Midnight Constitutional

 

He was standing outside late at night, waiting for the dog to decide to take a piss.

It was pleasant out there, so he scrolled on his phone while his dog meandered around the yard, sniffing every spot he’d sniffed 285 times already that day.

The crickets were chirping, and spring peepers were chiming in. An owl or two hooted off in the distance.

Then, silence.

He looked up, slightly alarmed.

The dog stopped mid-sniff and cocked his head, a low growl in his throat.

Around them, hundreds of tiny eyes glowed in the darkness.

They blinked slowly and simultaneously.

Trees

 

She was worried. The decision had been made, and she was not only at peace with it, but more than a little excited about it, too.

But she worried about them.

Her trees. Her forest.

Who would protect them when she was gone? What if the next people cut them all down?

Finally, she shared how she felt with them.

The trees. The forest.

It started as a soft rumble of shifting leaves, then grew louder as the wind joined in.

“You were the first ones we allowed here. Because your family needed protection.”

The trees were laughing at her.

Quiet

 

She liked the quiet.

Her house was quiet, and not a sound could be heard.

I mean, other than the not-a-sounds of things in a modern house- the refrigerator whispering, the quiet rhythm of the dishwasher, the ceiling fans softly humming.

The old grandmother clock tick-tocked, and every 15 minutes it chimed randomly depending on its whim.

From the sofa, her dog sighed heavily and started to snore.

There was a rustling in the other room, followed by a shrill “Eeek” and then nothing.

Which was mildly disturbing.

Outside, a Barred Owl hooted, then cackled, then growled.

Nice. And. Quiet.

Blurs

 

He’d seen them out of the corner of his eye all his life.

Dark blurs, mostly small, but some the size of a doorway, darting out of view as he turned to look.

When he was a tiny child, they didn’t bother him. Having no past experiences to draw from, he thought they were normal.

As an adult, he chalked it up to stress, or time of day, or just an over-active imagination.

Now, he was old, and he was ready.

He sat in his comfortable chair and quietly said, “It’s OK. You can come out now.”

And they did.

Jeph

 

Let’s call him Jeph, after Internet Jeph.

I don’t know where he came from, or how old he was, only that he appeared in my yard one morning very clearly long-deceased.

But, there was something regal about Jeph, even in death. If any desiccated corpse deserved a few dignified words and to be made into an awkward shrine…it was Jeph.

Please bow your heads in silence.

“We have gathered here today, to send our friend Jeph triumphantly into whatever Valhalla opossums go to after a life well lived and a death unavoidable.

All Hail Jeph.

May he rest in pieces.”

Cough

 

He heard the coughing of children the very first time he walked into the empty house.

It was a beautiful old home, and he bought it without a second thought.

But his friends and family refused to even visit him.

The ghosts of the children were too creepy.

He looked up the historical records, and there was his house, an orphanage during the flu epidemic of 1918.

With his head in his hands, he said aloud, “I didn’t know I was buying a haunted house.”

A tiny whisper in his ear, “Dude. We coughed at you the very first day.”

Boring

 

“What a treat to be a boring old lady” she thinks to herself, eating a container of yogurt for breakfast before taking her morning pills and getting her shower.

She turns the water on and then scans the shower stall.

“Where is he today?” she asks out loud and then spots the treefrog clinging to the shower head. “That’s not gonna work, buddy” she says, picking him up. He hops from her hand to her arm and then onto her face. “Come on, Theodore.  Act normal” she chides, setting him on the ledge so she can take her boring shower.