Getting Goosed

Prompt Day #308: Medusa had snakes on her head and could turn a man to stone. What does the crazy lady down the street have on her head, and what power streams from her gaze?

 

Getting Goosed

                Most of the time, she keeps her “hair” hidden beneath a bath towel. You can sometimes see her walking out to the mailbox in her pink fuzzy robe and big terrycloth turban on her head. We leave her alone and she, in turn, leaves us alone. Everyone in town knows she’s crazy but only a few have seen one of her fits. We’ve heard the story of the teenagers who antagonized her to the point of an outburst but then that tale ends so unbelievably that we can’t help but want to see for ourselves.

That’s why me and Skip and Jase have decided to investigate. We’ve been watching her for two weeks now and we’ve never seen her take that towel off her head. We followed her to the grocery store the other day. She wore a pair of those big plastic sunglasses that the eye doctor gives you when he dilates your eyes. You could tell they’d been used many times before. She mumbles to herself all the time. That’s how she got to be the “crazy lady”. She walked home with her bags full of bread, one can of spam and a can of squeeze cheese. Yep, she’s a crazy lady. We walked behind her, keeping our distance when suddenly, she turned around and dropped her bags.

She began screaming gibberish, her face getting red, her head bouncing along to accentuate whatever point she was trying to get across. Her towel loosened so instead of running, we creeped closer. I saw it first, its beady black eyes peeking out from behind a crease of towel then the beak popped out and it honked right along with her.

“She has a goose on her head!” I yelled.

“You’re fucking crazy lady” Jase informed her. And that’s when the towel fell away completely. Turns out she did not have a goose on her head. She had geese growing out of her! There had to be ten long necks and heads that seemed to be erupting right out of her scalp. She had no hair otherwise.

The geese, now free began to honk and thrash mimicking her own squalls and neck bobbing. She bent over to pick up the towel and the plastic glasses fell off her face. She seemed to panic. She didn’t know what was more important: the glasses or the towel. She went for the glasses. Skip, for some unexplained reason jumped forward and grabbed the towel.

Crazy Goosehead looked up at him and screamed. Jase and I were standing off to the side and lucky for us. We could see her large, lidless eyes black and beady like the birds squawking away on her head. The wide-eyed, bulging black marbles made her look all the more crazy, and we watched helplessly as Skip stood motionless like a deer in the headlights looking deep into those orbs of insanity. And then he was gone. In his place was a pile of breadcrumbs, some still falling to the ground, dancing little tornadoes on the sidewalk.

The geese went crazy, they were honking and stretching their necks like a pack of hungry Dobermans. Crazy lady goosehead fell to the ground as if she was about to do some push-ups. Me and Jase took enough to time to say goodbye to our friend as the frenzied geese gobbled him up and then we ran. We ran and neither one of us looked back. We didn’t want to turn into a trail of bread crumbs only to be eaten by a headful of angry fowl.

We know now that those teens weren’t lying about the things they saw. Jase and I know that Marybeth Oakley is not a runaway; that she is never coming back. Neither is Skip. We lost a friend to that Medusa freak and now we’re the ones telling the crazy stories that no one believes. Now we just try to keep anyone else from seeing it for themselves and wondering just how long bodiless geese can live.

Advertisements

Dream a Little Dream of Geese

Prompt Day #149: Misinterpret a dream

I need to tell you all something…I may or may not have written this story just so I could use the word akimbo.

Dream a Little Dream of Geese

 

“Ok, Mr. Allan, your sleep study is over now. Dr. Everly would like to speak to you in his office before you go.” The nurse said, picking all the electrodes off his head like a monkey grooming her mate.

“Sure. So was it as bad as my wife seems to think? Did I flail all over the place?” Chip asked.

“Dr. Everly will go over all of that with you.” She said, handing him his bag of clothes. “Go ahead and get dressed. His consultation room is to the right down the hall; it’s marked Room 3”

Chip dressed quickly and headed down the hall. It was 5 am (how did they think this was an accurate representation of your sleep patterns when you were attached to more machines than a cyborg and then they come in to wake you up at the crack of dawn?) and he just wanted to go home and get some actual sleep. He knocked on the door to Room 3 and Dr. Everly let him in. The room was dimly lit and there was a large screen TV sitting at the far end. A small table with four cushioned chairs around it. Dr. Everly motioned for him to sit.

“Well, Mr. Allan, how are you feeling?” The doctor asked, crossing his legs and attempting to appear intrigued by every word coming out of Chip’s mouth.

“Tired, actually. I don’t know how anyone can sleep in one of these studies.” Chip answered honestly.

The doctor smiled humoring his patient.

“Well, the study was actually quite successful and we were able to garner enough data to make a diagnosis.” The doctor smiled again, this time more condescendingly “I’d like to show you something first. We have a machine called an oneirograph. It takes a recording of your dreams and allows us to see what you see. We monitor your body movements in real time as well and play both on a split screen. This allows us to accurately interpret your dreams in order to determine what the problem is.” He picked up a remote and hit a button. This brought up a split screen format, one side was blank, the other showed Chip all wired up and sleeping soundly.

They both sat back. Chip watching with intense interest, Dr. Everly watching Chip’s reaction to himself. The sleeping Chip lay motionless, the blank screen began to lighten and a figure came in to focus. The faceless man-form on the screen lifted his arms. Where his hands should be, were the heads of geese. Snapping and squawking. Chip laughed. Sleeping Chip stiffened.

“Now, here your dream opens with a faceless individual with geese heads as hands. The person represents you and the geese represents your hatred of the people in your life.” Dr. Everly narrated the scene.

“What? I don’t hate people.” Chip said.

“You do, I’m afraid.” The doctor said jotting something down in his chart. “Please watch. Now your alter-ego is attempting to run up the stairs, see how slow he is moving, as if he is trying to run through water. This represents your attempt to hold your homicidal intentions deep down inside.”

Chip watched his dream play out on the screen. It was ridiculous and he knew the geese had come from his recent mistake of assuming you could feed geese like you feed ducks. Oh, they liked it well enough but when he ran out of the crackers, they came after him with a vengeance.

“Well, I think it’s likely…” Chip started to explain but the doctor held a hand up to shush him and pointed to the screen. Chip looked back at his dream in HD. Now a thing stood on a long dock surrounded by water as far as the screen showed. The thing’s face resembled his wife’s, only enough though for him to recognize. But his think wife’s body had been replaced with one of those strange inflatable sumo type suits only it was made of pieces of skin roughly sewn together with large surgical suture. The sleeping Chip began to thrash in bed, arms and legs akimbo.

“Here you see a woman, perhaps a coworker, a mistress, or someone other than your wife. This is your future victim. You covet her skin…”

“Wait, stop. This is crazy. First of all, you sound like you’ve been watching Silence of the Lambs and also, that is clearly my wife and this dream stems from an argument we had when she bought these skin tight yoga pants that were flesh tones. I said she looked like she was wearing a skin suit and she said I was just being jealous and would I rather she just get big and fat. I mean clearly that explains it.” Chip was losing his sense of humor about it. He was getting pissed.

“Mr. Allan, I am an Oneirologist, I study dreams. I have taken several on-line psychology courses as well. I’ve never been proven wrong.” Dr. Everly hit pause and turned to face Chip. “I need to prepare you for the worst, Mr. Allan. What you are about to see may be very disturbing to you. I know it was to all of us.”

Chip crossed his arms and leaned forward as if daring the man to try to scare him. Dr. Everly held the remote out and dramatically hit play. The skin-suited sumo pseudo-wife on the screened backed up a few steps until she teetered on the edge of the dock. The faceless Chip gander-hands rushed towards her, with two geese achompin’. Meanwhile sleeping Chip flailed and clawed blindly at the air. Gander-hands goosed pseudo-wife over and over; the geese tearing the sutures and eating the pieces of skin they managed to rip off. Soon there was nothing left of the wife but small crumbs of epidermis that blew off the dock and into the water. Gander-hands dove gracefully into the lake. The geese parts breeched and quickly gobbled down the remaining chunks of spouse. Sleeping Chip cried out and then relaxed back into the bed and seemed to fall into a deeper sleep. Both pictures faded away.

Chip laughed again. He couldn’t help it. The dream was so absurd, it was one he would have shared immediately with his wife. Instead, he was here being judged by an onerologist or something like that who took on-line head shrink classes. And the guy was seriously warped.

“Well, doc,” Chip said, playing along “What’s the diagnosis and what can we do?”

“I’m afraid there is no outpatient treatment” Dr. Everly said, shutting the chart and lying it on the table in front of him. He got up and hit the intercom button.

“Yes, Doctor?” A nasally voice answered.

“Send them in please.” He said into the speaker, and then to Chip “you are having homicidal ideations and you’ll need to be committed for the safety of your loved ones and even yourself, Mr. Allan.” He clasped his hands in front of him as if he was calm and completely unbothered by the psychotic sitting in front of him. “There are some nice men coming in now, they will take you to the rehab facility where you will be involuntarily committed.”

Chip was flabbergasted. This was not happening. He’d come here only because his wife had asked him to. She thought he was having night terrors. Wait til he told her about his dreams. But one thing was certain, he did not want to kill her or anyone…except maybe the asshole standing in front of him. He grabbed a pen in his fist. He wasn’t going anywhere. He heard the door open and Dr. Everly started towards the door. Chip stood up and without a second thought buried the pen in the center of the man’s throat.

The door flung open and two larger bouncer sized men in short white coats came in. Their attention was immediately drawn to the gurgling man writhing about on the floor. Chip slipped out the door and took off down the hallway and past the nurse who…

“Ok, Mr. Allan, your sleep study is over now. Dr. Everly would like to speak to you in his office before you go.” The nurse said.