RM Ahmose Fiction Writer

Tales Designed to Enthrall and Enlighten

Home
About Us
Book Excerpts
Contact Us
Site Map
Author's Zone
More (from Book 4)                                                                    
Extended Excerpts (Note: Scroll Down to continue tales 1 and 3)
 
 
                                      from ...Heavy Tales Rising
 
(Story Two)                                  "Warrior Babies"
 
                   This story may prove difficult to credit during the journey through it. And
            it’s just as well, for I prefer at present that you not believe. I have my reasons
            for so wishing it, and by the end of your reading they will most likely be clear.
            For now, I merely express my core feeling that, as the myriad events and cir-
            cumstances unfold and struggle ponderously to the end revelation, the entire
            experience is best deemed incredible.
                   It  may  be evident already that my profession is not that of writer. While
            your  suspicion  has  merit, it is also the case that the chronicling I do in my
            usual  work  involves jotting, as well as typing, hundreds of words at a sitting.
            And the final products must be concise as well as proper, both grammatical-
            ly and mechanically. I am, hence, no stranger to the writing process.
                   So,  who  am I and why should you expend energy, in an uphill excursi-
            on  sometimes, following this tale to its terminus? The identity I’ve assumed
            over  the  past  several years is the one I’ll employ here. I don’t see that that
            will  present  a  problem. First, I think it unlikely that anyone who knows me,
            whether  outside  or  within  the  agency,  will actually fall upon this material.
            And  even  if one such person does, it will surely be taken as an improbable
            work of  pure  fiction  in any case. As for you, though, you have my promise
            that  very soon, in your wading through this expose, the reason for the mys-
            teriousness involving my character will come clear.
 
                   It was exactly two years and seven months ago that I got the call from
            the  Holy  Cross Daycare director, Mrs. Freund. At the time, I was typing a
            report and watching a documentary on what was described as phenomenal
            improvements  in  unrelated communities of the underdeveloped world. As I
            remember  it,  some  of  the  noted advances took place in cities located in
            Central  America;  for  others, the sites were villages of western and central
            Africa.
                   It’s  funny  how  her  distinct tone is still fresh in my memory. “Do you
            still  want  the  job, Mr. Wolff,” her voice inquired. I most certainly did, I as-
            sured her happily. To this day I don’t know if she had any idea of the prear-
            rangement made to have me hired as the facility’s other handyman. Actual-
            ly  I don’t  think  so. My guess is she hadn’t a clue that my appearance as
            an  applicant  was  linked  to a request she made to local authorities. Even
            while  in  need  of more help around the center, she wanted investigation of
            her  senior  handyman. In other words, she was willing to risk his loss. The
            complaint  to  local police resulted in an unusually quick cutting-through of
            red tape, and my agency was contacted.
                   The  fellow  whom  the  agency wanted watched performed a variety of
            tasks at the daycare. He was Paul Pilsner, my new coworker. His employ-
            ment at Holy Cross was part-time, involving four- to six-hour shifts, three to
            four  days  a  week.  In  her  complaint, Mrs. Freund described Paul as ex-
            tremely  reliable,  helpful  and  cooperative but also as appearing to have a
            suspicious interest in the children.
                   Now, that latter issue needs to be clarified. As the facility’s two hand-
            y  men,  it was revealed to me that, along with Paul, I was to keep an eye
            on  the  children,  in the course of our work. That is to say, we should give
            extra  vigilance  in  monitoring  the  kids’  behaviors,  at  such time that we
            could.  When  their  interactions  were  appropriate, we were to encourage
            them  subtly  while passing through doing one or another small job. These
            included  sweeping,  or mopping spills, or making small repairs, or moving
            and  removing equipment, or standing in for absent workers in guiding out-
            side play, or any other of a score of outlined tasks.
                  Our  response  to the children’s naughty behaviors was to alert their u-
            sual  overseers  or,  much less frequently, the director, if warranted. So in-
            terwoven  were  our duties with the usual daycare operations that on some
            days  we were even asked to shuttle the children via the little daycare bus.
            These might involve a drive to this or that amusement destination, with the
            director and other staff as co-passengers.
                   How  Paul  piqued the director’s apprehension lay in his occasions of
            prolonged  observations  of  the little tykes—not to mention the occasional
            note-taking.  It seemed to her that he may not be just monitoring but actu-
            ally studying them, for purposes foreign to the daycare’s interests. Prior to
            contacting  the police she may have considered simply confronting Pilsner
            and  telling  him to put a stop to his at-work eccentricity. But my impressi-
            on  of  the  director,  from five months working at the facility, was this: She
            was  reluctant  to jeopardize  a good relationship with a good employee. In
            the end she chose a route that at once demonstrated her tendency toward
            swift, definitive  action  and which left a good worker intact if nothing signifi-
            cant was uncovered by authorities.
 
            (pp. 108-109)
 

from Story One,

pp.2-4

"Loser!"

 

   “My  GodMother is waking out of her coma!” exclaimed  Horace  Tickly, Mrs.  Tickly’s sixty-seven year old son. “It’s a miracle!”

   Making  the protocol-driven decision, the sen-ior  physician ordered that Mrs. Tickly be taken quickly  to  a  room  that would best accommo-date her new state. Clearly, the unexpected de-velopment  had  thrown everyone into a pitched state of excitement. For his part, Sonny quietly stepped  backward  into  the corridor that would return  him  to areas open to the general public. The  move  came  just in time, too. Only barely did  it  spare  him  additional  scolding from the little  group  of  medical staff who hurriedly spun their  patient around, wheeling her off to another hospital locale.

   Ambling    in   characteristic   loping   strides through  the  hall,  Sonny  mused  at  how  one “wrong  turn”  in  life  can set a person up for all sorts  of  unwanted  adventure.  Then  his  mind shifted  to  that enigmatic phrase uttered by the old woman. “Toilet tank,” he said to himself with a chuckle. “I wonder what made her say that af-ter  weeks  in  a  coma.”  He  thought a second. “And  she  looked straight at me.” What an hon-or, he joked to himself.

   When  he  arrived  finally  to  the door marked “641”  in  Annex C, Sonny found that it was ajar as  if  awaiting  visitors.  He stepped gingerly in-side,  predisposed  toward  extra  politeness  in hospital settings. Here, he noted that the show-er  curtain-like  partition,  positioned  left  of  the center one between the two beds, was only par-tially  extended.  Thus,  as he moved quietly to-ward the far end of the room, he had an inciden-tal  view of his father’s hospital-room mate. The old  fellow  seemed  to  be  sleeping. In his two earlier visits he had surmised the old gentleman to be possibly a decade older than his father.

   Barely turning his pillow-buried head, the sen-ior Mr. Ambergen shifted his eyes unenthusias-tically toward the new visitor. Unlike the patient to  his  right,  he  was propped up regally in the adjustable hospital bed. He watched with dimin-ishing toleration the flitting images displaying in the ceiling-hung television set. Thusly postured, he listened to Sonny’s greeting.

   “Hi, Poppy, how’re you feeling today?”

   “I suppose I’ll live.”

   “I  spoke  to  your  doctor in the hall. He says you’re  coming along fine—blood pressure back near normal and everything.”

   “I  hate  these doctors—think they’re God, all of ‘em.”

   “Yeah, I know…but….  Hey, did they tell you? They  think  you  can  leave  here in a couple of days.  Of  course, when you get home, just like before,  they  want  you to put an end to all that stock market study and stuff. You don’t need to be  doing that anymore, Poppy. You’ve got solid investments.”

   “Once  an  investment  broker,  always  an in-vestment broker! Anyway, I keep my eye on the market for my former clients and, maybe a little, for  Walter and Reuben. You’d be able to appre-ciate  that  if  you  had  made  any of the invest-ments  I  suggested.  You  have  any  idea how much you could be worth right now? But nooo—you never listen to Poppy.”

   “Has either of them been by, yet—Reuben or Walter, I mean?”

   “What are you getting at?” asked Walter Am-bergen, Sr. petulantly.

   “Nothing, Poppy…I  just asked. I haven’t seen or  spoken  to  either  of  them in months. I just wondered if they had come by the hospital.”

   “They call  me while I’m here—three, four, five times a day! And that’s more than I can say for you. You  haven’t  called  once  in the week I’m here.” The  older  man,  with thirty-one years of life experience over his third and youngest son, seemed almost to pout.

   “Well, I don’t mean to upset you, Poppy. Hey, look…they’re saying the chances are good that the  hospital  will  release you before the end of the  week.  If  so,  you want me to make the ar-rangements?”

   The elder Ambergen closed his eyes while he spoke next. “I’ll go ahead and ask your brothers first,  so  you don’t feel that everything’s always falling on you. I mean, you did it last time…and the  time  before. So, I don’t want to overburden you.”

   “Poppy, on my way out, I’ll leave word with Dr. Fiola  to  contact me when she makes the final decision  this  week.”  Sonny  took on a sedate attitude  in  stating his determination. With that latest  exchange,  there  seemed  to be present some  tension  on  the  Ambergen  side  of  the room.  Other  than  the  soft  murmuring from e-vents  showing on the television set, an uncom-fortable  quiet  overtook  the immediate environ-ment. The  two Ambergens could even hear the other patient shift position behind the curtain.

   A  knock  at  the door suddenly disturbed the uneasy  quiet.  Entering  cautiously,  the distin-guished looking gentleman peered around as if trying to locate someone.

   “Excuse  me,”  he  called, “there was a young fellow…oh,  it’s  you! You’re the one I’m looking for.  You  remember,  ten  minutes or so ago, in the Chapman Pavilion--?”

   Sonny  recognized  the  man  as the one non-medical person involved in wheeling the old lady through  the  COMA  PATIENTS  section.  “Oh, sure, you were with the doctors,” he responded, awaiting  the  older  man’s explanation. It came without hesitation:

   “Somehow,  I  remembered the area and room number  you  gave  as your intended visitation. I just  thought, if I could find you, I’d like to thank you for what had every appearance as your role, somehow, in…how would I say it…bringing my mother to consciousness!” As he spoke Horace Tickly,  vice  president of the locally established “Beaver  Decks  and  Waterproofing”  moved  to-ward the far end of the room. “God help us…we were  losing  her  fast,  vital  signs  falling  off—everything!  They were transferring her to what I guess you could call a final effort recovery sec-tion,   when   she  suddenly   roused  and  even spoke! Just as you, yourself, witnessed!”

   “Yes, I remember it was…quite amazing. And …she’s  alright?  I  mean, does she continue to improve?  Oh,  but  let me introduce myself and my  dad, here. I’m sure Poppy will be just as a-mazed at this fantastic story as I am.”

   According  the  vice  president’s  report, while his eighty-eight year old mother’s condition was improving,  it still remained between critical and serious.   However,  most  importantly,  she  re-mained  conscious  and  able  to respond to her environment.

   “Well,  I  appreciate  your  going  through  the trouble  to find me,” Sonny stated at the end of Mr. Tickly’s  talk.  “But  I  don’t think I can take any  credit for your mother’s sudden change of condition. I  just happened to be standing there …getting fussed at for being in the wrong place, no less.”

   “Well,  young  man,  I feel  it  in my heart that there was something about you—be damned if I know,  though,  what  it  could  have been—that jogged  her, that sparked something, somehow. If you remember, her eyes weren’t very focused, but  she  gazed  in  your  direction  and pointed more or less directly at you. So whatever it was, and  whether  or  not  it  can  be explained, you seem  to  have been part of a miraculous set of circumstances. And for that alone I thank you.”

   “Whatever  I  may have done, I’m glad to have done  it.  …Oh,  her, um, words—did they have any  meaning  that you were able to, you know, make sense of?”

   “Well, now, that’s another very intriguing mat-ter.  I  called  my  sister immediately  after they took Mother  to  the  new coma patients setting. She  is,  as we speak, testing a hunch she has about Mother’s…utterance. You see, before on-set  of  the  illness  that  led  to Mother’s condi-tion, she misplaced  a  very expensive heirloom, a broach that’s been in  the  family  nearly  two-hundred  years.  For  the life of her, Mother just could not recall  where  she’d  put it. Well, now Molly,  my sister,  believes  it  may be ‘residing’ in a rather extraordinary  place—within Mother’s bathroom. It would coincide neatly with our hav-ing over-looked the area since Mother’s illness.”

   "Incredible!"  exclaimed  Sonny.  He found the whole matter intriguing. Also he thought it could be interesting to follow up on that mystery, were it proper to show further concern.

(pp. 2-4)

 

 

 

from Story Three,

pp. 198-201

"Dream Come True"

 

   Behind it “lurked” a foil, who tainted the lucky set of circumstances he’d met thus far.

   But  then  his  mind took an alternate course, as  displeasure  gave  way  to  wild  imaginings. Rather than a hindrance  to his planned activity, he began to envision a young female’s presence as an  additional  facet  with  possibilities. After all, he’d only recently escaped from a facility for the criminally insane who prey upon children. It sobered  him,  though, to recall that he’d heard the girl speaking to an attendant—“a Grandma,” he whispered to himself.

   Raif had, himself, never been a bright intellec-tual  light,  but that didn’t stop him from figuring there  must  be a light source nearby. He knew he  needed  to  get a good view of his surround-ings in order to move around effectively. Equally important to him was finding a way to gain entry into  the  house  proper.  His close-set eyes be-coming accustomed to the dark, he could make out  the  side view of a stairway in the distance. As  he  would find later, it led to the home’s up-per  “ground level,” according to its design.  Un-like  the built-in garage, sections contiguous to that spacious area were all the residence’s real and  proper basement expanse. So, behind the garage-level door of Raif’s recent discovery was a  cellar  of  sorts.  Specifically,  it was an area built  as  a refuge for the homeowner’s daughter and mother, a bulwark against intruders, a “safe room,” as it were.

   Moving  from  where  he  had  stood  near the door, Raif did some silent thinking. He set him-self  to  imagining  what the girl behind it might look like. Twelve or thirteen, I’d guess, he mus-ed.  Just  my  luck,  she’s  in there with her old granny…from  her  words. He made the conclu-sions  while  feeling  along  the  walls for a light switch. His hope now was that the two were a-lone  in  the  big  house.  Such  an added bit of “luck” would really spice up this new adventure, he mused. Gettin’ control of a girl and a old lady shouldn’t   be   hard.   At  five-seven,  Raif  was scrawny but wiry. He was also endowed, in cer-tain  situations,  with  the  added  strength  that comes  with  being single-minded in intention—and a bit of a psychopath.

   Finally,  near  the  base  of the stairway, Raif found  what he searched for: a light switch. In a second,  almost  all the garage was in his view. He  noted that there was easily room enough in the  area  for two vehicles, though only one had exited.  Perhaps  another  had  gone out earlier, he thought, maybe the wife of the man he imag-ined  he  had  outwitted.  Behaving  as one only marginally  concerned  with  time, Raif scoured the  space,  taking  in  its contents.  It was his habit  to  be  ever  vigilant  for  items  to employ spontaneously for his immediate needs.

   Walking  now  even  more  quietly than before toward the dark oak wood door, Raif resumed a listening  posture.  At  first  he detected only an odd  noise  that  sounded  like  long  and  short bursts of  throat breathing. Then the low tone of a girl’s voice commenced:

   “No,  Grandma,  it   couldn’t  be  Daddy.  We heard him leave in his truck. There’s somebody else in the garage.”

   There  came  the  raspy guttural sound again followed by Tawny’s voice. “A bird, Grandma--? You  think  a  bird  may have flown in as Daddy was  leaving?  Well,  I don’t  know…I  thought I heard footsteps and bumping into things.  …Oh, Grandma,  you’re  so  funny!  So,  it could have been a big bird, huh? …Or a really big cricket!? Grandma,  there are no crickets that big. Good thing, too—all the racket they make.  …Ha-ha! You think a super-sized cricket would be fun. I don’t know, Grandma. I don’t know about that.”

   Raif formed a sneering smile. That old granny, he  mused,  sounds  like  she’s  missing a few screws, in addition to her voice. A damned cric-ket….  I’ll  show  her  who’s a cricket, soon as I find  my  way around. Raif tipped away from the heavy,  metal-fortified  oak  door and made way for  the  stairs.  As  he’d noted, there were only two entrances, from the  garage, into the house proper. The other was at the top of those steps.

  

   Moving fast along the road in his Dodge Ram pick-up,  two  matters  dominated  Alan Peach-tree’s thoughts. He pondered them while antici-pating  the  bumpy  ride over a creek in the dis-tance.  Although  the  muddy  waters of Chitter Creek  had  risen  to less  than a foot below the road  bridge,  it wasn’t his prime focus. His first concern  was for his family at home, especially his daughter. He had had a “funny” feeling about leaving  his  mother and Tawny alone, in this in-stance.  He  felt  it  even  though the trip to and from  the  food  market  typically  took no more than  an  hour. But then he had never liked leav-ing  Tawny alone without oversight by an appro-priate adult.

   He  had  no  wife  with whom to share the re-sponsibility  of caring for Tawny. Not any more. Her mom died only days after giving birth to her. From  that  moment,  Alan dedicated his life to nurturing the infant who had started life so sick-ly and fretful. But, now, at thirteen she showed stability.  Also she had his mother, Mary, who provided endless hours of good company. That alone, he thought, should quell his concerns a-bout the brief period of his absence in the pres-ent trip.

   The other matter dominating his thoughts was finding  more effective fish bait. His favorite time for  fishing was a whole two months away. How he  loved  the  serenity of casting a line and sit-ting back waiting for that tug. But he wasn’t one of  those who got a thrill simply from separating fishes  from their habitat. Having been reared in a  family  that  thrived  on the river’s edge, Alan saw his prize as sustenance, first and foremost. Some of his favorites were exotic river denizens. He  made  sure  Tawny  and  Mary appreciated them  as  much  as he. Of course, the thrill as-sociated  with  that  kind  of  good eating would have  to  wait.  For  now, he’d have to settle for whatever was fresh and available at the market.

 

 

   At the top of the garage-basement stairs, Raif examined  the  door and lock apparatus that se-cured  it.  He knew from experience a two-sided deadbolt  and  matching  knob  device  when he saw them. The wooden barricade itself was rein-forced  with  steel  laminates,  placed along the edges.  Unless the door was left unlocked, get-ting  through  it  would  be  a monumental chal-lenge.  Even  use  of some sort of battering tool would  present  difficulties,  it  seemed. It would stem  from issues of maintaining balance in the assault.  Staring ahead angrily, Raif cursed the inconsistency  of  his  luck  when  he found the door to be locked. Always he felt he was at the mercy of the vicissitudes of good and bad for-tune.

   Suddenly, in the pleasant cool of his environ-ment, Raif began to get a cold and worried feel-ing.  Out of the blue, so to speak, he started in addition  to feel closed in. Perhaps, he thought, he just needed to make certain he could make a hasty retreat from the garage, when and if he so  desired.  With  that  sentiment,  he  rushed down the stairs and began looking for a switch, a  lever,  or  whatever would compel the garage door  open.  As  a  minute passed with no suc-cess in uncovering a means of lifting the slide door, Raif began to feel panicky.

   As  he  had noted earlier, the wide portal was fitted with  a small plasti-glass window at about face  height.  Given  his bent toward destructive acts in moments of stress, he considered using a  large  wrench he’d caught sight of, to bash it. But  in  an ensuing period of reason he decided that  smashing  the  “glass”  wouldn’t  really ac-complish  anything: Its dimensions were only 4 by  10  inches.  With  heart pounding, he stood frozen, glaring at the painted aluminum slabs of the  roll-up  door. I’m trapped, he shouted in his mind.  I’m trapped!  I  got  to  find  a way out of here! Now, he shifted his eyes toward the door where he’d heard the voices. Suddenly the light shining above him went out.

   When  he  motioned  toward  the light switch, Raif discovered that the overhead lantern had a timer device. After a minute or so of motion un-detected by a specially placed sensor, illumina-tion would shut off.

(pp. 198-201)

Back to Top