The Tattooed Tree




Morning with Elvis (100-word story)


Headless in Seattle







Eye Sees You

Deep through the gnarled trees sits a shack with a broken door and half a roof that only a select few know even exists, and they never get a chance to talk about their experience. Every Halloween, a path appears to young trick-or-treaters, who follow the carved pumpkins lining the walkway up to the small porch decorated with homemade ghosts. The rundown shack is transformed into a cozy, brightly lit cottage. A smiling woman promptly greets them and invites them in. No one has ever solved the mysterious disappearances, although from years past there used to be a story behind them.

The story begins with an ailing woman believed to be practicing the black arts. A large cauldron hangs on a hook in the fireplace that dominates her small house. Whispers about her started when she would bring strangers into her home, but no one sees them leaving, or being out and about. But then again, no one has really befriended her to know the intimate details of her life.

Though what happens inside her private shelter is unknown, many have heard groans of agony that go on and on. Because the village comprises of people barely getting by on their own, they lack the energy to investigate the disturbing sounds. If they can see their kinsfolk, then all is well in their own world. The witch at the other side of town can do what she wants as long as she stays away from their business. In their thinking, better them (the strangers) than us.

One night, 10-year-old Caleb decides to sneak out to explore the cause of the whisperings about town and the whining that can’t be explained as the wind. Any warnings made to him by his parents and friends are not enough to keep him away from learning more about the woman they describe as a conjurer.

Creeping up to a murky looking window on the side of the so-called witch’s cottage, Caleb rubs the sleeve of his jacket on a lower corner of the window. His eyes widen when he sees the woman bent over someone down on the floor. From his vantage, he  only sees  a pair of legs encased in torn pants. An unholy wail penetrates through the thin walls. The woman seems to overpower the struggling person, whose helpless kicking eventually ceases, along with the lament. Suddenly, his surrounding is too quiet. Caleb feels the hair behind his neck prickle, as if someone is watching him. He turns around. Seeing nothing, he returns his gaze to the window. He yelps in surprise when his peering eye directly meets a dilated pupil. Fear overcomes him, as he tries to shake himself loose.

“I see you, boy.” The cackling is too close to his ear. Unable to move, he feels hands grab him.

“I seize you . . .” More cackling follows as he is carried inside the house.

“Help!” Caleb finds his voice, as the woman shuts the door and places him on a cot.

“So you want to know what goes on here, do you?” The woman’s face is a blur as Caleb’s eyes tear up from realizing his folly. Rotting smell around him makes his eyes water even more. He still cannot comprehend how he was detected.

“Eye saw you,” she says, as if reading his mind. “But Eye is getting old, so you came at the right time.” She laughs some more, as the boy’s last thoughts wonder what she means.

The next morning, Caleb’s house turns chaotic when his family notices his absence. Their efforts prove fruitless even when their friends and neighbors help search the neighborhood. The only place left to look is in the vicinity of “that woman’s house.” Feeling assured that their large number will protect them, they march to the witch’s little dwelling. As they approach the humble looking house, they hear someone chanting inside. Those facing the door start pounding on it, but the chanting continues, while the angry crowd is ignored.

The lack of response from inside makes someone in the group speak up, “Let’s just tear it down.” The crowd pounds harder until the door finally cracks open. When they barge in, Caleb’s mother weaves herself in and gasps, “Those are Caleb’s night clothes!” A child-sized shirt and matching pants are strewn on the floor, but the only person in sight is the homeowner, who continues to chant and smile at the crowd without any concerns.

“What have you done to my son?” Caleb’s mother shouts at the woman, but is hesitant to touch her as the woman doesn’t look right in the head.

Between Caleb’s clothes as evidence of his possibly being been there and the woman’s lack of communication, the frustrated crowd decides to be the judge and jury. They pull the woman outside and threaten to hang her if she doesn’t reveal Caleb’s whereabouts.

The woman only laughs and says cryptically, “He has a good eye. He makes a good watch.”  She continues to laugh as they place a noose around her and give her a final warning to talk or die. Her laugh turns to a gurgle as the rope tightens and someone kicks the chair from under her feet.

A stillness settles on the crowd as they realize what they’ve done. Amid the crying of Caleb’s family and friends, the crowd disperses to go back to their homes. Since that day, no one has ever spoken of the event and nobody has dared return to the woman’s place.

As years have passed, an eyeball wedged on a tree across from the old shack continues to behold the transformation that happens every Halloween. A single tear drop falls for every trick-or-treater trapped inside the hovel.

Face Time

Meghan sighs as she sees the night slipping away too soon. Almost ten in the evening and she still has no date. She swipes the photo to the left, but soon changes her mind and swipes it to the right. She reads the brief profile of the guy she decides to pursue: “Enjoys anything that rocks — rock candy, rock climbing, and hard rock. Rock me hard!” She snickers at the last sentence.

“Oh yeah, baby,” she thinks to herself.

She texts him: “What flavor rock candy you like?”

Seconds later a response comes back: “Cherry”

She texts back: “I’ve got on cherry lip gloss.”

“Yum,” flashes on Meghan’s iPhone screen.

“I wish I was somewhere listening to hard rock now,” she types in, hoping to get something going soon.

“You’re playing my tune. Want to hang out?”

Meghan likes that and keys in, “Sure . . . when?”

“Let’s face time,” he messages back and adds his number for her to call.

“Cool,” Meghan thinks as she punches in his number.

A toothy grin dominates Meghan’s phone screen. She catches her breath as her eyes rake over the green cast of the face with bulging eyeballs and stained teeth that seems to take on  a countenance that doesn’t look human at all. As soon as her brain registers the freaky visage, a scream escapes through her lips, now quivering from repulsion. Laughter from the screen erupts just as instantaneously.

She throws the phone across the room, screaming and hearing the laughter. She realizes she’s just been goblined*.

*Goblined – when a person gets startled, surprised, or freaked out by a goblin; usually occurs when a person least expects it. These are Halloween times . . . the countdown begins . . .


That’s one small step for my kind,
A giant leap from pen to published pages.
Boston, I have no problem shouting out my excitement:

Scribes, artistes, readers, people of the world,
Please consider reading Massachusetts’s Emerging Writers: An Anthology of Fiction
Because a short story of mine just got published!

Although it is “only” a short fictional piece, the publisher contacted me and asked if I would like to submit an entry. Legitimately a wonderful opportunity. I was approached unsolicited and my piece was chosen among others for final publication.

Do check out my story; and see what else Massachusetts has to offer:


Egged On

Eight-year-old Freddy’s current purpose in life is playing tricks on his five-year-old brother, Jack. In the early morning of Easter, Freddy sneaks outside to the henhouse to place a ceramic egg he made as a school project in one of the hens’ nests. He runs back inside the house and creeps upstairs to wake up Jack.

“Hey, Jack,” Freddy whispers to his little brother, as he shakes him. “Get up.”

Jack’s eyes flutter.

“Jack, you just missed the Easter Bunny.”

Jack stirs and struggles to sit up. He still believes in the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, and most of all, the Easter Bunny. He moans, “That’s not fair. I missed it again.” Rubbing his eyes, Jack looks at Freddy and says, “Why do you always get to see all the magical stuff?”

“I told you last night to get up early today so you can see the Easter Bunny delivering the eggs.”

Jack swings his legs down to the side of the bed. “What’d you see? Tell me!”

Freddy pulls Jack by his arm. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Together the two brothers dash downstairs and outside to the henhouse.

“Whoa! I’ve never seen an Easter egg like that.” Jack races over to the hen sitting atop a red-colored egg trimmed with gold lines and swirls. The hen clucks and flaps her wings as Jack reaches under to take the egg.

“I’m going to show this to Mom and Dad!” Jack runs outside with the egg, slamming the screen of the henhouse behind him.

Still inside the henhouse, Freddy cracks up and thinks about his next trick.

“That’s not funny.” A voice squawks at him. Startled, Freddy looks around at the hens.  To get away, Freddy tears away outside and sees Jack coming around from the side of the wooden house.

“April Fools!” Jack laughs at Freddy. “I did get up early, but I heard you leave so I looked outside my window and saw you carrying something red in your hands.”