The author on his last canoeing trip.
To quote Quint from “JAWS”:
“I’ll never wear a life-jacket again.”
(Photo by Luwana Burkey. Sharks added by Jackson Tejada.)
Please Note:
The picture above has nothing to do with the story below,
except that it shows the author about to feed the marine life.
To celebrate Halloween!
(Really just an excuse to promote my book Seasons Without Reason.)
Here are excerpts from Brat-Sitter:
Here are excerpts from Brat-Sitter:
“Brat-Sitter”
Who’s really in charge?
“‘This should be fun.’
Like an eye exam
from a blind man with an ice pick.”
“BRAT-SITTER”
You ever have one of those days? More specifically, one of those nights? This was one of those nights for Lucille “Lucy” Angela Lipton. Which began with one of those days as a snow flurry fluttered across Oshkosh, Wisconsin. Several of those flakes fell onto the suburban home of the Lipton’s. Their cat Cuddles crawled under the family car, a Ford Explorer with a slight ding in the driver’s door. Can you guess who put that there? Or rather who bore the blame for that?
Inside the living room, logs crackled in the fireplace. While in the kitchen, high school senior Lucy leaned on the counter and sipped hot chocolate; still too hot to gulp.
Mom scurried about, fixing a spaghetti dinner. Angel hair noodles boiled. Homemade marinara sauce blended. She chopped scallions. Without missing a beat in her slicing rhythm, her left hand lashed out like a cobra to shut off the blender.
Lucy slammed down her mug. “But Mom! Whenever you ding someone else’s door, you say their car needed some character.”
Mom looked up from stirring the noodles to glare at Lucy.
Lucy savored another chocolate sip and swiveled her head, swinging her long, blonde hair which cascaded down her back like prize ribbons adorning a trophy case. “Besides, you can hide the dent with an ‘I Love My Daughter’ bumper sticker.”
“You’re not getting out of this one, sugar.” Mom tasted the sauce. Mm. Voilà! Magnifico! “I don’t care how much of a brat Becca said the Bunsen boy is, you’re baby-sitting him tonight.”
“Oo!” fumed Lucy. “This is the worst night ever!”
“You’ll be fine.” Mom strained the noodles over the sink. “You just have to let him know who’s in charge.”
...
The Brat shut and locked the door. Click! He turned and sneered at Lucy. “I’ll go take my bath now, so my hair will be dry before bedtime.”
Lucy clenched her fists. “I’m in charge. I’m in charge!” She stopped, softening her demeanor. “But that makes sense. Lead the way.”
The Brat led Lucy to the family room. He wagged his finger in no-no fashion. “You’re not allowed to see my boy parts. But you can check your email.”
Shaking the mouse to resurrect the sleeping computer, the Brat turned the chair toward Lucy.
She plopped herself down and brought up the Internet. “Great, thanks.”
The Brat turned away to smirk as he left the room.
Lucy brought up her email account. “Volunteering to take a bath. Becca’s a nut. This boy’s the best behaved kid I know.” She logged into her email account. “How could anyone think the Bunsen boy’s a brat?”
From behind, a white cloth covered Lucy’s face. Her muffled screams and flailing ended as the chloroform knocked her unconscious.
The Brat removed the cloth and snickered. “‘How could anyone think the Bunsen boy’s a brat?’”
Later, the Brat used smelling salts stolen from his Dad’s office to revive Lucy. Her face was covered with makeup. Too much blush. She looked like a clown. Two clumps of her hair stood tall like antennae.
Lucy coughed and awakened, tied to a chair in front of the computer. The webcam’s red light glimmered. “I’m in charge. I’m in charge!” Lucy struggled in vain against her restraints. She gasped. “I’m not in charge! I’m not in charge.”
“I rule. You’re in my kingdom now wench.” Using a black magic marker, the Brat drew a mustache and beard on Lucy’s face.
“What are you doing? Let me go!”
“Sure. Move around. That’ll make it better. What does permanent mean?”
Lucy fidgeted. “Oo! I’m gonna kill you!”
...
The Brat brandished a pair of scissors. “Your hair’s getting a little long.”
“No. No! Don’t touch my hair. It’s who I am. Let me go. Let me go!”
Snip! The Brat clipped off a long strand.
Still trying to free herself, Lucy glared at the Brat and babbled like crazy as: Snip! Snip! Snip! The Brat cut off more strips of hair.
“Oo! You’re Brat-tastic! You’re the Chuck Norris of brats. The Shamu of troublemakers. The Super-Dee-Duper Double-Deluxe Pack of Delinquents. This is the worst night ever!”
The Brat stopped hacking off her hair. “You sure do talk a lot.”
...
The Brat nodded at Lucy. “Now I see why you’ve never been kissed. You’re an Ice Queen.”
Dennis grumbled, “There’s another word for it. Rhymes with witch.”
Pastor Nelson called out, “Careful, young man. There’s clergy present.”
Dennis grimaced. “I mean itch.”
“Pastor Nelson?!?”
The Brat clicked a button. Up popped a webcam window with Pastor Thomas Jonas Nelson, a clean-cut, middle-aged man in his bright red, polka dot pajamas. Oddly, even his sleepwear sported a white clerical collar.
The Brat chimed, “The gang’s all here. Everyone in your email address book.”
“Everyone?!? Oo! This is the worst night ever!”
The Brat expressed mock sympathy. “Aw. Maybe you can blog about it on Disgrace Book.”
... To read more of Seasons Without Reason, read the sample from the Kindle Edition here.
... To read the rest of this intrepid tale, buy the Kindle Edition here for only ninety-nine cents!
... If you don’t have a Kindle reader, get a Free Kindle Reading App here.
... Buy the print edition here for only $6.95, plus shipping, unless you qualify for free shipping
.
... To read the rest of this intrepid tale, buy the Kindle Edition here for only ninety-nine cents!
... If you don’t have a Kindle reader, get a Free Kindle Reading App here.
... Buy the print edition here for only $6.95, plus shipping, unless you qualify for free shipping
.See also: “Seasons Without Reason” and "Seasons Without Reason" Is Now on Kindle!.
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