Screaming and Other Tales

Screaming

and Other Tales

Screaming

and Other Tales

by

Harry Neil

Donella Press

Kirksville, Missouri

Copyright © 2020 Harry Neil. All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical review or other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover art: Edvard Munch, The Scream, 1893. Public domain, image from Wikimedia Commons.

Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Neil, Harry, author.

Title: Screaming and other tales / by Harry Neil.

Description: First printing. | Kirksville, Missouri : Donella Press, [2020]

Identifiers: ISBN: 9781734260120 (paperback) | 9781734260137 (ebook) | LCCN: 2020922746

Subjects: LCSH: Time—Fiction. | Reality—Fiction. | Memory—Fiction. | Future, The—Fiction. | History—Fiction. | Space and time—Fiction. | Imaginary places—Fiction. | Mind and reality—Fiction. | Gender identity—Fiction. | LCGFT: Short stories. | Science fiction.

Classification: LCC: PS3614.E44284 S37 2020 | DDC: 813/.6--dc23

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

First printing, December 2020.

Published by Donella Press, Kirksville, Missouri.

Visit donellapress.com

For

Leona and Elizabeth

They believed in me

and taught me

to believe in myself.

Contents

Ruby, You’re Like a Song 1

A Fondness for Murder 11

Miss Julia 29

Screaming 32

The Incident of the Large Lady 41

In St. Peter’s Square 44

Persimmon Road 50

Cherry Is Awesome 69

Old American Customs: A Modern Greek Tragedy 74

The Salamander Scripts—Your Weekly Book Review 78

My Five Mothers 82

The Ballad of Canbia and Polly Ann 87

The Archangel’s Trumpet 97

The Momentous Occasions of Professor Ted Miller 101

Escape from Persepolis 111

Mama Was a Marple 123

Another Way It Coulda ‘Appened 128

Chronos 137

Acknowledgments 143

About the Author 145

Foreword

In his lifetime, William Sidney Porter (1862–1910) churned out over six hundred short stories under the pen name of O. Henry. His trademark surprise endings to his mellow, humorous, and ironic tales made him for years America’s favorite—possibly the country’s still favorite—storyteller.

Similarly, North Carolinian Harry Neil, who discovered freedom (his word) by moving to the desert near Palm Springs after a computer programming career, has become popular among his readers with many similarly twisted endings to what he calls his short pieces. And, as with O. Henry’s eclectic themes, Neil’s tales range broadly, from spookiness to futurism, from madness to fantasy.

Readers of these stories have hailed them as fantastic and wildly imaginative, heartwarming, pure genius, edgy and hallucinogenic, and a joy to read. You will certainly be entertained and, perhaps even, as one reader before you said, entranced.

David Wallace

Palm Springs, California

April 2020

David Wallace is a nationally published writer whose work has been reviewed by The New York Times as inspired, and who was hailed by the late nationally syndicated columnist Liz Smith as the maestro of entertainment history.

Ruby, You’re Like a Song

This ain’t a hearin’ or anything formal like that, but we got two people dead, one of ’em a deputy, and I need to figger out why. I been chief in Tin City for over twenty years, and ain’t nothin’ like this ever happened before. Last real murder we had was that Rodney Miller thing back in ’75, and that was, Lord, musta been fifteen years ago now. I just need to get my head around this thing and figger out what has to be done. You’re the people saw it all, and I need you all to tell me just what it was you saw. May’s bringin’ in Louise Clark; apparently she saw some of it too."

Chief Jasper Tucker dumped some powdered creamer into his big coffee mug. He was a portly man, with thinning red hair and the beginnings of a double chin. His office was a melding of police station and man cave. The walls sported a buck head, a sailfish, and the weapons used to capture them. I know it all started with Ruby, but I can’t for the life of me figure how or why. Jarvis, you’re the one shot her, right? Tell me just what happened.

Deputy Jarvis Wright shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "Well, she come runnin’ down the road, like she was comin’ from her house, you know. Only she was screamin’ and wavin’ her arms all around like a crazy woman. Well, I reckon she was a crazy woman, ’cause she headed right fer Billy Ray and she pulled out this gun and put a bullet right through his head. Real clean shot too. Don’t know how she did it so clean, the state she was in. And with that funny old pistol too."

Jarvis raked a bony hand through jet black hair. Then she just kept screamin’ and cryin’ and jumpin’ up and down and wavin’ that gun around. I figured she was gonna kill us all if nobody stopped her, so I shot her. Didn’t aim to kill her, you understand, but I reckon I didn’t have time to be careful, so I reckon I did. She went down kinda slow, and more sobbin’ than screamin’, kinda like she couldn’t really catch her breath. I don’t think she even knew she was shot. It was kinda like she just gave up and crumpled down on her own, only by the time she hit the ground she was dead.

Jarvis took a deep breath. I ran up to her to try to do whatever I could, but there wasn’t nothin’. I just stood there and looked for a minute. Never saw anything like it, you know? She was wearin’ this funny dress, not like anything I ever saw on her before. And her face was all red and wet, and slobber all over her chin. She was actually foamin’ at the mouth. It hit my mind that she mighta actually been bit by a mad dog, but I didn’t stop to think about that. I ran over here fast as I could and called for the medics. Don’t know why—nothin’ they could do. She was dead.

Jarvis sat down heavily. That’s about it. Damnedest thing I ever saw. Damnedest thing I ever want to see. I ain’t gonna sleep tonight; I know I ain’t.

The chief looked puzzled. What did you mean about a funny old pistol, Jarvis?

Deputy Mike Gowan piped up. It’s just like that one LeeRoy tried to use when you raided his liquor still, Chief, remember? A matched set of old duelin’ pistols. You wouldn’t think LeeRoy’d know anything about duelin’ pistols or antique ammunition, but I guess to him guns were just guns. You kept the one, but apparently LeeRoy hid the other one somewhere, and I guess Ruby knew where to find it and how to use it. LeeRoy woulda taught her how to scare off strangers who got too close to the still. Anyway, we got both of them now—the guns, I mean. They’re single-shot pistols, but course Jarvis didn’t know that in time.

Mike puttered over to the coffee machine and started mixing a brew. Now I don’t know why anybody’s surprised. Everybody knows Ruby’s crazy. My pa calls her Delta Dawn, from that song, you know? ‘All the folks ‘round Brownsville say she’s crazy.’ This was bound to happen sometime, or somethin’ like it. It’s what we get for lettin’ crazies run ‘round on the streets. There oughta be laws.

There’s another song that’s better, the chief said thoughtfully. A lot older, though. ‘They say, Ruby, you’re like a song. You don’t know right from wrong.’ Used to be real popular, back before rock ‘n’ roll. That was around ’52, ’53. I remember ’cause of that new Studebaker Starliner. That was one beautiful car! Lord, how I wanted that car! He stared into space, remembering. I swore that when I was old enough to drive, I was gonna get me a Starliner, and I was gonna name her ‘Ruby,’ after that song. Course, by the time I was old enough, I had other interests. So I never did get one.

Prob’ly just as well, Mike said. My grandpa had one, and he said it was made outa tin foil; you could bend it like a garden hose. Couldn’t even open the door if the thing was up on a jack. Pretty, but dumb, kinda like Addie. Mike and Jarvis exchanged knowing glances.

Now don’t you boys go trashin’ Addie Thompson, the chief said. She does the best she can. After all, look what she’s got for parents.

The change of subject visibly relaxed Jarvis. Ain’t that one of them telescopin’ arguments? he asked. I reckon Ike and Laura Thompson had parents too. How far back you suppose this goes?

Not Ike, Mike volunteered. They said he was a virgin birth. Least his mama did. Personally, I got my doubts.

Boys! The chief pounded his desk. Billy Ray’s lyin’ down in Sutton’s Parlor with a bullet in his head! This ain’t the time…

d

Mercifully, the door opened, and May Watson brought in Louise Clark, a dark-haired scarecrow of a woman in a plain black dress. Thank you for comin’, Louise. The chief poured her a coffee. You take it black, right? What did you see?

Louise was more than willing to share. Well Jasper, I get an hour for lunch, and I always take my sandwich over to the park. It was real nice out there today, so I musta stayed there for pretty much the whole hour, just watchin’ the world go by, you know? Anyway, Ruby was there too, just sittin’ on a bench across the park. First time I’d seen her for a while—no, wait—I saw her just yesterday. She was goin’ into Foster’s store just as I was goin’ back to work, so you might wanna talk to Bertha. She runs the register at Foster’s in the middle of the day.

Jasper motioned her to stop. He punched a button on his intercom. May, call Ted Foster and tell him to send Bertha over here for a few minutes. We need her. He can run his own register for a little while. He turned back to Louise, and she went on.

"Do you know, Mr. Mitchell won’t even let me have a cash register? That man is a piece of work! He sits up there in that barbed-wire cage where he can see the whole store, and he registers every sale himself. When I sell somethin’ I hafta put the sales slip and the money on that chain thing and it rattles up to him. He makes the change and rattles it back to me. Ain’t nobody used that kinda thing for twenty, thirty years. Nobody but Mr. Mitchell, I mean. When it breaks, he can’t get parts for weeks. What a miser! I don’t know why I put up with it!

Anyway, today Ruby was just sittin’ there. I didn’t pay her no mind, except to wonder why she was all gussied up in that tacky blue taffeta dress. I never thought of Ruby and taffeta in the same breath before. She’s more the feed-sack-frock kind, you know. I figured somethin’ special musta been goin’ on in that crazy head of hers, and she musta pulled out her old prom dress.

The chief interrupted her again. Prom dress? What’s a prom dress got to do with anything?

Louise smiled indulgently. "I forget, Jasper. You’re a man. What would you know? You see, most any girl’s still got that dress she wore to her high-school prom hangin’ way back in the back of the closet. Ain’t no use no more—too fancy for church, or for anything else that’s like’ to happen in a little place like Tin City. But she keeps it ’cause it’s the only thing reminds her o’ what used to be.

When she’s happy, it reminds her o’ bein’ a pretty young girl with the boys linin’ up to dance with her. When she’s sad, it reminds her o’ what mighta been, and how different things turned out from what they oughta. Sometimes when she’s by herself she takes it out and holds it up to her in front o’ the mirror. Most girls don’t ever try to put it on—after all, she ain’t that skinny no more—and maybe sometimes she thinks she oughta throw it away. But she don’t, ’cause that’d be throwin’ away her girlhood.

Louise got a faraway look in her eyes, remembering. "It’s like in that Glenn Campbell song, Jasper, ‘Dreams of the Everyday Housewife,’ ‘She touches the house dress that suddenly disappears. Just for the moment she’s wearin’ the gown that broke all their minds back so many years.’ Lord, I loved that song. Made me