Got to hear it to believe it. Left me shivering
Tiny Tales is a weekly podcast of short stories spanning horror, fantasy, comedy, and everything in between. Written and narrated by R. E. Rule. Music and production by Frank Nawrot (www.franknawrot.com).
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~ R. E. Rule
‘Twiddling your thumbs’ has a new name. It is called ‘texting’.
Have you ever felt ‘it’?
Like the ancient curses of the pharaohs, the multitude of explanations for the hysteria and hallucinations of those who have spent extended time in old houses far outweighs the possibility of the paranormal. Drafts and cold spots from wind finding its way through rotting walls, illness caused by mold or gases caught in rusty pipes, strange noises triggered by the introduction of a foreign body into a delicately balanced ecosystem, or simply the habitation of a stray cat or nesting pigeon: I had yet to find a symptom without a cause. Still, each new investigation began with the hope that this time I would find the exception to the rule. As I gazed up at the house, perched on its tree-covered hill like a vulture eyeing its prey, the familiar tingle of possibility crept up my spine.
A century of abandonment had clawed the flesh from it until only bare…
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I was new.
He made me sit close. I avoided him.
Next party, he cracked an indecent joke at my expense. I stayed quiet.
He became my boss. I wouldn’t laugh at his jokes in meetings. He killed my appraisal several times.
An year later, a girl reported the same plight. He was kicked out.
I wish that girl was me.
Speak up!
This is worth a read!
The following was transcribed from an audio file discovered by the Tucumcari Highway Patrol on June 23rd, 2006.
Unknown Speaker, female (US):
It’s a long drive back, so I thought I’d get this down while it’s still fresh in my mind. Honestly, it was a huge waste of time. What is it with whackos and trailer parks?
[sighs]
Alright, I’ll try to keep this official for the archives. The date is, uh, June 16th, 2003. We received a call three days ago on the hotline about some unusual activity in New Mexico. The caller wouldn’t go into specifics, one of those “won’t talk on the phone, you never know who might be listening” types. So, I drove down from Chicago.
Turns out the town was a dustbowl: trailer park, convenience store with a fifty-year-old gas pump, and one stop sign which was apparently optional.
I met…
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Of course, I’m in a high-stress job, Doctor!
.
..
…
…..
…..
I’m a mother.
“Samantha, your Dad and I need to speak to you about the company you are keeping.”
“What are you talking about? Dan and I are just friends!”
“I know, Dan is a friend. I’m talking about Liz.”
“Liz is fine. I know she is a little short-temprered…”
“That’s exactly the point! She is short tempered and tomboyish. She plays football–Men play football. Women are cheerleaders. And the way she looks at girls…something is not quite right about her.”
“She can look at whoever she wants the ways she wants. And she can play football if she wants too. Our country has a women’s football team, for God’s sake!”
“All I’m saying is that you are not safe around her. I think she’s gay!”
“I don’t know what she is but she is my best friend and she won’t hurt a fly.”
(A few minutes later)
“Is that Liz you are texting? I forbid you.”
“No, I’m Googling ‘how to ensure your parents are just insane and not sexist’.”
Rising on my toes,
I yearned to touch the moon
and kept falling back
in the ocean all night.
But I managed to make waves,
didn’t I?
Free image by Navi Photography on Unsplash
Today, I woke up to a beautiful sunny day and decided to spend a bit of time lying down in the sun. As a result, I got to see a lot of flying bird underbellies. The Indian crows look Majestic from below, considering their underbelly is all black as compared to their grey upper body. The green pigeon’s green is even more evident from below. A pied myna’s all-white belly takes away all the resemblance from its family.
It also reminded me of perspectives and how things change from the way we look at them. The same person is different in different settings–a corporate stiff-board, a vicious manager, a caring colleague, cheerful friend, a loving parent, a happy neighbour, a demanding spouse, a playful sibling and a loyal child…the same person, looked at from different angles. How many lives do we live in a day?
Does that make us Chameleons?
What do you think?
What is the light you wish to be seen in?
We are experiencing the weirdest February weather ever. Usually February are sunny and warm enough to chuck the sweater and go around in plain clothes.
But this year, we have the kind of fog that puts early January to shame. In the morning till 11 am, I can’t see the trees across the road. I wash clothes shivering in my double layer of sweaters praying for the sun. Water drips from the wet clothes in the process of hanging them on the roof. I, too, am wet. There is no hope for me getting dry here, so I walk down two floors, head hung in dejection.
Then the Sun shines and hides, shines and hides, and shines and hides. And then, once it is out at 1 pm, the roof is hot enough to turn egg into an omelette. I have to chuck all sweaters and run in the shade downstairs to avoid a heatstroke!
Not sure whether the weather is doing it on purpose. All I can say is, “Haha! Very funny!”
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