My Dear Readers,
Disclaimer:
What I write is fiction/fantasy/fairy tales for adults. None of my characters are real, no one was injured during the production of my stories and just like on T.V., they all get up when the scene is over, have a beer, remove the makeup and go home, ready to return in the next chapter, all the boo boos healed.
Votes and comments are as always gratefully received. E-mail will get personnel response if you remember to leave me a return e-mail address.
Enjoy.
Dom Woolf
My dad died of a heart attack early this year while I was away at college. It wasn't really unexpected he was in his mid seventies. I returned home over spring break to help mom finish cleaning out the house before she sells it and moves into a much smaller place.
Mom is just thirty nine, she met and married dad when she was seventeen and he was fifty two. It was one of those May-December romances that lasted twenty two years. Dad had been in good shape until two years ago when he had his first heart attack, he really never recovered so it wasn't a big surprise when he died.
Mom was in great shape financially and physically for that matter. She was a yoga teacher in town three days a week and between that money and Dad's retirement that will be paid to her until she dies and the house dad had inherited from his parents that was fully paid off money wasn't a concern.
The thing was, it was a huge old house built when families had several generations living at home. Nine bedrooms, a living room, a full dining room and a breakfast room, a sitting room/parlor, four and a half baths, a kitchen that would do justice to a restaurant, walk in pantry, laundry room, two enclosed porches, full basement, and attic, in other words huge.
Mom wanted to sell it and buy a smaller house but first there was three generations of stuff to go through, discard, donate, or sell. So that's what I was looking forward to over my spring break. Whoopee.
Ok, Mom wasn't thrilled either but it had to be done. Fortunately it was one of those warm springs so we were able to open the windows in the attic and basement and air them out as we worked, still it was sweaty, dusty and hard work.
I was working up in the attic, going through seventy five years of old boxes of papers and photos and all the other stuff that gets shoved into attics and forgotten, when I found the box of antique jewelry from Grandma or maybe great grandma. I figured mom would want to see this so I headed downstairs to find her.
I heard weird noises from one of the end of the hall bedrooms and went in to see what was up. I'll remember the sight till my dying day. Some woman holding moms arms from behind as some asshole was attempting to pull off the old wife beater tee shirt of dads that she was wearing.
I'm no superman but I'm not a 98 pound weakling either. I grabbed the asshole and threw him so hard against the wall; his kids will be born with headaches. I turned and punched the bitch holding mom right in the nose. I just had time to hear mom scream when somebody turned out the lights.
Waking up with a head that felt like someone had used it for soccer practice, the big game, and overtime is unpleasant. Waking up with that kind of headache and your own sweaty, dirty tee shirt stuffed in your mouth is even more so. The worst is waking up with all of the above to find yourself tied to an old wooden chair, stark naked with three grinning assholes standing over you. In your mothers bedroom.
Mom was summarily tied, but still dressed more or less, her formerly tattered jean shorts were even more tattered, and her wife beater tee shirt had been pulled between her breasts exposing them. It looked like my shorts were stuffed in her mouth and she was glaring at the three intruders. If looks could kill they didn't have long to live, not that it seemed to be bothering them.
"You know boy," The skinny one I had slammed into the wall was saying. "I understand a boy trying to protect his mother and I forgive you for knocking me about, but hitting a lady. Well that's a different matter."
It took my rattled brain a few seconds to realize he was talking about the skank whose nose I had busted. I might have laughed if the bitch wasn't standing there playing with a butterfly knife.