Laverne
nightmares, fantasy, horror, short story
Published on:
June 23, 1:02amWord Count:
7494Last Edited:
June 23, 3:07amWork Description
This story is based on a dream my dad had when he was struggling in his life. I also incorporated some Stephen King elements and a tad of the Twilight Zone in this piece. This is the stuff of nightmares, although not really scary on the surface, it's one I think will cause agitation if thought of frequently.
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“Either he’s dead, or my watch has
stopped.” —Groucho Marx
I. The Lion’s Mane
As I was sitting at my desk, ready to call it a night, in the
darkness of my office, the door behind me opened abruptly, and
there stood P*I* Smithers in the doorway, panting like a frantic
dog.
“Sergeant Minutes!” he shouted, his silhouette
spread-eagle, covering nearly the whole of the frame. I was leaning
back in my swivel chair, my feet upon the surface of my desk, and
my hands folded behind my head. “There was a suicide on Drury Lane
about five minutes ago! They’re calling for the police, but they
haven’t responded, backed up in Hartford, and———”
“Calm down, Smithers,” said I. “The Connecticut
Police haven’t responded with a call?”
“No, Sergeant!” he said, saluting to me.
“They’re busy with cases in Hartford and New London—we’ve called
them several times with no answer———”
“I’ll try them myself,” I said. It was a
lonesome night in October. Close to Halloween. The Drury Lane
Police Department is always busy around this time. Mostly
mischievous teenagers egging houses or scaring the dogs with their
costumes. Nothing I have seen before. We get the occasional suicide
or homicide; they’re a rarity in these parts, usually mentally
disabled folks who escaped from the Looney House or robberies. P*I*
Smithers walked across the threshold, stopping beside my desk. He
sat in the empty armchair, eyeing my actions as I dialed the
Hartford Police Department. It rang several minutes. Both of us
were silent, staring into each other’s eyes. The ringing stopped
and a female voice answered on the line.
“Hartford Police Department. How may I help
you?”
“Hello—This is Sergeant Miles Minus Minutes, of
Drury Lane Police Department. One of our P*I*s was on duty and
witnessed a suicide. He said he tried to phone you for several
minutes with no answer. You claimed your forces are backed-up in
Hartford and New London?”
“We haven’t received a call from Drury Lane
Police Department this evening. I have no idea what you’re talking
about, Sergeant Minutes.”
There was a dead silence for a few moments. I
listened intently to Smithers’s heavy breathing as he stared at me
with his crystal green eyes. I covered the speaker with the palm of
my hand. A cool breeze blew in from the open window opposite us—a
four-paneled, rectangular window with a crow sitting on the sill,
squawking into the moonlight. Crickets were playing their symphony
orchestra. An owl hooted into the eerie darkness. I could barely
see his face in the darkness, only his silhouette and hearing his
ghastly breathing.
“The lady says they haven’t received a call from
you.”
“That’s impossible, Sergeant!” he said. “I just
phoned them ten minutes ago.”
“From where?”
“The muffin shop across the street from the
crime scene.”
“Are you telling me the truth, Smithers?” My
heart was racing. I broke out into a cold sweat. His face grew even
paler, and I saw his own sweat form on his forehead. His gloved
hand touched the cuff of my uniform, and he spoke in a soft voice,
very plainly, yet eerily calm and innocent.
“Why would I lie to you, Sergeant? If you don’t
believe me, come to the muffin shop. I have my unit there
investigating the crime scene. We’re bringing the body to the
Morgue at midnight. In fact, P*I* Barnum was asking for you. I have
my notebook in my pocket. Want to see my notes?”
“No, Smithers.” Here I uncovered the speaker.
“Ma’am? My P*I* claims he indeed did call you from the muffin shop
in Drury Lane. He has his unit there investigating the suicide as
we speak.”
“I’ll check today’s records once more, Sergeant
Minutes. Give me a few moments.”
She placed me on hold.
Smithers rose from the chair. He walked over to
the doorway and grabbed the kerosene lantern hanging by the golden
hook. He set it upon my desk, turned the fuel cap to the right, and
the bright luminescence sprang forth from the glass compartment.
Black smoke breathed from the metallic chimney. I could see
Smithers fully now. His black uniform—the trenchcoat and the bowler
around his head—blended with the blackness, and his
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I appreciate your comments. However, I feel that you missed what I was trying to say. Here's an outline of the central themes of this piece:
Time, dreams, properness, darkness, disguise, absurdity, kangaroos. This was supposed to be a dark comedy, not horror in the truest sense of the word---only frightening if you think about it. My main purpose was to combine the old with the new: I incorporated Dickensian/Victorian England elements into a modern setting. I wanted to show the absurdity of English "properness" in language and film: even though I intended for a serious tone, it actually became an absurdist tale, because the properness of the officers killed the supposed serious of an actual investigation---they were too concerned with "doing things the right way" (i.e., following orders to the t) instead of actually focusing on the case: they were all schedule-addicted, which played into my motif of time.
The characters' names are reflected as symbolic: they serve a purpose into figuring what I was trying to say, for example, Sergeant Miles Minus Minutes plays into the motif of time. Crystal O. Mancy plays into the motif of the unknown and fear to realize the actual truth. I also tried to attack the irrational fears of human beings, as evidenced by Sergeant Minutes' last line: "Maybe she has a thing against kangaroos."
You summed it up beautifully here: "Here the characters names and the play on old themes feels like reading a parody, or some vaudvillieian assemblage of nonsense that when combined create an incredible tapestry of lunacy."
Typically, English crime novels (like Sherlock Holmes) revolve around the actions of the officers/investigators and not the suspects themselves. They're so obsessed with following schedules, they're focused on "tea time with biscuits" and watching Monty Python at high noon rather than investigating the case---only after the fact.
Jasper Johns is tough to crack, but let's just say he's a combination of Ichabod Crane and Rip Van Winkle. Even tough he's weird, nobody pays attention to him; but the fact is, he's right. This plays on the "Boy-who-cried-wolf" theme.
Kangaroos are my favorite animal. I think they're funny animals. Consider Kangaroo Jack and Captain Kangaroo for advice. The absurdity of the kangaroo and its importance serves as a backdrop: see the movie Harvey.
Harvey meets The Twilight Zone meets Monty Python meets Sherlock Holmes.
I hope that helps some. 
I had some difficulty with this. In all likelihood it wasn't intended for someone like me to read it, so I'm glad it has an appreciative audience. The point at which I stopped reading was here:
There was a dead silence for a few moments. I listened intently to Smithers’s heavy breathing as he stared at me with his crystal green eyes. I covered the speaker with the palm of my hand. A cool breeze blew in from the open window opposite us—a four-paneled, rectangular window with a crow sitting on the sill, squawking into the moonlight. Crickets were playing their symphony orchestra. An owl hooted into the eerie darkness. I could barely see his face in the darkness, only his silhouette and hearing his ghastly breathing.
Silence, then heavy breathing. Crystal green eyes in the darkness. Only the silhouette --but the light source for the dark room could only have been the corridor through which he'd entered, so the viewer must have been behind the guy in the chair... and then the crickets play their symphony all at once? Ought there not have been a tumbleweed?
For me, this was hard work for uncertain reward. I can see it as a movie spoof -- that works quite well in a Scream III way -- but I don't see this as engrossing prose.
I should repeat, though -- this isn't really meant for a reader like me; perhaps I should not have commented at all.
This one sure has the making of a scary piece and because I am a weeny, I am not going to promise I will read all the scary details. I think you can make it tigher and perhaps rev it up a bit , for example:
To start off, the first line is off a bit, consider this:
"As I was sitting at my desk, in the darkness, ready to call it a night, the door behind me opened abruptly...."
"Sargeant Minutes!" he shouted...." why not "Sargeant Minutes!" he exclaimed excitedly....
A lot of the punch in this piece is buried in the paragraphs that you have not separated and the needless explaining the action of the actor. As there are only P.I. Minute and Smithers present, there is no need to identify who's speaking as the dialogue should allow the reader to know who's speaking. Here are examples:
"There was a suicide on Drury Lane about fifteen minutes ago! They're calling for the police, but they haven't responded, backed up in Hartford, and---" You should break this out into a separate paragraph so that the action is revved up a bit.
"Calm down Smithers" I said. There is no need or "I said."
"I'll try them myself," I said. There is no need for "I said."
Try more space between paragraph so that the reader is able to digest each action in all its gory detail.
Nice work.
Shilohx7
Zach - Trying to return the favor here - Please keep in mind that I mean you no harm in this critique.
Not enough dots are connected for me to rationalize the early arrest of Crystal. The victim's odd behavior seems to be equally suspect in his own demise at the time when she is arrested.
I'm not sure what happens here:
Instant photography - if that's what is happening here, is not in line with the period of the peice as I've read it thus far.
Perhaps it is the descriptions in the peice that makes it feel like a Sam Spade period peice. Picking up the phone and covering the handset - rather than hitting the mute button or dialing on speakerphone or picking up a CB. Having a notebook with pages in which you keep notes also makes this feel more of a period peice. If it is intended as a period peice, caution tape was not to my knowledge invented in the 40's and 50's.
The switch to first person of Crystal was a surprise. I'm still not sure what happened here.
The names read like an ultra transparent look into your life. Smithers, Barnum, Minutes, Jasper Johns, Drury lane - and a muffin shop no less. The names betray the seriousish? nature of your plot. To your quote in the beginning - if you see a film with the marx brothers credited, you aren't expecting high drama. Here the characters names and the play on old themes feels like reading a parody, or some vaudvillieian assemblage of nonsense that when combined create an incredible tapestry of lunacy.
You characters seem to have precognitive abilities (see below
The editorial comments made by the speaker here imply a meaningful understanding of the character being described. A "grueling disfigurement" for example is the result of something that a more objective reporter would not exclude. The dialogue in this part particurlarly seems like someone reading an obituary. He drove a taxi - rather than he was a taxi driver by profession. Did he drive day shift or night shift? Seems like it could be relevant. Taxi drivers are generally street smart - giving him a day shift makes him less so, giving him the night shift makes him A - more lonely (schedule differences from "regular people"), and B - more street smart.
Would a cold person be drinking Iced Tea?
Characters referring to each other by title gives more credulity to a period peice. Repetitious use of midddle initials as per the case in Crystal O. Mancy seems out of character. Consider Mrs. Mancy or Crystal, or "the Suspect"
This type of dialogue happens more than once. If you heard this conversation, you would laugh, i think. The dialogue sounds more appropriate in a dickens novel than in a dime detective novel.
I know you are not serious:
Page 1 - I think this is an error.
Page 4
I think you mean rights. though with the 10 minutes of calming rituals you mention at the end of page 3 I can't be sure.
Page 4
I don't think these are the miranda rights. They should be easy enough to find if you look them up. IANAL but given the euthanasia comment made earlier, any confession of any kind at this point seems to be coercion, thus making the confession inadmissable.
Page 7
What does that mean?
Stephen King's IT had the absurdity of the clown for a reason - clowns appeal to children upon which the demon played. The kangaroo does not seem to have the same reason, and as such makes the story absurd without achieving the chilling effect I think you intended. The story moves too fast in important areas of the plot. This makes it harder to follow than it should be, then again, I'm still not sure exactly what happened at the end there, except you seemed to get tired of writing your own story and ended it rather abruptly.
Given that the lion's share of your story involves these two/three detectives, it seems unfair to the reader to completely abandon them 2/3rds into the story and on premises that are dubious at best. I assure you that shooting a suspect 42 times for "acting wierd" is outside of the realm of believability in any crime story, even one with pink kangaroos.
The sin city meets hartford motif feels like it has potential here. More explination about the intriguing JJJ would be helpful when it comes to the temperature imbalances. I think a two or three sentence summary of the plot would be helpful here to help determine wether you got your point across.
Writing anything that long is an achievement particurlary if it is your first time out. Keep trying and keep thinking about how the reader is going to hear what your book is saying.