The Great Uncle Morty

By the time Hazel had called the police, it was too late. Her and Luke’s parents were gone. A social worker arrived hours later, informing them that they would be taken to their great uncle Morty, their only living relative. 

Hazel and Luke’s family weren’t huggers, which is why the engulfing hug ‘Morty’ gave them when they arrived took them by surprise. Morty, after finally letting go of the kids, gave them a tour of the house. He lived alone, but he had once shared his gargantuan house with his wife.  He showed them their rooms and brought them upstairs to the attic. It was filled with all sorts of treasures, Morty told the kids. They rolled their eyes but played along for the sake of the old man. 

Morty sat down on a dusty bench and pulled a box marked ‘Family Stuff’ closer to him. He opened the box and pulled out a scrapbook. He handed it to Luke, along with a .22 caliber pistol that Morty promised Luke he would teach him to use one day. He searched in the box for something else and came up with a necklace, which he in turn handed to Hazel. She stared at it, and he motioned for her to put it on. She did. Morty then told Luke to open the text book sized scrapbook. He started telling us fascinating stories about his life. 

Before Hazel and Luke knew it, hours had passed. He was almost finished with a story about an African safari trip he took with his wife when he looked at his watch. “7:30!”  He exclaimed. “We should be having dinner know!”

“Please, just finish the story!” Luke whined. 

“Ok, if you insist.” Morty said. There was a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his face.

The family sat down for dinner at 7:53. Hazel and Luke waited facing each other at the dining room table as Morty prepared pasta and meatballs, the kid’s favorite meal.

“Please tell us another story! they are just so interesting! ” Hazel exclaimed as Morty was sitting down to eat. 

“Another story for another day.” Morty replied, “If I tell you all my stories today, then we won’t have anything to talk about tomorrow!”

The kids, disappointed, ate the rest of their dinner in silence. 

After dinner, the kids did what they wanted until bed. They were both talking in Luke’s bedroom when Morty knocked on the door. Luke told him to come in.  Morty sat next to them on Luke’s bed. 

“I just wanted to tell you guys, that I know I don’t seem like anything special, but I’m very glad your here with me. You see, I have been very lonely for quite some time, and even though you guys haven’t even been here all that long, you have seemed to brighten my spirits. And I just want to thank you guys for that, and I hope that in return, I will brighten yours.”

Hazel and Luke didn’t know how to respond. They sat there for a few moments as Morty got up to leave. As he was opening the door, Hazel called out to him. Morty turned around to find both Luke and Hazel hugging him. Morty’s smile couldn’t have been any bigger. 

You see, Though Morty gave Hazel and Luke what they needed, a home, Hazel and Luke gave Morty something much more important. A family. 

The Hurricane

The persistent pitter patter of the water droplets on my windshield make it hard for me to concentrate on driving. The fallen trees and wreckage surrounding force me to push harder on the accelerator in a hope to get home to my husband and children. I try to focus on the slippery road ahead of me, but almost everything is a blur. However, I notice a figure in the middle of the road a little ways down.  I gently push down on the brakes to avoid drifting as well as hitting the mysterious figure. I look around to try and find what my eyes had seen just seconds previously, but the person is nowhere in sight. Without warning, there is a sharp knock on my right side door. I let out a small scream. as I roll down the window to see what they want from me. It’s a women. She has long and wavy blonde hair. Her eyes glow in the dim moonlight, giving off a color improbable to any human. She introduces herself as Lily, and explains to me that her car broke down and she has no way to get home. Feeling pity, I let her in. I turn up the radio to see the extent of the hurricane. 

“WARNING!” the radio alerts, “In the midst of the hurricane, a serial killer has escaped from our local mental hospital! She was last seen at Mary Memorial Mental Asylum. She has Blonde hair and unmistakable deep violet eyes. She weighs-”

Lily shuts off the radio before I could here the rest. She seems distressed. I ask here where she wants me to drop her off. She gives me an address and I program it into my GPS. We sit in silence except for the occasional female voice giving me directions to the predetermined location. I occasionally glance over at her in the rearview mirror. She bites her nails, just like I do when I’m nervous. She eerily resembles the description- or what I could hear- of the description of the escaped patient. I do find it weird that she shut the radio off so abruptly. What if Lily is the serial killer they were talking about?

I ask her questions about where she lives, where she works, anything to calm my suspicions.  She seems to have an answer for everything. She lives near downtown. I point out that the address she gave me is nowhere near downtown. She tells me that she wanted to visit somewhere first. I try to act calm as I ask her more questions. I ask about her parents. She tells me that they were shot and killed when she was younger. Now, she is married with two children, a boy and a girl. She works at a hospital.

The clock on my dashboard blinks 2:47 AM. I press harder on the accelerator, wanting nothing more than to get home to my own children. “The destination is on your right,” the GPS chimes in. I pull over. What a strange night. I look up to see where she wanted to stop. A hospital, I am guessing it is the one she works at. Lily does not seem to be getting out of the car. But I don’t mind resting, so I am in no hurry to get her out of the car.

There is a persistent knock on my side of the door. I open it to find a plethora of nurses, security guards, and doctors. I get out of my car to see what they want. The nurses step back as though I am a threat to them. The guards, one on either side of me, drag me towards the hospital. The blood red sign on the Hospital states Mary Memorial Mental Asylum. They drag me as I scream and shout and demand they put me down.

“Come on Lily,” one of the nurses says, “calm down. You need to come with us.”

I repeatedly tell them that I am not Lily, and try to motion to the passenger seat of my car. I look back, trying to find her, but she seems to have disappeared.

I glance at myself in the rearview mirror as they drag me away. I have long and wavy blonde hair. My eyes glow in the dim moonlight, giving off a color improbable to any human.

The Countdown

Olivia’s face is pale white. She sits frozen to the bench, expect for her incessant foot tapping as we impatiently wait on the bench outside of our school.  As soon as the last bell rang, we both rushed to our usual bench. But this was no usual day. She is complaining about the location of this meeting, but we both know you can’t change fate.  She looks down at her arm.  3 minutes and 47 seconds. I try to calm her down, but nothing seems to be working. She looks straight ahead with a blank expression in her eyes. Its understandable, given the circumstance.  She wasn't given much time to prepare for the ‘big day.’ 

Just weeks earlier, Olivia and I, and all the other 18 year olds, were forced to join a program called ‘The Countdown.’ There, they stuck stopwatch-type gadgets into our left arm.  When inserted, the stopwatch gave everyone a number. However many years, however many days, however many minutes, however many seconds, counting down to the exact second that you will meet your soulmate.  The person with whom you will fall in love. 

Olivia pulls up the sleeve of her blouse for the millionth time and checks her arm. One minute and 18 seconds.  She frantically looks around, but I try to remind her that the purpose of the countdown was so that it would countdown to the time you would meet your soulmate. She nods but doesn't seem to be hearing a word I say. I try to distract her by talking. She tells me about her morning. She spent hours getting ready. And I am not exaggerating. She spent hours. She went shopping last weekend to find the perfect outfit for today. She woke up 3 hours earlier then usual just so that she could do her makeup and hair.  She does in fact look gorgeous. Her hair dirty blonde hair is pinned up in a bun with a bow fastened right above it. Her dress is freshly ironed. She is reapplying bright red lipstick to her plump lips for the third time in two minutes. I think it is weird how much time and effort she spent on her hair and clothes.  I thought that your soulmate should love you for you, and Olivia was definitely not acting like herself.  She was the more the sweatpants and Netflix kind of girl. 

30 seconds. “Ok,” Olivia declares as she starts to stand up,  “He obviously isn’t going to come, we should just leave.” Her voice is shaky. I stand up next to her and tell her that we are staying.  She starts to freak out in normal Olivia-fashion. She is hyperventilating. I make her inhale through her nose and exhale through her mouth. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. I repeat the words as I tell her to sit down. She isn’t listening to me. She starts to wobbly around as if her feet are made of jello. She falls, but thankfully, in my direction. I barely catch and disgracefully put her on the ground. I rest her head on my leg.  I shake her as I call for someone to help.  A guy, probably around 20, comes rushing towards us.  He searches in his bag to get a cold water bottle for her head. She starts to regain consciousness.  She seems dazed, but all she can do is stare at the mystery guy.  Her arm makes a beeping sound and so does his. “I’m Ashton.” they guy says, “and I think we are supposed to fall in love now.” Olivia chuckles as her face turns an even darker shade of red. They are truly Soulmates.

I stare down at my own arm.  Angry, mad, disappointed. I pull up my sleeve. Just as I had guessed.  0 years, 0 days, 0 minutes, 0 seconds.  0 everything. 

Short Story Prt 1 of The Sleeper

  There's a thumping in my head as I open my eyes for the first time in what seems like years. I blink repeatedly to adjust to the light, and as I do so, I see an unfamiliar face. A woman.  She appears to be in her thirties, in a white nurse’s uniform.  She introduces herself as Ms. Smith. When I ask why I am in the hospital, she informs me that I had been in a severe car accident. I ask if I could use a phone to call someone. Her reply is that with my injuries she doesn’t suggest to get out if bed, so she lets me borrow her phone. She hands me a flip phone, while explaining to me how she’s so excited because it’s the newest model. Weird.  After some time trying to remember, I finally was able to type in all the digits of my wife's phone number. After two tones, someone picked up. But instead of the wo man I thought would pick up, it turned out to be some old man speaking Spanish.

"Andrea?" I ask, with the slightest hope that somehow I will be able to find my wife.  "Que?" The man replies.  I repeat myself.  My hopes deplete like a balloon that has lost all of its helium. The line goes silent. I double check the phone number. Everything seems correct, but why would someone else answer her phone? As I contemplate the few plausible reasons someone else would have my wife’s phone, the nurse comes into my room again.

“No luck?” She asks. I can hear the pity in her voice. She suggests that I get some shut-eye. She promises me that my wife would call the hospital later, offering me more reasons she would not answer the phone.  I could hear the doubt in her voice.  However, I am quite exhausted and decided to listen to her advice. Maybe everything would be back to normal when I wake up. 

                I awake from my endless sleep.  I look around the room.  Most things seem to be the same as before.  A women walks into my room.  She looks familiar.  I ask where Ms. Smith was.  She looks at me, puzzled, and tells me that she is Ms. Smith.  I stare at her with blank eyes.  Though she did look eerily similar to my previous nurse, there was no way they could be the same person.  I tell her the impossibility, that just hours previously, she was years older.  She seems perplexed, and tells me that she will be back in a few minutes.  The thoughts of what could possibly be happening to me race through my head.  Obviously, I had to be dreaming, I mean, that’s the only possibility, right?

                ‘Ms.Smith,’or at least the woman who claims to be her, returns with a doctor by her side.  She is whispering to him. He shows me the same confused look that she had just minutes earlier.

“Hey buddy,” the doctor starts speaking to me, He has a condescending tone with me, as though he  thinks he is better than me.  I introduce myself, the best way that I can considering I don’t remember my name.  After my meager introduction, he asks me to explain what I was thinking.  After some time contemplating my wording so that they wouldn’t think I was crazy, I tell them what I think.  That just hours previously, Ms. Smith was my doctor.  But she wasn’t this Ms. Smith, well she was, except she was older, like thirty-something, and now she is younger.  As I talk I can tell the doctor is ready to send me to the Looney-bin.  I explain to them that this has to be some sort of dream.  A terrible, horribly realistic dream. I pinch myself to show them that this isn’t really happening. Ow. That actually hurt.

Ok, now I am just as confused as my doctors are.  What could possibly be happening to me? Is this not a dream, but instead some sick reality?  My breaths start to shorten and I feel as though my lungs are collapsing. What year is it? I demand the answer as if this is a life or death situation. The doctor is taken aback by my abruptness.  He tells me to calm down. I repeat myself, with more anger in voice.  Ms. Smith finally answers me. 1994, she says. 1994. 1994. 1994.  The one year just repeats in my head, over and over again, until it has become meaningless.

I start to hyperventilate. My breaths feel short and my mind is racing.  Ok, so before I was in the accident, it was 2014.  And now, it’s 1994.  What happened? How did it happen? Why me? Then, I passed out. 

                When I regained consciousness, I was greeted by a whole new cast of doctors and nurses. I immediately demanded what year it was.  Their response, just as I had guessed, 1984.  Ok, so this had to happen every time I fell asleep.  But the question is, how do I stop it from happening? Everyone needs sleep.  If I don’t sleep, then I will die.  Am I already dead? Is this some twisted hell. 

I start to get up as the doctors are motioning for me to stay down.  I stare at my arm, and rip out the IV like one would rip off a bandaid.  Now the doctor and nurse are yelling at me and forcefully pushing me back onto my bed.  I ignore them.  I wobble my way to the door. After some time, I am able to walk faster, and head towards a discreet hallway.  The Doctors and nurses pass the hallway I am in, franticly searching for me.  When they pass, I sneak towards the exit.  I push through the doors and breath in the fresh, damp air.  It is drizzling outside, the clouds looking ominous.