| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted November 12, 2022 |
  |
Short story/fiction/contest prompt
Pigeon From Hell
by BOO ghost
Pigeon From Hell.
Timeline: 1957. Sleepy Hollow, NY.
Snowflakes, diamond dust, snowmen, reindeer, ribbons and bows decorate wrapping paper. Ornaments dangle from a fir. Blue eyes sparkle like Christmas lights. To: Charlie Vickers is written on a glitter label. The words are magnified by Charlie's ¼ inch thick spectacles.
Charlie looks at moeder.
"Look what Santa brought! Mama."
Moeder smiles with satisfaction.
The grootvader klok chimes eight times. Douglas Van Vickers is dutch. His parents migrated from Holland. Dutch is the second language spoken 'round here. December 25th is circled on the keuken calendar.
Charlie's siblings unwrap gifts. Steven Vickers is seven. Sherry turned ten. Charlie unwraps his gifts crouched beneath the eight-foot fir. He's nine.
"Santa brought what I wanted! Mama."
Daisy (Red Ryder) is printed on the rectangular-shaped cardboard box.
Kiki Dee trades glances with husband Douglas Vickers. Her brown eyes twinkle.
Charlie's blue eyes seem bigger today. As he crooks his neck at a 33° angle. Looking at vader.
"Papa. May I go outside and shoot my BB gun–later?"
"Err-um. Open the rest of your presents, slugger! Perhaps after breakfast but stay in the yard. Don't shoot toward the road or shoot the birds. Ummm. I set up a bullseye target in the backyard."
Douglas points at a gift with a yellow ribbon and bow.
"Open that one! Charlie. There're paper targets. Actions have consequences. Be careful."
"Yessum, Papa."
The Vickers gather at the eettafel table eating ontbijt.
Charlie stares at vader.
"I'm done, Papa. May I go outside and play?"
Douglas exhibits a stern look.
"Err-um. I suppose so, Charlie. Good! You cleaned your plate. Don't shoot the birds!"
Charlie zooms to his attic bedroom. He totes his Red Ryder BB gun and a box of BBs down the stairs.
The backdoor screen door coil springs twang.
Kiki eyeballs Douglas seated at the opposite bookend of the table. Her crows feet crinkle tight.
"Well, I hope you know what you're doing, Douglas. You think he's old enough?"
Kiki bats her eyelashes.
Douglas chomps on scrambled eggs and bacon. Polishing it off with orange juice. His Adam's apple bobbles. He stares at Kiki Dee. Discombobulated.
"Ummm. I got a BB gun on my eighth birthday. He's a year older than I was."
Kiki rolls her big brown eyes.
"Time will tell, Doug. He better do his homework. You know, Charlie brought home a C- on arithmetic – the last quarter of a semester."
Douglas nods.
"OK. Kinderen. You're excused. I know–you're itching to play with your toys. All I got was a circular saw, electric razor, socks and underwear, and a nutcracker. Be thankful."
Kiki Dee looks at the ceiling.
The kinderen scoot from the table. Like a stampede. Meanwhile, Charlie Vickers shoots at a paper target in the backyard. A wooden privacy fence and gate borders the backyard. The dog can run free. Charlie takes careful aim, again. He's aware of Boomerang running loose.
Ding!
Charlie adjusts the iron sights. Lowering the elevation peep sight.
Hum, my last three shots were
grouped within ½ inch at twenty yards. A bullseye!
Charlie reloads his BB gun. He fastens the four corners of the target with pickup sticks. Into the bale of hay. Pickup sticks is a fun game. So is the barrel of monkeys and marbles he got for Christmas.
Cock!
A zephyr ziggles the loose gate latch. The backyard gate cracks open a foot. Opportunity knocks for Boomerang. He's a Pug pedigree -- been in the family for four years. Boomerang slips through the gate gap. It's large enough for a greyhound.
"Oh, no!" Charlie hollers.
Charlie trails Boomerang to the front lawn not fenced in. Kyle Wayne Rudolph, a belligerent neighbor, lives across the street. He's 6 '4'' and husky built. About to climb a trioscope aluminum ladder.
Boomerang bolts across the street. Poaching onto Kyle's pristine lawn. The sprinkler is unhooked today. Boomerang squats on Kyle's front lawn. Leaving a present. Afterall, it's Christmas day.
Kyle exhibits 'The Grinch That Stole Christmas' look. Has a sinister grin.
Kyle turns the water spicket counterclockwise. ON. The flexible green hose is tight. Kyle aims at Boomerang squatting on his beautiful Bermuda grass. About to fertilize it.
Kyle snickers as he squeezes the trigger of his Western Auto spray nozzle. It comes with a one year warranty.
"Take that! Mutt," shouts Kyle Rudolph.
Boomerang is soak and wet. He shakes off the water. Then sprints across the road. Back onto the Vicker's front yard. Charlie gives Kyle a menacing stare. Brandishing his BB gun.
"Mr. Rudolph. That was uncalled for! I was coming to get him."
Kyle points at the ground.
"You–see that dog poop! Charlie boy. Keep that mangy mutt chained in your backyard. Must I tell your parents?"
Charlie hangs his head. Thinking.
Err-um–I better not argue with Mr. Rudolph. Actions have consequences.
"Sorry, Mr. Rudolph. It won't happen again!" shouts Charlie.
Mr. Rudolph nods his head.
"It better not!"
Charlie corrals Boomerang by his collar and shuts the backyard gate. Locking the latch. Slobber drools from Boomerang's jaws as Charlie pets him.
"OK, Boomerang. You're out of trouble for now. Go chew on your boomerang."
Meantime, Kyle climbs the aluminum ladder. Onto his roof. He's armed with transparent duct tape and smells like a skunk ape. The chimney pot tinsel decorations have shimmied loose.
Kyle kneels. He tapes the tinsel ribbons and wrapping paper that mimics a barber shop pole. Topped off with a red bow.
Charlie snickers.
Hum, what's Mr. Rudolph doing? He's too fat to be on a roof. Maybe he read the book Cat On A Hot Tin Roof or Catcher In The Rye?
Beer nuts fall out of Kyle's sheep-skinned vest pocket. Onto the rooftop. He bought the trucker's vest at Mac's truck stop. There's 40 state pins on his vest. He bought them at state line souvenir shops near rest stops. He wears a faded Peterbilt ball cap.
Kyle's drives a semi truck for Food Lion. He drove for Kroger for years. Sleazy prostitutes, looking for cheap tricks, knock on his cab door at night. At truck stops. His dysfunctional wife doesn't know or want to know? It seems.
Suddenly, a pigeon from hell lands on the rooster weather vane. On top of the A beam rooftop joist. The pigeon swings with the wind as the weather vane changes directions.
Charlie's eyes narrow. He's focused.
Hum, I wonder if I can hit that pigeon from here? I know what Papa said, but odds are, the pigeon is out of range.
Charlie hunkers behind a tree sapling in the front yard. He wedges the gun barrel between the trunk and a branch. It makes a perfect V for an accurate shot. Charlie takes aim and holds his breath. 1-2–...
Mr. Rudolph is crumpled near the chimney pot. Smoke plumes horizontally. A cold front indicator. He mends the Christmas decorations. Paying no mind to Charlie.
–3!
"Well, here goes nothing," whispers Charlie. Snickering.
The BB shoots a tad low, missing the pigeon. It ricochets off the metallic weather vane. Mr. Rudolph holds his red nose.
"Dadgummit!"
The BB has hit his pudgy nose. Mr. Rudolph holds his nose and loses his balance. He tumbles like a tumbleweed down the rooftop. Then caroms off Santa's sleigh. His head rebounds off a gnome that Kyle carved from a tree stump. Using his McCulloch chainsaw and coping bow saw. Blood pools at the base of the gnome tree stump. Charlie's eyes narrow.
Rats! I better run before someone spots me. Would the law put a
boy in prison for murder?
Charlie Vickers is a paperboy. He delivers the Sleepy Hollow Gazette during the week and on Saturday morning. The day after Christmas, Charlie is inserting inserts into his papers. He throws 114 papers each day. The press register accepts nine year olds with parents' authorization. It's a small village with almost-zero crime.
Charlie reads the headlines on the front page. He's blind as a bat without his glasses.
Sleepy Hollow man tumbles off a roof. He died this morning at 3 AM. At the Sleepy Hollow Regional Medical Center. CSI investigators found blood droplets, pigeon feathers and poop on the rooftop. There was no fowl play. The obituary concludes…he leaves behind his wife Frida Ann Rudolph and bla - bla - bla...
Charlie's mouth gapes open. His street is the last in the neighborhood to throw. 323 Pigeon Cove. Charlie grits his gapped teeth. Throwing the newspaper extra hard! Making sure it lands near the front door of Mr. Rudolph's porch. The newspaper caroms off the gnome tree stump. It shatters a glass skylight on the left of the front door.
Shucks! Hope I ain't gotta pay for that window pane? It was an accident.
Charlie snickers. Thinking...that's what the creep gets for spraying Boomerang. Actions have consequences.
Charlie jumps off his bicycle. With his paperboy satchel strapped over his shoulder. Mama squeezes Charlie's cheeks beet red. As he enters the house.
"Take your shoes off at the door. Charlie."
Kiki Dee bites her bottom lip.
"Hand me a newspaper from that satchel, Charlie. Where are the obituaries? Oh. Poor Mr. Rudolph. It will be a sad holiday season this year. I do declare."
Charlie Vickers snickers into the crouch of his armpit.
I'm innocent. Blame the pigeon from hell.
The
Dead
End.
Murder, We Wrote contest entry
Pigeon From Hell.
Timeline: 1957. Sleepy Hollow, NY.
Snowflakes, diamond dust, snowmen, reindeer, ribbons and bows decorate wrapping paper. Ornaments dangle from a fir. Blue eyes sparkle like Christmas lights. To: Charlie Vickers is written on a glitter label. The words are magnified by Charlie's ¼ inch thick spectacles.
Charlie looks at moeder.
"Look what Santa brought! Mama."
Moeder smiles with satisfaction.
The grootvader klok chimes eight times. Douglas Van Vickers is dutch. His parents migrated from Holland. Dutch is the second language spoken 'round here. December 25th is circled on the keuken calendar.
Charlie's siblings unwrap gifts. Steven Vickers is seven. Sherry turned ten. Charlie unwraps his gifts crouched beneath the eight-foot fir. He's nine.
"Santa brought what I wanted! Mama."
Daisy (Red Ryder) is printed on the rectangular-shaped cardboard box.
Kiki Dee trades glances with husband Douglas Vickers. Her brown eyes twinkle.
Charlie's blue eyes seem bigger today. As he crooks his neck at a 33° angle. Looking at vader.
"Papa. May I go outside and shoot my BB gun–later?"
"Err-um. Open the rest of your presents, slugger! Perhaps after breakfast but stay in the yard. Don't shoot toward the road or shoot the birds. Ummm. I set up a bullseye target in the backyard."
Douglas points at a gift with a yellow ribbon and bow.
"Open that one! Charlie. There're paper targets. Actions have consequences. Be careful."
"Yessum, Papa."
The Vickers gather at the eettafel table eating ontbijt.
Charlie stares at vader.
"I'm done, Papa. May I go outside and play?"
Douglas exhibits a stern look.
"Err-um. I suppose so, Charlie. Good! You cleaned your plate. Don't shoot the birds!"
Charlie zooms to his attic bedroom. He totes his Red Ryder BB gun and a box of BBs down the stairs.
The backdoor screen door coil springs twang.
Kiki eyeballs Douglas seated at the opposite bookend of the table. Her crows feet crinkle tight.
"Well, I hope you know what you're doing, Douglas. You think he's old enough?"
Kiki bats her eyelashes.
Douglas chomps on scrambled eggs and bacon. Polishing it off with orange juice. His Adam's apple bobbles. He stares at Kiki Dee. Discombobulated.
"Ummm. I got a BB gun on my eighth birthday. He's a year older than I was."
Kiki rolls her big brown eyes.
"Time will tell, Doug. He better do his homework. You know, Charlie brought home a C- on arithmetic – the last quarter of a semester."
Douglas nods.
"OK. Kinderen. You're excused. I know–you're itching to play with your toys. All I got was a circular saw, electric razor, socks and underwear, and a nutcracker. Be thankful."
Kiki Dee looks at the ceiling.
The kinderen scoot from the table. Like a stampede. Meanwhile, Charlie Vickers shoots at a paper target in the backyard. A wooden privacy fence and gate borders the backyard. The dog can run free. Charlie takes careful aim, again. He's aware of Boomerang running loose.
Ding!
Charlie adjusts the iron sights. Lowering the elevation peep sight.
Hum, my last three shots were
grouped within ½ inch at twenty yards. A bullseye!
Charlie reloads his BB gun. He fastens the four corners of the target with pickup sticks. Into the bale of hay. Pickup sticks is a fun game. So is the barrel of monkeys and marbles he got for Christmas.
Cock!
A zephyr ziggles the loose gate latch. The backyard gate cracks open a foot. Opportunity knocks for Boomerang. He's a Pug pedigree -- been in the family for four years. Boomerang slips through the gate gap. It's large enough for a greyhound.
"Oh, no!" Charlie hollers.
Charlie trails Boomerang to the front lawn not fenced in. Kyle Wayne Rudolph, a belligerent neighbor, lives across the street. He's 6 '4'' and husky built. About to climb a trioscope aluminum ladder.
Boomerang bolts across the street. Poaching onto Kyle's pristine lawn. The sprinkler is unhooked today. Boomerang squats on Kyle's front lawn. Leaving a present. Afterall, it's Christmas day.
Kyle exhibits 'The Grinch That Stole Christmas' look. Has a sinister grin.
Kyle turns the water spicket counterclockwise. ON. The flexible green hose is tight. Kyle aims at Boomerang squatting on his beautiful Bermuda grass. About to fertilize it.
Kyle snickers as he squeezes the trigger of his Western Auto spray nozzle. It comes with a one year warranty.
"Take that! Mutt," shouts Kyle Rudolph.
Boomerang is soak and wet. He shakes off the water. Then sprints across the road. Back onto the Vicker's front yard. Charlie gives Kyle a menacing stare. Brandishing his BB gun.
"Mr. Rudolph. That was uncalled for! I was coming to get him."
Kyle points at the ground.
"You–see that dog poop! Charlie boy. Keep that mangy mutt chained in your backyard. Must I tell your parents?"
Charlie hangs his head. Thinking.
Err-um–I better not argue with Mr. Rudolph. Actions have consequences.
"Sorry, Mr. Rudolph. It won't happen again!" shouts Charlie.
Mr. Rudolph nods his head.
"It better not!"
Charlie corrals Boomerang by his collar and shuts the backyard gate. Locking the latch. Slobber drools from Boomerang's jaws as Charlie pets him.
"OK, Boomerang. You're out of trouble for now. Go chew on your boomerang."
Meantime, Kyle climbs the aluminum ladder. Onto his roof. He's armed with transparent duct tape and smells like a skunk ape. The chimney pot tinsel decorations have shimmied loose.
Kyle kneels. He tapes the tinsel ribbons and wrapping paper that mimics a barber shop pole. Topped off with a red bow.
Charlie snickers.
Hum, what's Mr. Rudolph doing? He's too fat to be on a roof. Maybe he read the book Cat On A Hot Tin Roof or Catcher In The Rye?
Beer nuts fall out of Kyle's sheep-skinned vest pocket. Onto the rooftop. He bought the trucker's vest at Mac's truck stop. There's 40 state pins on his vest. He bought them at state line souvenir shops near rest stops. He wears a faded Peterbilt ball cap.
Kyle's drives a semi truck for Food Lion. He drove for Kroger for years. Sleazy prostitutes, looking for cheap tricks, knock on his cab door at night. At truck stops. His dysfunctional wife doesn't know or want to know? It seems.
Suddenly, a pigeon from hell lands on the rooster weather vane. On top of the A beam rooftop joist. The pigeon swings with the wind as the weather vane changes directions.
Charlie's eyes narrow. He's focused.
Hum, I wonder if I can hit that pigeon from here? I know what Papa said, but odds are, the pigeon is out of range.
Charlie hunkers behind a tree sapling in the front yard. He wedges the gun barrel between the trunk and a branch. It makes a perfect V for an accurate shot. Charlie takes aim and holds his breath. 1-2–...
Mr. Rudolph is crumpled near the chimney pot. Smoke plumes horizontally. A cold front indicator. He mends the Christmas decorations. Paying no mind to Charlie.
–3!
"Well, here goes nothing," whispers Charlie. Snickering.
The BB shoots a tad low, missing the pigeon. It ricochets off the metallic weather vane. Mr. Rudolph holds his red nose.
"Dadgummit!"
The BB has hit his pudgy nose. Mr. Rudolph holds his nose and loses his balance. He tumbles like a tumbleweed down the rooftop. Then caroms off Santa's sleigh. His head rebounds off a gnome that Kyle carved from a tree stump. Using his McCulloch chainsaw and coping bow saw. Blood pools at the base of the gnome tree stump. Charlie's eyes narrow.
Rats! I better run before someone spots me. Would the law put a
boy in prison for murder?
Charlie Vickers is a paperboy. He delivers the Sleepy Hollow Gazette during the week and on Saturday morning. The day after Christmas, Charlie is inserting inserts into his papers. He throws 114 papers each day. The press register accepts nine year olds with parents' authorization. It's a small village with almost-zero crime.
Charlie reads the headlines on the front page. He's blind as a bat without his glasses.
Sleepy Hollow man tumbles off a roof. He died this morning at 3 AM. At the Sleepy Hollow Regional Medical Center. CSI investigators found blood droplets, pigeon feathers and poop on the rooftop. There was no fowl play. The obituary concludes…he leaves behind his wife Frida Ann Rudolph and bla - bla - bla...
Charlie's mouth gapes open. His street is the last in the neighborhood to throw. 323 Pigeon Cove. Charlie grits his gapped teeth. Throwing the newspaper extra hard! Making sure it lands near the front door of Mr. Rudolph's porch. The newspaper caroms off the gnome tree stump. It shatters a glass skylight on the left of the front door.
Shucks! Hope I ain't gotta pay for that window pane? It was an accident.
Charlie snickers. Thinking...that's what the creep gets for spraying Boomerang. Actions have consequences.
Charlie jumps off his bicycle. With his paperboy satchel strapped over his shoulder. Mama squeezes Charlie's cheeks beet red. As he enters the house.
"Take your shoes off at the door. Charlie."
Kiki Dee bites her bottom lip.
"Hand me a newspaper from that satchel, Charlie. Where are the obituaries? Oh. Poor Mr. Rudolph. It will be a sad holiday season this year. I do declare."
Charlie Vickers snickers into the crouch of his armpit.
I'm innocent. Blame the pigeon from hell.
The
Dead
End.
Word count - 1560
Some words are spelled in dutch.
Moeder - mother
Kinderen - children
Grootvader klok - grandfather clock
Keuken - kitchen
Vader - father
ontbijt - breakfast
eettafel - dining table
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Some words are spelled in dutch.
Moeder - mother
Kinderen - children
Grootvader klok - grandfather clock
Keuken - kitchen
Vader - father
ontbijt - breakfast
eettafel - dining table
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