fiction

I Opened My Mouth And The Devil’s Voice Fell Out (There’s Somethin’ Goin’ Around)

December 25, 2025January 1, 2026by Stephen J Frankenberry3 Comments

Note/Warning: Overwriting fun

So on a recent Monday I got up with a reluctant sigh, a more reluctant sigh than the usual as I hadn’t slept all that well all weekend, more not “all that well” than said usual, whispered (grunted) my normals to Cricket and Bella and stood up (yay, I did it again, and still above ground too … bonus!!) and went about my morning business. Trudge upstairs with a towel, wave to my Sister’s gang, Arthur, Saphira and Rikki the Raspy, grab a shower and then trudge back downstairs though a bit more pleasant for the smells now for any possible downwind passerby.

Then …

finish drying
put underwear on while standing, something I am very proud these days that I am still able to accomplish without losing my balance and almost toppling over, though that doesn’t include the occasional getting your first foot stuck in them as that’s an any days, any age possibility and well, slapstick of new one legged dance moves can be funny (somebody call the Tik Tok, just speak Billionair-ese and add a Chinese accent – I’ve hit on a possible craze) sweatpants and sneakers next that I have already thrown on the bed to wait for me which are then applied in an appropriate manner that won’t garner any strange looks at the convenience store or phone calls to HR after I get to work.
rinsing cat bowls at the utility sink in the laundry room then (don’t judge … the paint stains are pretty old) and picking a food choice from atop my small fridge cache of cat food cans for the girls, eventually tapping one and then opening it under Bella’s nose to make sure it passes the appropriately stinky enough for cats cat approval test which is usually a once quick lip smacking Bella tongue which will never cease to make me smile, even on rough mornings, and then it’s cat noses down.
almost done, dressed, heavy hoodie on and then grab my phone for one of two things, neither of which, by the way, are to check for texts or emails or social media posts or anything of the sort that may have come from the outside world while I was sleeping poorly or maybe something I had missed (though, believe me, whatever it may be, if so, it definitely wasn’t “missed”).

There isn’t really any single thing that I care enough about, other than my Sis and the gang, that I will find it necessary to start my day by checking to see if it reached out or just to see what it was doing in its little corner of the world. Hell, it could even actually be something that I may need to be concerned with and needs to be addressed but no one needs THAT to start the day right? Waaaay too many possibilities. Let me at least get to the car so I can start cursing at people, you know, warm up a bit to the day before I need to begin “dealing” with shit, maybe even its (yours).

No, I grab my phone for two things. One, to re-turn on the strips of LED lights that outline this basement room of mine, something nephew Matt put up when he and Jake were younger and this basement was their game room. It’s pretty cool, to tell ya the truth, with so many color choices and brightness settings, that I wonder how I ever lived without them before, like I could have perpetually been the twelve or so year old Matt when he first strung them about.

Two, hit the little microphone and ask Google lady to tell me what the forecast is going to be for today, on this morning, but I was totally unprepared for the voice that would fall out of my face to ask the question. There almost seemed to be a hesitation to google ladies response and then an almost wary “the forecast today is calling for skin melting temps in the mid millions, and rivers of fire and rains of molten lava … Sir”

Whoa!!! What the fuck? I could almost swear I wasn’t possessed when I turned off Matt’s cool LED lights last night before I hit the rack as the voice I had, or didn’t have, didn’t even sound human.

Now, I have had some interesting voices over the years that usually come with being the result of vice or are an indicator of a soon to be sick that have sounded pretty rough, there have even been times where I actually was possessed and the voice could be a bit otherworldly and menacing but things were always worked out, trades were made, but nothing like this. No, this was unlike any other sound that had ever fallen out of my face and probably explains why the wary sounding Google lady gave me a forecast for Hell and even called me “Sir”. If for nothing else, I have a new AI acolyte (and one not regulated at the state level) but this was even worse than when Peter Frampton and other bands discovered the vocoder back in the 70’s.

Then the phone call came to tell me to expect a letter.

A cease and desist phone call telling me to expect a cease and desist letter, and a one trying to sound very legal-like but really just sounded like a guy named Vinny, warning me that if I continued to use the voice that I only now just discovered I possessed, was seemingly possessed by, that the legal ramifications would be harsh and that the somewhat equitable trades, like those in the past just wouldn’t be enough this time. No, there would be no swaps now. No future children would be accepted, no souls would be saved even at the expense of my own (though we did have a spirted, however brief, discussion as to this whole “soul” concept, though his hard cut definition definitely topped my more existential one).

Oh, and my kneecaps would probably find themselves to be of issue.

I just …

dyyyyyyyyooooooo555555555555555555555555555555555555tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttuuuuuuuuu7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777721qqe4444444444444444411111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111113777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777

(Cricket!! Not now kid!! Bad timing … talking to the Devil’s people at the moment!)

… deferred, apologized and promised that I had no real intention of impersonating the devil himself. It did though make me rather useless for the day in my job as a radio guy as using my voice is kind of a prerequisite for the job.

Eventually my actual voice started to return a few days later and I was able to get back to things, though with lesser voice in hand and record, though quite raspilly, a radio show that I do with a couple of dear friend co-hosts and have for years now, the early portion of which did revolve around my suspected possessed voice and possibly just attributing it to being part of the winter season and the sniffles and colds that can come, though a bit extreme.

“Frankenberry” said one co-host “The Devil falling out of your mouth, that voice?”

… and here it came

“It’s been goin’ around”

Oh, son of a bitch!

Seems no matter the situation, no matter the ailment, no matter the no matter …

“Hey, you sound a little rough”

“Yeah, a bit of a cold thing maybe”

“Its been goin’ around”

“Seems my allergies are acting up”

“Yeah, pollen, it’s Spring, it’s been goin’ around”

“Hey did you hear Bill lost his leg in a car accident?

“Yeah, lost limbs, it’s been goin’ around”

“It was a Big Bang and shit collided in just the right way and there was a primordial thing with bellies and tails onto a shore on a new planet in its new cosmos”

“Yeah, that’s been goin’ around”

“Been channeling the devil’s voice lately”

“Yeah, it’s been goin’ around”

… and then suddenly I had the measles and small pox and polio all of which were “goin’ around” and RFK Jr laughed creepily and raspy-like wile noting that we could be friends in voice and also just because I wanted to get a dig in at RFK Jr and, by extension, this whole dumb ass world we live in right now.

The dumb?

Yeah, it’s been goin’ around …

So?

Yeah, that’s all I got.

Good luck though, shit’s been goin’ around.

Some Tunes ‘n That (song links compiled in one, easy convenient post)

December 7, 2025December 13, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry2 Comments

Note: How to overwrite taking a day off.

Once a month comes once a month, it’s pretty regular as once a months go, as long as calendars don’t try to fuck with me and suddenly change cats out of time on my wall … (hey wait, when the hell did that meowing tabby suddenly turn into a yawning gray long hair?) but once a month means that I am takin’ Monday off. And when I do, take this once monthly, it can sometimes involve a new “tune” …

f4444444444444444444444444445vcvxcd5f54rzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzcddddddddd

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000k,lb;l;l;l;l;lpppppppppppppppppppppppppppp(L8kd

(sorry, that was Cricket in case you were curious, always reminding that she is a part of this process, blind keyboard stepping right through, though her singing voice definitely can leave a bit to be desired … but so with ya on the solitary 7 my friend … I know huh? Nope, don’t get me started)

… and when that is the case, a new tune, I will take my time that often then involves me working said tune, though it has been a little while for this as we live in dire times, free thought not really being all that much of a thing these days so you must be careful, but I will work it.

Well I did work a new thing this Friday and with that, that new tune I thought, as I have done before, to put a few things into one easy, convenient post as once I am in song mode I am just there.

So, with links to their posts, I boogie woogie here, I channel Bob Dylan, there’s a new one with a big top soundtrack, I lament the white supremacy that seems to, so sadly, be a thing these days, from the top on down, I Cheap trick some need to conform, I rail on tax cuts ala the Beatles, and the always GOP minority rule via Tears for Fears.

//////////////////////////////////////////

God Made Trump – God: “Yeah, That Was In Error” (boogie woogie song revision)

A breathless boogie woogie thing

“Boogie Party” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

//////////////////////////////////////////

Gonna Wanna Rule Somebody

(To Bob Dylan’s Gotta Serve Somebody)

//////////////////////////////////////////

Trump Circus Two

(to a little circus sounding bed with “circus” being most apropos these days)

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One White Leads To Another

(To The Fixx “One Thing Leads To Another”)

White supremacy, proud virtue of this administration

//////////////////////////////////////////

We Want You To Be We

(to Cheap Trick’s “I Want You To Want Me”)

To the GOP who feel they’re somehow being persecuted in their beliefs by not be allowed to dictate how everyone else lives

//////////////////////////////////////////

Baby, it’s a Tax Scam

(to the Beatles “Baby You’re A Rich Man”)

Yeah, this one is obvious

////////////////////////////////////////

Minority Rule

(to Tears For Fears “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”)

Popcorn anyone?

Trump Circus Two (song)

December 6, 2025December 20, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry3 Comments

I’ve written of this before (so feel free to heavy sigh and skip off now while you can) but one of the main tools for me in my job (I’m a production guy) is a production music site I use on an almost daily basis to find music beds for commercials that I will maybe voice or, if not, still produce.

But in my searching, though, for a tune that seems to work for whatever spot is at hand I will come across beds that I like, beds that I can even think that I might like to write some lyrics to and have a bit of fun with at another time, something I have done on occasion because Hey? Who don’t imagine themselves to possibly be a rock star right? I know, that’s silly but still, for me, it’s always been just another avenue for creating and also to do that bit of rock star wannabe “singing” (“singing” definitely in quotes here but, being a production guy, I can work a little magic on the me sing end).

But, if you know this me here in the Attic, you also know that I have done quite a lot of parody tunes over the last 8 or so years, “parody” in name only though as they ain’t silly, mostly those of a political type to try and get some genuinely angry angers and frustrations out and make needed points (and lord knows there are a lot of those and needs of such, especially now) as, years ago, I realized, no matter how well written or compelling a straight up opinion piece of mine might be no one was ever going to read it. Period. Not even me back to me.

But? If I put it to a tune? Well …

So then to this and the updates …

A couple of years ago I came across this music bed that had a real carnival, circus kind of feel to it and well, Carnival? Circus? Yeah, that feel worked pretty well for anything GOP then or now (always does) and James Comer specifically and his fruitless investigations into the Biden Crime Family Syndicate, and his needed distraction from true crime family syndicates.

I then revisited it earlier this year as, with this administration, Circus never really goes out of style.

And then to a now, another revisit …

Trump Circus Two

The Trump Circus big tops cabinet meetings now

While its members try one up each other how

They are bestest at these lapdog bestest tests

A circle’s turn jerk him from rest

Don nods approval or he simply just nods

Drifting to dreams of nobels or birthday cards

Wondering any King ever worked so damn hard

To nod all humble while he’s viewed as a god

Such blessed … circumstance

And he always

Keeps all on point

Of just how great he is

Reminds all around

For the camera’s now

Best ever in Prez Biz

This dog and pony show it never gets old

Spin propaganda to keep all in the fold

The only real truths are the lies fascists weave

Fake news real truth they call deceit

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

The Trump Circus keeps going round and round and round

Where lipsticked sentiments are found

They have though now dropped true governing ball

As we wait some golden age apparently one on hold

But it’s happenin’ right now is what we’re all being told

Don’t believe your eyes or pockets

You’re all better than days of old

The Trump Circus big tops everywhere and Hell now

As fishing boats keep blowing up, some twice now

But hurricanes have stopped at at his seeming hand

Protecting all the others at sea and at land

Let Them Eat Grapes (post)

November 29, 2025November 30, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry3 Comments

Decided tonight to not do any writing after bad attempts at forcing something (yes, fully aware of the now current irony here) and, instead, try to just keep to a normal, human, regular ol’ me schedule on a Friday for once and just pretend that it’s like any other night during the week and NOT a finally reached weekend to stay up to all hours like I’m reliving some little kid fantasy of being allowed to not have to go to bed all normal and such with no adult supervision or guardrails and eating nothing but candy, even though I AM an adult (at least as I’ve been told on occasion and that a birth certificate will attest) and could and should admonish myself and hold the guardrails up on my own but too often don’t (there was actually and admittedly a little candy involved … but hey, it was dark chocolate which is better right?).

Last weekend kind of put this in some stark perspective when I realized on Sunday morning, around 9a, that I hadn’t been to bed yet, since Friday when I got up for the day, though I’m sure I nodded off at some point in my somewhat recently bought sleek and cool, tall backed computer chair holding the napping torch for old men everywhere who fall asleep in chairs but, as said old man, I just can’t do that shit any longer. Well, I can, but just not terribly well and when Beck, earlier tonight, as we did of bit of catching up on a day and a week, an eventful one, and a one where I was sitting in a rocking chair, I know huh? told me that I can start to sound a bit silly and punch drunk about half way through a weekend’s lack of sleep and I realized enough is enough.

So, I decided to just stick to my usual weeknight schedule on this Friday. Come home, say Hi to Beck and Mr Matt (nephew) and the Arthur and the Saphira and the Rikki (cats), give a “Hello” shout down the stairs to my Bella and the Cricket (also cats) while moving rather quicky to the bathroom for a pee (it was a longer ride home than usual tonight with some snow that involved a long brush and a grabbing of gloves before I could drive, so peeing was of the utmost importance, the first thing, a priority, as that bit of extra time on the road can really get ya as an old dude) get some dinner in order for the girls and then for me, look at a few things in the Attic, some new likes and views and comments, thanks everyone, while Cricket waits to share my dinner, something she will remind of in meowling impatience if I am moving too slow for her liking on some nights, plus I know, she knew, that I had some pasta tonight … she could smell it … a slice of ziti ala vodka pizza from earlier and the Cricket, well she just LOVES herself some pasta.

Then it was search for a something to watch, continue some recent new found shows maybe, “Pluribus” or “Down Cemetery Road”, look at the texts I send to myself during the week for new watch ideas, possibly a movie, or just scroll through all the possibilities without really deciding on anything, just preview a bunch of trailers which, eventually, can prove to be just like I had taken the time to watch an actual movie.

I did eventually decide on something though, “The Legend of Ochi”, which I had been eyeing for a while, for a well spent 5 dollar rental, which was a story of unintentionally befriending some perceived enemy but one that’s really cute with big ears and one we’ve seen many times over but had Willem Dafoe and Emily Watson and Finn Wolfhard from “Stranger Things” and a wonderful young actress I didn’t know and a really cool, really cute, big eared little furry fella I just mentioned with even bigger emotive eyes and a Momma just waiting for and dearly missing him.

This garnered some genuine welling up from me at the end, eye dabbing with the bottom of my T-shirt, but not in a bad way, though there were some harrowing moments and I thought “Well done Me. You spent almost a movie’s length worth watching trailers and then also watched a full movie (after its trailer – twice) and still kept in line, almost, with a regular night during the week”.

But then, at the end of “The Legend of Ochi” and, again, some eyes dabbed with the bottom of a t-shirt, I went to my little half fridge for a seltzer and a beer and I noticed the remainders of a bag of grapes that I had brought home with me, from my other little fridge, the one under my desk at work and I said to myself “Let them eat Grapes”

Then I was fucked.

Now I had to get up and expand on “Let them eat grapes” and I had been doing so well.

And this was the dumbest of shit. I mean who the hell is going to say “Let them eat grapes?” Who is possibly going to take that as some dismissive thing, as it sounded in my head, like Marie-Antoinette and some shit about cake (which didn’t really work out all that well for her if embellished, somewhat fictional history recalls) but “Let them eat Grapes?”

Hell Steve, who don’t like grapes?

I mean if I am some sort of disdainful aristocrat basically telling you to fuck off “Let them eat grapes” would be a real head scratcher right?

Let them eat grapes and let them have universal health care and let them shorten the divide between the have’s and the have nots and let them feel safe?

Yeah, surely some correlations to our current here but I ain’t goin’ there, not right now at least. That’ll just make me angry.

So, “Let them eat grapes” which I did by the way, as I try to be a bit healthier with my snack choices these days but only after some dark chocolate of course.

Of Aunts and Thank You’s

November 9, 2025November 15, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry2 Comments

“Steve, I have some news” Beck said as I poked my head in the living room to her on the Beck couch to say “Hi” after what had been a frustrating but finally muddled through Friday.

“Aunt Anne passed away”

I was going to joke about something totally silly in my poking corners of living rooms with sisters on couches and then …

… pause … “Oh no … no” and I flashed to the late 90’s almost 00’s and felt guilty, immediately, as I hadn’t talked to Aunt Anne in too long.

//////////////////////////////////////////

There were thank you cards that I would never send for wedding gifts I never kept (though there were a couple I would like to have, that fully loaded tool box filled with shit I would never need or know how to use for one) and feel guilty of for the longest of time and there was paperwork eventually that said the magic had passed well before its time or thank you card expectations suddenly no longer a thing, plus divorce numbers in graphs and charts and over multiple demographics helped me explain, painfully, fast endings and also just being lazy and hurt.

“Hey what time is it?”

“It’s now and you still haven’t sent those thank you cards and, oh, try again sometime, maybe, on this whole marriage thing if you can or wish?” Another thought entirely there, and a nonstarter.

And then there was Aunt Anne.

I needed a place, a spot, a wherever that wasn’t this whatever now, I needed, really, to just run away.

Cue Aunt Anne and Uncle Don and Florida sun and unintended but welcome beaches and Mouse dreams. Yes, I went to the beach and Yes, I worked for the Mouse, even wore tights and big ass floppy shoes and baggy shorts and plastic heads on the weekends.

I know, kinky huh? Just minus the soft light and candles and knotted rope.

She offered me a room, in a welcome home when I was at a loss as to what to do after my unexpected sideways step replete with those Thank You cards I never sent that I kept in a box on a new nightstand as a reminder of my lacking’s but also of my refusals (that was my justification anyway).

But Aunt Anne and Uncle Don and that huge living room where I would sit, cross-legged watching TV with them and commenting together on new shared favorite shows as a part of the family still sits cross-legged with me, along with remembrances of Benny the Cat who catted along with me to this new stead and who Aunt Anne, to her sure consternation, and unneeded pressure, kept an extra eye for “Hey that’s Stephen’s cat, keep an extra eye or i’ll never sleep and then be forced to hurt you … “

My cats have always had that effect.

We’re all, obviously, older now, shit catches up eventually as it will, as it does as it must but there are Aunt Anne’s and Uncle Don’s along the way who give you place, comfort, friendship, if you are lucky enough, a place to lay your head and regroup and even go to the beach or wear big ass plastic heads on the weekends (no, not in a kinky way … freakin’ wierdo’s) and breathe for just a moment.

Lubs Aunt Anne.

Raven’s Night (poem revisit for this Halloween Night)

October 31, 2025November 3, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry2 Comments

Well, time to close out a week or so then, a week or so’s worth of creepy-esque things of mine leading up to this Halloween Night.

I had already planned on finishing up the week with this one but, as a true Halloween night might call and cliche for, it is actually wildly windy out there in this Albany, NY area right now, with unrelenting cold drizzly bone seeping wet, evident all day foreboding an extra blustery, chillingly dark night and most apropos too as it was a similar night I wrote about here, in this one, for the Raven just before he came to made famous.

The post explains a bit more but. simply, to write a prequel to a literary character’s story …

//////////////////////////////////////////

January 24, 2024

So, at a newly found for me “Poet’s Pub” of a site, dVersepoets.com, I came across a post that had a prompt to write what it refers to as a poetic Quadrille, a 44 word poem (not including the title) but in this prompt it said you need include the word “pinch” in any way you saw fit.

This I did and it is the most recent post in the Attic here, “Don’t Pinch Me”.

Well, came across another poem prompt yesterday that asked that you write a prequel for a character from literature.

Write a poem that is a prequel to a particular character from a nursery rhyme, Aesop’s fable, book , mythology etc.

And the responses that I have read thus far to this prompt are so imaginative and colorful and haunting that I can’t wait to finish them all.

But for me, after running through a few possibilities in my head, I thought to Edgar Allen Poe and the Raven and of the Raven himself.

Raven’s Night

I am not dead nor demon to be read or written of

I implore you open your door

or window

shutter’s curtains

flitting

with welcome inside out air

and any manner of candlelit care

with which to let me see your floor

please

to just walk that floor

or even alight a door

that I implore

again

you

to open

outside no place for me tonight

in weary last vestige of now blustery light

that casts shadows that scare me from flight

and I don’t scare

for I am Raven

confused of crow brethren

curse-ed cousins

but stronger than they even as they crow foot in murder of friends

what they needs simple

with simple’s ends

while I seek a just solitude and to depart nights

now

tired of taking flight in dark

reputation

just a me to be me but I am scared of he me

and what I no longer want see

in the dim

even eve’s with path clear in crisp moonlight

but worse on nights like

these

this

this one

this night at hand

and I see your light

window

harks

a place maybe to land

and

I will make amends for this slight into

your solitude

For I am Raven

I can build things from sticks and stones

peck and grab and stab and stack and foot place just right

or even

build things from thoughts and words alone

to assist you

in candlelight

I just don’t want to flight

in dark

any longer

and

not this night

in most simple order

I just need walk a floor

or alight a door

allow

please

me bring inside

at least

for

this just

one night

Ricky & I (short story – beginnings / revisit for Halloween week)

October 30, 2025November 3, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry3 Comments

And another, my second to last one, for this week and me revisiting some creepy or creepy adjacent things of mine on a daily for this Halloween week.

Back to April of last year.

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April 27, 2024

Ricky & I

We watched them warily, Ricky and I, and held back at a safe distance eventually going the other direction down the other side of the street so as to be even safer still as the older high school kids toilet papered and egged houses ahead of us as some sort of shit rolls downhill repayment for what we couldn’t possibly understand or imagine might be going on behind closed doors for them at home (I would learn years later, of some of them, in the news). We just knew that we had a short window now where we hadn’t quite aged out of our trick or treating, something evidenced in the fact that we were already starting to get lazy in our costuming, always just hobo’s now, something that wouldn’t get more creative again until my college years but on those nights the “candy” was usually cheap beer and girls, another thing that couldn’t possibly be understood or imagined or even cared about then, we just still had our sweet teeth and some lazily costumed possible final attempts, this year, maybe next, to satisfy them for free and we didn’t need any of these toilet papering egging assholes seeing us and ruining it.

Ricky and I had become pretty adept at avoiding these guys in our neighborhood after school and on the weekends, thankfully we didn’t have to figure out any extra avoidance techniques during the school day just yet – we still had this one more year before we shared the halls with them, well at least the ones who hadn’t graduated yet, though Ricky and I were afraid that the ones that were supposed to graduate out might be held back and still be around for our first year of High School, a would be hell if they had anything to do with it.

No, it was just after school and the weekends and oh, the school bus that we all rode together though at least that interminable time was relatively short as interminable goes (ok, that was kinda interminable all of the time, daily) but we could always depend on our driver, Missus D, to have our backs and put the fear of Missus D in them if need be, sitting up front and telling her that Moms said Hi with their latest batch of sugar cookies and never forgetting her at Christmas time with cards from each of us and small finely, meticulously wrapped in wax paper offerings were definitely to our advantage.

But on this Halloween night, though we did our best to measure wary fear with still being able to hit up the neighborhood candy houses, our usually successful avoidance attempts weren’t good enough. Seems Tommy Whitmore, who had also taken to calling himself “Jax” around that time, don’t know why, maybe he just needed another name that wasn’t the “Tommy!!!” he heard yelled, screamed, slapped, surrendered to at home, must have seen us behind he and his boy’s mean spirits under the Dowling’s porch light and came down and across the street to wait just outside the light’s reach, that hard circle line of light on one side and dark on the other right before their garage, and, with hands on his hips and a stupid grin, Tommy said,

“Hey boys, how ya doin’, and how ya doin’ in those candy bags of yours tonight?”

“We’re good Tommy, just leave us be, we’re not bothering you.”

“Hey, it’s “Jax”, but you ARE bothering me, bothering US” Tommy said with a hint of malice “just by being you, and you haven’t even offered me anything from your bags of goodies” as he did a grab while his boys hung just outside that light’s ring in the Dowling’s driveway giggling vacantly and even more stupidly than Tommy’s dumb ass grin.

“Hey, those are ours!!’ Ricky yelled, straight backed but for only an instant.

“Oh, he speaks, on his own, the redhaired one” as Ricky’s spine shrunk. “No, these are ours now and we’re also going to take you two on a ride.”

“No Tommy …” and a glare with a raised hand’s intent “No … Jax … we have to get home, we’re not getting in any cars with you. We were done anyway, take our bags and just leave us be.”

“Well that just ain’t gonna happen you two …”

Then came a rush of wind sweeping past and around our heads … something usually reserved for family stories at backyard get togethers or at funerals when Ricky’s extended family would arrive, and the strangest of strange things would happen, in a surreal happiness, it was fast, a blur, made the ground shake just enough to unsettle your feet, make you feel a little askew. We knew what, who this was, Me and Ricky, but Tommy and his boys didn’t.

I told you that Ricky and I had become pretty adept at avoiding these guys and we had, but it was more, sometimes a not just protecting ourselves, but protecting them.

“No Tommy …”

“It’s Jax!”

“No Jax, not tonight”

“You gonna defy me, you useless pieces of shit, no that ain’t happenin’. Right boys?”

But the ground shook some more, the air trembled again, whooshed past and around us again, as air shouldn’t tremble like that and I stood my now shaky ground.

“Not now”

“And it’s Jax!!!” he yelled

“I wasn’t talking to you Tommy”

I said to Ricky “Not now” but his shrunk spine grew, not a one of simple stand up defiance, but just grew.

////////////////////////////////////////

I met Ricky through Mom get togethers in new neighborhood get togethers. Let’s introduce ourselves with kids to break the ice but really kids being just an excuse for Moms to drink wine on an early Saturday. I had seen Ricky on the ballfield in my new digs, after having moved from Baltimore to now Pittsburgh, he was a monster. His throws from his shortstop spot practically took the first baseman’s glove off and we weren’t even in high school yet.

“Do you play?” he asked me.

“I pitch”

“We could use one of those on our team. You any good?”

And that was it, I confounded him with my off the table curve that I shouldn’t have been throwing at that age and he tried to take the glove off of anyone who had the misfortune of playing first base. Instant friends.

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Friendships can be curious things. They might start with Moms using you as pawns for a glass of wine, or two, on a Saturday afternoon, they can be responses to what you don’t know yet of the evils of the world behind closed doors and you group, join forces, even if it’s only in a force of two or they can be things that were just supposed to happen, like Ricky with a rifle of an arm that make first basemen regret they play the game and you note, Ricky. He and I became a pair of buds linked through and through until, well, we just weren’t.

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“Not now”

“What not now you little prick?!”

“Ricky is my friend”

“And?”

“You don’t want to do this, he’s not liking you right now”

“What? Little redhead here?”

“Please just let it go Tommy”

“It’s Jax!!” (and there was that raised hand again)

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The other curious thing about friendships is that there are those that are just cursory things, friendships you recall for just being a “friendship”, where you might call each other, out of the blue, to check in years later, heard you had a kid, how is the better half, what’s her name again but then there was Ricky and his secrets, his family’s secrets, our secrets then.

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His spine grew instead of a backing away shrink, unnaturally so, to four times his height and his red hair fired until it rivaled the sun right on that hard line of light and dark in the Dowling’s driveway and he shone, glowed and towered Tommy and his voice changed making any Tommy attempt at inspiring fear seem weak and puny “YOU WILL NOT MESS WITH MY FRIEND!” followed by a simple backhand slap.

And that was it, Tommy, not Jax, that new name nonsense ended that night I figured (though all these years later I hope not, that was his one, lone attempt at a “me” thing in his so lonely, pained world – Hey Jax, heard you had some kids, how is that better half of yours I don’t know, I’m sure she is beautiful, how have you all fared?) slunk away from out of the dust bins across the street and amid the scattering of idiots he called pals.

“You’re done aren’t you Ricky?

“Yeah, gotta go now”

“Dammit Ricky, I have no one else and I don’t even want anyone else as my friend.”

“I know, me neither, but I gotta go”

“I know”

And then, there was that rush of wind again, picking up leaves and dust and moving earth and all it’s leavings around in a small twister.

“Hey Missus D, thought that might be you”

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m ok I guess, thank you for keeping an eye but …”

“Don’t worry, you’ll see him again, Ricky’s got a good heart, you know that, but he and my sister need to find another place now, to be safe, try and start again, heard in the wind that there might be a good spot in the mountains near the coast, some small towns of like kind, until Ricky learns how to control things. Plus, you’ll see him again ‘cause he always hated that he couldn’t hit your curveball, he’ll be practicing … Sugar cookies tomorrow?”

“Maybe the next day Missus D, gotta give Mom the head’s up”

“Ok, and maybe an offering wrapped finely in wax paper? At Christmas?”

“Of course, as always”

The Scrapbook And The Man In The Black Fedora (Flash Fiction revisit for this Halloween Week)

October 29, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry4 Comments

And continuing with revisiting a poem or a story every day this week that fit a creepy theme as we approach Halloween. This one from a Flash Fiction prompt, August of last year.

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August 12, 2024

It’s Monday and, at the dVerse Poets Pub, we are writing Prosery, the very short piece of prose or flash fiction . It can be in any genre of your choice, but it does have a limit of 144 words; an additional challenge is to hit 144 exactly. The special thing about Prosery is that we give you a complete line or two from a poem, which must be included somewhere in your story, within the 144-word limit.

The complete line or two in this case are from Leonard Cohen and his poem “Take this Waltz” with the lines being …

And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss

The Scrapbook And The Man In The Black Fedora

“Hey Jaimie, check this out, just found this covered in moss behind a tree”

Presents a tattered book with dead flowers pinned to it and a warning “DO NOT OPEN”

“Well, let’s see what’s in it”

“It says not to open Billy”

“C’mon, probably just a note left by the 11 year old girl who lost it. It looks like a scrapbook”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right”

Billy opening the scrapbook finds it filled with photo’s of people and notations of the date/time of their deaths and scribbled inside the cover …

And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss

At that moment a man in a black fedora appeared.

The air stilled.

Then Billy was gone and all Jaimie caught as the fedora’d man closed the scrapbook was a quick glimpse of Billy’s picture.

The Wind and the “Epistle” (revisit a Six Sentence Story for this Halloween Week)

October 28, 2025November 1, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry2 Comments

And another revisit of something for the season this last week of Halloween.

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February 21, 2025

Earlier in the week I came across someone new to me through Sadje, a friend at dVerse Poets.

She is GirlieOnTheEdge and offers prompts for Six Sentence Stories, an idea I liked, like some of the 144 word Flash Fiction prompts you can find at dVerse, though with six sentences allowed that gives me a bit more room. I also knew I liked Girlie from the get go as this particular prompt mentioned “The Alarm” as part of her inspiration, an old fave band reminded from my undergrad and then graduate school days (in the current season and for other reasons I suddenly longed for “Rain in the Summertime”).

The Prompt?

February 16, 2025 GirlieOnTheEdge

PROMPT WORD: WIND

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The Wind and the “Epistle”

Coming up from below deck after a lengthy search, top to bottom, of what appeared an abandoned fourth-rate named “Epistle”, Martins declared across bows to his Captain that she was indeed abandoned though he marveled that he had never seen anything quite like this ornate fitted construction, with nary a nail, nor some of the letters he had found in the captain’s empty quarters.

Captain Richard, with a curious though determined look, turned and directed the crew of “The Resolution” to board and see what could possibly be salvaged, if anything, just as Martins heard a voice from behind him saying “but I am here” though, on a turn’s look inspection, he saw not a soul.

Just then a sudden unexpected and fierce wind picked up and roiled what had, only moments before, been serene, placid seas below blue white speckled skies but those skies came to a sudden dark clouded anger, the sails filled flush, puffed out like the deep breath chest of an unnaturally sized, large winged vengeful bird to rival those of ancient sea beasts beneath the waves that seemed to stir with this wind’s dark cries of anguish and fear telling of stories warned.

Lightning crashed and stung about the tops of the sail masts, torrential rains drowned cries and pleadings of God, water beast tails as large as their own ship’s sails rose from above the waves only to dive out of fear, the heavens blackened loud and bellowed louder.

Captain Richard lost footing on deck, fearing his grip, slipping confused and disoriented, as did his crew, but, regaining his balance for a moment he turned to warn Martins to return only to find that he and the “Epistle” were no longer there and that the seas and skies, only seconds earlier filled with a storm’s rage, such as he had never witnessed in all his years at sea, came to a sudden calm again almost as if they hadn’t been changed at all, as if they hadn’t ever been anything other than what they were before in their calm, with skies returned to the blue of white floating speckles, as if in a languid painting, the sea flat again, but Richard swore, to his end of days spent in the throes of madness, that he saw the waters of the ocean drop off the edge of the world in the distance, off of a flat earth, and the Epistle be carried off into the heavens inside the belly of a great glowing flying sea beast and just as he heard Martins, faintly, in the wind implore “but I am here”.

Standing in uneasy stunned silence Richard took measure … before then realizing that they should turn back, quickly, pointing “The Resolution” towards home but also before the knowing of the court martial and subsequent murder trial he would face of a missing crewman, Ross Ignatius P Martins, upon his return.

Angel of Death: End Of Days, Route 9, Poughkeepsie??? (audio post revisit for the season)

October 24, 2025October 25, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry2 Comments

Earlier this week I posted “Headstone” a fantastic video short voiced and built by a good friend and co-worker based on a flash fiction piece of mine, something for this spooky season, one that involves a graveyard’s groundskeeper coming across Death weeping at a long forgotten gravestone.

Well, that is not the only story I’ve written that imagines Death in one way or another (I’ve got a couple of tunes in that regard as well) so in continuing to keep with the season then, I thought to revisit this one from three years ago’ ””””p777777777777777777777777 (sorry, that’s Cricket the Cat Poet wanting to join in here with her own thoughts, again, and strangely, with this talk of Mr. Death, she has opted for a bunch of 7’s, interesting) but I wanted to revisit this one, one decidedly lighter than “Headstone”, from those three years ago, Spring of that year actually, not Halloween time where, on my ride home from work one night, I passed the Angel of Death standing in the middle of Route 9 in Poughkeepsie (some dude dressed as the Grim Reaper holding an hourglass).

But was he really just some guy in a costume?

Now, this one is one of my most viewed posts, period, over many year’s time spent here in the Attic, couldn’t tell ya why, though I am not complaining and credit to my discerning readers (yes, shameless flattery trying to get me everywhere with you all) as it just a pretty good post and a real favorite of mine.

Then a few months after the initial post I decided to do an audio version of it and play it up a bit. I know a number of you have already read and/or heard this, but, well, I just don’t wanna miss this time’s window to get it out there again for the others.

Here’s to the season my friends, my favorite time of the year.

Angel of Death: End Of Days, Route 9, Poughkeepsie???

(and a guy dressed as the Grim Reaper holding an hourglass in the middle of route 9 led to this …)

So I saw the Angel of Death tonight … on Route 9 in Poughkeepsie standing on the median between the North and South triple lanes, at a traffic light, near a T.G.I. Friday’s and a Mattress Firm and across from a new specialty soap shop, a new Sleep Number Bed place and a convenience store, among a number of other spots.

Tall guy dressed as you might expect of an Angel of Death/Grim Reaper type. Long black robe, oversized hood and he was pointing at things, menacingly, possibly specialty soaps and he seemed like he might even have been yelling though I couldn’t really hear as I passed him amid that damned rock n roll I was playing too loudly on a nice sunny almost Spring evening, finally, one you surely wouldn’t expect the end of days to arrive on, at least you’d hope not, though I’m afraid my Mom might feel vindicated now all these years later of her worries of, when I was younger, while I was playing that damned rock and roll too loudly back then as well and cutting up perfectly good heavy metal band concert T-shirts to have her sew them on the back of denim jackets, that some might think the end of days would sneak up on me because I wouldn’t hear it/them coming.

The only thing out of the ordinary for this particular Angel of Death though was that he was carrying an hourglass. Not that Angels of Death don’t sometimes carry hourglasses, they do, I’ve seen artist renderings, some pretty cool artist renderings as a matter of fact, but this was in lieu of the tall, sharp, pointy, violent looking scythe’s we’ve more come to expect in a clichéd Angel of Death kinda way which, truth be told, is probably for the best in this day and age that that wasn’t what he was carrying.

Tall, sharp, pointy violent looking clichéd scythe’s? Yeah, that’ll getcha noticed, and not in a good way, and possibly even get ya tased or worse. Hourglass? Much less threatening.

I did though think, if I could have, that I would have politely pointed out that this hourglass of his was a little small, not really of a size befitting his stature or one to really get him noticed in the middle of a busy roadway here in Poughkeepsie, and right at the height of an evening rush hour with people being lost in thoughts of get homes and dinners and dog walkings and sweatpants and checkings in on that show that you’re pretty sure your better half cheated on and watched the next episode of without you, again, and conversations/angers left open ended the night before.

I would have pointed out that he needed something a bit more dramatic, more theatrical, something oversized to really catch that thought lost eye. The hourglass he had was, well, a little on the Spinal Tappy Stonehenge side but with him being the Angel of Death an all, I would have been as deferential and as delicate as I could with this observation (plus, he most probably still had that clichéd scythe somewhere in reserve – and that shit looks like it would hurt … a lot, like in a death kind of way).

Now was there any reason, I thought, any significance to this specific spot of his as I drove past? I don’t know. Was this where the thunders and the lightnings, the great fires or floods, or great fires followed by floods to drown out great fires making people tread water in floaties the only thing they had on hand, damn the children, the pestilences and rivers of blood were newly ordained to happen, or was he just waiting on a pick up order from that T.G.I. Friday’s and doing what Angels of Death do to pass the time, what little time may be left?

Had he been maybe having some trouble sleeping recently (certainly possible as carrying the weight of his message has gotta be a heavy sleepless nights kinda burden) thus reason to be in between a Mattress Firm and a Sleep Number Bed store or was he really pointing menacingly at specialty soaps, a could be 21^st century haven of witchcraft with all the witch-like curatives some of the soaps and maybe oils and creams inside can surely promise … plus Hell, you know there’s gotta be a crystal or two hanging in there somewhere right? Or maybe he was just waiting to cross the highway way to get to the convenience store for a pack of smokes thinking to his Death self, well, if I’m bringing word of the end of the world to the peoples, I might as well smoke up while I can.

I don’t know. Whatever the reason was for that location or whatever the reason wasn’t, all I really thought on my way home after passing this Angel of Death fella with his too small hourglass (you just need a big black sports hearse car to compensate my not friend) was “listen, if this is it tonight big guy, if this is the end of days, after you’ve possibly picked up your order at T.G.I. Friday’s could you …

“Hi, can I help you sir?”

“I’m here for a pick-up”

“Your name?”

“Angel”

“Angel? Hold on … hmmm, hmmm, hold on a sec, I’m sorry I’m not seeing that here for our pick-up orders right now”

“You sure … nothing under the name Angel? With an A?”

“I can spell Angel sir, thank you, and sorry, but no … could you have ordered under a different name?”

“Oh wait, you know what, I may have. Do you have one under the name Death?”

“Death … Death … Death … sorry busy night … hold on … oh, here we go … Death … burger, blood rare, locusts, frogs, extra cheese, fries and the apple cobbler dessert special?”

“Yep, that’s me. Sorry, I don’t usually use my last name, way too formal and can be a little off-putting”

“No worries Sir. Let me get that for you, Oh, and by the way? Cool hood”

“Oh, well thank you so very much”

“I would say though, if you don’t mind a little constructive criticism, that you get a slightly larger hourglass”

… and could you, after you’ve put a deposit down on a new bed …

“You’ll be so happy you chose our little slice of sleep heaven … (stop short silent stare) … sorry, my bad … probably not the best of selling points for you I’m thinking now … you’ll be so happy you chose our bed Mr. Death instead of something that feels like a bed of nails like from those sleep hacks across the street …”

“They have something that feels like a bed of nails?”

“What?”

“Bed of nails, those sleep hacks across the street have something that feels like a bed of nails?”

“Ummm, well yeah, that’s what we say … Ok, but hold on, I got ya. If you’d like, Jimmy, one of our delivery drivers, works at a small local hardware store and I’m sure we could throw in a bag of nails, support small business right, that you can toss on the bed, like scattering rose petals for you and the Missus …”

“There’s no Missus … I’m Death. It would make holiday family get togethers very uncomfortable.”

“Ok, well, bag of nails just for you it is then”

… and then after checking in on potential modern day witches …

“Do you have a soap or some oils that can just ease some tension, possibly transport me away to a better place? I think I’ve seen a commercial like that … a place like … HELL!”

“ummmm, Ok then, well?”

“Gotcha! I saw ya glancing over at that crystal … witch”…

… and after you’ve a grabbed a smoke outside the Exxon while you’re getting yelled at for your loitering could you at least let me feed the cats and have my dinner and maybe clean a litter box or two? I would SO hate to have to face the end of days, you know, the rapture or something, even if you all do the rapture, I’m not sure, or some sort of reckoning, with messy litter boxes and on an empty stomach.

“Will do”

Thanks.

Alright Bella, alright Ms Cricket … Last Fancy Feast “Savory Centers”

Eat up quickly girls, I don’t know what kind of deadline he might be facin’.