean what’s wrong with me?”
“Wait a sec,” Tess says. She clicks on the Tess shakes her head. “I don’t know, Ma.
overhead switch. Now the room is bright, For now,” she waves at the dolls, “this is all
clearer—Linda moves close to the table, I can say.”
looks down at a startling cluster of puckish
pink faces—unattached, plastic, hollow as *
masks. Goosebumps prickle her neck.
Darci forgot again to water the hanging
Still, determined, she stays calm and baskets. The geraniums don’t look too bad,
casual, though her stomach is starting to but the three petunia baskets are shriveled
knot. “So this is your big reveal, Tess? You’re beyond hope. Bernie’s going to have a fit.
making dolls?” Linda could probably dump them before he
sees, but why is Darci’s back always her re-
Tess shrugs. “You asked. And they’re not sponsibility?
just dolls—they’re knee-huggers.” She nods
toward the bed where a row of them—at And there’s Darci herself over by the
least a dozen—sit with legs tucked tight. propane, jabbering away at some poor guy
who probably just wants to grab a tank and
Tess is watching her closely. Linda feels a go. “They don’t come here to listen to you,”
tell-tale muscle flicker near her jaw, but the Linda has told her time and again. “They
rest of her face stays still. “What do you do come here to buy.”
with them?”
There won’t be much buying today.
“I’m going to sell them.” One-thirty and the sun sizzles down—hot,
muggy, a long Wednesday shift ahead.
“To who?” Crazies? No one shops on these humid midweek

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

afternoons. It might pick up later in the eve- “Look, Darci, if you want something to
ning but between now and then are tedious do, all those clearance pots and planters
hours to fill. She’s been planning to reorga- need to get red-lined.” With her other hand,
nize some of the back shelving in the stock- she digs in her apron pocket for a sharpie.
room. Maybe she could start that today. At “Here. And group them up a little better.”
least she’d be inside, out of this heat, her She hesitates just a beat. “You always have
hands busy, her mind free to process. Darci a good eye for displays.”
can handle the floor.
Darci’s grin is surprised and pleased.
But those wilted petunias—she’s sur- “Eye-eye!”
prised at how much they bother her. They
were such vivid pinks and purples, their big Linda grins back, shoos her off. “Dork.”
petals flimsy like cloth. Humble flowers,
trying their best. Linda figures she’ll head to the stock-
room in a minute or two. The hot sun feels
She drags over the hose, triggers the so good on the tensed muscles in her neck.
nozzle to a gentle spray. Soon these summer annuals will give way
to rudbeckia, sunflowers, mums. Pumpkins
“So?” Darci’s sudden voice is right at her and a brief burst of holiday wreaths. Then
shoulder. “How’d it go with Tess?” winter—tight cold months inside the store.

Of course Darci would expect updates. The stockroom and its cluttered back
“OK. We talked a little.” A start at least, in shelves can wait. For now she just wants to
that room last night. There’s a long road keep hosing these hanging baskets. Water
ahead. streams out their drain holes, spattering the
concrete but she can’t stop. She’s watching,
Darci nods encouragement. Linda trig- mesmerized, how the spray catches sunlight
gers the nozzle harder. and breaks into color like a rainbow.

About the Author

Diane Unterweger lives in Wisconsin. She writes poetry
and short stories. Her fiction has most recently appeared
in Tahoma Literary Review.

20

THE LOCUSTS HAVE
EATEN EVERYTHING

by Marissa Glover

“He didn’t do it.” Mom takes a deep breath. hard for me to drive under these conditions
She exhales. “I don’t care what the other and that’s why I swerved back there and
student said—my son would never hurt would you please make me get of the car or
anyone.” just glance behind me because I’m thinking
this is not going to end well and honestly
I listen. I maintain meaningful eye con- none of this is how I imagined my life at all.”
tact. I nod my head. As a trained school
administrator, I know to let her talk. Best But we don’t say any of this, because the
practices and all. guy with a gun in our back has threatened
to kill us if we do.
I also know how today’s conference is
going to go. Mom is going to tell me how “I’m fine.”
wonderful Tommy is, how he’s never been
in trouble, how he would never hurt a fly. It’s what we tell the cop. It’s what the
And I’m going to repeat myself a lot. mom tells me when I invite her to take a
seat and ask, How are you? It’s what we al-
Yes, I understand, but I was there. Yes, ways say. We moms. We women of a certain
I hear what you’re saying, but I saw it age.
happen. Yes, I am listening, but there were
other witnesses. The mom sitting in my office folds her
arms across her chest and threatens to hire
The woman sitting in my office is tired. an attorney. She says this isn’t the first time
Like all moms are tired. Like most women of we’ve harassed her son like this. She wants
a certain age are tired. I recognize the look. an explanation for why we let other stu-
dents do whatever they want but as soon as
It’s what I assume someone being car- Tommy does one little thing, he’s sent to the
jacked looks like when a cop pulls them over principal. She doesn’t stop talking for fifteen
and asks, “Is everything okay? You were minutes. I listen. I nod. I make eye contact.
driving a bit erratically back there.”
There.
We want to say, “Officer, the guy in the
backseat has a gun in my back and it’s really

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

There’s the look. The one we’d give the the one we’ve caught drinking and smoking
cop on traffic duty. Mom’s eyes glaze with pot and sending pictures of herself to boys.”
an exhaustion no nap can fix and silently She looks down and shakes her head. “I
beg: Help. Me. can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

I ask her if Tommy’s been having prob- The counselor and I listen. We maintain
lems at home, anything that would be con- meaningful eye contact. We nod. We ask
cerning to her, anything that would explain about the dad—the husband—but Mom is
why he suddenly stabbed the kid in front of done talking. We refer her and Tommy to a
him with a pencil. professional with more training, someone
who might be able to help. We let Tommy off
Mom takes a deep breath. She exhales. with a few days of OSS instead of expelling
“He ripped the heads off all his G.I. Joe ac- him. We schedule a meeting with the stabbed
tion figures. Except for Cobra Commander. student’s mom who has called to demand ex-
He still has his head.” pulsion. We leave work for the day.

I nod. I call the guidance counselor on I stop for groceries on the way home, just
the phone and ask her to join the meeting. one more thing on the long list of things to
I call the front desk and tell them to cancel do. I shuffle my cart to the cashier, a perky
my lunch with the athletic director. The teenager with braces and heavy make-up. I
failing football players will have to wait. don’t make eye contact. She scans my food
and chirps, “How are you today? Did you
We ask Mom when the decapitation find everything you were looking for?”
started. She shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean,
I work full-time and his sister keeps us busy I nod. I’m fine.
with the teenager thing; it’s a constant
battle with her. Tommy’s never been an I rifle through my purse so I’m ready
issue. He’s an angel compared to Beth. She’s when it’s time to pay.

About the Author

Marissa Glover lives in the United States, where she
teaches at Saint Leo University in Florida. She is co-editor
of Orange Blossom Review and a senior editor at The
Lascaux Review. Her work most recently appears in River
Mouth Review, Middle House Review, The UCity Review,
and HocTok Magazine. Marissa’s poetry collection, Let
Go of the Hands You Hold, will be published by Mercer
University Press in 2021. You can follow her on Twitter
@_MarissaGlover_.

22

BLUE EARTH
COUNTY

by Zach Murphy

In Blue Earth County, the winters are bitter, “Eggs it is,” Mary Anne says.
but the summers that yield bad crops are
even harder to reconcile with. After scarfing down his eggs, Rudy
washes his plate in the sink and attempts to
Mary Anne has the broadest shoulders wipe off the jam spots from the cupboard
in all of Southern Minnesota. She wakes up with a wet rag.
and begins work before dawn even has a
chance to introduce itself to the sky. After “Wait,” Mary Anne says. “I’ll take care of
feeding the chickens, milking the cows, and that.”
making sure the tractors are ready to go for
the day, she comes back with enough time “I can do it,” says Rudy.
to make breakfast for her son Rudy.
“You need to get ready for school,” Mary
There’s still some sticky spots of rasp- Anne says. “I’m not letting you miss the bus
berry jam on the white kitchen cupboards again.”
leftover from the same day that Mary
Anne’s husband Don got swept away in the “Fine,” Rudy says as he darts up stairs.
big tornado. Don leaving jam on the cup-
boards when having his morning toast was *
always her biggest pet peeve. Now she just
wishes he was here to do it again. Mary Anne and Rudy stroll down the
long dirt road toward the bus stop. At the
Rudy rushes down the creaky stairs, rub- end sits a rusty mailbox where good news
bing the morning out of his eyes. “Hi mom,” doesn’t usually arrive.
he says.
Mary Anne kisses Rudy on the cheek. “No
Mary Anne sets a frying pan on the spitballs or fights today,” Mary Anne says.
stove. “Hey sleepy.”
“Mom?” Rudy asks. “When are you
“I want chocolate for breakfast,” Rudy going to clean the kitchen cupboards?”
says.
“I’ll clean them whenever my work is
done,” she says.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author

Zach Murphy is a Hawaii-born writer with a background in cinema. His stories appear in
Boston Literary Magazine, Mystery Tribune, Ghost City Review, Spelk, Door = Jar, Levitate,
Yellow Medicine Review, Ellipsis Zine, Wilderness House Literary Review, Drunk Monkeys,
and Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine. He lives with his wonderful wife
Kelly in St. Paul, Minnesota.

24

THERE’S NO
LASAGNA IN HERE

by Carol Pierce

“You should be wearing this,” my wife, Di- you hit your head and become unconscious,
ane, says, removing the Medical Alert pen- medical help will come.”
dant dangling on a red chord from a floor
lamp in her Aunt Charlotte’s living room. “I see. It’s a handy little thing,” Aunt Char-
lotte says and slips the pendant over her head.
“I don’t need it,” Aunt Charlotte says. “I
have the house phone, and my cell is right “Great. Now we can get down to busi-
here.” She looks to a dark oak end table ness.”
that is covered with piles of magazines and
church newsletters. “I just had it. Now where “Diane, I don’t know where I got this
did I put it?” she asks aloud and scans the necklace, but it’s rather handsome, don’t
room. Minutes pass. She cannot locate her you think?” Aunt Charlotte looks down at the
phone. Stuff is everywhere—on the couch, button on the pendant. “This is a flashlight,”
the end tables and coffee table and in the she says, and presses it.
recliner—not to mention books and maga-
zines stacked in the corners of the room. “Medical Alert. Do you need medical
assistance?” a male voice asks from the re-
“Aunt Charlotte, this is exactly why you ceiver on the end table.
need to wear the pendant,” Diane says. “If
you have a medical emergency, you just “No, I don’t. I was showing my niece my
push the button, and an operator will im- necklace. I thought the button was a flash-
mediately send help. After your fall last light,” Aunt Charlotte says.
month, I asked the company to include fall
protection.” “No problem. I’m going to hang up now
and cancel the alert.”
“Fall protection?” Aunt Charlotte asks,
pushing her white hair to the side, out of “Okay. Thank you.”
her face.
From the kitchen, I see Aunt Charlotte
“There’s a sensor inside the pendant looking at my wife, her bright blue eyes
that can tell if you’ve fallen,” Diane says. “If staring at Diane as if she’s waiting for her to
make some sort of pronouncement.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Diane is fidgeting with her wedding ring. Aunt Charlotte looks inside. “Lasagna?
I know she doesn’t want to push too much. There’s no lasagna in here.”
“I think it would be good to get you some
help for a few hours a week.” “Here,” Diane says, picking up the gen-
erous portion wrapped in plastic wrap.
“What for?”
“Oh, is that what it is. I couldn’t imagine
“To do a little vacuuming and straight- what that was.”
ening up. Provide some company.”
“And there’s tuna salad from last week,” I
“I don’t like strangers coming into my say. “It’s old. No good. I’ll throw it out.”
home and rearranging my things. Besides,
I sweep from time to time.” “Leave it there, Roger,” Aunt Charlotte
says.
“There’s dust everywhere,” I shout
from the kitchen where I’ve been watering I slam the refrigerator shut and ask my-
the nearly bone dry African violets on her self why? Will keeping it make it fresher?
window sill and secretly throwing out what- “There’s bananas and oatmeal over there,”
ever I can of the items on the counter- I say, gesturing to the space I made near the
tops—soiled napkins, grocery store receipts, sink. “And chocolate cupcakes with sprin-
take-out menus. kles.”

When she taught second grade with the “Ooh. I’d like to have one of those right
New York City public school system, Aunt now,” Aunt Charlotte says, opening the box
Charlotte received mail requests from var- and putting it on her kitchen table. “Roger,
ious organizations for children. She still gets would you like one?”
these and numerous solicitations from dif-
ferent Catholic organizations. “No.”

I hear Diane say, “I wish you wouldn’t be “Diane?”
so dismissive, Aunt Charlotte. Try an aide for
a week. Think about it.” “Next time. We’ve got to go.”

“Come see what we brought you,” Diane “Thanks for the groceries. I’m well
says, changing the subject, getting up from stocked for the week.”
the couch, and walking into the kitchen.
Aunt Charlotte follows. I walk toward the door. Diane and Aunt
Charlotte follow.
“Hello, Roger. Want to show me what
you brought?” “Make sure you wear the pendant all the
time,” Diane says and turns around to kiss
“No, you look,” I say and move away her.
from the refrigerator. Diane glares at me.
“Okay.” As she slides open the deadbolt,
“Ah, roasted chicken. Milk, yogurt, the Aunt Charlotte turns around and asks, “No
Rye bread I like, and ham and Swiss for my groceries today?”
lunch.”
“Check your fridge and the counter by
“You didn’t touch the lasagna,” Diane the sink,” Diane says, as we leave the apart-
says, peering into the refrigerator. ment.

*

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Revista Literária Adelaide

At home, Diane chastises me for my impa- “Whatever.”
tience. “She’s 90 years old, Roger, and has
dementia. Leave her alone. You know my “Trick her. Tell her she promised to try out
mother has it. So did Aunt Dorothy.” an aide, and just show up with someone.”

Aunt Dorothy died last year at age 95. “I don’t like being dishonest and taking
She and Charlotte had lived together in the advantage of her memory issue.”
same apartment since they were in their
twenties and did everything together. “It’s a white lie, for God’s sake. It won’t
hurt her, and it may help.”
“I’ll probably get dementia, too,” Diane
says. “Prepare yourself. That’s what I’m *
going to be like when I’m older.”
The following day, Diane contacts the local
“I couldn’t deal with that.” senior center. “Bernice? Is she dependable?
Good.”
Diane is quiet.
That afternoon, Diane and I meet Bernice
“Tell me, how can she live in that pigsty?” in front of Aunt Charlotte’s building, and we
I ask. all go up to the apartment. When Aunt Char-
lotte opens the door, she is surprised to see
“She’s probably overwhelmed. When a stout woman with curly black hair, wearing
she looks around and sees everything, she a maroon uniform standing there with us.
shuts down and pretends it doesn’t exist.
Or maybe she tells herself she’ll do it to- “Aunt Charlotte, this is Bernice. She’s
morrow.” going to help you.”

“But why won’t she allow anyone to help “I don’t know anything about this.”
her?”
“When Roger and I were here yesterday,
“Maybe she can’t admit she needs it.” you said you’d try someone.”

“What about the rotten food?” “I did?” Aunt Charlotte looks at Bernice.
“Since you’re here, come in.”
“She must open the fridge to get some-
thing and focuses only on that one item.” “We’re going to leave now, Aunt Char-
lotte. Roger and I must go to work. I’ll call
“Frankly, I can’t stand her.” tonight.”

“I love her, and I’m so worried about her. *
Afraid she’s going to fall again or cause a fire
because the papers are so near the stove. That evening after dinner, Diane calls Aunt
Don’t know how long she can manage Charlotte.
without assistance, and she can’t see how
desperately she needs it.” “Bernice did what?” I heard Diane ask.
“Broke your Lenox collie? Oh, dusting. I’m
“Put her in a nursing home.” sorry. I know how fond you are of that figurine.
I’ll Crazy glue it for you. She put your favorite
“I will not. She’s comfortable in her purple silk blouse in the dryer and shrunk it?”
apartment. All she needs is a good aide.
You’re so heartless.”

“Not heartless. Realistic.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“I don’t want her, or any other help in We buzz, and Aunt Charlotte greets us
my apartment ever again,” I hear Aunt Char- wearing a long lavender scarf tossed over
lotte yell. her shoulder, Parisian style.

“Don’t worry. Bernice won’t be back.” We walk into the apartment and imme-
diately notice the absence of stacks of mag-
* azines and catalogues. The mauve rug has
been vacuumed and the bookcases dusted.
Two weeks later, Diane and I are sitting in A plate of mini chocolate croissants sits on
our living room watching the news, and the cocktail table next to two half-drunken
one of Aunt Charlotte’s neighbors calls. cups of tea. Shopping bags filled with mail
Says Aunt Charlotte slipped on the rug in are nearby, and a woman in her late 50’s sits
the bathroom and hit her head. She heard on the couch tossing envelopes and grocery
banging on the wall and used her spare flyers into a shopping bag.
key to access Aunt Charlotte’s apartment.
Found her lying in a pool of blood on the She looks up at us. “Bonjour.”
bathroom floor. Called the ambulance, then
Diane. “Bonjour, Madame,” Diane says.

“Columbia Presbyterian. I’ll phone now. Although Aunt Charlotte was born and
Thanks for calling me,” I hear Diane say. The raised in Quebec and spoke French fluently,
floor nurse at the hospital informs Diane Diane hasn’t heard her speak any French
Aunt Charlotte is stable. No broken bones, since her grandmother was alive, twenty
but she needs stitches to her forehead. years ago.
They’re going to keep her for observation.
“Je voudrais presenter mon amie, Fran-
* coise,” Aunt Charlotte says.

After work the next day, Diane and I go to “Votre amie?” Diane asks. “Where did
the hospital. Aunt Charlotte is in good spir- you meet her?”
its. The doctor says she will be released
the next day. Says he is prescribing high Aunt Charlotte turns to Francoise with
blood pressure medicine. Says it’s danger- an embarrassing giggle. “I don’t remember.
ous for her to be alone. Suggests we think How did we meet?”
about getting a home aide. After what just
happened with Bernice, I tell Diane, “Good “I’m from the church.”
luck.”
“Ah, you’re the person Father Mike sent.
* He and I spoke briefly,” Diane says.

That Saturday, Diane and I go to see Aunt “Be back,” Aunt Charlotte says. “I’m
Charlotte to discuss her visiting my moth- going to get Diane and Roger some tea.”
er-in-law for a few days so we can vacuum
and dispose of some papers. When we ar- Diane and I sit down next to Francoise.
rive, we hear boisterous laughter and Aunt “It’s so considerate of you to volunteer to
Charlotte and another woman conversing help my aunt,” Diane says. “Do you live in
in French behind the apartment door. the neighborhood?”

“No. I have a room in Brooklyn. Father
Mike gave me a part-time job cleaning the
church. When I finish, I go to a side chapel
and pray. Then I visit Charlotte.”

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“The apartment looks wonderful,” Diane “Maybe then you’ll realize Aunt Char-
says. “How did you manage to get rid of so lotte needs to be in a nursing home.”
much?”
Diane quickly turns away from me and
Francoise winks. “It’s a game,” she whis- dials. “Hello, Father. This is Diane Radcliff,
pers. “I tell Charlotte we’re going “to orga-
nize” her papers and magazines. We sort Charlotte Rooney’s niece. My husband
everything into bags—all the magazines in and I met Francoise today. Aunt Charlotte
one. The catalogues in another and the mail is quite fond of her. I’d like to know more
in a third. I put the bags in the hallway closet. about her.”
While she’s napping, I take everything down
to the garbage bins in the basement. That’s “Francoise is a fine woman. Religious.
it,” she says, brushing her hands together. Trustworthy. Caring.”
“All gone.”
“She told us she lives in a room in
“Brilliant. And my aunt is so happy with Brooklyn.”
you.”
“Yes, in one of our Chapter houses. It’s
Aunt Charlotte returns with the cups and temporary. She was working as a live-in
places them on the coffee table. nanny for a family with a young son. They
moved to California. Francoise didn’t want
“She’s a competitive card player,” Fran- to go. She works a few hours a week in my
coise says, gesturing to Aunt Charlotte. church.”

“My sister and I played cards every eve- “Aunt Charlotte can’t manage by herself
ning. I’m happy to have a new partner.” anymore. I want to talk to her about hiring
Aunt Charlotte passes us the croissants. Francoise.”
“Francoise made them,” she says.
“Francoise will be grateful for the work.
I take one and give another to Diane. In Thank you, Diane.”
two bites, mine is gone. “Delicious.”
*
Francoise smiles.
The following day, Diane calls Aunt Char-
“Aunt Charlotte, we wanted to talk to lotte to discuss hiring Francoise.
you about something, but it can wait,” I say.
“I’d love her help,” Aunt Charlotte says.
Francoise looks at us and then at Aunt “She’s so much fun.”
Charlotte. “I’ll go.”
“I’m delighted you’re agreeable. I’ll dis-
“Stay,” Diane says. “We need to leave, cuss it with her.”
anyway. It was a pleasure to meet you, Fran-
coise. Don’t get up, Aunt Charlotte. We’ll *
see ourselves out.”
One Sunday morning, Aunt Charlotte calls.
* “Roger, put me on speaker. I want to talk to
both of you.”
When we are home, Diane says she wants to
talk to Father Mike. “Francoise seems gen- “We’re here, Aunt Charlotte,” Diane says.
uine,” she says, “but who knows? What if I
find out she’s robbing Aunt Charlotte blind?” “It’s been two weeks since Fran-
coise’s been helping me. I really enjoy her.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Dorothy’s bedroom is vacant. I’d like to have “So many elderly people can’t get ade-
Francoise move in. What do you think?” quate home care, and families are forced to
place loved ones with dementia into nursing
“Love it,” Diane says. “I’ll feel so relieved homes. I wondered for so long what to do
knowing there’s someone in the apartment and I’ve managed to avoid that unfortunate
with you.” option for now.”

* “Don’t get too excited,” I say. “When
Aunt Charlotte gets worse, hopefully Fran-
It’s been six months since Francoise and coise will know how to manage her and
Aunt Charlotte have lived together, and Di- won’t leave.”
ane says Aunt Charlotte is happier than she’s
been in a long time. Her health is good, and “Francoise is compassionate and pious,”
she has had no falls. Aunt Charlotte tells us Diane says. “I think she’ll do everything she
that Francoise reminds her every morning can.”
to put on her pendant.
“Let’s see how long this will last.”
“It’s wonderful how everything worked
out,” Diane says one day during breakfast. “Are you done?” Diane asks. “I know Aunt
Charlotte has issues. But you know what?
We’ve got bigger ones.”

About the Author

Carol Pierce was born and raised in New York City. She
holds a B.A. in English, an M.S.Ed.in Special Education, and
a Professional Certificate in Supervision and Administration
from Hunter College. She was a teacher and Assistant
Principal with the NYC Department of Education for more
than 20 years. Carol enjoys the power of words and writing
short stories that transport readers to other worlds. Her
stories have been published by twosisterswriting.com. In
addition to writing, Carol enjoys swimming and researching
her Hungarian roots.

30

TONY’S PLACE

by Ciaran McLarnon

Keep a clear a head, remember who you busy on cold nights; it was a place where
are and why they are. I can’t get sucked in long and darkening evenings could pass in
again, I just can’t! An intense thrumming an instant. Ray wondered how many people
bounced around Ray’s cranium, he thought knew who the owner was, and how many
maybe the butterflies had moved up from knew of the people he would greet in the
his stomach. He’d been to Tony’s place be- smoky back room. It didn’t seem like some-
fore, but this was different. The back room where hardened criminals would meet; it
was the inner sanctum, the place where was too bright, too clean, and Ray had said
the cities’ most powerful criminals would as much to Carlo the last time he was in To-
meet to discuss plans, news, and anything ny’s Place a few nights ago.
they wouldn’t want the police to hear. Of-
ten gangsters waited years to get an invite, ‘I guess that’s the point,’ said Carlo, ‘be-
sometimes even decades; but Carlo insisted sides, it’s tradition, meetings have been at
his most trusted aide would be welcomed. Tony’s for over a century, some of the old
Good thing too, Ray had a chance to wipe guys probably haven’t been out anywhere
the slate clean now. It wasn’t that risky, he else for 40 years! And they probably wouldn’t
told himself, I just need to stay calm. even go there if Phelan didn’t run it.’

‘Meet me at the bar,’ Carlo had said, ‘and On such a cold night entering the
don‘t act so nervous.’ warmth of the bar should be a welcome
relief, thought Ray, struggling to get his
It was dark, the year was getting old and bearings when his glasses steamed up. As
time was running out; Ray needed some- he removed the thick lenses to wipe off the
thing. His boots skipped across the frost; condensation he stumbled into a bar stool,
clouds of vapour escaped from his coat; he and the customer who was sitting on it.
glanced up to confirm he had stopped at the
right Neon sign. Ray grumbled when he saw ‘Hey, watch where you’re going! Are you
‘Tony’s Place’ shining back at him but swal- gonna pay for those drinks?’
lowed hard as he approached.
Ray sighed. Tony’s was always hot, al-
Tony’s Place was old, it looked as if it be- ways crowded, ‘Yeah, sure. It was my fault;
longed to another place and time. That was I’ll have them sent over. Sorry about that.’
part of its charm; it offered a level of es-
capism alcohol alone couldn’t match. It was Just then Carlo appeared, ‘come on Ray,
you don’t wanna keep these guys waiting!’
Carlo grabbed Ray by the elbow and pulled

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

him away from the table, whispering into soaking up any information passed on by
his ear, ‘were you gonna buy those fellas these veteran criminals.
some drinks?’
‘You can learn more here than in prison,’
‘It’s only fair. It was my fault, I stumbled joked Ray. He nudged Carlo but got no re-
into them.’ action.

‘I don’t care whose fault it was; you can’t The meeting lasted for hours; the once
take that kind of crap from nobody no more! heaving bar was littered with only a smat-
If you wanna be a gangster, you gotta act like tering of dedicated patrons when they
a gangster. And I thought I told you to get started to filter out of the back room. Ray
rid of those glasses, they don’t fit with the was happy to be sitting alone at the rich
image. Why don’t you try contact lenses?’ mahogany counter, watching his reflec-
tion in the mirror behind the bewildering
‘Hey! I don’t like lenses; they make eyes’ assortment of bottles, rare and expensive
hot and don’t fit right. Besides the glasses standing side by side with ubiquitous and
kinda fit with Ray; like x-Ray specs, and cheap. He took another pull of the whiskey
Ray-Ban.’ from its glass, sucking his lips as the cheap
amber liquid burned his throat before set-
‘Oh yeah!’ tling in the pit of his stomach.

‘I’m not going to start to wear contact ‘Where did you get to? Hang back at the
lenses just because they would make me end of these meetings, you never know who
look tougher, I’ll just be tougher!’ might need something.’

‘Well, it’s your business; I think you otta ‘Sorry Carlo, I needed a break from all
give them another go. I just got to see to those new faces.’
something out front, why don’t you go
through there and have a seat at the table?’ ‘I understand, but you don’t wanna waste
an opportunity like this again…Hey!’ The
A seat at the table, Ray had worked hard barman looked up from polishing a glass,’
for this, but he was still nervous. Once he Jameson’s neat, and the same for my friend.’
walked through that door, like it or not, he
was fully committed. ‘Okay, I need to order another drink
anyway.’
*
‘Hey, are those your friends over there?
‘Ok, Carlo! You wanna sit so we can get this The ones whose drinks you paid for, for no
meeting started?’ reason?’

He took the seat beside Ray. Carlo ‘Yeah, I’ve been watching their reflection
didn’t hurry, seeming to enjoy greeting in the mirror.’ They hadn’t moved from their
the bosses Ray struggled to meet in the seats by the door, but now they looked so
eye. People talked in hushed tones about drunk they might slide off their bar stools.
an informant, aware it was likely someone There was five of them, older guys who re-
in the room; never in his life had Ray felt vealed missing teeth when they laughed.
so close to danger. When Carlo arrived at Ray guessed they probably wouldn’t back
his station the meeting started and his de- down from a fight. ‘And I didn’t buy them
meanour changed in an instant. Throughout any drinks! I said I would, but then I changed
Carlo was silent, eyes flitting left and right,

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Revista Literária Adelaide

my mind. The guy I knocked into is coming barroom floor. His friends seemed pinned to
over, the bald guy with the purple beard, the puce padding of the bench they occu-
maybe you wanna stick around for a while?’ pied, also unable to comprehend what had
happened. Time seemed to stop dead, all
‘No problem, let me handle this.’ the bodies in the bar seemed frozen.

‘You’re one of the good guys,’ said Ray, ‘Okay, but you owe me big. Lemme go
raising a glass to Carlo. outside and make some calls.’

‘Okay, sure,’ he replied, laughing nervously. Tony’s place was empty in a few minutes,
then Carlo locked the door. The staff had
Then Ray felt a tap on the shoulder, ‘do gone home when two men arrived to carry
you remember the drinks you offered to buy away the body; Ray was soon on his hands
for me and my buddies?’ and knees cleaning up the bloodstain.

Before Ray could reply Carlo answered, ‘Good job,’ said Carlo, moving behind
‘you got a lot of nerve coming up to my the bar, ‘I think we deserve a little drink,
friend like this. You really don’t look like you don’t you?’
need the drinks, so why don’t you just walk
away and put it down to experience?’ *

‘Normally we would let it slide, but your Ray’s head was buzzing, the butterflies were
friend did offer, and I’d hate to make a liar trying to escape his cranium again, but for
out of him.’ a vastly different reason. It took a few sec-
onds for him to register where he was. The
The guy just gave Ray the opportunity carpet was sticky - he might have moved a
he’d been waiting for. ‘What did you just few inches if he wasn’t surrounded by trash
say?’ Ray growled, and then smashed a and ominous stains. He began to recognise
glass into the side of the man’s head. the beige cupboard doors, the brown coun-
tertops littered with glass bottles and cans.
‘That’s what you get for starting trouble
with us,’ sneered Carlo. The man stumbled ‘Carlo really needs to move out of this
before he hit the floor, hitting his head off a dump.’ Ray groaned and shifted his head to
barstool as he fell. Suddenly his body went stare at the ceiling. Satisfied he knew where
limp, a ragdoll lying on the ground. he was, Ray closed his eyes, the butterflies
seemed to calm a little when he did that,
‘Holy shit, Ray,’ declared Carlo, ‘what did and tried to remember why he was on Car-
you do? Phelan ain’t gonna be too pleased lo’s living room floor.
about this kinda trouble in his bar.’
He soon dozed off again, his dreams filled
For a moment Ray and Carlo stared at the with images of the night before. Something
lifeless body. ‘You gotta help me get outta happened in Tony’s, everyone cheered, and
this, Phelan won’t be pleased with you either.’ then…It was all blur, but he felt a pang of
guilt, and not just the normal hangover
‘How you figure?’ guilt. This was something important.

‘Phelan’s gonna look at the guy who Ray fell into a black, dreamless sleep. He
brought me in, and I don’t think you want was awoken by the door hinges creaking, the
him to look too closely.’

A small pool of blood was oozing from
the man’s temple onto the grey tiles of the

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

slamming of the door as it closed, the sound But it wasn’t just the weather; he sus-
of footsteps shuffling across the carpet. pected he knew where the extra pressure
came from, but he couldn’t see any other
‘Your glasses have seen better days’, said way. To confess everything, that would be
Carlo, handing Ray the mangled frames he too much. Ray looked around the building
found on the floor, ‘I said you should try site filled with clear plastic sheets and rows
contacts.’ of concrete blocks among the rubble and
pieces of odd timber. And then he saw Mel’s
‘Thanks, but blurred vision makes the car. The car looked very ordinary, a metallic
hangover less intense.’ blue sedan; to try and blend in.

‘Will I make us both some coffee?’ It was the personal touches that made
Ray smile when he saw it. Mel had a sticker
‘Thanks. Say, what happened last night?’ on her bumper, ‘if you can read this, you’re
too close’, and a ‘my other car is impounded’
‘You don’t remember? After all I did for tag. Ray shuffled along a gang way and en-
you? You laid out some guy in Tony’s Place tered the main building, carefully dropping
and I had to help you clean it up. But don’t onto the blocks on the other side. It was
worry, I won’t forget.’ even hotter than outside; baking concrete
reflected any sunlight that penetrated
‘It’s all coming back to me…How much through the clouds, the heavy air settled in
does Phelan know?’ the enclosed spaces. He could feel the sweat
beginning to burst through every pore.
‘Not much, you lucky SOB. But I wouldn’t
go to Tony’s Place for a while.’ Imelda strolled down a spartan cor-
ridor, lifting a sheet of plastic into a room,
Damn, thought Ray, I didn’t think I’d finding Ray inside. The room was bare, not
mess up the operation like this! even plaster on the walls; Ray ran his finger
down the rough concrete holding the blocks
* together. He yelped as the concrete broke
through his skin, raising his right index finger
Ray had to make a phone call. to his lips to suck away that little sport of
blood that was forming on his fingertip. He
‘Hey, Mel, it’s R.C., I think we should spun round when he heard footsteps; his
meet. How about the yard?’ eyes focused on Mel.

‘Um…yeah. I can be there about 12.30.’ ‘Jesus! You shouldn’t sneak up on people
like that! You don’t know what I could have
‘That’ll work. I’ll make sure I’m not fol- done there!’
lowed.’
‘Take it easy Ray! I hope you’re less twitchy
‘Likewise.’ today on the job. Why did you want to meet?
It’s only been a week since we last talked. Do
Ray stepped out of the car slowly and the gang trust you enough yet? Are you sure
deliberately, looking back and forth so many you weren’t followed?’ Mel walked over to
times it made him a little dizzy, making sure the glassless window, confirming there were
the road was quiet before he emerged. On still only two cars on the site.
these warm, cloudy days the city’s elec-
tricity was trapped close to the ground. The
sticky air was heavy, it leaned on Ray, but
like a boxer in the final round he didn’t have
the energy to push his opponent away.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

‘I’m getting there! It’ll take time for the ‘I didn’t learn anything, but that’s not
old guys to get used to my face,’ said Ray important. The guy I ran into was at the bar;
we had a few words, then Carlo comes over
‘How much more time do you need?’ and hits the guy with a glass.’

‘Get off my case, will you? I got some- ‘Whoa!’
thing for you, but there’s a problem we need
to take care of first.’ ‘I know, it was crazy! Carlo mumbled
something about having a reputation to
‘Don’t tell me you saw some guy buying protect. And he blamed me, saying I didn’t
an ounce of heroin; give the bosses some- take care of business. I thought I should tell
thing big if you want to save your career.’ you before you heard something different.’

‘How about murder?’ ‘Great! A murder is definitely something
we can work with. What did you think the
‘I’m listening…’ problem would be?’

Ray paced up and down against the back ‘I thought being a witness could be a
wall of the room, and then sat on the side of problem, with me being undercover and
what would be a panoramic corner window, everything.’
‘this’ll be a great office when it’s finished,’ he
said, surveying the streets and the crossroads ‘I can’t see how. Are you sure you didn’t
below, ‘probably for some management type. have another problem?’
Are you sure you weren’t followed?’
‘Well, spilling the drinks; I hope that
‘Yes, of course. It took me four times doesn’t get it out.’
as long to get here, I doubled back on my-
self so many times. We’re miles away from Mel laughed.
their patch anyway; if they were going to
follow anyone it would be you, you’re right *
in the thick of it. I had to come all the way
over here on my lunch break, so quit playin’ Ray got back to his apartment. The cold wa-
around and tell me something’ ter he splashed of his face made him feel
a little better, but he still couldn’t look at
‘OK, OK.’ Said Ray, tapping his fingers on himself in the mirror. As he dabbed his face
the wall and looking out the window, ‘You with a towel his phone rang.
remember Carlo?’
‘Hey, it’s me.’ His voice sounded tired
‘Carlo Siva? I’ve been meaning to talk to hoarser than normal, but Ray knew only one
you about’ middle aged man who would expect Ray to
be able to identify his voice immediately.
‘We had a meeting with the head guys last
night, maybe he was keyed up about that.’ ‘Carlo, I was hoping to hear from you,’
Ray lied.
‘This meeting was in Tony’s?’ Mel took
out a notepad and began scribbling. ‘That’s good, cos I need your help buddy.
I’ve been arrested, can you meet me at the
‘The place was busy, and it was a cold station?’
night, my glasses steamed…so I knocked into
a few people.’ ‘You’ve been arrested, and I was your
one phone call? I’m touched.’
Mel sighed, ‘again? You got to be more
careful. Tell more about the meeting?’

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

‘Well don’t get a big head about it! Just you have changed, then you pull something
meet me down at the station and I’ll explain like this! Well, I’ve had enough, this time
what’s going on.’ you’re on your own.’

‘Okay, no problem; I’m leaving right now.’ ‘I’m just starting to make real progress
here. You wanna throw all that away?’
*
‘You’ve already thrown it away! We can’t
‘You know Carlo’s not such a bad guy, not as rely on anything you say anymore.’
arrogant as the rest of them. We should do
something for him.’ Ray knew the sergeant, so ‘But I’ve been a cop for 9 years, you need
he chatted briefly with him as they entered more than the say-so of a criminal.’
the interview room. The sergeant directed
him to take a seat on the other side of the ‘Did you know that Phelan has a CCTV
desk, then Mel entered the room. Her face camera in his office, got some good footage
was like stone, she fixed Ray with an icy stare. of you…’

‘How did you get here so fast?’ He said, Ray laughed, ‘There’s no way that Phelan
‘the sarg didn’t even have time to make a would hand that to the cops.’
phone call!’
‘No, but he has given the footage to
‘All the things you’ve done to try and get Carlo; it has helped to catch the rat. Carlo
ahead, a move like this shouldn’t surprise shows how useful he is, Phelan takes care
me. I got a message from a PD detective as of a leak, we get closer to the info we need.
soon as I got back from lunch.’ This good for everybody, except you.’

‘Oh yeah?’ ‘So when did you decide to drop me.’

‘Yeah. One of his CIs phoned him in a Mel shook her head and laughed, ‘you
panic, said he was witness to a murder; he should’ve resigned when you messed up
thought the murderer was an undercover the last operation! We just gave you on new
cop. Can you guess who this CI was?’ job, you were bound to mess up eventually.
Carlos has been working as a CI for a while;
Ray swallowed hard, ‘I think I have no when he said people were starting to get
idea.’ suspicious, we just sent you in. And then
you just did the rest. In a way you did your
‘How long did it think it would take us job perfectly! Phelan thinks he has solved
to find out? You’ve really done it this time; his problems but they’ve only just started.’
I don’t think you’ve any friends left. You say

About the Author

Ciaran J. McLarnon is a writer from Northern Ireland. He
has had several pieces published, including in the June 2020
issue of this magazine. More of his writing can be found at
ciaranjmclarnon.blog

36

THE MOMENT

by Cathy Carroll-Moriarty

The sky was purple and pink, a faint glow Skye wiggled around Mommy to reach
started in the horizon. Subtle and warm for a glazed donut from the box she saw
like the feeling that spread in her chest. Mommy carry in this morning. She pulled
The little girl focused all her concentration, her hand back in disappointment when it
determined not to miss The Moment. Her encountered an empty box. Snuggling back
favorite moment. She blinked. Suddenly under the covers, she swallowed the lump
the horizon glowed orange and yellow and in her throat. She’d been sure Mommy had
the clouds looked like red fire. Something brought home six donuts. She’d counted
blazed inside the little girl. There was no them in her head. Counting to six was easy.
way she knew to describe it. Just a feeling She counted to five on the fingers of her
like flying and being stuck all at the same left hand and then the pointer finger of her
time. It smarted behind her eyes and caught right hand got her to six. Actually, she could
in her throat and thumped in her stomach. count all the way to twenty. That was easy
She wanted to be up there. With the clouds and she was the only one in preschool who
and the sky and the glowing sun. could do it. Mariah said that she could do
it, too but Skye knew better. Mariah was a
“Majestic, isn’t it?” Mommy’s voice show-off.
sounded from the bed.
But now there were no donuts. Mommy
Skye didn’t know the word majestic, so had eaten them all. Even though Mommy’s
she offered her own word even though it love was as big as the sky. Sometimes it was
didn’t seem to be enough. “The sky is so like that. Mommy would be so hungry she
pretty.” would eat everything in sight. Other times,
she would sleep through meals and Skye
“Yes, it is, darling,” Mommy pulled her ate Goldfish crackers and cheese sticks for
gently away from the window and back into dinner.
bed with her. The little girl could feel her
breath move the strands of hair that came Mommy’s body leaned heavily against
out of her braid while she slept last night. hers. Looking at the clock with the big green
Mommy held her close and Skye breathed numbers, Skye saw that it was time to leave
in Mommy’s usual scent of cigarettes and for school. When the first number read
rum and flower shampoo. “The sky is as seven and the next numbers read three and
big as the whole world. Just like my love for zero, it was time to go and Mommy would
you, Beautiful Skye.” rush them out of the apartment and down

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

the stairs. But Mommy wouldn’t wake up, She hoped there would be apple juice and
so Skye picked up her backpack and trudged graham crackers for morning snack. Maybe
down two floors to Mrs. Rogers’ apartment. they would play parachute and get to work
with paints. Mrs. Rogers signed her in and
“Your Ma passed out again?” Mrs. Rogers tousled her hair by way of good-bye.
was a square shaped lady with a soft flabby
face and messy salt and pepper hair. One She was waiting for Skye after school.
eye didn’t open all the way. Skye had so much to tell her. Mariah had
licked the glittery glue right off the kite she
“She fell asleep.” was decorating for the classroom. Rainn
pushed her too hard on the swing and she
“Right. She feed you?” fell off. She proudly displayed her bandaged
elbow to Mrs. Rogers who barely gave it a
Skye felt funny in her stomach. She didn’t glance. Then during parachute, she’d ac-
want to say that Mommy had eaten six do- cidentally hit Carson in the face with her
nuts without leaving one for her. Or that elbow. Teacher made her sit out; it wasn’t
Mommy hadn’t been home last night, and fair. Met with Mrs. Rogers’ silence, she
they were out of Goldfish and cheese sticks. stopped talking and followed her faded
So, she looked at her sneakers, focusing on fleece all the way home.
the big toe on each foot that poked out
amid the sparkly rhinestones. There was nowhere to sit in Mrs. Rogers’
apartment that wasn’t covered with Mr.
“Here.” Mrs. Rogers handed her a Pudgy’s fur. Like morning frost, the rem-
package of Pop Tarts. “Eat these on the way.” nants of his white coat blanketed the fur-
niture and carpet. Skye chose to sit on the
Skye didn’t like Pop Tarts, but she said corner of the couch, away from the part
thank you anyway. She nibbled on the with a dark stain on it. She watched as
crumbly sweetness while she waited for Mrs. Rogers pulled a Lunchable out of the
Mrs. Rogers put on her jacket even though fridge and brought it to her. Then sat silently
it was summer and explain to Mr. Pudgy the on her faded brown easy chair with worn
cat that she would be back soon. She duti- arms and turned on a game show. It was as
fully followed Mrs. Rogers down the stairs strange gameshow, everyone got excited
and out into the faded yellow morning. The and laughed about things that Skye didn’t
street was heavy with morning traffic. Bicy- understand. There should be a gameshow
clists dodged around them on the narrow where teachers played parachute and kids
sidewalk. A lady pulled all six of her dogs got to make them sit out when they made
away from Skye who giggled. Mrs. Rogers a mistake.
grumbled the whole way about parents
these days not raising their own damn kids. They sat for a long time. Skye watched
Skye knew she didn’t mean it. Mrs. Rogers the outside light fade. Mrs. Rogers nodded
spent her days watching game shows and off. Her soft snores matched the rhythm of
clipping coupons. When Skye stayed with Mr. Pudgy’s swishy tail as he strolled by. He
her after school, she always had snacks for turned and gave her a look. Just like Mrs.
her and listened to her stories. Rogers, he only had one good eye. Skye
slid off the couch and followed him to the
Skye kept her eyes on Mrs. Rogers’ faded sliding balcony doors. They faced a different
red fleece with holes at the seams until the
familiar sight of her school diverted her.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

direction than Mommy’s apartment so Skye she couldn’t soar against the orange sky.
could watch the sun go down. She wondered if birds ever got close enough
to touch it. If she were a bird, she would find
She slid the door open and then closed a way. A way to be a part of something so
it behind her so that Mr. Pudgy wouldn’t big and wonderful.
escape. Once she’d forgotten and Mrs.
Rogers had yelled something fierce when The apartment door was open a little,
she caught him walking the edge of the so she tiptoed inside and closed it behind
balcony like a tightrope. The city stretched her. There was no Mommy in sight, but
before her. Buildings rose like jagged silhou- Skye knew she was home. Her hoodie was
ettes against the yellow, orange, and pink crumpled on the couch. Mommy was like
horizon. In the distance, she saw a beautiful Mrs. Rogers, always cold even in summer.
shape like the wing of a bird. It rose from the She could hear heavy whispers and rustling
bridge. It must be what Teacher had called sheets. Peeking inside Mommy’s room, she
a sculpture in art class last week when they saw her in bed with a man who Skye had
used bendy straws and pipe cleaners to seen before. He had brought McDonald’s
make models. Mr. Pudgy had stepped on for Skye once. They weren’t sleeping and
Skye’s before she could show it to Mommy. Skye watched for a while, curious, until a
shoe flew at her from that direction sending
Skye pulled herself up on a cracked her running back to the kitchen.
green plastic chair. She raised her arms up
over her head, bent them at the elbows to Skye decided that he wasn’t nice. Just
mimic the curve of the bird-wing sculpture. like the one before him who sometimes
It looked so lovely against the sky. brought flowers that made the apartment
smell pretty. After Mommy got a black eye
“What are you doing? Giving me a heart and broken shoulder, she wouldn’t let him
attack. You wanna kill me? Get down from come back anymore even when he pounded
there!” at the door and yelled about being sorry.

Skye stumbled off the chair and Mrs. When Mommy had a man over, Skye had
Rogers screamed. to sleep on the couch. Even if she was scared
or couldn’t find a blanket, she wasn’t to
“Lord have mercy! Kid you’ll kill me, yet.” bother Mommy when she was having grown
up time. That was the rule. She picked Mom-
Skye slunk back inside, and Mrs. Rogers my’s hoodie up and wrapped herself in it.
gave her a hard swat on the rump as she Part of it smelled like flower shampoo.
followed her in.
She woke to the sound of voices in the
“Serve you right for scaring me like that. kitchen. Mommy and that man were in the
Least you had the sense to keep the cat inside.” kitchen standing close together, giggling
and blowing smoke in each other’s faces as
She sat quietly at the sticky kitchen table they took turns smoking.
and watched as Mrs. Rogers cooked dinner.
Grilled cheese. It was burnt on one side. It smelled like a skunk. Skye didn’t know
what a skunk smelled like but she’d overhead
“You head on up to your ma’s, now. You one of the neighbors complaining to Mrs.
can be her problem the rest of the night.” Rogers about the smell once. The one with

Skye left without a word. Guilty about
upsetting Mrs. Rogers. Sad and empty that

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

the shiny bald head, leathery skin, and bushy with the birds, to be close to the sun and the
moustache. He never smiled. Funny how sky. To wrap her arms around a cloud. Then
grown-ups didn’t smile very much. She won- she remembered the sculpture that she saw
dered if he’d ever seen an orange and pink last night rising from atop the bridge.
sky or seen the clouds on fire with morning
sun. Probably not, otherwise he’d smile more. She turned around. No one was watching.
She wouldn’t be in trouble if she tried just
Mommy wasn’t giving her any attention, one more time.
so she crept to the bedroom to watch the
sky change. It couldn’t possibly be as—what She balanced herself carefully on a
was Mommy’s word?—majestic as yes- broken bench near the edge of the balcony
terday. Sunrises couldn’t be that way two and raised her arms like the swooping wings
times in a row. of the sculpture. She stretched higher. And
higher. She was doing it! She was a bird in
But as the colors changed, that weird the sky.
feeling moved inside her again. A pull to be

About the Author

Cathy Carroll-Moriarty lives in Nebraska. She loves a good book and a glass of wine by the
fireplace or while enjoying an autumn sunset. Her short story “October” recently appeared
in Ariel Chart.

40

IN THE
NEGEV DESERT

by Arielle Prose

On the floor of a carpeted tent among Bed- around an artifact—a square stone with a
ouin Arabs, I was sitting on cushions, ner- perfect round hole in the center.
vous to be the only woman present among
admiring men including the tribal sheik, Wanting to strike up a conversation, I
whom I couldn’t help but admire in return, said to him, “Mi scusi, ma lei parla Italiano?”
his Dr. Zhivago-like looks mesmerizing me.
I wondered if something terrible was go- He gave a hint of a smile and answered,
ing to happen to me. I should have listened “Si, un poco.”
to those who advised me against this trip.
God, if I ever come out of this alive, I prom- It was the summer of 1972 and it was not
ise never to do something like this again. uncommon for young people, mostly college
students, to backpack all over the world. I
But I couldn’t resist the invitation ex- already had some traveling experience both
tended to me from Yousef, the sheik’s son, on my own and in a group, and was not en-
who appeared one day at the archaeolog- tirely naive to the risks one can take when
ical site where I volunteered as part of my dealing with strangers. I had landed in Tel
studies in anthropology. He arrived by mo- Aviv, staying at a hotel the first two nights,
torcycle, dressed in western clothes. This then at the campus dorm of the University
was very unusual and everyone noticed of Israel in Jerusalem, where I deemed the
him right away. I soon learned he was vis- young Israeli women utterly sophisticated in
iting home, on a break from the University their free and easy manner, a manner that
of Genoa, where he was pursuing a medical I wanted to imitate. From there I shared a
degree, and that he spoke Italian, my na- cab with three others to go to Arad, where
tive tongue. He stood above me on a sand the University had a dig on the outskirts
dune, wearing a madras shirt and jeans, of the town, in the Negev desert near the
slight of build and in a casual stance but Dead Sea. Bethlehem is in between, and
serious looking, observing what was going Ein Gedi is nearby, a beautiful and popular
on, while I worked in my quadrant, tapping oasis, especially among young people. Arad
is a modern town, mostly settled by Zionists

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

from all over the world when after the war the Sinai Peninsula and the Golan Heights
Israel was declared a state in 1949. ceded to it. And Bedouins were no longer
allowed to roam freely, and were restricted
At the site there were—besides the Is- to live on certain areas of the land. Yet,
raeli university professors and students even though the country seethed with re-
working at the dig—a few American and sentments, I was still shocked to see armed
European volunteers, and perhaps two soldiers commonly about.
dozen or so Bedouins who did most of the
heavy digging for payment. Communication I thought it was proper of me to let the
between the Arabs and Israelis was in He- head of the excavation team know about
brew, which I didn’t speak, so when Yousef Yousef’s invitation (technically the Univer-
showed up, it was a pleasure to be able to sity had no legal authority over me since
talk to him. We got acquainted in the en- I was a volunteer), so I first approached
suing days and I became very interested in Dr. Levi—or Ruth, as everybody called
learning more about him and how his people her—a middle-aged, matronly woman. As
lived. I told him I planned to do my master’s expected, she was wary and advised me
thesis in cultural anthropology rather than against going on the trip.
archaeology. I said in Italian, “The present is
more appealing to me than the past.” That’s “Don’t you know that kidnappings are
when he invited me to see his village. I saw not unheard of,” she said, “to say nothing
it as an opportunity, maybe something I of what worse things could happen: rape,
could use in my dissertation when the time sexual bondage or even death.”
came. Any fear of harm coming to me was
immediately displaced by my trust in Yousef I next talked to her assistant, a young
that none would. After all, the people at the woman who I thought would be more lib-
University knew who he was, so he and his eral, since she was carrying on an open af-
people would be liable and I was sure they fair with another female staff member.
wouldn’t want that and risk their source of
employment. We decided we could go to his “What, are you crazy!” she exclaimed. “I
village one day after finishing work at the wouldn’t trust an Arab if my life depended
dig and be back in Arad before supper. on it!”

The evening when Yousef invited me, my I thought of the risk I took when I was
hosts were busy as usual sorting the day’s in Jerusalem. I had let a Palestinian shop-
findings—shards from around 2000 B.C. owner whom I met in a bazaar give me a
from a Bronze Age Canaanite settlement. tour of the city in exchange for answering
And just as usual, the topic of conversation questions about America. Nothing un-
among them was the age-old dispute of toward happened as we followed the Sta-
who were the first to settle Israel, that is, tions of the Cross, and saw the Arab quarter
Palestine, in ancient times, a topic doomed from the top of Mt. Calgary, but when I had
to irresolution. I knew that the Six-Day War to catch the last bus to go back to my hotel,
of 1967 between Israel and many of the he insisted on coming along and absurdly
surrounding Arab nations left simmering asked me to marry him and take him to
tensions, because Israel had emerged victo- America! Even as I pointed out to him how
rious with territory in Gaza, the West Bank, ridiculous he sounded, he was still adamant
about it. Hadn’t I learned anything from
that lesson? Was I still so naive?

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It was entirely my decision, so I talked Mary on a donkey with Joseph by her side
to some of the other people I had become going to Bethlehem all those years ago. The
acquainted with. There was Jeff, a thir- sky was brilliantly blue, the hot sun almost
ty-something American surveyor who had overhead, the air still and the only sound
been on the dig a number of years already, was Yousef’s whistling. It was peaceful, yet
and who, judging from his interactions with exciting at the same time. I couldn’t believe
the Bedouin, I felt knew them more than I was doing this and felt thrilled to be under-
the Israelis did. Kathy, a student volunteer taking this adventure.
from Cincinnati who was younger than me
and whose opinion probably didn’t count When we arrived at the village—a com-
for much since she was already seen as pound, really, of corrugated tin shacks and
being a little on the wild side. And Harry, one large tent in the middle of it—children
a freelance writer in his twenties, a hippie, and women greeted us, but I was imme-
who played the guitar and taught me Bob diately led to the tent, which was made
Dylan’s song, “Ride Me High.” Jeff said I was of goat hides from what I could tell. I sup-
taking a chance, Kathy said it depends if you posed that since it was already noon, it was
trust him, and Harry said go for it. So I went better to be indoors and that I’d probably
with my gut instincts and decided to accept get to talk to the villagers later. Yousef told
Yousef’s invitation. me to take off my shoes before stepping in.
It was cool inside. The floor was carpeted
The routine on the dig was to be up at in an intricate design and vividly colored
four in the morning in order to beat the cushions were strewn about. White gauze
heat, eat a breakfast of tea and cold cereal, hung over the one window, letting in light.
then ride on the back of an open truck for I saw two men dressed in the usual Arab
half an hour to be on the dig by daybreak. garb, one with a white turban and robe,
Lunch was at eight-thirty and consisted of the other with a black turban and robe, sit-
bread, hard boiled eggs, and yogurt. We ting crossed-legged on cushions. I was in-
would work for another couple of hours and troduced to Yousef’s father, the sheik of the
be back in Arad by eleven, to have the rest village—the one in white. The one dressed
of the day free, a time most of us spent at in black was Yousef’s grandfather, a much
the town’s enormous outdoor pool. On the older man. They didn’t bother to get up,
day of the planned visit, Yousef met me after and we merely nodded at each other.
work with his Ducati. Everybody wished us a
safe trip, though I saw on my hosts’ somber “Make yourself comfortable,” Yousef
faces their misgivings. So there we were, said. I sat gingerly on a cushion, very straight
me wearing his helmet and Yousef my straw and tall. We were joined by other men and
hat, riding through the desert on a paved boys who kept coming in and out, curious to
road, until halfway there we stopped where see what was going on. Yousef interpreted
the road to his village veered off the main for me and I began to tell them a little about
road, right by a gas station, where Yousef myself and ask questions.
parked his motorcycle. Yousef had arranged
with one of the villagers to meet us there “Why are no women coming into the
with—lo, and behold—two donkeys! We tent?” I asked, starting to get a little nervous.
hobbled along on the rocky path and I
couldn’t help but picture a very pregnant “Oh, women aren’t allowed,” Yousef an-
swered. “But because you’re a foreigner, it’s

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

okay, you don’t have to follow our customs. like to look around and talk to some of the
The sheik’s tent is a sort of living room for women.” He hesitated an instant, and said,
men.” “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

Because Yousef, who was sitting next Outside, the sun was brutal, the reason
to me, and the other men were lounging why there was hardly anybody about. We
on their cushions, I thought this was ex- began to walk toward one of the shacks
pected of me also, but I was still uneasy to when two women came out, one of them
do so, feeling that this would invite them with huge tied-up sacks of what looked to
to be bolder with me. However, with the be like laundry, which they placed on their
arrival of food—brought in by some young heads. They appeared to be young though
boys—the angst of deciding to sprawl out only their eyes were showing, and they
or not was replaced with a new one when were dressed from head to toe in aqua and
I saw that we had to eat out of a common purple robes trimmed with passementerie.
bowl. It was some kind of stew with pota- I wondered if the reason they were dressed
toes and carrots and what I was told was so beautifully was for my benefit since they
goat meat, to be eaten with flatbread. Of were only doing laundry. Yousef greeted
course, I didn’t want to appear ungracious, them and introduced me. Through his in-
so I dipped my bread in the stew and ate. terpreting, I commented on their clothes.
It wasn’t unpleasant but what I remember They seemed pleased about that, giggling
as being particularly delicious was the tea. all the while, and were curious about the
It had an aromatic scent of oranges, cin- flower design on my jeans, which I had em-
namon, cloves, maybe hyssop, and tasted broidered myself.
sweet and spicy. I have never since had a tea
so delicious, though I’ve searched high and While we were talking, a Jeep with an
low for it and tried to replicate it. empty horse trailer pulled up. Out stepped
a man of ruddy complexion, with salt and
By now, with food in my stomach, I was a pepper hair under an outback hat, wearing
bit more relaxed. I thanked my hosts for the khaki jodhpurs and jacket. He was an En-
meal and leaned into the comfortable pil- glishman, there on business to buy a race-
lows by way of showing my appreciation. I horse. The sheik came out and we all went
was beginning to enjoy myself and couldn’t to a corral that held two beautiful stallions,
take my eyes off the handsome sheik and a gray one and a black one. The sheik got
wondered how many wives he had, though on the gray one and trotted around the
I didn’t ask, remembering the Palestinian in corral while the Englishman appraised them
Jerusalem and thinking that this might be and I took pictures. When the Englishman
a provocative question. Yousef’s grandfa- concluded his trade and loaded the horse
ther pulled out a hookah pipe he had near into the trailer, he offered to take me back
him and began to light it. What was in that to Arad. It would be convenient for every-
pipe? Hashish? I must have looked alarmed body and save Yousef a trip. Besides, I re-
because Yousef said, “Don’t worry, it’s to- ally didn’t want to ride the donkey again,
bacco mixed with dried fruit.” so with Yousef’s assurance, I accepted,
thanked him and his father for their hospi-
At that point it hit me. I had no busi- tality and promised to write and send them
ness being among them, smoking among the pictures I took.
men. I said, “Yousef, if you don’t mind, I’d

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Revista Literária Adelaide

On the ride back, the Englishman—his “Well, you’re lucky I’m a bloody proper
name was Harold—commented on my brazen- gentleman. But you shouldn’t take chances
ness. “I must say, an attractive young woman like that, young lady. You know what they
like yourself is a rarity to see out among Arabs. say, ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’”
Aren’t you concerned for your safety?”
“Yes, but ‘satisfaction brought it back,’”
“Oh, you’re saying I shouldn’t trust an I quickly replied. “And I suppose you’re
Arab?” my bloody white knight rescuing me from
bloody misfortune.” We both laughed.
“Or an Englishman, for that matter,” he
chuckled. “Why are you traveling by yourself?” I look back on that experience after all
these years, thankful that divine providence
“I didn’t want to impose on Yousef’s saved me. Yet, I haven’t always kept my
hospitality by bringing another person, and promise to be safe rather than sorry. Safety
anyway, there wasn’t anybody interested concerns go out the window whenever the
in going with me. Besides, I trust him—and call to adventure or discovery presents it-
you,” I remembered to add. “As an anthro- self, and I invariably take that leap of faith.
pology student, I was really curious to learn
about the Bedouin culture.”

About the Author

Arielle Prose is a member of a writer’s group called the
Penheads. They self-published on amazom.com three
anthologies so far: Hunger: Stories of Desire, Discovery
and Dissatisfaction; Smoke: Tales Between Light and Dark;
Elements: Tales from the Substratum. After working in the
publishing field for many years she is now retired.

45

HUNTER

by Jade Gabriel

My once golden jalopy sputtered into si- “Yes, now,” said the ghoul. Its body spilled
lence as I pulled into the parking spot. I out of my pores in shadows that draped them-
glanced briefly at my phone while I wiped selves across its’ rapidly forming skeleton.
away my morning tears. I was ahead of
schedule. For once. I wanted to scream as the ghoul’s barbed
palms dug into my shoulder. It breathed its
I slid the cracked mirror open on my dan- strong, echoing voice into my ear.
gling sun visor, and worried over my dark,
puffy under-eyes. I ran my fingers through my “Hello, Cassidy, my how I’ve missed your
raven tangles as I got out of the car. The wind body,” he chuckled. The rasp of it driving my
strangled my sweater against my body in the shoulders into my ears. Please, I just want
space between my car and the coffee shop coffee. The ghoul allowed me to steer my
door. I reached to open it and caught my re- body into line to order. Might as well take
flection glaring back at me with hollowed eyes your time, there’s no way you’ll make it now,
that blinked out of synch with mine. I gazed at loser.
the emerging sharp-toothed, ghoulish smile
until someone tapped my shoulder. “I’m Hunter, by the way,” said the man
from the doorway. He leaned over my
I knew it was a man by the way he shoulder like a nosey toddler. I followed
smelled of cologne and the invasion of per- the line forward without realizing. The
sonal space. He gently pulled me backwards ghoul’s breath chilled one shoulder, Hunt-
so he could open the door. I passed under er’s intruding face loomed over the other. I
his arm to get inside. The smell of roasting wanted to kill them both.
coffee threw its warmth into my nostrils. I
forgot to say thank you. “Please, leave me alone.” I said to both
man and ghoul without looking at them. My
“You’re welcome,” he said, chirping like heart rhythm frantic in my stomach.
a house finch. He stepped in front of me
and tipped an imaginary hat that would “Pardon?” The young faced barista
have gone perfectly with his unbuttoned, blinked up at me. I shook my head, trying
almond colored overcoat, navy-blue shirt to ignore the rough caress of the ghoul
and obnoxious orange tie. as it wrapped its skeletal arms around my
middle, and squeezed.
“I,” my word hedged as long twig-like fin-
gers wrapped around my throat. Not now, I “I’ve got it, she’s a spacey one,” Hunter
need to get to work! laughed, handing a debit card over my head

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Revista Literária Adelaide

to the barista. I looked down at the crum- skin shifting over its’ skeletal body, ex-
bled bills in my hand. When did I take this posing glaring, white bone with each wave
out of my pocket? of movement. Its sharp-toothed mouth
opened over my face. Mine. The ghoul’s
The ghoul squeezed me again, cackling voice echoed in my head; its body twisted
as I fought the wave of nausea. Hunter as if in pain when Hunter reached through
nudged me gently out of line. He smiled at its open mouth to pull me up by the elbows.
me when I looked up blurry-eyed. My hand He brushed coffee off my sweater. I could
was still opened with the crumpled bills see his mouth moving but his words didn’t
wobbling on my palm. He closed my fingers reach me as I turned away and ran.
around them.
Cursing, I yanked my car door open and
“How are you today?’ He questioned. He hurried into the seat. I could feel the ghoul
lifted his hand as if he wanted to touch me writhing around me, angrily forcing its way
again, but he stopped midair and shoved his under my skin.
hands into his overcoat pockets instead.
“All I wanted was flavored caffeine and
“None of your business!” I said. Hunter to be on time!” I screamed in pain and panic
flinched at the bite in my voice. The ghoul as my morning tears sprinted back down my
had clamped both its hands around my face. I picked up my cell phone, prepared
throat. The imagined loss of air coupled to once again call out of work, possibly for
with the pain from fighting the feeling, the last time. The ping of several missed
made me irritable. reminders flashed on the screen. Take
your meds. I sighed. How many days had I
“It was just a general question,” Hunter missed? Is this why its back? I huffed against
said, still smiling as if we were old friends. the ghoul’s total invasion. I wanted to slam
my face into the steering wheel until my
“Iced Caramel Macchiato for Cassidy!” bone structure turned to fragments.
The barista’s pep talk voice flung itself at
me. Her tone danced as she whispered, “Do it!” the ghoul’s voice thrummed
“enjoy honey,” my cheeks warmed as she beneath my skin, forcing every nerve to re-
glanced between Hunter and me. spond. Every thread of muscle aided in the
motion. A warm, rough hand met my fore-
I was frantic to get away from him head where it should have hit the steering
and the thought that someone so aggres- wheel. I burst into tears.
sively handsome would be interested in
anything other than humiliating me. The “I can’t let you do that,” Hunter crooned
ghoul’s chortle confused my movements. I “you should at least have your coffee first.”
tripped over my own feet and sent myself
sprawling backwards. A river of cold mac- I lifted my head to look at him, he was
chiato splashed down on me. Droplets of squatting and gazing up at me, a smile on
the drink’s promised sweetness landed on his lips as he shook an iced caramel mac-
my lips and I was glad for my icy drink pref- chiato at me. I started to reach for it.
erence despite the season. I wouldn’t have
to scar myself with scalding wake-up juice. “It’s a trap,” the ghoul hissed, twisting
my insides so that I double over. Hunter
I struggled to sit up as the ghoul planted caught my retreating arm.
itself firmly on top of me. Its obsidian

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Only for you,” he whispered, his voice I don’t remember getting up, but I re-
turning hard. My arm burned where his fin- member Hunter’s arms wrapped around
gers touched my skin. I could hear the ghoul me. Shushing me as he rocked us and
screeching inside of me. Its body writhing rubbed my back. I clung to him with my re-
inside of mine. All the pain and anger it felt maining strength.
rushed into me as I tried to pull away from
him. “Don’t forget to take you meds okay?”
He gently chided. I struggled to thank him.
“Hang in there,” he said, “almost done.”
“Who even are you?” I questioned; my
“Cassidy, you need me,’ the ghoul whim- voice was mumbled against his chest.
pered. Its final plea as its skeletal body
melted though my skin, faded into shadowy “Oh,” he laughed “, I’m just your average
smoke that turned into cold breath as it rose everyday hunter.”
away from me.

About the Author

Jade Gabriel has been writing most of her life. She is not
currently published and continues to hone her craft while
working on her first novel.

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