THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT by Jeanette Cheezum

Great friend of TKnC, Jeanette returns with high stakes in a casino classic... bet you like it... 

The Stroke of Midnight 

  

Sophia was no Cinderella; her life wouldn’t turn around before midnight, because she couldn’t behave. There was always another sucker to take the place of the last one as she slipped away. 

The roulette tables were full and the slot machines sung just enough to keep the customers interested; after all that’s what casino life was all about. The size 44 B’s across the table projected nicely under cashmere and sequins. Not realising how much she would help Sophia. Not too many men tonight would concentrate only on the table without drooling over her and that’s when the ritual would begin. 

With great deliberation, Sophia planted herself on the other side of any man that sat next to or stood behind the perky 44’s. Actually when they got as close as possible without rubbing against the blonde that’s when Sophia pinched their billfolds, and money clips. 

The drunks were the marks of choice or the homely guys praying for someone to sleep with tonight, fixated on a possible invitation of the 44’s, always the 44’s. 

*** 

Tonight’s take would finally get the hospital bills paid in full for Jamie. Maybe Sophia could breathe a little. She had only taken a few nights off in the past six months between working or sitting and sleeping by her son’s side. She was exhausted. God, she wished the echoes 

of the police that night would go away. “Mrs. Davis, I’m sorry, but your husband and son have been in an accident. The car was totalled and your husband didn’t survive. We’ve taken your son to Mercy General where I understand you work.” 

Sophia leaned in one more time and lifted a small leather clip. She’d leave now before her collection spilled out of her Frauda soft top bag that stayed snug to her right side. No one at the tables paid attention to her. She bet small, said nothing and dressed matronly with the wig of the night always covering her forehead. 

Knowing cameras were everywhere Sophia made her way to the parking lot never stopping on the way. Not even taking the time to remove the cash once she was safely in her old van. The traffic on Las Vegas Blvd. was light and she couldn’t wait to get back to her home. 

The smell of stale cigarettes clung to her wig and sweater. However, she kept imagining the smell of booze. The kind that seemed to seep through the pores of some of the drunks that came to the hospital. Her stomach felt queasy as the van stopped in her driveway. 

Suddenly, from nowhere an arm slipped around her neck. “Don’t scream!” The grip became tighter. 

“I won’t, what do you want?” 

“You!” He eased off a little. “Come around the seat and get back here next to me. Don’t do anything stupid. I have a blade that would cut you into pieces in seconds.” 

“My husband is inside; he’ll come out to check on me.” 

“You better hope not. Besides, where is his car?” 

“He rides a motorcycle, it’s in the garage.” 

“Then we better hurry.” He laid the knife down beside him and reached for her bag. “What do we have here?” He opened the bag and ran his hand through its contents keeping her in his view at all times. “Whew-wee, jackpot.” 

No not the final payment to Mercy. “Please don’t, I have to have that money.” 

“Me too!” He shoved her. “Take off your clothes. It’s my lucky night.” 

She shuddered and tried to think fast. Looking how far she would have to leap to open the door and jump out. Damn, she had locked the door. 

His large smelly hands grabbed both sides of her face. “I could snap your neck.” 

Her brain swam with ideas, but none of them would work. 

  

He reached for her slacks and snatched her closer, “lie down and take your pants off before I cut them off with you in them.” 

Slowly, she obeyed; waiting her chance, constantly hoping for the perfect solution. “Do you have a rubber?” 

“No!” He reached out again. 

“Okay, okay.” Sophia tugged at her pants leaving her shoes on so she could stall. 

“You’re trying my patience.” 

“Let me sit up! So I can do this properly. I don’t want to be hurt. I’ll undress and you can get the full picture and I will make you harder.” 

He sat back to wait for whatever came next. 

She removed her wig slowly, then threw it close to him; slipped off her shoes and slacks each time getting them in a neat pile. The Bobbie pins in her hair were removed one at a time and she softly hummed a lullaby. Hoping he would pass out or become hypnotised. 

He unzipped his pants and began breathing heavily. 

Good. She played with the sides of her thong running them back and forth in small strokes. 

“Take them off,” He whispered. 

She got on all fours and moved closer to him. He was mesmerised and that’s exactly what she wanted. She touched his shoulder and gently pushed him down. “I like it on top.” 

He smiled. 

Sophia remembered how she had used this technique years a go while putting her self through nursing school.  

She threw one leg over his hips and just as it landed she scooped the knife up and plunged it into his neck repeatedly. 

  

Bio: 

Awarded The Helium Network’s Premium Writer’s Badge and a Marketplace Writers award. 

Jeanette’s work has been published on several online writing sites and in print. She’s published in twelve Anthology books and four books of poetry. Three of these books have made the New York Times Best Sellers list. Recently she’s published seven eBooks for Barnes and Noble Nook and six for Amazon Kindle for children and general adult audiences. 

You may see where some of her work is published on the about me page at 

http://cavalcadeofstars.wordpress.com/ Or on the member’s page at http://www.hamptonroadswriters.org her personal email is jcheezum@cox.net 

WHAT'S IN THE CELLAR? by Jeanette Cheezum

Jeanette returns with an adult mystery...

What’s In the Cellar?

1940: Deep in the woods of Georgia.

If it rained or snowed no one would come down to check on Lucy. She wore diapers, sometimes only one a day until she turned four. The weight of the soiled fabric made it easier for her to slip out of them. She stomped her feet in the urine puddles because it felt good to her feet. Sometimes she could play in the wash tub that sat under one of the windows. The man had dropped a hose down the wall and put water in there for her to sit in, once or twice a month. There wasn’t much else to do down in the cellar. Except hold onto her rag doll and lay on her old mattress on the floor.

Bugs crawled on her at night but somehow didn’t feed on her nasty skin. One morning the large doors opened and the man that came to see her brought a pot downstairs for her to use. The first time she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do when he handed her a pair of cotton bloomers. She stuck her hands through the holes and placed them against her sparsely covered chest. They felt nice and soft and she liked that.

The man shook his head, removed them, and pulled them onto her soiled bottom. Up and down several times in an attempt to make her understand.

Lucy looked forward to his visits and watched his every move.

“I brung ya some food.” He shoved a bowl and a quart bottle of water in front of her.

She learned to eat slowly and save some of her food. To make a safe for the food under an old crate was the only way to keep the rats from eating it. When the man turned to leave, she shook her head flailed her arms and grunted. He paid no attention and left her alone.

An index and middle finger was used as a game to skim along the cool cinderblock walls. She did this several times just before she ate the bread and beans or apples and bananas the man brought her.

***

The warmth from the steam heater kept the cellar toasty in the winter for years; in the summer the man would open the two windows at the top of the wall. She watched the mosquito’s land on her and when they bit her she slapped them until they quit.

***

Around the nineteenth summer the man hadn’t come to see her for two nights and two days. Only crumbs were left under the safe, and the chamber pot had spilled over the brim hours ago, but she continued to use it.

The door opened and remained that way. A taller man stood in the opening and gasped. The stench was stifling.

The light was bright from the doors being open so long, and Lucy shielded her eyes with her rag doll until they adjusted.

After some time the man came down to investigate. Would there be another body like he had found upstairs? He pulled the chain to allow more light then stopped at the bottom step.

Lucy stood still; then handed him her bowl and empty quart bottle.

“Oh, my God, I wasn’t the only one--How long have you been down here?”

Silence surrounded them.

“Come let me take you upstairs.” He reached out his hand.

She didn’t budge, only stared.

“It’s okay . . . I want to take you out of here.” He brought her to the stairs and tugged.

Lucy held onto her rag doll. Once outside, they climbed another set of stairs and entered the meager house, set in the privacy of the woods.

“We need to do something about your cleanliness, but first, let’s get you something to eat?”

Before he took his big hands and moved her to the kitchen table, she had paid no attention to him, looked around the room and touched things. She stopped in front of a picture frame showing the man and another person with long hair.

“You’re not going to talk to me are you?” He moved to the sink and wet a dish towel. Tried to wipe her face and hands but she pulled away. He relented and brought her some food and water. “You can’t speak or hear can you?”

Lucy made strange sounds and grabbed the food. Eating like someone that hadn’t been fed in a long time. He watched her and thought about his mother’s story of his father. How his father had walked away when he was born and never came back. How hard he and his mother had to work to stay alive. Now that she had died he came to have it out with his sperm donor, but had been robbed of that pleasure. He had found him dead in the middle of the living room floor. At least he had the pleasure of burying him behind the house. No funeral and friends for him, he didn’t deserve it.

Zachary left the room and went into the bathroom. He rifled through the shelf where the thread bear towel and washrags were kept. At least soap and shampoo sat on the window ledge.

Lucy followed him after he waved her on to the shower. The water sputtered and came out cold at first. He had her touch the stream of water. Now . . . how would he get her to clean herself?

He stripped off her tattered clothes and moved her into the shower. She grunted a pathetic cry and struggled with him.

He turned off the shower and removed his clothing. Knowing she would watch closely, he stepped inside the rusty old shower and turned on the water. He held his head under the stream and placed soap on his face. He smiled as he rinsed and held out his hand for her to join him. She stepped in slowly. He handed her a soapy rag. She didn’t know what to do so he rubbed her face again and moved her face to the water to rinse. She held her breath flailed her arms and shook her head.

What could he do to relax her? He continued to wash himself with the soap, maybe ... He soaped up his hands making a nice lather, and ran them across her shoulders and down her back.

Lucy seemed to like this. She made a humming noise. He massaged shampoo onto her hair but found it impossible to penetrate the layers and get to her scalp. She kept trying to look up to see what he was doing. The dirty water began to puddle and soap scum skimmed against their feet. She wriggled her toes.

He continued to rub her full grown chest and moved down towards her stomach. Should he? Well it would be the only way he could clean her. He tried to ignore the swelling in his groin.

He moved up to her ears and her neck. They were unbelievably soiled from neglect. He ran his hands under her hairy armpits and raised them to the warm gentle water. She smiled and made sounds that he had gotten used to hearing. He turned her around and let the water rinse away the filth.

Did he dare? Yes it had to be done. Mother always said “never leave a job unfinished.” He lathered her behind area and slipped in and out of the crevice. At least she had used toilet paper downstairs. He washed her legs and ankles and moved in close. Her body was against his and she didn’t move. He massaged her breast and used his fingertips on her rock hard, nipples. Then he slid his fingers down to her pubic area. He ventured slowly, so as not to alarm her.

Lucy hummed as he touched her mass of hair she giggled with a honking sound. He spread her legs just a little and lathered the area. She looked down to see what he was doing when he slid his finger into her young virgin area. Her humming became more intense. He rinsed the lips with a shower hose to remove the soap and stench that had gathered for so long. He turned her around. While finishing the job he lost his erection with an explosion up against her back. He shuddered and she never knew what had happened.

He assumed Daddy had never washed her or showed her how. The detective told him his daddy had taken another wife and she died giving birth. This must be the child. Lucy held her slender fingers above her head and watched the water bounce away.

No one would know - Daddy was dead and surely wasn’t looking down from heaven.

After he dried them off, it was time to teach her how to brush her teeth. He showed her how, but when her turn came she ate the toothpaste and drank the swish water. He laughed out loud. “I can see my work is cut out for me.”

“Now to cut that hair.” He opened the medicine cabinet to find only a straight razor, shaving bowl and cream next to a brush. “Well we may have to do this the hard way, if there are no scissors.

After three feet of hair and more under her arms he felt satisfied with his master piece. He found some clothes that must have belonged to her mother and helped her get dressed. They could live here no one would know the difference. Neither of them had anyone to love so he would teach her everything. She had already started to mimic him. But he would never kiss her if she wouldn’t clean her mouth.

Zachary showed her the mirror and she jumped. Lucy had no mirror so she never gave any thought to her appearance; large nose, sunken eyes, protruding brow, thin lips and matted brown hair.

He touched the mirror and then touched her face. Pointed to himself and then touched his face. “See, we look just alike. No one wants us, but now we have each other.”

“Let’s go to the bedroom and change the grimy sheets,” he wondered if she’d want to sleep on the floor. He led her to the side of the bed. On the other side he lay down and patted the mattress for her to do the same.

She stood still and gazed around the room. He crawled over to her side and pulled her down on the bed, then turned off the light.

All night she entered his thoughts. He moved closer to her wanting to feel her body against his. Daddy had given him something after all... a home and a woman that didn’t care how he looked.


Jeanette Cheezum 2010

BIO:
Jeanette lives in Virginia Beach, VA. She watches the rolling surf of the Chesapeake Bay for inspiration. You can find her work on several online writing sites; including this one. She has been published in three of Smith Magazines anthology books, and two of Six Sentences anthology books. Forthcoming: Harbinger*33*book.
Last year she published 160 online stories. She hopes to publish her latest novel this year.

TUCKED AWAY by Jeanette Cheezum

Welcome to Jeanette on her debut...

Tucked Away


Mid nineteen fifties

The closet door slammed shut. It wouldn’t do any good for little Cathy to cry, stomp,
or scream. Grandma would cut a switch and use it when she returned. She wouldn’t do anything
now because Grandma didn’t like to get sweaty. She wanted to make a nice impression when
she met the preacher’s wife

“How long will you be gone this time?” Cathy asked through the closet door.

“As long as it takes, now be quiet.” Her grandmother grabbed her things and left the house.
She could hear the key banging metal against metal locking the closet…and…the front door.

Perspiration beaded on her top lip and she had a sick feeling in her stomach.

Her imaginary friends always waited in the dark closet, and were happy to see her.

Not able to remember when it first started, Cathy had become accustomed to this ritual.
She lay on her back and tried to adjust her eyes to the miserable darkness that enveloped the tiny closet.

Impatient, her friends called out to her.

A deep breath filled her lungs and escaped over her tongue and out her lips, “Today my friends, we’re going on a trip to the zoo. You must line up and stay close so you won’t get lost. We’ll feed the ducks first and then see the monkeys. Take a seat quickly and don’t be noisy.”

“We’re here, they yelled. Can we get off the bus?”

“I want to eat the bread, I’m hungry,” an imaginary friend said.

Cathy shook her finger side to side, “No, it’s not allowed. We can’t eat until Grandma says.”

“Ah, the park is beautiful,” She lied, only to wish she knew what it really looked like.

“Now wasn’t that fun? Let’s go home before it gets too dark.”

“I’m getting thirsty!” someone said.

“Remember . . . , we just have to wait,” she said.

* * * *

“What’s that smell?” Cathy sniffed the stuffy closet air. Was something burning? “There’s a fire nearby! Be calm!” She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and held up her tiny hands. “Don’t worry. We’re safe here. This is our secret hideaway.”

She lined up her Grandma’s shoes. “Let’s play Anne Frank.” Clomp, clomp, “Do you hear the soldiers marching? Hide, children, the soldiers are coming.”

She coughed. “It’s hard to breathe . . . so much smoke.

“Grandma, where are you?” She whispered.

“We’re getting scared. Hush children. Don’t cry. I’m sure Grandma is nearby.”

She placed her face as close as she could to the large crack under the door, the light had disappeared. There was nothing to see . . . , only smoke filled the room. Cathy grabbed a coat from above and quickly tucked it against the bottom of the door.

“Everyone, scream as loud as you,” she said. “Even if Grandma switches us, we must get away from the smoke.” She started to cough and reached for a shirt hanging above her head and covered her nose. “Grandma, please come home. I’ve been good. The smoke--everyone scream.”

* * * *

Someone had banged on Grandma’s front door. When no one answered she yelled for someone to call the fire department. That smoke was pouring out the Jacobs windows.

Flames reached out to consume the air . . . attacked the curtains, rugs and anything in their path.

Upon arrival, the firemen broke the door down and sprayed from the ceiling to the walls and down to the floor. They stopped the fire, but didn’t look for Cathy.

She couldn’t call out to them. Her body lay still in the closet.

* * * *

“Mrs.Joyner, Thank God, you’re safe and weren’t in the fire. We called the fire department and they came right away,” the neighbor said.

“Thank you, for saving my house.” She stepped on her cigarette, so no one would suspect.

“Where is your granddaughter? Is she with friends?”

“As a matter of fact she is,” letting the corners of her mouth rise into a smile.

Grandma thanked her neighbor then hurried into the house. She couldn’t let anyone find out her secret. They wouldn’t understand. She opened the closet and reached in. She must have forgotten before she left to put that last cigarette out? But after all, she was in a hurry to meet the preacher’s wife.

Unbeknownst to Grandma the neighbor came in right behind her and saw what she’d done. “Oh, no, didn’t you say she was with friends?”

* * * *

The funeral was held that week, but Grandma didn’t attend. She now spends her time locked in a room, where no one pays any attention when she screams.

She doesn’t have any friends to talk to, and everyone knows her secret.