Home Is Where The Heart Is

http://www.dailywriting.net/Farmhouse.htm
Completed on April 16, 2006



Back along on Deception Road is a little farmhouse that no one lives in.

After the house was built and then put up for sale the orchard out back died, the little vegetable garden died and all of the pumpkins and squashes and tomatoes rotted right on their vines.

Even the flowers in the window boxes shriveled up and turned to dust within a day or so after they were set out and all the little farmhouse could do was slam its doors open and shut and make the clock in its kitchen strike twelve over and over again.

The man who built the farmhouse, Travis Janosik, use to stand out at the road and wonder what the hell was going on in there, why was it that nothing could live near that place without giving up the ghost.

There was nothing about Travis that would make you say, ‘you know that killer house? The one on Deception Road? It was built by Travis Janosik” and the person you would be talking to wouldn’t reply, “ Well of course it was a strange house. Look who built it.”

No, the house turned bad all by itself and this bothered no one more then Travis. What bothered him more than that though happened when the house was two years old.

That’s when someone actually bought it and moved in.



The ‘someones’ who bought the farmhouse were the Korbar Family.

Travis use to drive out to Deception Road and park across the way from the Farmhouse and watch it. He’d see Darius Korbar working the vegetable garden or see him sitting on the porch with one of the many children he and Mrs. Korbar had and they acted like any other family living in those hills.

Unless of course you really watched them the way Darius did.

At first he had no interest in the Korbar family. His interest was in that house and what it was up to now. It didn’t have to settle for killing plants and the odd field animal that got to close to its walls. Now it had the Korbar children who scuttled around the property in their ill-fitting clothes.

At least that’s how it looked but then Travis realized it wasn’t the clothes that didn’t fit right, it was the bodies inside the clothes that weren’t right.

The children’s heads were to large for their small bodies and their hands and feet didn’t seem to be the same size and when they talked Travis felt the hair rising up on his arms and the back of his neck and that’s when he’d cut his daily vigil off.

Once Travis saw Mrs. Korbar come down the front steps with a tall glass in her hand and make her way to the garden to where Mr Korbar was working. She handed him the glass and he kissed her cheek and then she made her way back up the steps and Travis watched her but didn’t notice that as she climbed the steps her head was tilted slightly backwards and her back was straight as a pole and she never bent her knees.

It was like she was gliding up the steps and not walking up them at all.




Towards the end of the summer the gardens were dead and rotten and Mr Korbar was out there working it like it as if it were alive and thriving. The ground was water logged and moldy with green slime. The vegtables were rotting and decayed and you could actually smell it when the wind shifted.

On top of the fact that Travis was watching a man harvest from a garden full of rotten vegetables he was also sure that some of that smell was coming from Mr Korbar too.



Travis promised himself after that visit he wouldn’t go near the Farmhouse on Deception Road. Something was wrong with it, something was wrong with the people living inside of it and Travis was certain if he didn’t stop going over there something would be wrong with him too.

Of course, it was too late because that something had already happened to Travis and he found himself standing at the end of the drive leading right up to the Farmhouse the next day.

He was standing at the end of the driveway this time, in plain view and pretty soon Mrs. Korbar came down the steps and met him down there with a basket of rotting carrots and maggot filled tomatoes.

“ We never got the chance to thank you for building this wonderful house Mr Janosik. Its perfect and we love it so.”

Travis was looking into the basket of dead and decaying vegetables and he said, “ How could you love it so? Nothing can live inside of that thing…”

And Mrs. Korbar said, “ Well, Mr Janosik nothing does…”

What The Dead Man Heard

http://www.dailywriting.net/Attic%20Diary/InnerEar.htm
For some reason this excercise was hard for me to do. Guess it hit a little to close to home...
Completed on April 16,2006



The Dead Man was wrapped in plastic and resting on the lower shelf of a C.U in a Funeral Home exactly four miles from where he once lived and exactly a half a block from where he died.

" So this is the guy that bought it outside the cemetery, I mean, is that a smack down or what?" the Dead Man heard. " Like, to DIE right outside a Funeral Home." The plastic was pulled back from his face and the Mortician, a young woman with vines and flowers tattooed around her neck, hidden while she worked with a high neck collars shook her head. " Dude, normally I don't pass judgment on the dead or how you got that way.... but that has got to be a major burn."

Her name was Alissa and she liked to listen to music as she worked. Loud music, especially at night when she had to work alone. The caretaker who had seen her drive up and knew he was about to be treated to hours of something called The Ramones asked her why she had to have the stereo up so loud and she said, " You know, we really shouldn't be here at night. You ever get that feeling?"

The Caretaker nodded because he understood it all right; he didn't like having a night shift around. He wished that the Morticians quit slacking off or doing whatever it was during the day that managed to put them behind schedule.

What he really hated though was that they called these night shifts " Embalming Parties" and when more then three of them worked the Night Shift they ordered Pizza from 4 different places and took bets on which delivery would actually show up.

Morbid little psychos.

" So, anyway, wouldn't want to over hear something I shouldn't."

The Caretaker agreed, "No you wouldn't" and he smiled and Alissa thought that The Caretaker (Tony) was one of the rare human beings who were lucky enought to be exactly where he should be in this life.



Alissa spent hours rebuilding the Dead Man’s face. At least only one side was damaged and she could use the other side as a guide. When she was finished she pulled the skin back up and over and looked at him for a very long time.

Then she started over.



Alissa was cleaning the Dead Man up when she heard someone walking up behind her, felt someone look over her shoulder and they were close enough that Alissa could feel their chest press against her shoulder.

“ You do wonderful work” the voice that was neither male nor female said but one thing she was sure of it was cold.

Alissa shook her head and wouldn’t allow herself to turn around because if she did that she’d end up running and leaving the Dead Man alone with that cold voice and she couldn’t.

Until they put him into the casket he was her responsibility.

Hers.

Then she heard rustling behind her, and she knew that whatever was back there had just sat down on the little green chair they kept in the room and they had slid it forwards towards the embalming table.

“I do enjoy watching you all work. After all with the flick of a scalpel and the plunge of a needle you try, and the word is try to not only hide my art, but also deny I even exist. Young lady, we’re speaking artist to artist here. How would you like it if I reached out and did the same…”

Alissa turned her head away and she felt a hand push at her waist to move her aside and she knew it was reaching towards the Dead Man, to the stitches on the right side of his neck. She pushed back and ignored the voice.

She even managed to smile.

The she placed her hand on the Dead Man’s shoulder and she told him, “ Here we go Sir.”

Alissa gently slid The Dead Man off the embalming table and onto the cot and she was about to wheel him out of the Embalming room when she saw the radio through the doorway next to the lockers in the Prep room. It was sitting on an orange plastic chair, like always only this time the cord was neatly coiled and resting on top of the stereo.

She had forgot to plug it in.

Treasures from The Land of Standing Stones

THIS IS A WRITING EXCERCISE FROM THE SOUL FOOD CAFE
WE WERE SUPPOSE TO CREATE A MEDICINE BAG AND SURRENDER BOX
AND THEN WRITE ABOUT THE EXPERIENCE.

I HAD WAY TOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS ONE
AMM
APRIL,11,2006

I've made a few things since coming to the land of Standing Stones...want to see?


I've made a Medicine Bag-

His name is Calabar Felonway and I made him with my own two hands, right here in the Land of Standing Stones. See that hill behind us with the weird tree growing at it's base?

What do the travelers call it?

Oh yes, the Screaming Tree.

That's were I met, made (whatever) Calabar Felonway.
One of these days I'll get around to Calabar's story and what I've hidden in him. But that's for another time. Right now it's between me and Calabar.

This is my Surrender Box-


His name is Lesser Thornapple.

Lesser sits on my work desk and during Christmas people decorate him with tinsel and during Halloween they drop candy into him and the rest of the time people poke at his empty eye sockets with their pencils and pens and I'm glad his jaw is missing or there would be a few less pen and pencils and fingers in the world.

I tell Lesser all my secrets... like where my stories really come from and I tell him about my nightmares and about the things that really scare me...that's probably why Lesser Thornapple isn't normal anymore. I know I haven't been the same since I started to talk to Lesser...yes, I've changed a lot.

So those are the treasures I've made since I came to the Land of Standing Stones. And I thought I wasn't the artistic type!

Anita Marie