Baby Boomer, Writer, Connoisseur of all things Classic: Movies, Television, Music, Vinyl, Cars, also a lover of technology.
I write stories that bend genres and cross the boundries of time and space.
Flea Market Finds
Flea Market Find Frank Sinatra sang about it in “Strangers in the Night.” Popular songs and literature covered the theme through the decades—the chance of meeting a stranger who changes your life. Hopefully, it’s for the good, but sometimes, things go wrong. Sometimes you know it’s the right thing, but most of the time not.
I hadn’t been back to the lighthouse since its construction. In the spring of seventeen-eighty, I was among the first to sail from the local port to the new worlds. My schooner was fast and light, and I made the trip in record time. I didn’t tell them I had advanced weather maps that helped me catch the jet streams and sail much faster. That would have made them wary of me and none too popular either. In some circles, people treated my name, Captain Jacob Jarvis, with disdain. Now two hundred and fifty years later, I was back in Florida at the Lighthouse I had helped build.
Tea For The Chosen Two
I hated to touch the little cup and saucer. The fear of breaking it was always in the back of my mind, but my morning wasn’t complete without a cup of tea from the little cup. The little figure on the cup that watched me seep my tea and gently pour it into its cup every morning seemed to be beckoning me somehow.
A Sunday Short Story
As I stopped in front of the house I grew up in, I wondered what had changed besides myself. I noticed right away that some things hadn’t changed. The big brick mailbox pillar that sat too close to the driveway still bore the chips when I had almost plowed into it one late night after too much partying. I knew it still held my secret because if found, it would have been on the news for a week.
Lance Cardiff tossed a picture onto the table in front of me. It was of me skating. He then added several more photos of me, one of a woman skating by herself, followed by a dozen more of us skating together or sitting at a park bench adjusting our skates.
Spy VS Spy
A frigid wind blew through the street as I sat watching the line of old sheds along Canal Street. One of them was a dead drop. I waited patiently, sitting in a car as old as the sheds, trying to blend in, in the rough part of town. I watched a man drop a soda can carefully into the bushes in front of the shed with the blue door—a standard drop method. When a blue Mercedes pulled up, I was happy my patience had paid off.
All that Jason saw were the trees and the narrow road that ran between them. The gnarly trees covered the road so thoroughly that the sky wasn’t visible beyond them. Fog covered everything, making the trees even darker. A cool breeze made him shiver, adding to his sense of dread.
The Bridge Of Time
The cold wind that blew across the bridge made me feel as ancient as the structure I was standing on. Leaning against the stone rail, I closed my eyes, imagining the clunk of horse hooves striking the stone, the rattle of chains, and the shouting over the clatter made by wheels of the chariots as they came across the bridge. I opened my eyes, but there was nothing to see but the distant horizon. I looked down at the roadbed at the grooves from hundreds of wooden wheels covering the same ground day after day for centuries.
The key for the door to vault eighteen had been missing for centuries. It was the last of the old vault rooms in the castle anyone had explored. The solid wood planks and steel reinforcements had made forcing the door impossible, and no one tried despite the legend that there was a fortune in treasure behind the door. A whispered legend of crown jewels his family had kept safe for the monarchy.
The old radio brought back memories. Deep in the recess of his mind, he remembered hearing the old music blaring from the speaker of his grandfather’s radio. Today music played on gadgets that did things that would shock his grandfather. Sometimes, it shocked him.
The Way Home
The sound of seagulls and water lapping against the edges of the sand brought him back to reality. Shifting around in the low beach chair, he found muscles he had forgotten about had fallen asleep. His bones cracked and popped as he extracted himself from the rickety beach chair.