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Trembling With Fear 12/24/2017
This week I'm merely going to wish you all a Merry Christmas and thank you all for being so supportive of TWF. We have thoroughly enjoyed reading your stories and hope you will continue to submit next year.
Enjoy your time with your family, reach out to those who are in difficulty or in crisis at this time, be kind to others and remember to be kind to yourself.
Have a lovely Christmas
It's that time of year where the snow is falling (depending on where you live and global warming) and Santa Claws is deciding how to take care of the naughty kids out there. This is the penultimate installment of Trembling With Fear for the year and it has been such a wild ride. With it being Christmas Eve it seems like the perfect time to deliver some horror that you can read while sitting around the fire, eating Santa's cookies, and scaring your kiddos (if you have them, if not, whoever's kiddos you're borrowing) into a nightmare induced coma!
'Trembling With Fear' Is Horror Tree's weekly inclusion of shorts and drabbles submitted for your entertainment by our readers! As long as the submissions are coming in, we'll be posting every Sunday for your enjoyment.
A Letter For Santa
On the floor in front of the fireplace was a woman in a nightgown that splayed around her body like a snow angel. A dark red tree skirt surrounded the Blue Spruce. Multi-colored Christmas lights flickered in time with a dancing snowman on the television screen. A plate of reindeer-shaped cookies with their antlers bitten off on the coffee table. A large glass of milk teetered dangerously on the edge.
He felt silly in the Santa suit. He had come straight from his final night on the job at the Oxford Pines Mall. No more kids on his lap with sniffling noses and gooey hands. No more prying questions from his boss about his home life. The background check had come up clean, what more did the nosy man want?
It had been a close call, but it helped that he used his brother's ID.
His brother was hundred miles away, celebrating traditions with his own storybook family. Handing out the Christmas Eve pajamas like they did every year. Telling his daughter that she better be a good girl so Santa would show up. Little Cora, with her strawberry blonde hair on the top of her head in a bow that her mother made. He missed her the most out of all of them. Which is why the little girl in the green dress had called out to him. She looked like his favorite niece.
In his front pocket, he had the little girl's letter.
Dear Satan,
Please come see Mommy for Christmas. It's her last one. I don't want her to be alone.
He had smirked at her attempt to spell Santa. Guess she had mixed up her letters, like most of the kids at the mall seemed to do. Heck, he mixed up his letters sometimes too. Never was able to win a spelling bee, or write a poem that made sense. "Some kind of learning disorder," he had heard his mother utter in the middle of the night to his father through the paper-thin walls of his childhood home. "Don't give that boy an excuse," his father answered. "He'll think he's some kind of special kid who deserves things. That's the last thing that kid needs. He ain't special."
On the bottom of the letter was a hand drawn map with the little girl's address. 15 Hawthorne Avenue. He didn't do this kind of thing for kids, but there was something desolate in her brown eyes. She struggled to talk to him. He had asked her what she wanted for Christmas about a dozen times before she handed him the tattered red envelope.
She was a little girl who knew too much for her age. She knew that her Christmases would never be the same again. She knew that no one would make them special for her like her mother. Would anyone ever be Santa to Vivian again?
He could give her one special Christmas. One magical memory.
He took a deep breath like he always did when he started his shift at the mall.
Showtime. Remember to be Jolly.
With a small push, the door creaked open. It creaked so loud that it should have woken the world. At least it should have woken the woman on the floor. But she remained as still as the tower of stacked presents in holly patterned paper that sat next to the tree.
He stepped inside, adjusting his red and white-trimmed cap.
"Miss? I'm here to see Vivian. I met her at the mall. She gave me a letter."
The woman didn't respond.
Maybe she wasn't feeling well.
The television repeated the snowman scene from earlier except this time the screen flickered like when a VCR would adjust its tracking with black and white snow.
His tongue slapped the roof of his mouth, nearly sticking to it. He knew he should have picked up a drink at the food court before he left the mall. The glass of milk on the table looked cold and before thinking too hard, he grabbed it from the table and swallowed it down in one gulp. Vanilla and sugar, his favorite. Just like he had told the little girl.
"Miss?" he repeated a bit louder.
He reached down to shake her arm and as his hand touched her shoulder he realized that she was cold. Too cold to be living.
He stumbled backward, slipping on the floor, his feet nearly coming out from under him as he put his hand behind himself so he wouldn't fall flat on his back.
He felt something wet. It was the dark red tree skirt. Except it wasn't a tree skirt. It was blood.
His mouth opened into a gasp as he sunk into the syrupy human fluid on the floor. It smelled like the pennies that were in the empty fountain at the mall, next to Santa's workshop. The scent was so strong that he could feel his stomach wretch.
A giggle echoed in the room.
The little girl in the green smocked dress stood in the door to the kitchen. A smile crept over her face.
"Vivian, we need to get out of here," he said as his heart began to race. He looked down at his stained clothing. The white parts of his costume were matted with crimson. He couldn't go out into the dark in a bloody Santa suit on Christmas Eve. It wasn't even his own blood. No one would believe him. They'd learn about his criminal record. They'd pull up the fake ID. They wouldn't believe that he "found" the bag of presents at the mall. He wouldn't be able to explain it away.
"You drank the milk!" she said as she pointed at the empty glass.
"Come on, Vivian. Let's go," he hissed.
He looked into the little girl's glossy eyes. He had never seen that look in a child before. And he had seen scores of kids at the mall. Nice ones. Bratty ones. Scared ones. But none like this one.
This was pure evil.
He swallowed an acidic burp as he tasted the vanilla and sugar again.
"Satan! Satan!" the girl cooed.
Something inside of him told him to flee, but his body was stick. He was sinking. His limbs were heavy. He fought to keep his eyes open.
He shook his head slowly like the animatronic elves that stood next to his workshop at the mall. "I'm Santa! You spelled my name wrong on the card!"
"Satan," she repeated with a new smile. This time it was larger than before. Her eyes darkened.
He slumped to the floor, his face hitting the thick pool of blood with a squish. He stared into the dead woman's face. The missing sugar cookie reindeer antlers were in the spaces where her eyes should have been.
"Now Mommy isn't alone."
Jessica Shannon
Jessica Shannon is a writer/artist living outside of Philadelphia whose interests include miniature dioramas, vintage retail, and horror films from the 1980s. She is currently working on her debut novel which takes place in a dead mall.
X-mas Twist
Father Ralph parked in the spot reserved for ministers near the entrance to Conway Nursing Home. He hurried inside, minimizing his exposure to the chilling wind that had frozen much of North Texas this Christmas Eve.
He greeted Luella at the front desk, signed in, and made his way thru the lobby. A large, extravagantly lit Christmas tree took up much of the lobby area. On the wall near the tree was a garish cross, created by several strands of lights that flickered erratically. The cross appeared large enough to crucify a full-sized man, but there was no Christ figure on it. Glancing at it as he passed, Father Ralph thought the cross' mad flickering might be enough to cause an epileptic fit if one was so inclined. Why is the cross here on Christmas? he mused.
He didn't have time to appraise the decorations, however. He had been called to attend Mrs. Santos, whom Nancy Lomax, the head nurse, thought must be near death. Mrs. Santos was only in her 60's, but had evidently had a hard life and was now in advanced dementia. He found her in a wheelchair in the hallway, pushed by Nancy Lomax.
"If she's dying, why isn't she in bed?" asked Father Ralph.
"Well, Father, when I called you she had passed out and we thought she might not awaken. But she came to and seemed to be a little better. She's been babbling like crazy ever since. I thought it best you see her in case she maybe relapses into a fatal coma. She's acting very strange."
Father Ralph bent down to look the old lady in the eye. "Mary, are you stirring up trouble around here?" he asked lightly.
She grabbed his wrist with a gnarled claw and whined, "They never get it right. There weren't any shepherds or wise men. No presents either. It's not fair. But he's coming, he's coming!"
"What do you mean, Mary. I don't understand," said Father Ralph. Then he turned to nurse Lomax. "What's she mean about no shepherds or presents?"
"Oh, haven't you heard her story claiming to be the Virgin Mary? I thought she had told just about everyone by now. Well, let me see if I can make it coherent for you. As you know, her name is Mary—Mary Santos, which I think means Saint Mary. She claims that when she was a teenager, she became pregnant, but not thru the normal process. She was adamant that she hadn't been with any boys. Her family was mighty strict, so when they discovered her pregnancy, they kicked her out. But her older boyfriend, Joe, stuck by her and took her into his house. Well, you can see the parallels to the Christ story. She claims she is actually the latter day Virgin Mary.
"She even says she gave birth in a barn. Seems Joe had a temp job at a guest ranch down near Palestine. So the two of them were there when she had the baby, or rather babies. Seems she had twin boys. Named one of them Jesus, of course. Care to guess about the other? No? Well, Judas, no less."
"Holy macaroons!" said Father Ralph crossing himself.
"Yeah, she couldn't deviate that much from her illusion, so she left Judas with the owners of the guest ranch. She and Joe hot-footed it back here with baby Jesus. Joe gets a job building custom wooden coffins for the mortuary trade. Jesus does that too for a while as a teenager, but then disappears for several years.
Word was he went out to the coast and became a surfer dude. Some said he became a marijuana grower. Could have spent some time in prison. Anyway, next time Mary hears from him, he's become a rock singer and he and Judas are reunited in the same band. You see where this is going, of course. Well, they've been traveling around quite a lot, but she's claiming Jesus is supposed to show up here tonight, it being Christmas and all."
"That's quite a story," said Father Ralph. "So, she came out of her coma because she thinks Jesus is coming?"
"Could be, but we haven't heard anything that would give her reason to think so. No mail or phone calls from anyone."
Just then there was a commotion from the lobby. Nurse Lomax and Father Ralph wheeled Mary down the hall toward the noise. Several of the residents and staff were gathered in the lobby watching a group of musicians setting up their equipment to play. A banner for the group read: "Jesus and the Apostles". A thin young man with a scraggy beard detached himself from the others and came to embrace Mary Santos.
"Mother, I've come to see you and we're going to play some music for you and your friends."
Mary glared up at the man. "Don't try to fool your mother. You're Judas! Where's Jesus?"
The front door flung open and another thin young man entered who was obviously twin to the first. "I'm here! Don't start without me. Thanks for filling in for me Judas, but I'll take over now."
The two brothers embraced, but Judas said bitterly, "Maybe I'd better take the lead this time while you see to Mother. There she is, give her a kiss. She's been waiting for you, not me."
Jesus looked at his withered mother, then back at Judas. "The sign says 'Jesus and the Apostles'. I'll do the show as always."
"You always have to be in the spotlight, don't you?" sneered Judas. He gave Jesus a little push to get around him. Jesus must have lost his balance or stumbled on a speaker cable. He did a slow-motion fall against the flashing cross on the wall. Glass broke. Electricity crackled. The lights went out. Jesus gasped.
When the lights came back on, Jesus' body was stretched grotesquely against the now dark cross. There was a haze of smoke and the smell of burnt flesh. The cross had evidently shorted out and electrocuted him.
Mary screamed, "Jesus!"
Judas groaned, "Oh, my God!"
Father Ralph exclaimed, "Holy macaroons! This is Christmas not Easter!"
Michael Baldwin
Michael Baldwin is a native of Fort Worth, TX. He holds a BA in Political Science, a Masters in Library Science, and a Masters in Public Administration. He is now retired from a career as a library administrator and professor of American Government. Mr. Baldwin has been published extensively in poetry journals and anthologies. His poetry was featured on the national radio program The Romantic Hours, and has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He won the Eakin Manuscript award in 2011 for his book, Scapes. He won the Morris Memorial Chapbook Award in 2012, for Counting Backward From Infinity. His book of Texas poetry, Lone Star Heart, was published by Lamar University Press in 2016, and was a candidate for the Texas Institute of Letters Poetry Book Award. Mr. Baldwin has also published a mystery thriller novel, Murder Music, and two collections of science-fiction short stories, Passing Strange, and Surpassing Strange, and a children's book, Space Cat. Mr. Baldwin resides in Benbrook, TX.
You can follow his work on his homepage here: www.jmbaldwin.com.
Dead Watch
It's a chilly one tonight. The cold goes right through the bones if you let it; but I shan't let it. I'm warm here in this small room with its small bed and small desk. The light of the candle sitting beside me on the desk is fighting with the light of the fireplace behind me; a to and fro battle my shadow cannot win. I'm sitting with my fingers firmly gripping my quill. I plan to write my love Cynthia who has gone off to visit her family in New Brighton for the Christmas holiday.
Marty, the undertaker of the mortuary and my dear friend, asked me to take the dead watch for him tonight saying that he had previous plans with a visiting cousin. With Cynthia gone, I had nothing else to do. I suppose I could have run down to the tavern with some of the others or even asked to run along with Marty and his kin; but the cold kept me in.
During the dead watch I oversee the dead who have been brought here after Marty prepared them for viewing or burial, or a cremation which will take place the following day; or after a holiday. I have watched the dead before, a few times, not much. Most of my time is spent with my dear Cynthia.
The watch is quite simple, really. I merely stay in a back room of the mortuary ensuring that the building is secure and no one breaks in during the night. It is quiet. No one disturbs me.
The only duty I must perform during the watch is to turn off lights situated above each occupied coffin. The lights are perched above the head of the deceased incase a loved one or a policeman may drop by, perhaps an investigator. Loved ones may stay with the deceased for some time before I must usher them off for the night whilst outside, trolley cars continue their rounds about the snowy city.
As soon as night has fallen, I lock the front hinged door of the mortuary, chain and bolt it, and then make my rounds turning off all of the lights in the building including those hanging over the deceased.
Back in my small room, I settle down with a few sheets of paper, my quill, and the fire warming my back. The only light now is in the room with me, shoving my shadow here and there. The dark open viewing area of the mortuary is through an open doorway to my room.
I begin to write Cynthia, my love. My words of love for her easily flow through my quill. Sometime later, a rap at the front door startles me. Hurriedly I throw on my cloak and quickly walk to the bolted door. I pass the coffins in the dark noticing that I left one of the lights on by one of the coffins near the far wall. How silly of me. I thought that I had turned it off. With a slight laugh, I arrive at the front door, unlock it, and am surprised to see a night patrolman.
In a cold shivering whisper of a voice he asks, "Can I sit in by your fire for a bit, lad?" His moustache is covered in small bits of frozen ice. His hat and shoulders are covered in fresh snow flakes.
"Sorry old boy," I say. "But I am not allowed to let anyone in now that visiting hours have passed. You might try the tavern. They may let you sit for a bit."
He smiles. "Well done. Marty wanted me to check in on you. I see he's hired himself a good man. Goodnight then."
Graciously, I nod, closing the door on him and relocking it. Of course Marty picked a good man for the job! I wasn't going to let a good friend of mine down. He had helped me on many different occasions. Sitting here in the dark was not such a hard thing to do to repay a kindness, now was it? And not only that, Marty was going to have Cynthia and me over for dinner as payment. His rabbit stew was such a treat.
With a shiver, I folded my arms and rubbed my sides as the front door sealed the cold away. "God its bloody cold out there," I said making my way back to my room past the coffins. Entering the door to my room I stopped in my tracks. "Ah, the light." I walked back to the one which was still lit, pulled the chain, and off it went.
The light of the fire beckoned to me. Just that short time of talking to the night patrolmen had brought such a chill to my bones. I could feel the cold air around my ankles.
Hurrying now, I entered my room and stood in front of the fire. I pulled my hands out of my pockets and spread my fingers toward the heat of the flames. The cold left my body and warmth filled me.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw that a light was coming from the room full of coffins. With my head cocked, I walked back out into the coffin room and saw that indeed one of the lights was on over one of the coffins. It was the same light that I had turned off only moments before…right after the night patrolman's visit.
I stood with my fingers on my lips, my thumb under my chin. "I thought I just turned that light out," I said quietly.
So cold. The room was so damned cold. It felt like the chill of death in here.
I walked back over to the coffin. I pulled the chain down and the light went out. I stood for a moment – or at least as long as I could until the cold pushed me back to my stateroom and the warm fire waiting there.
"I know it's out now," I said with my hand on the back of my chair preparing to sit down. Instead I went back to the door of my room. The room full of coffins was dark.
With a sigh I took off my cloak, laid it on the bed and returned to my desk. I thought that I should at least finish the letter before retiring. I picked up the quill; feeling the warmth of the fire on my back; and continued the letter.
A bit later, I felt a wisp of cold around my ankles.
"Did someone come in?" I asked. They couldn't have. The front door was locked with a bolt and chain. Still, it felt like wind was blowing around my feet.
I pushed back from the chair. Putting my cloak on once again, I stopped in my steps when I stepped into the room of coffins.
The light was on again over the same coffin.
The pull chain was swinging slightly.
"Is someone playing tricks?" I asked to the cold room. "Come out now. There's no time for this."
No one said anything, just the icy wind blowing outside through shutters, between the barren trees, over the rafters.
'Now, I know I have been turning this off," I said in an angry whisper.
I walked over to the coffin.
In it, an old dead man lay, his hands folded over his chest. His hair was white. His face clean shaven. I could see tiny ice crystals covering his skin. I thought about closing the lid of the coffin, but Marty distinctly told me to leave the coffins open. He didn't say why, however. I just assumed that it was for the undertaker to do before the bodies were transported away from here.
I stood looking down at the old man.
Was he really not dead? Was this one of Marty's friends playing a trick – his cousin? Or a different night patrolman? No. It couldn't be. No man could lay in a coffin so long, especially not in this cold. The man was only wearing a suit. He wore no cloak!
I could see my breath pluming out in front of me.
The old man was not breathing.
"I will make sure this light stays out," I said pulling down on the chain. The light went off. "There. It's out."
Back at the door to my room, I turned around to look back.
It was dark.
I stood in front of the fire, again warming my hands. I kept turning my head to see if the light was on again in the other room. It wasn't. It stayed off.
"Ok. It's off," I said, sitting and tapping my quill on the desk. The letter to my love sat unfinished. I wouldn't be able to finish it now. My mind was racing too fast. I couldn't understand how the damned light kept coming on!
"I won't get this letter done tonight," I said to myself. "I can finish in the morning."
I leaned over the desk and blew out the candle. Now the only light was from the fireplace. Shadows danced on the wall.
I slipped off my shoes and got into bed leaving the rest of my clothing on. It would be too cold to sleep in the buff, and I also wasn't certain if a night patrolman might stop by.
Pulling the covers up to my chin, I closed my eyes then shot them open again seeing a reflection of white light on the ceiling above me. The fire wasn't emitting a white light. It must have been from out in the coffin room.
"No," I whispered. "It cannot be."
I threw the covers back, slipped on my shoes and walked over to the doorway. I stood, my hands on either side of me resting at shoulder height on the door jambs. I stared into the darkness, my eyes stuck on the single light.
"It can only come on if someone pulls the chain," I said, my breath short. "Who is pulling the chain? Who is out there?"
Only the wind outside answered me.
"Who is out there?" I said louder. "Who is out there?"
It was deathly quiet.
Quickly turning around I marched over to my desk and plopped down in the chair. "No one is pulling the chain. How can the light be coming on?"
I shot a look over my shoulder, fear gripping me, causing goose pimples to run up and down my body.
"Unless…unless the old man is reaching up and turning on the light himself."
I stood up quickly.
"I must find out. I will stand and watch him."
Quietly, I walked back into the dark room over to the lit coffin. I stood over it, my arms folded, my breath freezing in front of me.
I reached out and pulled the chain down.
The light went out.
I waited.
There was no sound, only the wind. I didn't hear a grunt or a sad, or perhaps angry moan from the old man in the coffin. He didn't sit up in the coffin and grab my neck, strangle me, yell in my face with his rotting voice "Leave my light on!"
It remained dark.
"I've been hallucinating," I whispered. "This has been my imagination. I am standing here in this dark room expecting a dead man to turn on a light." I laughed with a cold shiver. "I am a fool."
I went back to my room. Entering, my body was lit from behind as the light came on once again.
The dead man lay with his hands folded over his chest.
With fear shaking me, I went back into my room, kicked off my shoes, and jumped under the covers.
I was not cold.
I was not shivering from the cold.
I was afraid. Fear was holding me tight.
"How can this be happening?"
Loud rapping on the door woke me the next morning. Groggily shaking my head, I hopped out of bed, threw on my cloak, put on my shoes and went to the door.
My eyes never left the coffin as I passed it.
The light was still on.
Marty stood outside the door. He was looking around, his breath pluming out in front of him. He held a large Christmas wreath.
He met me with a smile as I opened the door. "Good morning, James."
I nodded to him. "Good morning."
He asked, "How was your night?"
"Fine. Fine." I didn't want to tell him about the man turning the light on in the coffin.
Shaking snow from his shoulders he came into the room. He looked around. "Oh, that damn light," he said with a sniff.
"What about it?" I asked.
"The damn thing has a short. Every time a trolley goes by outside, it comes on," he said. "Didn't you notice?"
"No," I said in the calmest voice I could muster. "I didn't even see it."
Marty laughed and nodded toward the open doorway.
I turned.
"Merry Christmas, James," a sweet voice said. Cynthia stood in the snow shivering, her arms wrapped around her. She had a large red Christmas bow tied around her waist. She came in and kissed my cheek.
Marty slapped me on the back with a grand smile. "Merry Christmas, old boy! When would the two of you like to come over for dinner?"
R.M. Smith
R. M. Smith writes gritty, grinding, clench your teeth adult types of horror stories about real life people who innocently fall into dire situations with no way out.
The Day Before
It was the day before Christmas, so it was a busy time at the department store. For Catherine, who started college last autumn, taking on a second job as a gift wrapper for the store during the season helped with the bills. The job also helped her save up enough money to get her parents a cruise to the Caribbean for Christmas, and she was excited to have them receive it.
Her workstation consisted of a table that was covered by a red cloth and the items she needed to wrap were scattered on top of it. There was also a small tip jar, and she had received a lot in tips due to her upbeat and hospitable attitude. Though she had been working nonstop for a few hours now, she enjoyed the job.
"Happy Holidays, Mr. Leroux," she told a gentleman she just finished helping.
Her next customer was a woman in her mid-fifties who wanted several baby clothes wrapped, "They're for my first grandchild!" the woman cheerfully proclaimed.
Catherine smiled, "OH, congratulations!" She loved children herself, which was why she was going to school to become a teacher. This was when a loud bang coming from the other side of the store was heard that startled her and the customers.
"What was that?" the woman wondered.
"Someone must have dropped something very big," Catherine brushed off the incident, "Anyway, what's your grandchild's name?"
"Jennifer," the woman replied with a big smile.
Catherine smiled back, "Jennifer… that's a pretty name." More loud banging noises were heard in rapid sequences, accompanied by people screaming. This was when a crowd of screaming people ran towards her direction. When another bang noise was heard, a man in the fleeing crowd fell dead to the floor from a bullet to the head. Blood splattered over the tile floor as the body hit the ground. The people in her line started screaming and running in terror.
Catherine froze as fear filled her veins and mind. A gunman, armed with a semiautomatic weapon, was walking in her direction. She believed such events happened elsewhere, but now it was happening before her eyes. The shooter looked odd because he dressed like Jesus. He had long black hair and a beard. There was a crown of thorns on his head and dried blood along the scalp. He wore sandals and a white robe that had blood stains on the right side near the chest. There were additional dried blood stains on his feet and palms. She was paralyzed from shock, but when he pointed the weapon to his left and yelled out, "Keep Christ in Christmas," Catherine ducked. As he fired upon a crowd of people, she hid under the table. While she knew this wasn't the smartest decision, it was her only option. However, since the table cloth hid her well and he wasn't looking in her direction when she went under it, she felt it was a good hiding spot.
The only light under this table came from the small gap between the table cloth and the floor. This allowed her to see the shadows from the people that were running away as sounds of gunfire and screaming plagued her ears. Her heart started to beat so loud that it almost drowned out the noise of the chaos. Then, the man shouted "Sinners!" After hearing that, she could judge that he was less than ten feet away, and he was getting closer.
She tried to control her breathing, which was heavy due to fear. Another shot was fired, followed by a woman screaming. Seconds later, a shadow appeared and stopped right in front of her. A chill went down her spine because she knew it was the shooter. She could see threw the gap his feet, and noticed that each foot had a self-inflicted wound. Catherine assumed that he was such a fanatic that he self-inflicted stigmata on himself as part of some blind religious devotion. He stood in front of her table, and she could hear that he was reloading his weapon. Luckily for her, it appeared he was unaware of her presence. She wanted to scream, so she placed her hand over her mouth to control herself.
"But those mine enemies, which would not that I should reign over them, bring hither, and slay them before me," he said to himself. His sinister voice brought pure terror throughout Catherine's body as she struggled to keep herself quiet. All she could do was pray that he wouldn't find her. This was a nightmare she couldn't wake up from.
He finished reloading and started shooting again. A group people were heard screaming several yards away, and he ran towards them. For her, there was a slight sigh of relief knowing he was no longer near, but she still wasn't safe. She decided that if she had the chance to escape, she would do it. So, she listened.
Now, it was eerily quiet in the store, as if death took over it. Seconds felt like hours within this silence of horror. After what felt like an eternity had passed, Catherine heard screaming and gunfire coming from the far end of the store. This was her chance as she believed the gunman was far enough away that she could escape unnoticed. Catherine's plan was to run with all her energy to the nearest exit and not look back. Wasting no time, she gathered what bravery and adrenaline she had and crawled out from under the table.
Salvation was just a few yards away, but once she crawled out into the open, there was nothing but damnation. Still on all fours, she looked up and saw a gunman pointing his weapon at her. Though this man was dressed like Jesus, his hair was blond, not black, indicating that there was more than one fanatical killer.
"God told me what you said to Mr. Leroux. It's Merry Christmas, not Happy Holidays!" he yelled. His words brought her questions on whether this was fate, divine judgment, or just a coincidence. While this confused her on how he knew what she said early, it didn't matter in the end. She trembled as she faced her own mortality.
The man aimed the gun directly at her forehead and said, "That whosoever would not seek the LORD God of Israel should be put to death." She didn't want to die as tears fell from her eyes. What followed was the last sound she would ever hear: BANG!
Charles Reis
Charles was born and raised in Coventry, Rhode Island, but currently lives in neighboring West Warwick. He graduated from the University of Rhode Island with a BA in English Literature in 2012. Today, he works as a museum tour guide. Additional works of his includes "Hell Hath Come" in Ampersand Literary and "Maiden from the Sea" in "One Night in Salem" from FunDead Publications.
Five Letters To Santa
The great thing about homicide is what it does to retail values. We would never have been able to afford the house if it hadn't been for the murders; two murders and a suicide to be precise. That put a big dent in the asking price, and Amy haggled it down still further. After all, it's not everyone that is willing to move into a crime scene. Even then we had to stretch to the limit to afford it. Luckily the banks were still happy to loan out high.
People get so spooked about these things; I mean, why? Do they imagine they're going to find ghosts haunting the place? The past, in my opinion, is firmly in the past. Ghosts are all just in your imagination, and the one thing I don't have is much imagination. Amy doesn't either. She's like me only more so; practical.
The house was in a bit of a state when we moved in. It looked like it had been rented out as a multiple occupancy unit. There were locks on the bedroom doors, and there were separate fridges with locks on them too. We were going to remodel anyway. We had budgeted for that when we bought the place and got some further discount. But we were going to have to do most of the work ourselves. That's ok. As I said, I'm practical. We stayed in the basement flat to begin with and got to work. Of course, there was more work than we expected, there always is. First thing to do was to clear out all the trashy, old furniture and fittings. I ripped out the kitchen and threw all the old appliances in a skip. I know you think that I could have got a house clearer in to take the furniture and white goods, but seriously they were not worth anything. We did get some local house clearers round to look at it, but they all wanted money to haul it away. My guess is that whoever inherited the house sold the original furniture and, like I said, set the place up as bedsits.
The house was going to need a new kitchen; the bathrooms needed to be redone, a complete redecoration, rewired, new heating. That was before we could even think about the landscaping. Still, we knew we could make money from it; not least because eventually, people forget about the past. We just had to hold onto it long enough.
We made pretty good progress. We refitted the kitchen, and we got an electrician in to do the first fit on the rewiring, and we got heating done. We'd had to replace some of the doors due to the locks that had been stuck on them, but we managed to keep most of the original features. We even took some of the fireplaces out and had sold them to bring in some extra cash for the work.
I stripped out the fireplace in the back bedroom. It had been boarded up and a heater had been stuck in front of it. I was going to take out the chimney breast and get a bit more room anyway. But it was a nice fire surround and I was pretty sure I could make good money from selling it on to the salvage merchants.
When I pulled out the fire, there were five yellowing envelopes lying in at the back. Amy, who was helping, leaned over and picked them up. The envelopes were all different sizes, but all of them were addressed to Santa Claus. I guess a kid had written then and stuck them in there.
"Cute," I said. "Let's read them."
"I don't know," said Amy. "Let's just bin them with the rest of the rubble."
"Nah, go on read them," I insisted.
"Well, alright," said Amy. And she tore open the first letter. It was written on Mickey Mouse notepaper and scribbled in crayon. The kid must have been about five when he wrote it.
"Dear Santa," Amy read. "Please make Daddy come home from the hospital. I miss him so much and Mummy is sad because he is not here. She cries a lot and looks worried even though she tries not to."
"That's a bit of downer," said Amy.
"Poor kid," I said. "I wonder what was wrong with his Dad. I hope things turned out all right. I guess they must have if he wrote more. Let's read the next one."
"Alright," agreed Amy. "I'm not sure which one it is. I guess this one going by the handwriting. That one was on top of the pile so it must be the last so I guess this is next."
"Dear Santa, Thank you for letting Daddy come home. It's great to see him, even although I need to keep quiet because he's not well. Mummy says that he'll get better and this is for the best. She says that the doctors will fix him and that why he needs his special medicine. I'd like special medicine too. Sometimes I get sad, just like Daddy, although I don't shout and break things when I feel sad. Mummy hugs me when she feels sad. I wish Daddy would hug Mummy or me. But Mummy says he can't because he's so ill. Do you get sad, and does Rudolf give you a hug when you feel bad?"
"This isn't any better," said Amy.
"I don't know; it's kind of cute. You should give me a hug when I'm sad," I said.
"I do," said Amy. That made us laugh.
"Next one," Amy said, opening the middle letter from the pile.
"Dear Santa, I'm sorry I've not been a very good boy this year. I've tried to be good but I keep making Daddy mad. He keeps shouting at me. When I make him mad, he hits Mummy and makes her cry. Mummy should go to the doctors but she won't. She says Daddy is very ill and that if we tell the doctors, then they will take him away again. She says he is ill because the doctors won't give him enough of his special medicine. When Daddy gets his special medicine, he can be lots of fun. He tells all sorts of funny jokes and things. I know this letter is from me, but can I ask you to give Daddy more special medicine for Christmas."
"Wow," said Amy, and put the letter down. "Let's not read anymore."
"We can't stop now," I said. "I want to hear what happens next."
"Then you read them," she said and handed me the two last letters.
"Ok," I agreed. "But this is not like you."
I opened the fourth letter. It was written in copperplate handwriting with a fountain pen like a schoolboy. Who knows what age the kid was now; I and guess twelve.
"Dear Santa," I read. "Thank you for the presents last year. I liked the cowboy suit and the train set very much, although I'm a bit big for them now. Dad took them and sold them. He said that they were too babyish for a boy my age. Dad is well, and so is Mum. They send their best regards. I am doing well at school and working hard. Dad is fine now that he has enough medicine. I help Mum to look after him and clean him up after he's been sick or fallen asleep on the floor. He has a friend that comes and stays sometimes. She is very nice, although I think Mum does not like her. Sometimes I hear Mum and Dad arguing about her. Mum says that she is a whore. But when I asked the teacher at school what that meant, I got into trouble. Mum cries a lot now, and I have to help her look after the house. I love my Mum and Dad very much. Please help us to be happy this Christmas and keep Dad's friend away."
When I finished the letter, Amy took it and screwed it up.
"That's enough," she said. But we both knew that we had to read the last letter. I looked at her and took a deep breath. She was shaking her head. But we had to. We owed it to the kid at the very least.
"Alright then," she said at last, and tore open the envelope with shaking fingers. There was only one line of writing.
"Dear Santa, For Christmas I would like a new bicycle, a new phone and a .22 hand gun. Thanks."
Like I said; ghosts only exist in your head, and now there was the ghost of an abused, twelve year old kid with a gun that shot his parents and then turned the gun on himself living in my head.
We lost a fortune on that house when we sold it. And of course, Christmas was never the same.
David Rae
David wrote with big letters. he filled the whole page with just one line of long strokes, swirling loops and tails and dashes. But that was no good; it needed to be small letters, so he wrote in tiny letters that no one else could read. There is no middle way.
You can follow David's work at: Davidrae-stories.com.
"Brilliant costume!" shouted Steve.
A 'soldier' in a red jacket and a tall hat was marching up the street towards them.
"Yeah, brill!" muttered Harry. Their mismatched Santa outfits seemed quite pathetic.
"Hallowe'en all over again…" groaned Bill.
Then, another figure in uniform rounded the corner. And, another. And, another. Dozens, marching in unison.
"Something's not right," said Harry.
A man with flashing antlers on his head stumbled out of an alleyway. The nearest soldier swung around and its jaw dropped.
CLACK! Its jaw snapped back up and took the man's head off.
They were everywhere.
DJ Tyrer
DJ Tyrer is the person behind Atlantean Publishing, was short-listed for the 2015 Carillon 'Let's Be Absurd' Fiction Competition, and has been widely published in anthologies and magazines around the world, such as Strangely Funny II, III and IV (all Mystery & Horror LLC), and Irrational Fears (FTB Press), as well as on Cease Cows, The Flash Fiction Press and The WiFiles, and in issues of Tigershark ezine, and also has a novella available in paperback and on the Kindle, The Yellow House (Dunhams Manor).
You can follow DJ's work at http://djtyrer.blogspot.co.uk/.
The Grungle
The Grungle is a critter
That hides in Christmas trees
Its seven eyes are black as coal
Its spiny legs deceive
The Grungle looks like evergreen
It blends with colored lights
It tip-taps on glass ornaments
And lingers through the night
When children come to open gifts
The Grungle plays a trick
Its poison stinger fires out
To make the child sick
The child wakes up in his bed
Away from Christmas cheer
And the Grungle crawls upstairs
To grant the gift of fear
Underneath the child's skin
The Grungle lays its spawn
Teeny-tiny grunglings
That wriggle out by dawn
Kevin Folliard
Kevin M. Folliard is a Chicagoland writer whose published fiction includes scary stories collections Christmas Terror Tales and Valentine Terror Tales, and adventure novels such as Matt Palmer and the Komodo Uprising. His work has also been collected by Double Feature Magazine, Flame Tree Publishing, Parsec Ink, and more.
You can follow Kevin anywhere below!
Author Website: http://www.kevinfolliard.com/.
Amazon Page: http://amzn.to/2Dl5caJ.
Instagram: Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kmfollia/.
Wrong Night
The sound of bells wakens me, and my heart instantly fills with joy. I listen as, downstairs, heavy boots move around the house. Do mother and father hear it, too, or is the magic of this moment just mine?
There is a clatter and a grunt—a stifled curse-word I never expected to hear from Santa—and I sit upright in bed, turn to face the door.
This is when I notice the advent calendar hanging there, two doors yet to open, for it is only the twenty-third.
Panic sets in as the boots stomp up the stairs toward me.
Adam Millard
Adam Millard is the author of twenty-six novels, twelve novellas, and more than two hundred short stories, which can be found in various collections, magazines, and anthologies. Probably best known for his post-apocalyptic and comedy-horror fiction, Adam also writes fantasy/horror for children, as well as bizarro fiction for several publishers. His work has recently been translated for the German market.


text:
I've made a few additions to the notable blog list on the left sidebar:
ArtsBlog - which is maintained by Americans for the Arts.
The Martin Prosperity Institute - which is not really a blog but the new, cleverly designed web site of the world's leading think-tank on the role of sub-national factors - location, place and city-regions - in global economic prosperity. Led by Director Richard Florida, the Institute takes an integrated view of prosperity, looking beyond economic measures to include the importance of quality of place and the development of people's creative potential. The Institute conducts relevant research to shape debate about economic prosperity and to inform private, public and civic decision-making at the highest levels. Headquartered in downtown Toronto, the institute is affiliated with the Rotman School of Management at the University of Toronto.
The home page of the web site has a standard navigation bar at the top, above a typical, visually interesting downtown street scene. The navigation links appear as signs on various shops, so the "About" section becomes "About Cafe."
MayorTV - MayorTV, a project of The Nation and the Drum Major Institute, is a challenge from the America's mayors to the 2008 Presidential candidates to start talking about cities and urban policy. Eighteen videos have been posted so far, presenting the views of the mayors of the New York State cities of Buffalo (Byron Brown) and Rochester (Bob Duffy) as well as Salt Lake City, Miami, Baltimore, Atlanta, Gainesville, Denver, Boston, Minneapolis, Los Angeles, Trenton, Scranto, Lexington, Richmond, Albuquerque, Nashville and Honolulu. In these punchy video interviews, the diverse and influential group of mayors give their prescription for an agenda that supports American cities, and thus America at large.
The result -- MayorTV.com -- offers surprising insights into presidential politics, priorities and the candidates themselves.
Calls for a national urban policy – and urban policy in general – have been made by such organizations as the Brookings Institution, the U.S. Conference of Mayors, CEOs for Cities, the Institute for Smart Growth, the Drum Major Institute for Public Policy, the Creative Class Group (Richard Florida), the Business Alliance for Local Living Economies and other groups that understand the economic benefits of urban revitalization (and constraints imposed by economic distress) and are heavily involved and invested in the revitalization of urban areas. In addition, others are documenting the untapped demand for basic goods and services in urban markets, including Harvard University Professor Michael Porter, founder of the Institute for Strategy and Competitiveness, and Inc. Magazine's Inner City 100, a national listing of 100 of the fastest-growing companies located in America's inner cities.
For additional resources, see:
- NY Times Leading Editorial, February 19, 2008
and the U.S. Conference of Mayors response
- U.S. Conference of Mayors-sponsored Tufts University panel on Urban Issues in the 2008 Presidential Campaign
- Planetizen's recent post "Cities: The Missing Presidential Campaign Issue" by Randall Crane.
Museum 2.0 - Maintained by Nina Simon, this blog "explore the ways that the philosophies of Web 2.0 can be applied in museums to make them more engaging, community-based, vital elements of society." Ms. Simon, a museum consultant, defines "Web 2.0" as "not just a buzzword; it's a definition of web-based applications with an "architecture of participation," that is, one in which users generate, share, and curate the content. The web started with sites (1.0) that are authoritative content distributors--like traditional museums. The user experience with web 1.0 is passive; you are a viewer, a consumer. Web 2.0 removes the authority from the content provider and places it in the hands of the user. Now, you are a participant. You determine what's on the site, and you judge which content is most valuable."
She believes "that museums have the potential to undergo a similar (r)evolution as that on the web, to transform from static content authorities to dynamic platforms for content generation and sharing...that visitors can become users, and museums central to social interactions. Web 2.0 opens up opportunity, but it also demonstrates where museums are lacking." The intention of the Museum 2.0 blog is to explore these opportunities and shortcomings with regard to museums and interactive design.
Nathan Kensinger Photography and Hudson Valley Ruins - A blog and a web site that focus on industrial archeology in New York City and, obviously, the Hudson Valley. Both sites have great photographs of, and information about, industrial buildings and heritage. Nathan Kensinger is a documentary filmmaker, photographer, and location scout.
The Hudson Valley Ruins web site "provides a record of historic and distinctive architecture threatened by development, vandals, and time and exposure to the elements" and is intended to "be a catalyst for efforts to save the neglected historic structures of the Hudson Valley region of New York State." It also includes photographs of buildings that have been restored. The site is maintained by Thomas Rinaldi and Thomas Yasinsac, authors of Hudson Valley Ruins: Forgotten Landmarks of an American Landscape.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Monday, December 07, 2009
The Wife
I am a 33 year old that has been working at the same company for 5 years. Things were going along quite smoothly until about 10 months ago. This is an involved story, and I apologize for writing an email longer than you want. I just can't explain quite how nuts the situation is without going into it all.
I work for a private marketing firm of about 35 people, with 4 partners. We do not have an HR department, but rather one of the partners is designated HR partner and we are to go to him with any HR related issues. With the exception of 1 person, who I will call Dee, we somehow all manage to get along great. The real problem? Dee is married to the HR partner, who also happens to be my direct boss.
For the first 4 years that I worked for this company, I managed to stay on the "Good Side" of Dee. Dee is not in any management or higher up position - she is a peer to everyone else at the company. While I was on her good side, I was amazed at the mean, vindictive and hateful things she would say about her coworkers. I did not join in. Furthermore, the quality of Dee's work is astonishingly low, and it is generally assumed that the only reason she is still working for the firm is because she is married to one of the partners. I don't know of a single coworker who respects her or her work.
I managed to get on her bad side about a year ago when at a work social event I mentioned that I was putting my house up for sale. Evidently, she is a realtor in her spare time. The second she found out that I was putting the house on the market, she began to offer her services to me. Knowing that I don't find her work to be satisfactory, I knew that the last thing I wanted was for her to be my realtor. However, I wasn't ready with a quick response such as "Oh, my friend is a realtor and we are using her!" (This is beside the point that under no circumstances should I have to have a ready made realtor excuse, but it sure would have made my life alot easier!)
Anyway, over the next couple months she harassed me endlessly about being my realtor. I was "Realtor harassed". I finally told her that I had a realtor in mind that I had used in the past and that I was going to have her be my realtor. This is when the evil Dee came out! She told me that she was going to be too busy anyway, and that people were going to have to walk through urine to get to my house (I'm not sure where she came up with that one) and several other petty comments. I smiled and said "Well as long as it gets sold!"
The next day all hell broke loose. She strongly badmouthed me to several of my coworkers including badmouthing my job performance - insinuating to them that her husband, my boss, had said negative things about my job performance while they were at home at night. Being that the coworkers are my friends and not so much hers, they reported everything that was said to me. At this point I was still considered a "rising star" in the firm, and I am literally my boss's "go to girl" for everything, so I was suspicious. I routinely make him look really, REALLY good, and clients have let him know that. Furthermore, I considered him to be my mentor and we had talked at length about how important it is to communicate criticisms so that one might have a chance to improve - he had promised to always let me know if he had an issue with me. But since the accusation was brought up, I felt like I had no choice but to address it. So I spoke to him privately, let him know what happened, and told him that I had no interest in involving him in petty issues, but that if my job performance was in question, then I needed to know that.
He responded that No, he had no issue with my work and was very appreciative to have an employee like me. He said that he would take care of the issue and apologized to me that it was even an issue. He seemed to recognize that it was an absurd situation for me to be in. He also thanked me for coming to him. No other employee has gone to him when they have had a problem with Dee, they always go to other partners because they are too scared to say bad things about his wife to his face.
However, since this conversation 10 months ago, things have been different at the company. My boss seems like he tries really hard to separate his professional and personal life, but he's not really good at it. Dee continues to harass me in her own way - sometimes affecting my work and other times just being obnoxious. She routinely tries to make me look bad - I don't think she's succeeded yet, but quite frankly, the behavior is getting old. I have no interest in being involved in pettiness, but it's getting harder and harder as the days go on. I can deal with people I don't like - because I care about the end goal and I care about getting my job done. What I'm having a hard time dealing with is someone attacking me and tearing me down. I have tried very hard to control my reactions to her behavior, but after a year, I feel myself losing the battle and am feeling quite negative.
6 people have left the company in the 3.5 years that I have worked for them because they couldn't put up with Dee's behavior anymore. The company looses good employees because they refuse to deal with the bad ones. I have come very close to leaving the company, but I enjoy my relationships with my clients, and with the economy being what it is, there is NOBODY hiring in my field right now. I also enjoy my job aside from Dee! I've tried very hard to simply ignore it, but now Dee is involving our projects in the mess as well. I sincerely believe that she is affecting my chances for success at this company. Do I talk to my bosses again? What will come of that? Valuable people have left because of her, and they've done nothing. If I am valuable enough for them to fire her over me, then I'm going to be the employee that got my boss's wife fired, and that's not good.
If I do go to the bosses, how far do I go in explaining her behavior? Do I tell my boss that she's accused the president of the company of staring at her boobs? Do I tell my boss that she makes coworkers uncomfortable by saying terrible things about his mother to us? Because everything she has done is small and petty, I don't know how to explain it to them without sounding petty myself.
Part of the problem is that I can't really prove much. I can't prove that she's dragging my name through the mud to our clients, but I am 100% sure of it. I can't prove that she's done much of anything.
Alright, I think you get the gist of it and so will end this now. Hopefully you can see my conundrum. I'm really feeling like I'm in a no-win situation.
There is nothing worse then a co-worker with a side job that involves selling. Pamper Chef, Melaluca, Real Estate. It's all bad. (Although, as a side note, I had a delightful Real Estate Agent co-worker at my last job and she never pressured anyone.) Make this person the boss's wife and you've got a recipe for disaster.
Here are some realities: Dee is not going to quit. Dee is not going to be fired.
As long as you are at this business you will need to deal with her.
To his credit, your boss, recognizes there is a problem and is not intentionally holding it against you. Obviously, he's got a difficult situation going on. Even though you are the only one who has gone to him with Dee problems, his response to you indicates that he knows full well what she is like. It's uncomfortable for him.
In the past you "stayed out of it" hoping that Dee would keep attacking others and leave you alone. This worked for a while. Now you are the target and others are laying low, hoping Dee will just leave them alone.
The time to hope Dee leaves everyone alone has come to an end. This plan will work best if you have some trusted co-workers that you can bring in on it. If not, you can go it alone. Here's what you do:
Every time Dee makes a negative comment about another worker, speak up. "Dee, you know that Ryan did a great job on the Jones account. Why would you say otherwise?" "Dee, that is an inappropriate comment." "Dee, why would you say that? Stephanie is hard worker with good results." "Dee, I didn't choose you as my realtor because I wanted someone who had experience in my neighborhood." Don't cower from her. Don't be mean, just let her know that you are not going to listen to or tolerate her mean behavior.
None of your other coworkers like her either, but they have been too scared to speak up. If you start this others will follow. Dee will go crying to her husband. But, given his earlier response it's doubtful that he'll do anything towards the rest of you. He's undoubtedly tired of the problem as well.
Don't run to any of the partners about her behavior. They see it. The other partners are just as stuck as you are. Just work on retraining her. (Also, I wouldn't worry about the quality of her work. I'd just focus on the meanness.)
If no one will listen to/put up with her mean behavior she'll have to change somehow. She may just sulk, but at least that's quiet. She may realize she can't expect immunity any more because she's a partner's wife.
This plan requires extreme caution. You cannot say, "Dee you are such a jerk!" Or "Dee, stop being rude!" You can only say things that are actual fact. If her complaint about how dumb Ryan is is met with, "Ryan did a good job on the Jones account," how is she going to complain to her husband about you? "But she said that Ryan did a good job!!! Waah!" See, it holds no water. Now, if you said, "Dee, stop being a jerk to Ryan," then she can say, "That big meanie called me a jerk!" So, don't do that.
And, just to be on the safe side, it's always a good idea to freshen up your resume! But, my bet is that as long as you say these things firmly and stick to the facts, you will have nothing to fear. But, also, keep notes. Just in case
12 comments:
- Unknown said...
If I was in such a situation, I would try to talk to the boss about Dee's interests. This woman seems to get some feeling of importance out of condemning her coworkers - so if I had an idea of what her interests were, and spoke to her about them earnestly and with interest, I might be able to shift her method of feeling important away from criticizing others and onto the better parts of Dee. You never know - shifting her perception of importance in such a way might create a monumental shift in her attitude towards not only you, but the rest of her coworkers, would increase her productivity (because she's not fuming over every little thing anymore), and eliminate the tension felt by his boss, who therefore has more mental clarity to do his work.
What do you think?
- December 08, 2009 2:51 PM
- Ask a Manager said...
I tend to err toward the confrontational in situations like this. I'd probably go to the husband and say "We've lost six staff over this, she's making good people's lives miserable, and everyone's sense is that she only gets away with it because she's your wife. Is that a deliberate decision from you, or is there a way to put a stop to this so the rest of us can focus on our work?"
And I'd probably say it to the other partners too.
They deserve to be confronted with the reality of what they're allowing.
- December 08, 2009 3:43 PM
Find another job. Go about it quietly and confidentially. But get out! You won't believe how much better you & empowered you will feel.
Been there. Done that!
- December 08, 2009 5:58 PM
- Theia said...
I agree completely with EHRL. The best way to go is direct, calm, and above all emotion. Going again to the bosses is pointless (plus it puts you a direct line of fire). To be passive aggressive or emotional in return to Dee will just give her ammunition and fuel her love of drama.
The best thing to do is deal with her in an unexpected way. Direct, clear, unafraid, and undramatic. Best best case scenario is she changes her behavior, next best is that your co-workers follow your example and stop indulging her drama (and she remains a moron). Likely scenario is you'll just end up looking professional and she'll continue to look like a bad employee. But with remaining completely direct and calm you cannot be at fault. Excellent advice from EHRL.
I feel for the husband...masochist?
- December 08, 2009 8:20 PM
- Pam said...
Great advice! There's often only so much managers can do about interpersonal relationships and in this case, since she's a wife, there's even less. Your advice is not easy to follow but it is excellent!
- December 08, 2009 11:17 PM
Completely agree with EHRL's advice. People like this thrive because nobody will face them down, and the reason nobody will face them down is they are scared of their reaction and would rather deal with the drip-drip of this behaviour than risk open conflict. Calm, assertive, fact-oriented responses are the only way to deal with this and if everyone does it, she really has nowhere to go - and complaining about it will make her look like an idiot, not you.
- December 08, 2009 11:52 PM
Evil...you did it again...You should write a book about crazy people at the work place.
- December 09, 2009 4:13 PM
- Kingsley Tagbo, IT Career Coach said...
HR Lady's advice is spot on. I don't think the confrontational route will work. People like Dee know how to push your buttons to the point that you end up looking bad. You can't make the others follow your lead, however you can stand up to Dee to the point of getting her to leave you alone.
- December 09, 2009 8:10 PM
I like HHP2K's idea a lot--see if you can find something else to keep her absorbed with. It's always easier to give a critter something else to do than teach it not to do the bad thing :).
- December 11, 2009 1:45 AM
- Marsha Keeffer said...
EHRL gets it - impersonal and factual is the path to walk through this mess. And I think the comment about polishing up your resume is wise also. I'd polish up my network as a good fall-back.
- December 11, 2009 8:39 AM
If what the LW saying is true, here is what I would do.
Ask Dee if you could speak with her in one of the conference rooms and in a quiet and non-threatening voice say, "I know you've been talking S**T about me. Your behavior has caused my work and others to suffer. This has to stop now. If this continues, I will kill you. Make no mistake, I am threatening to murder you. If you bring this up to anyone, I will deny it. They won't believe you because everyone knows I am good and you are an evil b*tch. Got it?" And then calmly walk away.
- December 14, 2009 10:24 PM
Cousin Vito - LMAO.
Only thing I could think to do would be to annonymously present a list of factual, neutrally-stated greivances to all the partners. Although it seems inconceivable that the other partners and the husband are unaware of the problems with Dee, it's very possible they have no idea of the extent of it.
With any luck, it could at least get a conversation started. Perhaps the HR partner is secretly hoping the other partners will force the issue so he can go to his wife and say "I'm sorry, but I was outvoted."
I'm sure he has to be in quite a conundrum, embarrassed, but unable to do anything for fear of what she'd be like if he fired her.
- January 07, 2010 4:30 PM


text:
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Martin Devlin: We Need to Talk 6th August
The Wellington Phoenix aim for a spot in the top two of the Hyundai A-League. Video / Sky Sport / Phoenix
Todd Payten joins Newstalk ZB's D'Arcy Waldergrave to chat about the turbulent week at the Warriors.
The Black Ferns get some pro tips from olympic weightlifter.
World Video
NZ yacht involved in dispute with Tonga's navy at reef used as safe haven. Video / Sailing Zatara
'Thousands' of fed-up Victorians fleeing interstate to escape stage four lockdown. Video / 7 News
Footage of Keeley Bunker's final moments at a nightclub before her rape and murder. Video / Staffordshire Police
There are reports that new modelling predicts Victoria will continue to face rising case numbers, with the peak still weeks away. The average number of daily cases is reportedly set to peak at 1,100. Video / 10 News
Most historians just study the past. But Allan Lichtman has successfully predicted the future. Video / New York Times
Interview during Beirut's explosion shows a reporter being smashed by the blast, as her interviewees watched in horror. Video / BBC
Hearing for accused Twitter hacker Graham Clark's was hacker interrupted with pornography. Video / Fox 13
Donald Trump repeats baffling Ghislaine Maxwell comment during Axios interview. Video / HBO
'stopping outbreaks comes down to the basics of public health and disease control. Testing, isolating and treating patients, and tracing and quarantining their contacts. Do it all.' Video / AP
Business video
Whittaker's factory expansion in progress. Video / Supplied
Cam Wallace, Chief Customer and Commercial Officer for Air New Zealand talks about the drastic measures taken to stay afloat through the pandemic, the job losses and strains, and plans for the future. Video / Cameron Pitney
New Zealand telcos have been diplomatic in their attempts to gently explain that 5G poses no health risk - let alone being responsible for 5G. Video / Telstra
Soren Crabb of 1919 Distilling , maker of premium NZ gin. Video / Michael Craig
How Hi Fly converted an Airbus A380 into a freighter. Video / Hi Fly Airline
Rhys Darby returns for 2degrees latest campaign. Video / 2degrees
Lifestyle video
Alen Dosen, head bartender at The Jefferson, makes an Audrey Hepburn gin cocktail. Video / Dean Purcell
Woman shares simple hack to clean tupperware. Video / @adikempler
Mum and children berated for not wearing face masks in Florida Walmart. Video / CBS
A woman was handcuffed and detained for wearing a G-string bikini at a popular US beach. Video / Sam Panda
Mum reveals 'genius' shower cleaning hack in TikTok video. Video / @alittleaboutalot
Tiktok user shares an easy way to fix clothes that have shrunk in the dryer. Video / bonniewyrick
Entertainment video
This is the agonising moment a famous UK TV doctor was forced to watch his twin brother's heart stop in the emergency ward while he was battling coronavirus. Video / BBC
Cameron Diaz says she feels "at peace" after stepping away from the spotlight of Hollywood. Video / Goop
Rod Stewart has to postpone this year's tour, but he has exciting news. Video / Live Nation
FBI agents including a SWAT team served a search warrant at the home of YouTube star Jake Paul. Video / AP
Ex-producer Hedda Muskat revealed to ZM's Fletch, Vaughan and Megan that Ellen was well aware of what was going on behind the scenes and fostered the 'culture of fear.' Video / ZM
Newstalk ZB's Jack Tame talks to Stan Walker about identity, the music industry and what's important in life. Video / Chris Tarpey


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This is my version of the dress from Vogue 8701.
This dress and the challenges it brings are the reasons I chose to focus my SWAP on fitting bodices. I'm not entirely thrilled with the way this dress fits. I find it to be somewhat tight where it should be loose and loose where it should be tight. I think I will probably try it again sometime with different fabric.
One of the main issues I have with it is the neckline. I love the V at the back. It's one of the major features that made me want to make this dress, but the opening is too wide for me and shows my bra straps which is something I prefer not to do at the office. As a result, I tend to wear a cardigan with the dress…
…and I think that solves the problem for now. My wildcard item for this year's SWAP is the blazer from this pattern so once I have finished that, this dress will have a go to jacket.
I still think that I would like to try to make the dress again out of a non satin fabric. I originally wanted to make the dress out of a lightweight white linen but my local fabric chain didn't have any when I was in there (I have been unimpressed with their selection lately) so I went with the shiny sateen polka dots. I think I will try it again in the near future when I find the right fabric.


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Cocoa is an incredibly sweet girl with outstanding bloodlines. A grandaughter of MFI Peruvian Lethal Weapon and Snowmass Midnight Obssesion, she also has Jericho 69I, Snowmass Andean Dream, Peruvian Hemingway, Legacy De Bolivia, Colten and Casanova in her background.Her sire, Baron Von Hershey, has an extensive show record and is dense and fine with a buttery hand. All fleece qualities that he passed down to Cocoa.***Confirmed BVD free-Sept. 2010***


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m.snowe is not at all confused as to why artists of all forms have certain accoutrements about them. Writers have a pen, musicians have drum sticks, guitars, etc., painters have brushes, performers have microphones, and so on and so forth. All of these "extensions" of self that represent the "instruments" of one's art, the fountainheads of one's inspiration…well, m.snowe thinks you're clever enough to see where she's going with this. And of course, that's somewhere pointy, and phallic. Of course, this theoretical argument only works for the male artists, and begs a very different question about what women get out of the deal–but let's ignore that very valid argument for just a few sentences.
The question m.snowe would like to have answered is this one: if we know it's all for show… if we know that the extensions of self through art are indeed separate and unconnected (i.e. a musician isn't encapsulated in one song or their performance of it, a painter is not one painting…m.snowe hopes, anyways), then why are so many otherwise level-headed people given to swoons around artists of all shapes and sizes? How do they translate beautiful music, or breathtaking art, into a false-sense of intimacy with the creator, who unlike the art, could be cruel, ugly, or just plain stupid?
m.snowe herself is guilty of such blind admiration (she hates to say, in certain circumstances), but also hopes the reader will carefully weigh the evidence–exhibits being that artists are indeed a troublesome lot. One should not cast their wills with them so casually. And one should always understand that although art in all forms, when experienced, can speak many more words than any of us in our lifetimes, an artist is the vessel–and can be anything–kind, wicked, crooked, deceitful. m.snowe asks for others (and herself) that in viewing the art, one is not blinded to the life around it.
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," – that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Keats may have been onto something here–stick to the art, separate from the creator. [Think what wonders that would do if we applied that to religion!]


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Validation surveys are important for all wireless engineers. While the process can take some time to complete, I wanted to aim this blog post towards the equipment I use to perform validation surveys.
My validation survey initial kit started with a Microsoft Surface Pro and one Ekahau NIC-300 USB adapter. It was very light to use but the Surface Pro was limited to just one USB port which happened to be one of the most flimsiest ports I've come across. Plus, the adapter stuck out at the side which ended up nicking doorways or my arm would hit it.
Equipment Needed:
After that debacle, I decided to just run Windows 10 on my Macbook Pro within VMware Fusion. I installed Ekahau Site Survey and this time I wanted to use two Ekahau NIC-300 USB adapters. Additionally, I needed to plug in an external WiFi adapter for my VM to connect to WiFi without sharing the connection on my Mac. That meant having to select a USB hub.
I thought the USB hub would be challenging since I had to mount it somewhere on my laptop. My first thought was to use velcro but I didn't want to have anything stick to my precious Mac.
That's where @blong1 provided a nifty tip of using Gear Ties to hang the USB hub off the top of the monitor side. This appeared work very well in theory so I decided to purchase my own. The gear ties go around the USB hub and then you shape the other end as a hook to stay on your laptop. There's plenty of room for at least 3 USB adapters.
Low and behold. I have done my first validation survey and I could not be happier.
Some things I ran into with this installation:
- Watch out for battery consumption.
- Use the smaller Gear Ties. Longer ties will make your adapters hang low near the back of the laptop.
- Watch out for VMware Fusion marking your USB controller as USB 3.0 only. My Ekahau adapters did not work and I had to change it to USB 2.0.


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MIAMI COUNTY — The Miami County Relay for Life will be having its 25th anniversary this summer, and for one of its co-chairs, her personal fight with a rare cancer began her involvement before her advocacy and leadership within the event grew.
"I was diagnosed six years ago with a very rare blood cancer called polycythemia vera," Anderson said.
She initially received a diagnosis of essential thrombocythemia before that progressed to polycythemia vera. Essential thrombocythemia affects bone marrow, producing too many platelets. Polycythemia vera also affects bone marrow, causing the production of too many red blood cells. This causes one's blood to become thicker.
According to the Cleveland Clinic, the "thickened blood flows slower and may clot within your body." As red blood cells carry oxygen to organs and tissues throughout the body, "if the blood moves too slowly or clots, the cells cannot deliver enough oxygen. This situation can cause serious complications including heart attack, stroke, and heart failure."
As a result of her condition, Anderson has suffered two strokes. Anderson's personal fight with cancer continues on as she deals with weekly treatments and doctor visits to keep it under control. She receives many of her treatments at the Dugan Infusion Center, which is part of the Cancer Care Center at the Upper Valley Medical Center.
A couple months ago, Anderson underwent her third bone marrow biopsy. She looked into a possible bone marrow transplant, but doctors determined that she was "too risky" for the procedure.
"The polycythemia has gotten worse and my (chemotherapy) medicines are not working," Anderson said. "So I went to OSU for a consult for stem cell and bone marrow transplant, and I was not a candidate … Right now, there is no cure for what I have."
When asked how that reality is affecting her and her family members, she said, "It's kind of difficult at times. You try to stay strong and keep right on fighting in hopes that one day soon, they'll find a cure, and that's why I relay. I relay so that they'll continue to research the drugs and that new things will become available."
Anderson said that when she first got diagnosed, "the treatment that was being used, the first treatment that they tried me on, was a treatment that's been used since the 1960s, and it was the only treatment that was available."
In Anderson's case, her body not only produces too many red blood cells, it overproduces white blood cells and platelets as well.
"I overproduce everything. I produce too many red blood cells, too many white blood cells, and too many platelets. So I have to come to the doctor every week. I come for a blood draw every week. Depending upon what my numbers are, then they determine whether or not I have to have blood taken off."
Anderson said that happens about once every two weeks or once a month and has been for the past six years.
"In the very beginning, it was daily," Anderson said.
Anderson, who lives outside of Covington, has eight children and is married to Tim Anderson, who she described as her rock. Anderson grew up in Casstown and is a Miami East alumna.
Relay for Life
In the six years that she has been living with this cancer, her journey has grown to include the many people affected by her diagnosis as well as those fighting their own battles with cancer, inspiring her continued participation and leadership in the Miami County Relay for Life.
This year's 2019 Miami County Relay for Life will be held June 7-8, with the opening ceremony being held at 6 p.m. June 7 and the closing ceremony being held at noon June 8.
Anderson first got involved in Relay for Life after her diagnosis. She said that, at the time of her original diagnosis, her sister was involved with the Shelby County Relay for Life and her Girl Scout troop had a team in that relay, the Pink Daisies, and they sponsored Anderson for that first year.
"At the time, I couldn't do a whole lot, so … all those girls walked for me, each girl in the troop walked an hour for me," said Anderson, who walked the survivor lap with her daughter and grandchildren.
Anderson later got involved with the Miami County Relay for Life thanks to Robin Hetzler, her co-chair last year, who got her involved in the DP (Dayton's Physicians) Crusaders. Then, in 2016, she started Team Belinda.
"Team Belinda, when it first started, it was more just about my journey, my cancer journey, and then as I've been involved in relay, I have realized that a cancer journey is more than just about you yourself," Anderson said. "As you go through treatments, you meet people who have been affected by cancer. Your journey becomes everybody's journey."
Her team has since changed their name up a bit to reflect how cancer affects many people, from friends and family to others they meet along the way in their fights against cancer.
"Now, Team Belinda is not just called Team Belinda. Team Belinda is now called Team Belinda and the Cancer Warriors," Anderson said. "It's no longer just about me, because on my team, my team is friends and family who have all been affected by cancer. I have cancer. My cousin, who is one of my team captains, she's a breast cancer survivor. My sister, she now moved to Miami County, so she is on Team Belinda, and her husband is a current cancer fighter. He has a very rare cancer. It's about his journey also." She also has another cousin on her team who is a cervical cancer survivor.
Anderson also educates others on cancer as a way to wind down from the Relay for Life events. She now does that with her daughter, previously doing education with another cousin who has passed away from cancer.
"He lost his fight," Anderson said. "He always went and supported me. He was a fighter, too." Anderson said that, with the many family members they have who have been diagnosed with cancer, "We all fight. Cancer is very near and dear to us."
Anderson said that the "most inspiring" part of the Miami County Relay for Life is the Luminaria Ceremony, which helps people honor, support, and remember loved ones affected by cancer. With a donation of $10, a Luminaria bag with that loved one's name will be lit during the ceremony in their honor.
"They light up the entire track," Anderson said. All of the Luminaria bags are lit in sequence during the event. Her team last year had 99 participants and 52 Luminaria bags.
Last year, Miami County Relay for Life's goal was to raise $130,000 for the American Cancer Society, and they surpassed that by raising a total of approximately $175,000. Their goal this year is to raise $150,000.
Anderson said that not only does donating to the American Cancer Society help fund new cancer research, but it also helps people pay for their treatments and eases the financial burdens.
"I relay for everybody else, not just me," Anderson said.
Anderson will be co-chairing the 2019 Miami County Relay for Life with Cheryl Adkins.
For more information about the Miami County Relay for Life, visit the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life site at main.acsevents.org and search for a local event or follow Miami County Relay for Life on Facebook.
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"Cadillac's a classic."
- The Ride
- The Driver: Heidi
- Car in Question: White 2000 Cadillac Deville DHS
- Spotted at: Boston Children's Museum, 308 Congress St, Boston, MA 02210
- Odometer: 89,731
- Car's Nickname: Moby Dick
Q: Would you say your car is a sanctuary or a coffin?
A: Sanctuary. I love it. I fell in love with Cadillac when I rented a deep purple CTS for my friend's birthday. I'd love to have a CTS, but I don't have the wallet for it, so I got this car.
Q: Does your Cadillac have a nickname?
A: Its name is Moby Dick because it's a great white whale.
Q: How does it do in the water?
A: It hydroplanes every once in a while.
Q: I'm guessing it wasn't how it behaves in the rain that made you buy this car, so what was it?
A: The luxury of it. The look of it. The massaging seats? But they don't work in the driver's seat, so I can only use them when I'm in the passenger or backseat. If someone else is driving my car, I definitely take benefit in that feature.
Q: Are people usually surprised to see a small girl driving such a big car?
A: I think everyone assumes that I'm an old man, so it can be surprising to see me getting out of the car, a 24-year-old young lady.
Q: Can you tell me how tall you are?
A: Five feet.
Q: This is a pretty big car for someone five feet tall. Do you have to move the seat all the way up?
A: Yes, and it drives my boyfriend, and all the mechanics that I've brought it to, absolutely crazy, because when they have to get into my car, they can't fit.
Q: Is it at the closest setting?
A: It is. I have the driver's key, so when my key goes in, it automatically goes to my setting. So, if my boyfriend gets in and moves the seat back, then sits down and puts the key in, he gets squished between the steering wheel and the seat.
Q: Boston is kind of a crazy city to drive in. Do you have any scenarios where the Caddy has come in handy or held you back?
A: You have to be cautious, careful, and aggressive, all at the same time.
Q: Do people make room for the Caddy?
A: It depends. I've noticed, and actually, my dear friend noticed, that a lot of times, cars seem to sense that my car is going slower than it is. People pull out in front of me a lot more in this car, most likely because they think I'm an old man driving an old Cadillac. But other than that, it's a good car for the city. It picks up quickly. It has a good engine. It moves a lot faster than a lot of other vehicles may, despite its size. In the winter, it's a heavier vehicle, so I slip and slide a little bit less than some smaller cars.
Q: So you like the Cadillac enough that it is still your dream car?
A: I would definitely buy Cadillac again, despite the fact that every mechanic I've ever spoken to, tells me not to.
Q: Why do they tell you not to buy a Cadillac?
A: Because they're a very difficult car to pay for parts, and to fix, and everything is more difficult to do in it.
Q: So then what makes this the car for you?
A: Cadillac's a classic.
Photos and interview by Melissa Ostrow
Are you ready to Defend Your Ride? If so, email firstname.lastname@example.com with "Defend Your Ride Boston" in the subject line for submission details.
View previous Defend Your Ride features as well as other great stories for people who love cars at CBSBoston.com/Autos.


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Use the 5 magic steps in our latest eBook to see exciting ways to engage your diverse workforce which recognition.
Craig Tanner, Senior Product Manager about
Technology and Innovation
Employee Reward and Recognition
2 min read
Let's start with the obvious one: Today's workforce has changed.
The millennial generation are the largest segment of the workforce today, with one in three American workers being aged 18-34 years, according to Pew Research.
But the average tenure of a millennial worker is just two years, less than half of the average worker's stay of nearly 4.5 years (Source: Future Workplace).
And yet, the focus remains on long service awards rather than how to get millennials and other workers to stay for that duration.
And yet, the focus remains on long service awards rather than how to get millennials and other workers to stay for that duration.
The short tenure proves that employers are failing to give millennials what they're looking for, which can be boiled down to three things:
You're probably nodding your head thinking that yes, this all makes sense.
But aren't these desires something that all employees want?
But aren't these desires something that all employees want?
Instead of breaking it down to millennials vs. non-millennials, let's talk about how we can reward all employees differently so they want to stay, not for the long service award of a shiny watch or big bonus, but for the right reasons – and to make a difference in their organization.
Each year, $46 billion is spent on long service awards but this doesn't exactly move the needle on employee engagement. Why? Because long service awards only reward tenure – meaning it's possible to reward a disengaged employee simply because they've worked at your organization for a long time.
But the real reward to both the person and the business is having an employee that's truly engaged, respected and motivated. These are the employees who will bring their best to work each day to help meet (and hopefully exceed) your business goals.
So, how can we keep employees in our corner by recognizing and rewarding them at the right times? Here's a quick video to help you understand:
We believe it can be done through continuous recognition, where employees are recognized when they do great things so that behavior is reinforced and reinforces company values. We're out to disrupt the market of long service awards and one-time only recognition initiatives by creating a continuous recognition platform that gives managers and peers the opportunity to recognize each other when it matters most and show that they appreciate their hard work.
As one of the product managers at Reward Gateway, I'm constantly evolving our product to meet these needs, and our next generation of recognition products can help you recognize your employees the right way — at anytime, on any device.
By investing in employee recognition which continuously recognizes their achievements, you can increase employee engagement, commitment, productivity and innovation.
And if done correctly, with the right partner to help you on your engagement journey, you might just help today's workforce stay long-enough to receive that long service award.
Reach out to one of my colleagues today to start your employee recognition journey.
Craig Tanner Reward Gateway
Craig Tanner is a Senior Product Manager at Reward Gateway. Outside of making the world a better place to work, Craig teaches stand-up comedy.
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After attending some of the Personal Effectiveness talks at Goto; in Aarhus, I decided to have a go at using the Pomodoro technique. At a very basic level, using this technique means working for 25 minutes at a time before taking a 5 minute break, then repeating the pattern. After every four pomodoros, take a longer break.
Linda Rising in particular had talked about the need for regular breaks to 'recharge' our brains, and how this can actually make us more effective than working continuously without a break.
My pair agreed to give it a go with me, and in fact found an awesome Android app called Pomodroido, so we set off! We made an effort to get up and walk around during breaks, even if it was just a wander through the office.
Here's some of my observations from the first couple of weeks we spent doing it.
- Always knowing that you have a break coming up and how far off it is, makes it much easier to get through stuff – especially boring work, or things that you don't want to do.
- Knowing that you'll be breaking from what you're doing in 25 min made me focus harder on the work I was doing – as a consequence, by the end of the day, I was often pretty tired.
- I was a bit skeptical about the longer break, but after four intense 25 minute sessions, I really needed it.
- The greater focus also meant that I felt I was getting through more stuff than I would have otherwise, especially when I had a list of handover documents to write, which I might have dawdled over otherwise.
- Getting up and walking around helped me stay alert, especially during the post-lunch afternoon slump.
- Working with a pair helped both of us be more diligent about taking breaks, getting up and keeping going with the pomodoros.
- It was useful to have an app – without that, sometimes it was harder to time the pomodoro, I often forgot to check the clock (although we sometimes forgot to start the app as well …!)
After finishing up on the project, I tried to carry on with the pomodoro technique while I was packing for my Australia trip, with mixed success – it's less useful for running errands, for example! However, it's definitely something I plan to try again on my next project, and for software development I think it has huge benefits.