Burned: A Horror Story

 

One of the top fears that people have, I’ve found out, is a fear of fire. Whether its burning up themselves or losing other loved ones or possessions by fire, people are scared of this most basic of human invention. As most fires do, indeed, destroy, for the gentleman in this story, it quite literally could lead to the destruction of himself and all he holds dear.

“Burned”

 

 

A Michael Jackson Horror Short Story By:

MJsLoveSlave

 

(Featuring all six of the Jacksons)

 

O’Brian, Indiana

November 26, 1968

Two young boys sat facing each other on opposite sides of that small, yellow kitchen table.

Legs folded up Indian-style on the matching chairs, both were staring at each other with determined, unwavering gazes.

Michael Jackson, the younger of the two, at only ten years old, was absently licking at his thin lips as he shoved both fists under his pointed chin.

Seated across from him, softly thumping the deck of playing cards in his hands, was Michael’s older brother by a scant fourteen months, Marlon.

Between the two of them, three cards laid face up on that Formica tabletop: A five of hearts, a two of diamonds and a four of spades.

And in the game of Blackjack, which the boys were playing, that added up to a cool eleven.

“Come on, Mike!” Marlon urged after a while, agitated by how long his sibling was taking to decide whether he wanted another card or to let the hand he had ride. “Whatever card you get next, you’ll just get next. It ain’t gonna change, no matter how long you stall!”

Young Michael glanced down at the cards, then up at his brother, who was quietly smacking on a wad of blue bubblegum, his full lips bouncing with ever chew he made.

Marlon was right. That boy chomping like a cow on a cud was right. Whatever card got thrown down next was beyond his control. He just had to go with whatever he got dealt.

Nodding his head and causing the short, well trimmed afro on his head to bob, Michael said the words.

“Hit me!”

Marlon immediately tossed down another card.

An Ace of Hearts.

Seeing that he had an exact twenty-one, Michael threw his skinny arms in the air.

“Hoo! Hoo! I won! I won!” The boy rejoiced brightly, leaping from the table and hopping in a circle. “Oh yeah, fool! I won! Ha! Ha!”

With the way Michael Jackson was carrying on, you’d have thought he’d won some extravagant prize, like a brand new car, or a jackpot numbering into the thousands of dollars.

No, it wasn’t anything as wondrous as all that, but something just as exciting to a little fifth-grader.

Marlon had bet up his prized playing marble, a gem made of round, smooth blue glass with a pure-white swirl inside of it, resembling a tiny tornado.

Dismayed at his loss, and not really wanting to give up the marble he coveted so much, Marlon instinctively held a hand over the front pocket of the green sweater he wore, a small bulge giving away the hiding place of his marble.

Michael had his hand outstretched, expecting to get the marble right then. Little thin, scraggly brows went up with earnest at the prospect of that little bit of blue glass. He was the victor, and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on it.

Marlon was just about to suggest they go for two out three games, to stall off the inevitable task of giving away Ol’ Blue, when a deep and authoritative voice demanded,

“Marlon, Michael! Where the hell’s the rest of your brothers?”

Michael bumped backwards into the table, as Marlon jumped to his feet, both kids startled.

Looming in the doorway and a good foot and a half over the boys was their father, Joseph.

Joseph was the kind of man you just inherently feared as his entire aura seemed to ooze of domination. He was a tough, brisk man, not the kind of person to go about handing out hugs. He ran his home with a cast iron fist and all his children usually quaked in their tube socks whenever he opened his mouth.

As the boys stood, gazing upon their father, their minds trying to figure out which one of them might have done something to upset their father--and possibly cause a whipping with a leather strap--they realized that Joseph didn’t appear ready to beat the color off their hides.

Joseph, stood, dressed sharply in a navy blue, three piece suit, complete with shining wingtip shoes. Over his arm he held a brown trench coat and his black fedora.

This man wasn’t dressed for ass-kicking. He was dressed for a formal outing.

Staring at his sons, the blue of his suit, making the queer, blue color of his eyes stand out all the more against his cinnamon complexion, he repeated,

“Where are your brothers--answer me when I’m talking to you!”

Michael, visibly quaking, as he was the most afraid of and traumatized by Joseph, merely clung to the side of the table, close to passing out from sheer terror.

Marlon though, less disturbed, but just as frightened, managed an answer.

“Th--th-they’re upstairs Daddy.”

Turning without so much as a ‘thank you’ Joseph howled,

“Jackie! Tito! Jermaine! Randy! Get yo’ asses down here! NOW!”

Overhead there was the sound of scurrying feet and almost instantaneously four young boys came rushing into the small kitchen.

There was Jackie, at seventeen, the oldest of the bunch, and he never let you forget it.

Then, there was fifteen year old Tito, a quiet and serious boy, who looked so much like Joseph in the right lights, he would often make Michael woozy. And at times he behaved just like him too.

Fourteen year old Jermaine was a sporty sort whose mind was else on one of two subjects--baseball or which girl he’d chase after next. Right then he had a bandage above his left eye from slipping on a polished basketball court --playing indoor baseball-- and wrapping his face around a brick wall.

And then there was little Randy, only seven and the youngest of all the Jackson boys. As the baby of the group, Randy was always trying to be a little man--instead of a boy--and was forever being ragged about it by the older five.

With that much testosterone rampaging through the house on Chestnut Avenue, it was a wonder there were any strains of estrogen in that house at all.

Yet there was.

Ambling into the room in her kind and slow-paced way, was the matriarch of the family, Katherine.

Widely respected by the boys, Katherine was a pretty and petite woman, a bit stocky in figure, but still attractive even after having, and dealing with six children.

That night, just like her husband, she was dressed in her finest, a lovely silver fox fur cape draped around her shoulders looking bright against the dark grey cocktail dress she wore.

Michael didn’t fear his mother, so much as he adored her. To him, she was perfection, walking, breathing and talking. She was lovely to him--she could do no wrong.

And when she spoke, it was more like she was singing than just talking.

“Now boys, Sweethearts, I want you to listen to me.” She announced and clapped her hands, all six of the young boys paying her attention as Joseph was slipping his coat on.

“Your father and I are going out tonight for a bingo game and ice cream social at the church. We’ll be out till about one in the morning. But I promise, if you boys behave like little gentleman, I’ll bring you each back a slice of cake. Understood?”

Katherine’s lips, painted a bright red, parted in a warm smile as she gazed upon her sons.

“Yes Ma’am!” The boys all chorused, several mouths watering at the mention of sweet cake.

“Jackie, you, Tito, and Jermaine are in charge. You know the rules. No lollygagging. No girls. And you have to put the younger three to bed by nine-thirty since it’s only Tuesday.” Katherine instructed sweetly, before holding her arms out. “Now give me some sugar!”

 

“Bye Mama!”

“Have a good time!”

“We love you!”

“Bring chocolate cake!”

The boys all rushed forward and were kissing at their mother’s cheeks, allowing her to kiss thiers, before she turned, took Joseph’s arm and was escorted out the door into the night, where snow was just starting to fall.

Katherine and Joseph were leaving their six boys, with no idea that it was going to be the very last time they would see some of them.

 

A Few Hours Later.

 

“No!”

“Boy, get your little scrawny ass in the bed!”

“I ain’t sleepy!”

“If I knock you the hell out, you’ll sleep--trust me!”

“You hit me, and I’ll tell Mama!”

Randy Jackson, dressed in flannel Batman pajamas, stood at the foot of his bed, arms crossed over his tiny chest and chin poked out in outright defiance as he glared up at Tito Jackson.

Exasperated, Tito looked around the room for help.

Marlon laid in his own bed, wearing blue jammies and reading an Archie comic book, while in the next bed over, Michael was in matching sleep clothes, quietly writing poems as he stared at a poster of Diana Ross, his favorite singer in the world.

Michael and Marlon were quite used to the nightly theatrics that went into putting Randy to bed and barely noticed it when the boy threw a tantrum.

“Get in the bed before I drop kick your ass!”

Tito warned and was shaking a fist at him.

“Don’t make me get Jackie for you!”

Seven going on thirty, Randy bucked up and puffed out his chest, before he simpered,

“Jackie ain’t Daddy!”

Tito regarded Randy a moment, before tossing his head back and wailing.

“Yo! Jackie! C’mere!”

At the idea that something juicy was about to go on, both Michael and Marlon put down their distractions and focused on the commotion across the room at Randy’s bed.

Almost immediately, Jackie Jackson came strolling in the room cool as usual. And he already knew what the problem was.

“He won‘t go to bed?”

Pointing at Randy, Tito explained, “Hell nah, he won’t go to bed! And I’m about to kill him!”

Hovering just inside the room, Jackie reached into the back pocket of his jeans and came up with two objects.

A long thin cigarette, and beautiful, gleaming, mother-of-pearl inlaid lighter--a gift from his steady girlfriend of two years, Enid.

He took his own sweet time placing the cancer stick in his mouth and lighting it, before he spoke.

“Steven Randall Jackson, I’m only gonna tell you once. You put your little self under those covers, close your eyes, and go to sleep. I ain’t in the mood for your bullshit tonight. Right now Jermaine is on the horn calling Enid, Dee-Dee, and Hazel to come watch a movie. I can’t have you up and getting into mess. I wanna be with my woman! You see Marlon and Michael already in bed, being good. You be good too. Oh I’m gonna put my hands on you and tear it down for you. . You understand me?”

Michael and Marlon both leaned forward, both wondering if Randy would back down and go to bed.

Not so.

Chest still puffing, Randy must have taken himself for Jackie’s equal because he bucked up to Jackie and set his mouth to argue.

The following fifteen minutes were comprised of Jackie picking the little boy up, sitting on the end of his bed with Randy on his lap and using the large open palm of his hand to spank Randy to the point where he couldn’t sit back down.

In the midst of it all, while Randy was flailing, bursting into tears, and using words much too coarse for a boy his age. Michael and Marlon looked on silently and remorsefully, while Tito stood off to the side trying to stifle his giggles.

Jermaine Jackson, downstairs and chatting up Hazel, his girlfriend, was completely oblivious of the beating occurring.

As Randy was sniffling, Jackie tossed the boy into his bed.

Blowing a puff of smoke into the air casually, Jackie cautioned,

“Now you go to sleep. You get up, I’ll give you some more of what you just got. Now sleep!” He glared over at Marlon and Michael.

“Same goes for you two. You move, I’ll knock the black off your butts. Good night.”

As he exited the room, he made a purpose of turning out the light, shrouding the room in darkness and shadows.

The room was still and silent, except for the sounds of Randy crying intermittently.

Michael, lying there and hugging his pillow, being the sweet boy he was, just couldn’t bear the sound of his baby brother crying.

“I’m sorry Randy…” He offered softly in the darkness. “Do you want to come sleep with me?

“No!’ Randy replied sternly. “Just leave me alone!”

Feeling sad, Michael was starting to slowly drift to sleep. And when he awoke, his entire world would have changed.

 

Beep…Beep….Beep

At the sound of the strange, monotone chiming, Michael Jackson slowly began to open his eyes.

And it became swiftly apparent he was not at home.

Gone were the plaid walls of his room, and that poster of a beautiful Diana Ross.

Instead, Michael was in an austere, all white room, an odd, squarish tent of plastic surrounding his head and upper body.

So scared was he, Michael did the only natural thing a ten-year-old boy could do.

“Mama! Mama! I want my Mama! Mama--Help!”

Crying out, Michael was hollering for his salvation in a world that suddenly was foreign to him.

After a few moments, a familiar face appeared over him.

Joseph.

As his father pushed the plastic tent back, Michael could tell something was truly wrong.

His father’s cheeks were damp and his eyes were bloodshot.

Had…had Joseph Jackson been crying? Big, strong, unmoved Joseph?

“Daddy…where am I?” Michael asked weakly and noticed that his left forearm was wrapped in gauze.

Gripping the boy’s slim shoulders, Joseph swallowed hard before replying tightly,

“You’re in the hospital, Son…something happened…”

Michael went to speak, but stopped when his father mashed a long finger to his little mouth.

“Mike, listen to me…” Joseph held his face close to his son’s, light eyes searching it seriously.

“Something happened, during the night while your mother and I were at the church. Somehow, the house caught on fire and burned down. The house burned, Son--”

At the idea that the house was a pile of matchsticks, Michael instantly began inquiring about his brothers.

“Is everyone okay? Where’s Jackie? And Tito? Jermaine? Marlon and Randy?” He whimpered, tears filling his eyes with worry.

“Randy’s okay, Son…look there he is.” Michael looked where his father was pointing and saw he was not alone in the hospital room.

In the bed beside him, Michael could make out his little brother, sleeping, a similar plastic tent constructed over him, oxygen hissing lightly.

(Author’s Note: I know about these sorts of tents because when my grandfather had a heart attack in 1983, he was in a similar tent the last few days of his life.)

“What about the others?” Michael pushed further, and before his father could answer him, a loud shriek out in the hall caught both their attention.

The door to the room flung open, and Katherine, still wearing her church dress and cape came flying in, sobbing hysterically.

Michael’s chest tightened as he watched his mother go racing into Joseph’s arms.

No…no…it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

And yet it was.

“Joe! Joe! My babies! My sons! They’re gone! They’re GONE!” The woman screamed at the top of her lungs before burying her face in her husband’s chest.

“Who? Who Kate? Which ones? Kate, who?” Joseph was frantically, pulling at his wife, holding her back and trying to get an answer out of her.

What she said next was the worst possible thing any father could have heard.

“All of them! All four! Jackie! Tito! Jermaine! Marlon! My babies! They’re just babies! Their lives hadn’t even started. LORD WHY?”

As Katherine sank to the floor, clutching Joseph as he began to weep, Michael just sat there.

Mouth agape, eyes widened in utter and complete shock.

It wasn’t true.

It couldn’t be true.

There was no way his four older brothers were all gone. Just like that. It couldn’t be true.

Not when he’d just seen them a few hours before.

No. Marlon still owed him that blue marble.

Jackie had to be somewhere sucking on those cigarettes his parents disapproved of for a boy his age.

Jermaine had so many girls to chase and another indoor game that weekend.

And Tito…Tito was supposed to be stealing his cake from the social somewhere.

They couldn’t be gone.

They couldn’t be…dead.

Falling back into the mattress of his bed, Michael screamed in agony.

Agony for his deceased brothers.

Looking over at the other bed, Michael realized that he and Randy were the only Jackson brothers left.

Just the two of them.

 

Fifteen Years Later

Indianapolis, Indiana

 

“Do I want ‘Coconut Paradise’ or ‘Cucumber Coolness?”

Michael Jackson wondered quietly to himself as he stood before the large mirror over the washbasin of his bathroom, carefully shaving his face with a small, golden straight razor.

Michael was no longer a little boy, but now a man of twenty-five.

Standing before the mirror, trying to avoid slicing into his jugular vein, anyone could see he was quite an attractive young man.

Tall and remarkably slim, and boasting an angular, lean taut body, it was clear that Michael had the build of a dancer.

Indeed for the last four years, Michael had been running the Starlight Academy, an exclusive dance academy. Before his work as an instructor, Michael had danced for seven years on Broadway as such productions as “Black Heat”, “Sophisticated Gentlemen” and “Nefari, the Jungle Man”.

But at the ripe “old” age of twenty-one, Michael retired from the world of stage--with the three Tony’s to credit no less--and decided his expertise would have been better used teaching a new generation the art of dance.

So there Michael was, living out his days in a high-rise apartment complex, where his biggest decision was should he teach his students how to time-step, or moonwalk?

“I really wish you would use a normal razor to shave and not that sorry excuse for a machete, Darling.” A voice, soft and heavily accented chuckled from somewhere nearby.

Leaning over the washbasin and starting to rinse away shaving cream residue, Michael grinned at the figure being reflected behind him in the mirror.

Standing just inside the open door to the bathroom was Fabienne Comteste, Michael’s fiancée.

A year Michael’s junior and standing even taller than him, Fabienne was a former ballet dancer, whom Michael had met six years earlier while performing in the Nefari show.

Fabienne was a stunning girl, of French heritage, who had been raised in Martinique before coming to the United States as a teen to pursue ballet. Statuesque and slender, with long, silky black hair and slanted grey eyes that popped off her café au lait complexion, she seemed the only natural woman that would get to Michael‘s heart.

“You know I like my golden razor. I won’t give it up for anyone. One day, I’ll pass it on to my son.” Michael chuckled as his lover came closer, her body barely covered in a thin beige satin gown.

“Our son…?” Fabienne chuckled, wiggling her brows at her soon to be husband as he was splashing on the cucumber aftershave and picking at his head of thick glossy, Jherri Kurls.

“Yes. Our son. Who will be a woolly mammoth if he doesn’t shave like I do.” Michael insisted as Fabienne came behind him, wrapping her arms around his slim waist and pecking at the flesh just behind Michael’s ear--an action Michael treasured each time she did it.

“And what will our son be named? Since you’re so sure of yourself?” Fabienne giggled and continued delivering those little spine chilling smacks to Michael.

“Prince Michael Joe Jackson, Junior.” Michael replied matter-of-factly, reaching and grabbing a towel monogrammed with his initials to start dabbing at his face.

“Prince?” Fabienne drew back in horror. “You mean like that little dude in the high heels that sings those unbearable, obscene songs?”

“Calm yourself, Bè be. Prince is my grandfather’s name!” Michael was alarmed that his wife to be was thinking he’d actually have the nerve to name their child after that tiny terror of the music community. “Jesus Christ. I’d never name my child after that freak.”

Replacing the towel, Michael pulled Fabienne around and was kissing at her little pouty mouth.

“Now what’s for breakfast, Love-Bug?”

“Your favorite…scrambled eggs, ham steaks and fried pommes de terre.” (Potatoes)

“Yum!” Michael kissed her again, holding her close. He loved her so much.

“Michael, before you get too carried away, Darling, will you please go check the mail? Remember, we did this yesterday and you never did get the mail!” Fabienne was all smiles as Michael guffawed loudly, patting her backside.

“Alright.” Michael was tucking his white tank top into the baggy red sweatpants he was wearing that morning.

As he jogged from the bathroom, leaving Fabienne to start on her own make up routine, he teased,

“When I come back, I may pick up where we left off yesterday, Bè be!”

* * *

“Water bill…light bill…gas bill--why do I get a gas bill? My entire home is electric!” Michael lamented to himself as he leaned against the large wall of mailboxes, just inside the front doors of the complex, sorting letters.

“You may have already won a million dollars. I’ve got seventeen…take a hike, Ed McMahon!” Michael snorted shaking his head.

Michael was in a pretty good mood.

At least he was, until he heard that familiar, ear-grating voice.

“Hoo! Hey, Mike! What’s happening my Brother?”

Shaking his head, Michael shuddered, before reluctantly looking up.

Staggering in through the front doors was Michael’s younger sibling, Randy.

In the last fifteen years, from 1968 to 1983 while Michael’s life was going upwards, as he was becoming world known for his dancing, Randy’s life had been slowly spiraling further and further out of control.

Starting at about the age of ten, Randy had had various minor scrapes with the law, everything from truancy from school to being busted for a possessing a small amount of marijuana at the age of nineteen.

Randy, a heavy drinker since his teens, was most often found under the influence of some liquor and had even wrapped his car around a light post when he was twenty. Now twenty-three, Randy was still Jack Daniels’ best friend and known all over the state for chasing anything pretty in a skirt.

Randy’s way with women disgusted Michael almost more than his drinking like he had an aluminum liver. It wasn’t anything strange to see Randy with no less than five different women in a week, spending his nights out on the town or in his own apartment--two floors above Michael’s--pretending he was a porn star.

There was even one time--Michael never did figure how he managed it--but Randy saw twenty-four different women in the span of seven days. But he never attempted it again once he came down with crab lice and literally had to be in the hospital for his genital woes.

Randy made more than enough money giving private drumming and bongo lessons downtown, only a few blocks away from the Starlight Agency and once rent was paid, he was all about the ladies.

Right then, as he was bumping against the wall towards Michael, Randy was dressed for attention in a pair of spandex, black and white striped trousers that highlighted his thick, toned legs and a black fringed tank top that showed off his tight, muscular torso. A diamond stud glittered in his earlobe as he neared his brother, the smell of alcohol on him plain as day.

“Hey Randy. Another wild night out?” Michael questioned tightly, vainly wondering if Randy would ever settle down with just ONE woman. Before some STD made his junk fall off!

“Hell yeah man!” Randy laughed happily as he was opening his mailbox and extracting letters. “I tell ya’ this chick I’m seeing…Heather…Hailey….Hannah…some shit with an “H”, is a damn alley cat. Girl scratched me to ribbons. But she makes love like you wouldn’t believe. Damn!” Randy cackled as he was eyeing his mail. “That body of hers…”

Trying to shift the conversation from who Randy was screwing with this particular fifteen minutes, Michael touched on a more sensitive topic.

“I…I went to see mother the other day. She looked so lonely in that place. I’m sure she’d be happy to see you. It’s been so long since you’ve gone to look in on her…” Michael commented, almost timidly and the chuckling coming from Randy abruptly stopped.

“You know we’re all she has left since Daddy died.”

Never looking up from his mail, Randy replied so coldly, ice chips flew from his puckered lips.

“Like she would have known who Daddy was anyway. You know she’s been out her mind for years. And you saw her five years ago when we went and told her Daddy drank himself to death. She didn’t even react. That’s why the hell we got her in a home in the first place.”

Michael trembled at the way his brother was so comfortable relaying the truth. As awful as it was, Randy was speaking the alcohol stained truth.

Ever since that tragic night that changed their lives forever, Katherine Jackson had been unstable, and in and out of different institutions over the years for varying degrees of severity of malaise and depression. Sometimes she was conscious of the real world, but most days it was still the 1960s for her and she could be found talking to air, but in her mind, she would be addressing one of her four dead boys. At the same time, still not fully coming to grips with the idea of his sons being gone, and the idea his wife was losing her mind, Joseph Jackson began hitting the bottle harder and harder, before succumbing to complications of cirrhosis of the liver shortly before Thanksgiving in 1977.

“Sometimes…” Michael trailed off and swallowed, trying to control himself and keep from bursting into to tears at the sudden pain he felt in his chest. “Sometimes, Mama knows who I am.”

“Yeah, forever a ten-year-old to her.” Randy, disgruntled was ripping open a red envelope and perusing the letter inside. “As long as I can keep up with my half of the payments to keep her in the home, that’s all I want to do with it. I ain’t seven no more. I’m a man. I’m twenty-three. But she don’t see that. Mama don’t see that…” Randy paused and squinted at the letter.

“I gotta go man. I just got a note from Tiffani, she wants to come over later. I gotta get ready for her. Now that’s a sexy woman! Later my man!” With that, Randy was streaking over to the elevators.

Angered by the lack of care that Randy seemed to have for their mother, their last relative in the world, Michael shouted after his sibling.

“Mama’s more important than some stupid ‘physical conquest’, Man!”

As he stepped onto the elevator, Randy calmly shouted back.

“Kiss my ass!”

Unable to control himself, Michael pounded a fist against the wall, causing all the mailboxes to jiggle, he was so angered by Randy’s being void of compassion.

Leaning his head against the cool boxes, Michael sneered,

“I hope to God you get crabs again and they put a new hole in you!”

Turning on his heel, Michael head lowered, went to join Fabienne for breakfast.

 

“Darling,

I went down to the market to get some lettuce to go with dinner. Keep an eye on the casserole in the oven. I’ll be back soon.

Love you, Fabienne.”

Michael silently read the little Post-it that had been attached to the front door of their apartment.

He never quite understood how Fabienne did it. Everyday, he and his fiancée went to work at the Starlight Academy, Michael teaching jazz, tap and break dancing, while Fabienne taught ballet. Both worked the same hours from about nine in the morning until six in the afternoon.

But always, whenever Michael finally dragged himself home, dinner was almost finished cooking and Fabienne would be just as alert as she had been leaving the house that morning.

Michael had no clue how that willowy creature pulled it off, but he was glad she did.

Letting himself into the apartment, Michael started to throw his keys onto the little marble table that was a catchall for everything from keys to loose change.

A small white envelope, addressed to Michael, sat on the table. Sucking on his teeth, the young man rolled his eyes as he recognized the writing scrawled on it.

It was the five hundred dollars he received every month from Randy to help pay to keep their mother in the home.

Unzipping his red sweatshirt and hanging it on a peg, Michael, hand to his chin, made his way into the living room, which smelled brightly of the tuna noodle casserole cooking away in the next room.

Taking a seat in his favorite tufted arm chair, Michael propped his feet up on the low wooden coffee table, his mind troubled.

He had been quite distracted the entire day after his heated exchange with Randy in regards to their mother. He just couldn’t get over how his brother truly did not seem to care to see their mother. She was all they had left. Their only relation in the world besides each other.

It never bothered Michael that his mother had been disturbed since the fire. He always understood how hurt his mother was to have lost her children. How traumatic it was to her. Michael figured if he’d been through the loss of a child, he’d be unhinged himself.

Relaxing in that chair, Michael tried to recall that night, so long ago that caused his mother to go loony and his father to drown his sorrows in gin.

He didn’t remember much, just going to sleep with Marlon and Randy in the room and waking up in the hospital, his life wrecked. He had no idea what started the fire, but had heard talk that in the room shared by the older three brothers, the curtain had gone up in flames, possibly from hanging near a faulty outlet.

While it provided an explanation, it didn’t provide much comfort.

As Michael began to doze off in that armchair he never knew that already, the catalyst for one of the most terrifying times in his life was already in motion.

As he appeared to be slumbering peacefully in his chair, Michael really was feeling anything but peace. He was haunted by quite a peculiar dream.

Michael could see himself. It wasn’t quite an out-of-body experience because Michael Jackson was not seeing himself as he appeared, as a twenty-five-year old man.

Michael saw himself as a child. As the ten year old, he’d once been.

Child Michael was lying in the thick snow, flakes falling all around him, appearing asleep. His little face, body and pajamas were blackened with soot.

Looking from himself, Adult Michael could see his childhood home, being consumed by flames, the top floor pretty much charred beyond recognition.

On the front porch, Michael could see a team of firemen, axes and water hoses in hand, rushing in through the door.

Red lights flashed on the street as more fire trucks pulled up to the door.

Eerily, in all the chaos and disorder, there was absolutely no sound.

It was completely silent, as more firefighters were trying to battle the blaze from the outside, neighbors crowding around on the sidewalks, looking on.

Out the front door, another fighter came out, clutching Randy, a child again to his chest before coming and laying the boy beside Michael and starting to perform CPR on his tiny chest.

As Randy’s chest was being pounded upon.

Looking back to the fire, Michael saw it.

Just barely.

In the upstairs window, he could see all four of his older brothers, frantically beating against a window. Their mouths open, begging for help in silent screams. Eventually, one of the panes of glass was shattered and he could see one of his brothers waving their arms out in the cold night.

Then, right before his eyes, Michael watched as the roof caved in, sending the firefighters inside scattering away wildly.

One firefighter, a ladder in hand, just stood there. That piece of wood no longer of any use.

The four elder Jackson boys were no more.

“Aaaah! My brothers!”

Michael screamed shrilly as he fell forward onto the plush carpet, hand placed to his wet and heaving chest.

Disoriented, Michael looked about him.

He wasn’t at that burning house on Chestnut Avenue. He wasn’t there.

He was at home. In his apartment. Safe at home!

“Bè be?”

At the mention of his pet name, Michael looked up startled, as Fabienne, still in her leotard and toe shoes was kneeling at his side, a look of fright on her gorgeous face.

“Darling, what’s wrong? I heard you screaming!” She questioned and was wiping at Michael’s damp and feverish brow. “Michael! You’re soaking wet! Are you ill?”

“No…no…” Michael gulped and was leaning against the chair as Fabienne was now hugging him tenderly. “It was a bad dream.”

“Oh, my poor Darling…you should come eat. Dinner is ready--you’ll feel better.” The woman was standing and helping to pull Michael to his feet.

As he followed his fiancée into the kitchen to eat, Michael chose not to tell Fabienne about just what he had dreamt. He didn’t want to worry her any further.

But Michael’s worries were just beginning.

For the next several weeks, Michael Jackson was walking around as a shell of the man he once was.

Every single night, without any provocation, Michael was constantly dreaming about the fire that claimed the lives of his older brothers.

In every nightmare, Michael could see himself and Randy as children being rescued to safety, while the others had the roof collapse on them.

And every time, Michael would awaken, drenched in perspiration, breathing heavily, sometimes even weeping.

It was almost enough to drive him out of his mind. He found himself drinking more and more coffee to remain alert and it was becoming a struggle to not tell Fabienne what was bothering him so badly.

Often, Michael went to try to talk to Randy, but knowing his brother, Michael was sure Randy was sleeping his way around the city with various women. He could have been gone for months at a time, depending upon who he was keeping company with. He would work, but just occupy various homes until he and his girlfriend of the moment called it quits.

Michael had never been so alone.

Then one crisp day in April, Michael’s troubles, once confined to the nighttime, made a sudden emergence in broad daylight.

It was early one Sunday morning, and as usual, Michael and Fabienne were going about grooming and dressing, preparing to go out for breakfast as they did every Sunday, before spending the day shopping at the local mall.

Fabienne was applying her make up as Michael was shaving with that confounded golden razor again. Fabienne had been asking Michael what color lipstick she should wear, matte red or frosted pink, when Michael looked down as he rinsed his razor.

When glanced back up at the mirror to shave some more, he nearly severed his own throat.

“Bè be…I’m liking the red, but the pink looks so good on me…” Fabienne’s voice seemed to fade and was replaced by the wildly erratic beating of Michael’s own heart.

That’s because what was staring back at Michael was so utterly frightening.

Huddled together, just behind Michael, were his four brothers.

His four deceased brothers.

All four of them looking as how they must have appeared when they died. Their clothing--all four wore pajamas--were tattered and singed, patches of clothing completely missing in some places.

And their faces…lord their faces. Looking upon them threatened to make Michael vomit things he hadn’t eaten.

Burned.

That’s what the boys were. Burned. Hair gone, skin blistered, welted and peeling. Bloody.

Disfigured. Noses missing, lips gone. Bone peeking out under the charred flesh.

Staring at him from their hollow sockets, their eyes seeing nothing but death.

Jackie was smoking. But it wasn’t a cigarette jammed in his mouth. It was his body that was smoking!

Michael wanted to scream. Wanted to wail for help, jump in circles, cry. Anything.

And he did nothing at all.

Except collapse to the floor in a clammy heap.

He awoke sometime later, sprawled on the floor of the bathroom, with a worried Fabienne slapping at his face.

When asked what has caused him to suddenly faint like that, Michael once more neglected to tell Fabienne the truth, afraid that she would think he was crazy. Perhaps even have him committed like his mother.

Instead, he made light of the situation, chuckling and saying he must have passed out from hunger and suggested they hurry up so they could go eat.

It took a bit of prodding, but Michael managed to talk Fabienne into putting the rest of her face on, and he finished shaving--avoiding any sight of the mirror.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Darling? You gave me such a fright!” Fabienne was still fretting a short time later as she and Michael came strolling arm in arm off the elevator and into the front lobby.

“Bè be, don’t worry about it. I’m fine…I’m fine.” Michael assured his lover and pinched her cheek softly.

As she smiled up at him, Michael began to suggest,

“Why don’t you go ahead and get the car--oh shit….”

Ahead of the happy couple was an all too familiar sight.

Leaning against the mailboxes, trying to maintain his balance, was Randy Jackson.

His hair, arranged in curls like Michael’s was all over his head and a muzzle of a beard had begun to sprout from his chin. What was visible of his face was covered in different colored lipsticks marks, from different women, for sure.

The blue silk shirt and matching slacks he wore were rumpled and wrinkled and Michael wondered when the last time was he’d changed clothes.

Or how many times he’d slept in those clothes--if he’d slept at all.

As Michael and Fabienne neared Randy, he reached into his pocket and came up with a small flask taking a drink from it.

“God, I can’t believe he drinks like a damn fish when he knows liquor is what killed our Daddy.” Michael commented mutedly as the two of them stared at Randy, who was now shaking his flask, trying to get the last drops to fall into his open mouth.

“Mon Dieu! Perhaps he will have to hit ‘rock-bottom’ in order to see the error of his ways. You only worry for your brother because you love him. You’re a good brother.” Fabienne was giving Michael one of those little ear smacks, before taking her arm from his, and heading towards the door to get their car.

“Check the mail, ma petit.” She called as she went by Randy.

“Hey there…Fab…Fabi….you know what your name is!”

Randy snorted as she went by and she acknowledged him with a scant nod before disappearing outside.

“Hey Brother…looking sharp. I like that green leather jacket you‘re sporting. That‘s hot…” Randy chuckled as he went stumbling by Michael, destined for the elevators, to else crash or entertain more girls.

Sickened by the reckless behavior, Michael didn’t even watch him go, instead opening his mailbox to see what bills awaited him that day.

Opening the box, Michael was a bit surprised to see a lone letter in the box.

Lifting it out, he noticed it smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. Curious, he saw only his name written on the envelope. And it wasn’t from Randy. No, Randy always wrote with big, sloppy script that looked as though the letters themselves were fully lit and drunk.

The writing on this envelope was even and small. Elegant.

Interest piqued, Michael opened the letter revealing a note with one cryptic sentence.

 

“Ask Randy about the mother-of-pearl lighter.”

 

 

 

Michael stared at the note, confusion on him like that leather jacket.

Lighter? What did he know about a lighter?

As far as Michael knew, Randy stopped smoking after he got busted for pot. That had been years ago.

It just didn’t make sense. Unless he swiped it off of one of his numerous lovers.

“Allons-y! Allons-y, Darling!” (Allons-y means “Let’s Go”)

Stuffing the note in his jacket pocket, Michael tried to push it from his mind as he jogged towards the door, where Fabienne was waving him on.

Michael Jackson had tried to keep the idea of that mother-of-pearl lighter out of his thoughts, but it just wouldn’t leave him alone.

All through the pancake buffet, he was trying his best to recall anytime in his life he might have seen the lighter, or what connection Randy could possibly have to it.

All through the early matinee they watched, Michael’s mind was spinning as he tried to think of who, if any one he knew of smoked.

Sure he’d known a whole slew of smokers in his dancing days--the dancers smoked to keep slim--but all he ever say them light up with was a match.

And now, at the local mall, Michael trudged along behind Fabienne, as she was bouncing in and out of different stores, purchasing anything she liked. Michael didn’t mind, whenever a pile of clothing appeared at a checkout counter, he simply handed over his credit card, his mind too troubled to care that his fiancée was taking a few thousand dollars out of his account.

But just because he was spoiling her, it wasn’t lost on Fabienne that Michael was barely paying attention to her or what she was buying.

And as they took a seat on a bench to rest their tired feet, Fabienne wanted to know what was bothering him.

“Darling…you’ve been detached all day. What’s troubling you?” She questioned, taking his long hand in her smaller one, grey eyes searching his sullen face.

Michael stared at Fabienne. That beautiful creature he was so devoted to. He couldn’t hide his troubles from her any longer.

He just couldn’t bear it. It was eating him alive to keep secrets from this woman.

In the next twenty, tear-stained minutes, Michael told Fabienne everything. From the disturbing dreams about the burning house, to the fainting after seeing the images of his brothers in the mirror while shaving, and now this odd note business.

“Are you sure you don’t know anything about a lighter? I mean even though you don’t smoke, whomever sent this letter thinks you know something. Are you absolutely sure?” Fabienne asked softly as she was brushing the stray curls falling onto Michael’s forehead out the way absently. “Think hard, Darling.”

“Bè be, no I don’t--” Michael started and his eyes bugged as a sudden thought connected in his mind.

“Jesus, Christ!” Michael exclaimed, leaping to his feet and turning back to Fabienne. “It’s been so long since I’ve thought of this, but I do know about a mother-of-pearl lighter!”

“You do?” Was all his confused woman could ask as Michael was grasping both her hands.

“My oldest brother, Jackie…he used to always sneak and smoke cigarettes when my parents weren’t around. They didn’t like him smoking around us kids. Thought it set a bad example.” Michael was rambling, his mouth not seeming to move quickly enough to let the words come out. “He used to have a mother-of-pearl lighter. His girlfriend gave it to him on their anniversary. Or his birthday. Something. But he lit every cigarette he put in his mouth with it. I literally have not thought of it in fifteen years.”

Running a hand through her own hair, Fabienne put in,

“Okay, so the lighter belonged to Jackie. What does that have to do with Randy?”

Arms falling to his side Michael shrugged. “I don’t know Bè be, but I plan to find out…”

Michael found himself pacing back and forth outside of the closed door to Randy’s apartment that afternoon. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there trying to come up with the nerve to ask his brother about Jackie’s lighter.

All the way home, he had no idea if Randy was even at home of if he was off with one of his many women. Lucky for Michael, he found Randy’s blue BMW in the parking lot. He knew it was Randy’s car because through the back glass he could see several, used, prophylactics in the backseat. That was just like Randy Jackson.

Finally getting up the nerve, Michael mashed the doorbell and listened as it chimed very faintly inside the apartment.

A moment later the door cracked open, but Michael was not looking upon his younger brother.

Instead, holding the door open, was a petite, and very pretty Hispanic woman, wearing nothing but a lilac lace bra and matching underwear. And it really didn’t seem to bother her to answer the door to a complete stranger scantily clad like that.

“Um, hi…” Michael stammered, trying to keep his eyes on the woman’s overly made up face instead of her ample chest.

“Can I see Randy?”

The woman seemed as though she couldn’t understand Michael, and when she spoke up, in a husky voice, it became apparent why.

“Que? Que?” The woman mumbled in Spanish, as Michael rolling his eyes brushed past her and off into Randy’s apartment.

It was much neater than Michael had expected, but he figured if you had as many women in your life as Randy, someone had to clean up eventually.

The lady in panties was still speaking foreign words as Michael advanced down the hall to open door of Randy’s bedroom. It wasn’t hard to find.

The door had the words “Love Chamber” painted on it in.

Hanging in the doorway, Michael gazed upon Randy, who was seated in the middle of his bed, wearing only a pair of Levis, watching music videos on his big screen television.

But it was what Randy was doing while watching the videos that captured Michael’s attention.

A long, thin cigarette dangled from his pouted lips, wisps of smoke trailing from it.

Aghast that his brother was not only pickling his liver, but also barbecuing his lungs, Michael stormed into the room.

“Randy, you’re smoking now? Is this what you’re really doing to yourself now? Smoking cancer sticks?” He demanded as he planted himself at the foot of the bed, glaring at his little brother.

Blowing a smoke ring in the air, Randy appeared more calm that usual, as he took the ciggy from his mouth, and was flicking ashes into an clear blue ashtray on his bedside table.

“What’s it to you, Mike?” He wondered and was taking another drag off it. “What are you gonna do? Wait till Mama has a lucid moment and go squeal on my ass?”

That comment couldn’t have hurt Michael any worse than if Randy had taken his fist and socked him in the nose.

Michael was so angered, he completely forgot to inquire about Jackie’s lighter.

“That’s evil Randy…talking about Mama like that…” Michael sputtered. “You know she’s the only relation we’ve got left.”

“Ha!” Randy crowed, placing his cigarette in the ashtray before standing up and placing hands on his hips.

“You got some goddamned nerve coming up in my house and telling me I’m evil!” He snapped. “You wanna talk about evil? You wanna talk about evil?”

Randy was over and in Michael’s face, mashing a finger into his brother’s chest painfully. “I’ll tell you what in the hell is evil. Our parents! That’s what’s evil. Leaving us basically to raise ourselves. Every time we looked up Mama was in and out of some crazy house because all her marbles sprang loose, and Daddy….Daddy was too damn weak to handle any of it and lived out the rest of his days in bars and taverns. Sure, four brothers died. Four of their children died. Sure they lost four sons. But guess what! There were two left. Michael and Randy Jackson! We were left. US! And we didn’t have a damn soul to look after us. A ten-year-old and a seven-year-old. We’re fucking lucky we turned out as well as we did…” Randy trailed off and was looking past his brother.

Following his gaze, Michael saw what had taken Randy’s attention so swiftly.

Standing in the doorway to the room, a sandwich on a plate in hand, was the Hispanic woman that had greeted Michael earlier.

“Michael, you need to get the hell on…” Michael turned back as Randy was addressing him in a much lighter tone of voice. Randy sounded almost sad. “I’m living my life and that’s what you need to do too, man. Leave the past in the past. Clinging to Mama ain’t helping shit. It’s not going to make her mind solid, not gonna bring Daddy or the brothers back.”

Pointing to the door, Randy’s voice returned to it’s usual bitterness.

“Now get out my house before I drop kick you out. Get out!”

Glaring at Randy with more hatred than Michael ever thought could have invaded his heart, he turned before he would have said something he regretted , and started out the room.

Pausing over the woman with the sandwich, he hissed angrily,

“For the love of God, Lady, put on some clothes! This is a home, not a brothel!”

As the woman was cursing after him in her native tongue, Michael sprinted from Randy’s apartment, slamming the door behind him. Stomping towards the elevators to get back to Fabienne and normalcy, Michael didn’t know in just a few short hours, he’d be right back there, all over again.

Michael Jackson was having the worst time that night.

Flipping back and forth under the covers of his bed, his silk pajamas sticking to his slim body as sweat seemed to be pouring from every surface on him.

As usual, he was being plagued by another nightmare, about the night the house burned down.

But this night, the dream was much different than all the others. More detailed. More haunting.

Once again, Michael felt as though he were having an out of body experience, but instead of seeing himself lying in the snow outside as the house blazed to ashes he was inside it.

Inside the house as it was a raging inferno.

Michael found himself just inside the front door of the house, his vision hazy from the thick, acrid smoke billowing from upstairs.

Unwillingly, Michael was moving towards the staircase and slowly, cautiously, he began to ascend them.

Several steps up, he discovered one of his brothers.

Sprawled out on the steps, appearing asleep, was Randy as a child. This was new to Michael. He never knew Randy had made it out of their bedroom that night. He’d always assumed Randy was rescued from his bed, as he had been.

As he passed by Randy, something gleaming in his curled up fist caught his eye.

Michael had to blink several times to make sure he was seeing properly, but he was sure of it.

There, in little Randy’s hand, was Jackie’s treasured mother-of-pearl lighter.

Michael found continued up the stairs of that house on Chestnut Avenue, and on the second floor, he found he wasn’t alone.

The door to the bedroom he had shared with Randy and Marlon was wide open.

And laying face down in the doorway, was Marlon. Just as he had appeared the last time Michael had seen him, in those blue flannel pajamas. That stupid Archie comic was even shoved in his back pocket. And by the way Marlon didn’t even appear to be breathing, it was clear…he was already dead.

Marlon was already dead.

Looking past his brother and into the room, Michael could see himself as a child, knocked out in his bed, the clouds of black smoke hovering just over his little face.

Michael could see he was advancing further down the hall to where the door to the older boys’ room stood closed.

As it opened, without being touched, a scene of pure terror was unfolding.

Part of the roof in the bedroom had already collapsed in a pile of flames and rubble, and they were trapped.

Jackie, Tito, and Jermaine were trapped in the far corner of the room, all the debris blocking them and keeping them from being able to run out of the room.

To safety.

Just like all the other dreams before them, there was no sound, but Michael didn’t need sound.

He could see clearly that all the boys were crying, shouting and coughing as they inhaled the dangerous smoke.

The three of them crowded around the only window on the east end of the room, were beatin at it, and frantically trying to open it.

Tito, tears running down his face, had his hands clasped to his chest praying. Praying so hard as Jackie and Jermaine were still banging on the panes of glass. Trying to get away out and to freedom from this prison of destruction.

Finally, Jermaine’s small fist burst through the glass, causing his hand and arm to immediately start bleeding, but the boy seemed not to notice as he and Jackie crowded the window, trying to breathe whatever fresh air they could cram into their heaving lungs and to scream for more help.

Behind the boys, Tito dropped to his knees, hand to his chest, before his eyes fluttered closed and he slumped against the chest of drawers.

After a while, Jackie and Jermaine noticed that Tito was no longer at the window with them and in a panic, both boys were on their knees at his side, trying vainly to shake him and slap him back to consciousness. But it was no use. Tito was already gone.

Realizing the tragic loss of Tito, the two other boys began to sob, and were hugging his lifeless body against theirs.

Michael went to move closer to his brothers, in some way to try to comfort them, when it happened.

As Jermaine and Jackie were mourning Tito, crouching over his body, above them, what was left of the roof gave way.

It fell in on all three boys and to his horror, right before his eyes, Michael was watching his brothers; watching Tito, and Jackie and Jermaine, burning right before his eyes.

Unable to bear the heart wrenching spectacle of the two boys on fire, writhing and yelling in pain, flesh blistering and puckering right down to their bones. Michael turned to flee the house.

That was when he saw him.

Leaning against the open doorway, was Randy.

Randy, who had been laid out on the stairs, was now standing in the doorway, looking on as the older three were dying.

What shook Michael the most was that Randy didn’t appear frightened, or sad that the boys were drawing their last breaths in front of him.

He wasn’t even crying.

What chilled Michael, right down to the bone, though the room was in heated flames, was that Randy was smiling.

The little bastard was smiling, like he was pleased.

As Michael ran, fleeing the room, he once again saw that Randy was holding that lighter in his hands.

He had that damned lighter!

Racing down the steps of the house, Michael dared a look back.

There was little Randy, standing there, flicking the lighter on and off, starting and extinguishing the tiny flame as he watched him go.

For the first time ever in a dream, Michael heard a sound.

A loud CRACK! noise. Head jerking up, Michael saw what had caused the noise.

The entire upper floor was collapsing onto him!

Desperately Michael tried to leap out the way to save himself.

Thump!

Michael awoke with a start as he landed on the hardwood floor of his dim bedroom.

Sitting in the darkness for a moment, Michael tried to collect himself and get his mind together, to try to make sense of what he’d just dreamed.

Somehow, someway, he just knew in his soul that Randy knew something about the fire he didn’t. Something about the fire that claimed the lives of their four older brothers and destroyed both their parents.

And he was going to find out right then, what that last piece of the puzzle was.

Getting to his feet, Michael paused to tell Fabienne where he was going. He found her side of the bed vacant except for the little stuffed poodle she always slept with. Normally Michael would have looked all over their apartment for her, but he couldn’t stop now. He had to talk to Randy right then and it couldn’t wait.

Making his way out of the bedroom and into the hall that led to the living room, Michael ran into Fabienne, who was coming from having a midnight snack, several Oreo cookies still in her hands.

“Michael?” She questioned sleepily as he went blazing right by her, flinging the door to the apartment open making his way to the elevators.

“Michael!”

Just as the doors to the elevator were closing, Fabienne threw herself past them, joining Michael.

“Where are you going? It’s four in the morning!” She demanded as Michael pressed the button for the nineteenth floor, where Randy’s apartment laid.

Gazing over Fabienne’s thick and unruly head of hair, Michael remarked grimly as he watched the numbers over the door flashing.

“I think Randy killed our brothers.”

Taken aback, Fabienne gaped at Michael.

“Are you joking? Michael! You think Randy killed your brothers?” She repeated, as a bell dinged and the doors slid open, Michael rushing into the hall, with her at his heels. “Will you listen to yourself? How did Randy do it? He was a child. Barely more than a baby, Bè be! Michael!”

As soon as Michael reached the door, he didn’t even hit the bell, instead, with a curled fist, he began pounding on the door.

Almost automatically it opened. Randy was entertaining again. A set of red-haired twins, both dressed as topless nurses were looking out at Michael blankly.

Not even really seeing the half-naked women, Michael forced his way in, right past them, leaving Fabienne to stare and wonder just what kind of things Randy was doing when he wasn’t stumbling all over creation drunk.

Hunting Randy, Michael began making his way through his brother’s living room. Michael didn’t have to look for long, Randy came right to him.

“Woo! Who’s ready for a complimentary mammogram?” Randy, dressed as a doctor, complete with a stethoscope, came running out of his bedroom, a grin of aroused glee on his face.

The grin instantly dissolved the moment he laid eyes on Michael.

“Goddamn, Mike! What in the hell are you doing here?” He growled stamping his foot. “I’m in the middle of doing something!”

No longer able to contain himself, Michael declared,

“Did you start the fire that killed our brothers?”

Randy’s eyes widened .

“Did I do what?” He started, then glanced at the topless twins. “Bettina, Catarina, you two go wait in the room. GO!”

As the girls made tracks, Randy, exasperated, put his hands into his hair.

“Michael, have you finally done like Mama, and completely lost your damn mind? Hell no, I didn’t start that fire. I was SEVEN!”

The comment seemed not to even make its way into Michael’s ears.

His own eyes widening with a wildness that had never been seen in his face, Michael challenged in a low voice.

 

“Where’s Jackie’s mother-of-pearl cigarette lighter?”

“How in the hell should I know?” Randy retorted hotly, throwing his head back. “It’s been fifteen fucking years! It’s probably in the ashes that used to be our house!”

Going over, he grasped Michael’s thin arm in his hand.

“Now you need to carry your loony ass on out my house. I see you got Fabienne with you. I know you don’t want her to see me kick the activator out your ass. Now beat it!”

With a strict shove, Michael was thrown forward and into his fiancée who had been standing there, silently watching the madness unfold.

As they both staggered, one trying to keep the other from falling, Michael heard a woman ask timidly,

“Randy, will you come to bed? Sister and I are lonely…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming Bettina!” Michael heard Randy reply gruffly, and the woman giggled.

“I’m Catarina…”

“Whatever!”

Getting situated on his feet, Michael spun to give Randy a good piece of his mind.

“You stupid son of a…” Michael stopped abruptly, his eyes starting to swell in his head.

A few feet behind Randy, who was still gazing at him with pure hatred, was one of the topless twins in the doorway to the bedroom.

Michael couldn’t believe his eyes. He simply could not believe them.

The nearly naked woman had a pink cigarette jammed in her mouth and was lighting it.

With Jackie’s mother-of-pearl lighter!

“I’ll be damned! Aaaaaargh!” Michael wailed, flocking over to the woman and snatching the lighter from her.

Whirling around to Randy, and shaking it, he laughed like a madman.

“You don’t have the lighter! You say you don’t know where it was. That its in the ashes that used to be our house. Well if the damn lighter is supposed to be thirty miles away in O’Brien, I’d love to know just how in the hell this tramp of yours got a hold of it. Did she go rubble digging?”

“Tramp? Kiss my ass!” The twin growled, before turned and going back in the room, slamming the door so hard a painting on the wall fell off its peg.

“Hey Mike, you ain’t got no cause to go calling my girlfriends names! I don‘t call your woman names!” Randy pointed out and was pulling at his own hair in anguish. “He didn’t mean it Bettina!”

“I’m Catarina, you dumbass!”

“I don’t give a damn about what I called her!” Michael shrieked and shook off Fabienne who was trying to get him to leave with her before the situation got out of control.

Too late.

“I hate you! You black bastard!” Randy, bending and picking up a small statue of Buddha hurled it at his brother.

Michael ducked out the way, the hunk of porcelain just missing his head and exploding on the wall behind him.

Screaming in French, Fabienne was making a hasty exit.

“I ain’t moving my ass out of here until you tell me if you had something to do with that fire!” Michael insisted and gasped in pain as Randy hit in square in the chest with his stethoscope.

Yelling at the top of his lungs, Randy announced,

“You wanna know what happened? You wanna know what happened? I’ll tell your ass what happened!”

Leaning against the wall of the hallway and huffing loudly, Randy began to tell his tale.

“I don’t know if you remember much about that night, but I remember it.” A far away look came to Randy’s stormy eyes.

“That was the night Mama and Daddy went to the social at church. Left Jackie and them in charge of us. You remember that Mike? You remember that night?”

He focused on Michael so harshly that he visibly shook.

“That’s the night Jackie beat my ass cause I didn’t want to go to sleep. You was there. You and Marlon. You both watched as that big bastard beat the hell outta me. You didn’t even try to help me!”

“What could I have done? I was only a kid. Jackie would have wailed on me too!” Michael interjected, leaning against the opposite wall, feeling a bit guilty for not coming to Randy’s aid.

Randy completely ignored Michael’s remorseful remark.

“I hated Jackie. Hated him bad for what he did, and I wanted to get him back. Make him sorry for fixing it so my ass was swollen! I just had to get him back. So after you and Marlon went to sleep, I snuck out the room….eased on off into Jackie’s and them room…” Randy wandered away and was looking out the window that overlooked downtown Indianapolis.

“…I was gonna take his cigarettes to Mama and Daddy. You know they didn’t allow smoking in the house.” Randy paused with his hand on his hip thoughtfully for a moment. “You know, I think that was Jackie’s whole problem. Sucking on those cigarettes. Thought his ass was grown. Thinking he was a man, when he was nothing but a little boy…”

A soft chuckle left Randy’s mouth.

“I was gonna fix him. All us kids knew he kept his cigarettes hidden in the bottom drawer of his bedside table. I went right to it and opened it. There was the ciggies….and that mother-of-pearl lighter.”

“Yeah…yeah, the lighter…Michael echoed stiffly, still hanging onto the wall. “How’d you wind up with it, Randy?”

“I’ve kept this to myself for too long, Man, you know.” Randy shrugged, his head and shoulders drooping. “I wound up with the lighter because even though I wanted to just squeal like a pig on Jackie, I wanted to make it worse. So I grabbed the lighter and looked for something to set on fire…that’s when I saw the curtain behind his table. You know, the one on the window that faced the backyard. All I could think of, was how it would scare the living dog shit out of Jackie to wake up and see that curtain on fire.”

Randy grew quiet and Michael, mouth starting to fall open at the realization of what his brother was saying.

“You…you set the curtain on fire? You started the fire Randy?” Michael whispered, not even really sure he was speaking.

Facing Michael, all Randy could do was nod.

There was a moment of silence.

In the next moment, Michael was on top of Randy, pummeling him with fists of rage.

“You bastard! You stupid bastard! Do you realize what you said! Do you realize what you’ve done? You killed our brothers! You killed them! You started the fire that killed them Randy! How could you be so damn stupid! How could you!” Michael shrieked, fists steady landing blows. “I hate you! I hate you!”

“How should I have known? I was only seven! I was a kid!” Randy’s voice bounced and he was struggling against Michael, two of them rolling about on the floor, each trying to get the upper hand. Randy’s mouth and nose were bloodied and Michael’s nose was swelling from the grappling.

Somewhere in the melee, Randy’s topless twins made a run for it, never to be seen again.

“I don’t care if you were a kid!” Michael, on top again, was screaming so hard he was going hoarse. “Look what you did! You killed Jackie, and Tito, and Jermaine and Marlon. Hell you might have killed me and your own damn self if the firefighters hadn’t gotten us! You made Mama lose her mind! You made Daddy drink himself to death! Look at what you’ve done! Look at all you did!”

Randy got on top of Michael, but was swiftly kicked in the stomach.

“I hate you! I can’t believe I’m related to you. I can’t believe we share the same fucking blood. You disgust me!”

Michael loomed over Randy, fists raised to punch again, when somehow, Randy managed to knock Michael down and was sitting on his chest. Hands clasped to his thin throat, strangling him.

Face close to his, Randy was ranting at the top of his lungs.

“I told yo’ ass to leave the past in the past, Michael! I told you! I told you. You wouldn’t leave well enough alone. It’s been fifteen years! Naw, you had to keep digging! And now you’re digging your grave. Die! Die! DIE!”

As Michael began to lose consciousness, the last thing he remembered was the look of complete, raw insanity that were distorting his brother’s face.

“Mr. Jackson! Mr. Jackson, open your eyes, Sir! Mr. Jackson!”

Head swimming, Michael was vaguely aware of the sensation of being slapped.

Fluttering his eyes open, Michael found himself staring not at Randy, but at the faces of two very worried looking white men, both in light blue uniforms.

“Who…who are you?” Michael whispered as the men were helping him sit up.

“I’m Charlie and this is Lester. We’re paramedics. Are you okay? Do you hurt?” Charlie, the chubbier of the two men was smiling at Michael as he placed an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

It suddenly came to Michael what had happened.

“My brother! Where’s my brother--Randy? Randy!” Michael called and was struggling with the men to get away from them.

“Randy’s in jail, Bè be.” Fabienne, dropping to her knees beside Michael informed him seriously. “He’s gone, Darling. I called the police. I had to. He was trying to kill you!”

Tears of relief in his eyes, Michael fell against his fiancée sobbing.

Randy Jackson was charged with four counts of second degree involuntary manslaughter for the 1968 deaths of Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, and Marlon Jackson. He was also found guilty for attempted murder in relation to the strangling of his last living brother, Michael Jackson. He was sentenced to fifty-four years in prison with no possibility of parole.

Six months following his near murder, Michael and Fabienne were married in her home country of Martinique before both moved to France, opening another branch of the Starlight Academy.

And so that what was left of his family would no longer be disrupted, Michael also brought along his mother, who was tended to by a round the clock nurse.

Michael was no longer plagued with nightmares about the deaths of his brothers. In the wake of Randy’s confession, he figured that the souls of the young boys were finally at rest.

 

 

THE END!

Who Fights Over Lettuce?

Hey Y’all!

Talk about being in the right place at the right time. I saw one Hell of a fight, firsthand, in the last place you’d expect to see one:

The Grocery Store!

I should have known something crazy was going to happen. It was Memorial Day and it was hot, and if you’ve seen the movie Do the Right Thing, crazy shit always goes down on a hot day.

So I was at the local grocery store, just picking up some steaks to cook that night. Now, as I was going into the store, I saw these two women, who looked like a couple of health nuts, you know, sneakers, shorts, sports bras, that sort of thing. I didn’t think anything of it. Everyone needs food.

I went around the store, getting my steaks--I LOVE STEAK--and some seasonings and Worcestershire sauce and things to make a marinade. I was almost through when I realized I needed an onion to make my marinade sing.

I proceeded back to the front of the store, to the produce section to get my onion and saw a show.

I noticed, as I neared the produce section, I could hear loud talking, yelling, but I thought nothing of it. Ill-mannered children always make noise in the store.

Getting closer, I saw a small crowd had formed. So, being the nosy Nancy I am, I asked a guy what was happening.

His words exactly,

“Two bitches gone wild over some lettuce!”

Ridiculous, right?

My curiosity peaked, I gently elbowed my way to the front.

And sure enough, the two health nuts are standing toe to toe, yelling at each other. From what I could gather, one wanted to purchase an iceberg lettuce, which apparently has practically no nutritional value, and the other wanted a head of romaine, which I suppose has some value to it.

So they’re getting loud and as one tries to put their lettuce of chose in the basket, the other is throwing it out.

Eventually, heads of lettuce were being thrown, a poor man who was a bystander took an iceberg to the face, and the two women were swinging punches.

For some women who weighed about a hundred pounds, combined, they were fighting like they were Divas in the WWE. Punching, slapping, kicking. Damn if there was ever a time I wished I had my camera to submit a video to Todd Bridges on World’s Dumbest!

It was a massacre. After a few minutes when it seemed the fight was getting out of hand, the manager and a few checkers came in and tried to break it up, but I guess when you spend all your time in a gym, it works in your favor, cause they could not break it up.

Us bystanders were no help. Hell, we were cheering them on.

I know one lady’s nose got broke, the way it bled.

Someone called the police, and even as the sirens blared, they kept going, dragging back and forth, cursing, spitting and hitting.

Took four big policemen to break it up. I winked at one cop, he kinda looked like Marlon Jackson to me. (He winked back!)

And the Dumb Divas were arrested, of course, and carted away.

It was so, so stupid. I’ve had some fights before, but never over anything so trivial.

And the crazy thing is, that was NOT the first time I’ve seen a fight about lettuce. About 6 years ago, I witnessed an argument about the same thing at Wal-Mart, if you can believe it!

I just wanted share that!

EXCLUSIVE HORROR STORY: "Crying Infant"

 

In my lifetime, I’ve taken quite a few road trips, between vacations, competing in beauty pageants and running various other errands. One thing I always hated about these trips was when it’d be late at night, and I was in the car with maybe a couple of other people, going down a strange and dark piece of road. Just looking at the surroundings, you can almost sense that something is about happen. And for the people in our story--it does.

 

“Crying Infant”

(Based on a True Story)

 

 

 

A Michael Jackson Horror Story By:

 

MJsLoveSlave

Premble Police Department

Premble, Delaware

Winter, 1978

A young man sits on the front steps of the small police station, his slim shoulders slumped and his head held tightly in his hands.

Anyone looking upon the man could tell that at one time he was an impeccably and well dressed fellow of considerable means, that is, if they could see past his now shabby appearance.

His thick and wide afro is matted and all in a disarray, small twigs and branches tangled in it.

He wears a black trench coat, one sleeve sagging as it had been ripped from the shoulder seam. His designer jeans were torn down one side, exposing his toned brown thigh ,now dotted with skin beginning to scab over. Dust is streaked and crusted all over the man.

If anyone could have gotten close enough to actually smell the young man, they’d get a whiff of an exclusive and expensive cologne, mixed with the odors of sweat and very, very faintly, urine.

Looking up at the first few strains of morning light breaking over the horizon, the man wraps his arms around himself, trying to make complete sense of what he has just been through. The things he witnessed.

Would anything ever make sense to him ever again?

Would he want anything to make sense?

The weight of seemingly the world and the previous night’s events were tearing at him. The horror, terror and fear were just still too fresh and raw in his mind.

Beside this young man, another young man appears, his appearance similar to other man in that his afro is also in a shambles and his once nice clothing, and brown leather jacket are torn to rags. Even one of his alligator skin shoes is missing.

His big, dark eyes are glazed over as he sits and puts a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

Both men stare at each other.

They’d been through hell.

Suddenly, fiercely, both men embrace each other, instantaneously bursting into tears.

 

“Marlon…Marlon, I’m sorry! This is my fault! I’m so sorry! Oh Lord!”

Michael Jackson, the man in the remnants of a trench coat sobbed, holding his brother’s moist and damp face close to his.

“No it ain’t--it’s nobody’s fault, man! It ain’t your fault!” Marlon sniffled loudly and was hugging Michael all the tighter.

 

“We were at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

But the words meant little to Michael, because contrary to what his sibling was telling him, it was indeed his fault that they were at the wrong place at the wrong time…

 

A Few Hours Earlier

About One Hundred Miles

From Premble

“..can’t we stop for a burger or something?”

“No.”

“But I’m hungry!”

“Little girl, stop talking to me!”

Michael Jackson growled, through gritted teeth, as he was vainly trying to keep his eyes on the snow crusted, tree-trimmed road that was stretching before his car.

Glancing up into the review mirror, he got a pretty clear view of the back seat. And the middle finger being waved at him by his little sister.

Sometimes Michael just didn’t understand the twelve-year-old. It was utterly remarkable to him how they were related and had come from the same mother.

Michael had always been a good kid, and now at twenty, he reckoned he was a good man. He’d never gotten in trouble in school or with the law, had always brought home good grades--nothing lower than a “B Minus”--and was generally in a pleasant mood.

Looking to the side at his brother, Marlon, curled up in the front passenger seat and sleeping, he shook his head. Marlon’s traits were closer to Michael’s. He was good, nice to be around, excelled in school, and except for a few speeding tickets, he was on the right side of the law.

And then there was Janet. The baby of the family and a little hurricane from Day One. . As an infant, for nearly the first six months of her life, Janet cried and screamed. Everyday, every hour, to the point where Michael and Marlon had to go live with their grandmother just to get a decent night’s sleep.

And then Janet, who learned to walk early, at only ten months, was never a stranger to trouble.

Every time you turned around, from the time she entered pre-school, Janet was always doing or saying something wrong. Everything from little fights in school, to cutting class, to getting her bellybutton pierced against her parent’s wishes when she was only nine!

She’d been thrown out of several schools, so many no one even tried to keep track anymore.

This time was just her latest entry on a never-ending list of infractions.

Though the entire Jackson family lived in California, Janet had been sent to a Catholic boarding school in the small rural town of Augustine, Delaware, about two hundred miles from the capital of Dover.

And true to her fashion, Janet hadn’t been there a good three months before she was being suspended for smoking in the bathroom.

At this rate, Janet was going to go through every school in the USA before she graduated--if she ever did, since her grades stayed in the toilet.

“Geez, Michael, get the stick out your ass, you’re acting like you’re the one who got caught smoking.” Janet scoffed, shaking out her short black locks, and looking like a tick about to burst in the large, pink puffer coat she wore.

“And you’re acting like you don’t have the sense God gave a gnat!” Michael shot back. “I don’t think you understand just how much you cost Mother and Dad, Janet. Damn it, all this stuff ain’t free you know. They’ve gotta pay tuition for your little ungrateful self, not to mention the plane tickets for me and Marlon to come get you and then to fly home--”

“Yeah that’s great. Mom and Dad didn’t even come to get me--they sent their stand-ins.” The girl laughed derisively. “They didn’t even care enough to come get me themselves--”

 

 

SCREECH!

 

Suddenly, Michael slammed down on the brakes, causing the car to skid several feet on the damp asphalt, and sending everyone in side lurching forward.

“Man, what the hell?” Marlon, awakened as he was thrown into the dashboard, exclaimed, sitting up in a state of confusion.

“Ow!” Janet screamed as she slid off the seat onto the floor of the car.

Michael, hands trembling as he unfastened his seatbelt, turning, got on his knees in the seat and was leaning into towards Janet, a long finger pointed at her.

“Janet Damita-Jo Jackson…” He began, voice stagnant and his large dark eyes flashing as he tried to restrain himself. “You better get down on your knees and thank God right now that Mother and Dad didn’t come to get you, because trust me, they were so mad, they might have killed you! Dismembered you and thrown you in the woods or slam-dunked your ass out the plane on the way home. They’re tired, Janet. Tired as hell of your antics, and cutting up. It ain’t cute. It never was. You’re the reason why our folks both have high blood pressure, and Dad gets those migraines. And guess what, I’m tired as all hell too. And if I wasn’t afraid of going to jail for abandonment, I’d make you WALK home!”

Janet, awed, because neither of her brothers had never raised their voices at her, stared at Michael with wide eyes, dumbstruck.

“That’s the first time you’ve shut your damn mouth since we left the school!” Michael pointed out and alarmed, Marlon was trying to grab after his shoulders.

“Mike! Michael! Calm down, man! Calm down!” He urged, trying to soothe his sibling.

“Nah, man Marlon! I won’t sit here and have her talking s*** about Mother and Dad after all they’ve done for us. Especially her! I wish she were a boy for five minutes to I could hit her!” Michael was pulling from his brother’s grasp, as truly believing she was about to be slapped, Janet was curling up into a ball on the floor.

“Michael, you know she’s always talking s***! Let it go! You know we have to get over to the airport in Dover if we wanna make our flight. We don’t have time for to go kicking her uppity ass right now!” Marlon was crying out, hands in his own thick afro, as Michael was unlocking and opening his door, and stepping out, letting a rush of icy air into the car.

“I’m not going after her!” Michael whined as Marlon was laying in the seat and in a desperate effort, grabbing onto the sleeve of his black trench coat.

All at once, Michael’s cheeks were tinged scarlet, and a puff of steam left his mouth as he chuckled sheepishly,

“I gotta use the facilities…”

“Oh!” Marlon, relived hooted as he finally released Michael’s arm. “Well hurry up! We got make that plane!”

“I will!” Michael nodded , as he began running up the bank, shoes crunching in the freezing snow, looking for a tree to hide himself behind.

“I hope a wolf comes and snatches your ‘winkie’ off!” He heard Janet call, emboldened by the fact that she wasn’t going to get the tartar knocked off her teeth.

“Shut the hell up, Janet!” Marlon screamed. “Cause I WILL hit you!”

Chuckling to himself, Michael went a couple of yards into the woods, making sure that he never lost sight of the car and it’s headlights, because the last thing he wanted was to get lost out in the wilderness like that.

Finally, Michael spied a nice, large, thick-trunked tree, and eagerly ran behind it.

“Ahhhh!” He sighed happily. He’d been so angry with Janet and had carried her away from her school so quickly, he’d completely forgotten to make a pit stop. His bladder was near bursting. He didn’t care that it was so cold or how the breeze was whipping his nether parts.

Michael even wrote his initials in the snow.

He was finishing up and tucking himself back into his trousers when he heard it.

“Waaah! Waaah!

Startled, Michael turned in a complete circle.

“Hello?” He called shrilly. “Is some one there? Hello?”

“Waaah! Waaah!

Michael’s jaw began to sag as he recognized the noise.

Somewhere nearby, a baby was crying.

“Waaah! Waaah!

Unable to see, Michael went tearing through the woods and over to the car.

“Girl, you need to shut up, because if I get in that back seat, an ambulance will have to carry you home!” Marlon was threatening, waving a balled fist at Janet.

“I’d love to see you try. I’ll knock the crust off those big lips of yours!” Janet was wagging her head as Michael got to the car and was flinging the door open, breathless.

“You guys…Marlon…shut the hell up Janet…guys!” He wheezed and was doubling over, trying to catch his breath.

“Mike, what’s wrong--don’t tell me something really did grab your ‘winkie‘!” Marlon snickered as Michael was crawling into the car, over him and digging into the glove compartment.

“No, you schmuck! When I was in the woods…” Michael paused and came up with a floodlight flashlight. “…I swear I heard a baby crying! I think someone left a baby out there! It’ll die in this cold1”

Marlon raised a quizzical brow at Michael and behind him, Janet was indicating that he was crazy, twirling her finger beside her head.

“A baby? You heard a baby?” Marlon repeated, not sure how to take it. “You heard a baby in the woods?”

“Yes! We have to find it! We have to help it!” Michael, adrenaline starting to flow through his veins was reaching over Marlon, opening his door and shoving him out. “Come on!”

“Do you realize how crazy you sound right now?” Marlon demanded, zipping up his brown leather jacket against the cold wind as Janet, not wanting to be left behind alone, was also getting out the car and slamming the door. Marlon knew that Michael had always had a soft spot in his heart for helping children, but this seemed ridiculous.

What kind of demented person would leave a child out there in the woods like that?

“Waaah! Waaah!

Michael jumped as he was able to hear the crying carrying on the wind.

“Listen! Be quiet. Janet if you open your mouth, you’ll be picking up teeth! Listen! There‘s a child out there and we have to get it to a hospital or the police!”

Keeping their mouths closed, and Janet scowling, the others tilted their heads and strained their ears to try to hear this so-called crying that was making Michael work himself into a lather.

And very, very faintly, they could hear it.

“Waaah! Waaah!

“Holy s***! I hear it!” Marlon gasped and Janet put her hands to her mouth

“I told you!” Michael replied and was turning, leading a stampede into the woods. “Get the molasses out your asses--we got a baby to save!”

“Waaah! Waaah!

With eyes wide, the flashlight sweeping the ground and ears open to try to locate the crying infant.

“You got any idea where it’s coming from?” Marlon demanded, his breath coming in puffs as he and Janet were running behind Michael, going deeper and deeper into the woods.

“Waaah! Waaah!

Michael, in the lead, stopped for a moment, allowing his siblings to catch up to him..

Straining his ears, Michael was certain that the crying and weeping was becoming louder. They were perhaps a few yards from the child.

“This way! This way!” He announced, waving his arms wildly and they were running deeper and deeper into the woods, knocking low branches out of their way.

“Don’t worry Baby, help is coming.” Michael vowed, his lungs stinging from the cold and was running.

“Michael! Mike! Mike!” Marlon and Janet were calling after him, stumbling over tree roots and rocks doing their best to not lose him, as their platform shoes were not the best choice for this rugged terrain.

“Come on, hurry up!” Michael was sweeping his light back and forth wildly, trying to locate the child. His heart was pounding out his chest, he was so anxious and fearful.

That’s when Marlon said something that made Michael go colder than any of the plummeting temps surrounding him could.

“We don’t hear the crying anymore…its stopped!”

Michael came to an abrupt halt and stood, incredibly still for several moments.

His entire body seemed to sag as the realization hit him--Marlon was right. They could no longer hear the crying.

“Oh God…that…that poor baby…” Michael was instantly in tears his worst fears rushing to him and grabbing onto him. “It’s…it’s…”

He couldn’t even bring himself to form the words.

“It’s alright…we’ll get help.” Marlon was assuring him, patting at his shoulders. “That’s somebody’s child and I’m sure they’re missing them.

Marlon went to say more, but was drowned out drowned out by Janet beginning to shriek.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”

“What?” Both brother’s whirled around and Michael was shining the light in his sister’s face as she continued yelping.

“There’s something on my boot! I think it’s blood!” The girl yawped and shrieked some more.

“Blood?” Michael took his light off Janet’s frightened face and shone the beam on her pink boots.

Sure enough, there was a dark red substance on her left boot.

“Good Lord!” Marlon was staggering, as the sight of anything bloody weakened him.

Michael saw that the blood seemed to be coming from behind some low shrubbery about a foot from his sister.

“Stand back, move!” Michael was pushing the girl out the way and into Marlon’s arms.

Heart thudding in his ears, Michael managed to will up the courage to go over to the bushes and pushing them back was shining his light on the ground.

“Jesus Christ! No!”

The sight before him disturbed Michael so badly, that he dropped to all fours on the icy ground and was vomiting so fiercely, that Marlon and Janet came running to his aid.

“Mike! What is it? Talk to me!” Marlon begged as he and his sister were trying to pat after Michael who was simultaneously sobbing, screaming and puking.

Michael, still nauseous fell back onto his bottom and speechless, at a true loss of words, could only point.

Marlon, followed by Janet, was shoving the bushes back and taking a look.

Marlon, like Michael doubled over, head swimming, and the contents of his stomach coming out and spilling on the ground. And at some point, he managed to soil himself.

Behind them, Janet tumbled to the ground in an unconscious heap.

There, concealed by the bushes were two bodies.

That of a tiny infant girl, probably a newborn, completely naked, and covered in blood and perhaps the placenta. It appeared to be asleep, but it wasn’t.

No, this child’s chest wasn’t moving at all, and she was an ashen shade of blue. The baby wasn’t alive.

If the sight of a poor dead infant wasn’t awful enough, about two feet from the child was the body of a woman.

The mother.

But it didn’t appear that the woman had escaped into the woods and given birth, then died herself, leaving an unprotected child behind.

No, not at all.

The woman, who didn’t appear to be that much older than Michael or Marlon, was clad in a thin coat and dress, the dress had been raised up, her coat fanned behind her, drenched in a pool of blood. She had once been beautiful, with a small, oval face, and short, waved hair. Her eyes, once a pleasing shade of green, were now staring off, seeing nothing.

And the woman’s exposed tummy was what had Michael and Marlon trying to throw up their own skeletons.

The woman’s stomach appeared to have been quite literally ripped open, and a closer look would reveal that the woman and child were still linked by the umbilical cord.

Just what was this? An attempted baby abduction gone wrong? A murder? Both?

Michael, Jackson didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t want one.

Leaping to his feet and around Marlon, he stooped and scooped up Janet, still out cold on the ground.

“Come on Marlon! Run! Run!” He screamed at his brother before, terrified, he began fleeing from the horrific scene.

Very close behind him, Michael could hear Marlon running behind, trying to keep up.

It was a very awkward and dangerous run, as the trio were whipped in the faces by low hanging branches, their clothes snagging and ripping.

At one point, Michael’s entire pant leg was ripped open by a low branch, exposing his leg up to the thigh. Another branch ripped the arm of his jacket.

Marlon was also taking his own beating, falling several times, losing a shoe and getting his leather jacket torn to ribbons.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Michael’s car came into view and in a huff, Michael yanked the back door open, threw his sister into the backseat, and was scrambling into the front as Marlon was climbing over the hood to get around to the passenger’s side.

Smoke went up as he burned rubber to get away.

“Mike, did you see what the hell I saw?” Marlon stammered, his entire body shaking. “A woman and a baby--”

“They’re dead! Marlon, they were dead!” Michael was crying all over again as he was trying to control his car and keep from crashing he was so messed up. “Someone killed them! Oh Marlon!”

“”Michael, I got a wife and two kids at home. If anything like that ever happened to them--I’d die!” Marlon gasped and was holding his head in his hands.

“We’re going to the police. There’s a town coming up ahead…Premble, I think. We gotta get help man…that’s just horrible. Oh my God, that poor child!”

They didn’t know how long they were on the road, but eventually, they did reach the town of Premble, and the police station.

Driving into the nearly empty parking lot of the station, a low, squat building, Michael and Marlon leapt from the car, and paused a moment to look at Janet.

She was still knocked out in the backseat.

“You think she’s gonna be alright out here?” Michael wondered, staring at the girl.

“Yeah, she’s got her anger to keep her warm, come on Man!” Marlon was tugging at Michael’s arm.

Both men went running up the salt covered sidewalk and concrete steps and through the double doors of the building.

At that late hour of the morning, they found only one man on duty, a skinny policeman dozing behind his desk, a cup of long cold coffee before him and a half eaten, now-stale donut.

The visor of his hat had been pulled down over his eyes.

Across the room in a cell, a dirty drunk was sleeping off his night’s worth of libations.

“Hey! You! Help us! Help! Wake up!” Michael announced as he came around the desk and was shaking the man awake.

“Leave me alone, Emma, it ain’t our anniversary and it ain’t your birthday!” The man grumbled sleepily, and forgetting he was in a lawful setting, Michael drew back a hand, striking the cop with all the force he could muster.

The cop flew out his chair and landed on the tiled floor.

Alarmed, he put a hand to his face and was staring up at Michael in shock.

“Motherf***er, did you just hit me?” He demanded and was slowly putting his hand onto the gun hanging in his holster.

“Mister, we got an emergency! We think we found a murder scene!” Marlon cried out as he and Michael, afraid of being shot put their hands up to shield themselves.

“A murder? Where?” The cop leapt to his feet, ready to spring into action and round up the rest of the force.

“Out over on Highway 76. Off the road, in the woods. We found…oh lord…” Michael clung to Marlon as tears began streaming from his eyes.

“We found a woman and a baby--both dead, Sir.” Marlon, unaware of it, was doing his own crying, snot falling from his nose. “The baby had been crying, it stopped…”

Both brothers were unprepared for the policeman’s reaction.

“I want you two kids--I know you ain’t from around here--to forget what you done seen and go on home. Go on home and never speak about this again, you hear me?”

Michael couldn’t have looked more shocked if the deceased woman had strolled in with her baby in her arms.

“What the hell do you mean ‘forget it’? There’s a woman and baby dead out in the woods! Have you lost your damn mind?” Michael demanded and was pulling free from Marlon. “That’s someone’s wife! Someone’s child! Hell no I won’t forget it! What kind of a cop are you?”

Before the cop could respond, Michael turned to his shaken brother and informed him,

“Let’s get out of here. If this crooked son of a b**** won’t help us, we’ll find someone who will!”

As the men gave the cop a look of pure hate, and turned to leave the station, the cop blurted,

“What you kids saw…what you saw--it ain’t real. It ain’t real!”

Marlon spun on his heel.

“Look, my brother and I may look completely busted and screwed up right now, but I can guarantee you: We ain’t stupid. We know what we saw--”

The policeman stalked over to Marlon and was staring down at him harshly.

“I don’t know what you and your brother thought you saw, but I’m telling you--there ain’t no dead woman and child on Highway 76 in the woods, god damn it. And there hasn’t been since 1934.”

“Huh?” Michael and Marlon both stared at the policeman, trying to make heads and tails out of him.

“What you saw…it ain’t real. I don’t know how you boys are fixed for the paranormal and stuff like that, but--”

“Are you trying to tell us we saw a ghost?” Michael started.

“Of some people that died in 1934?” Marlon finished for him and they traded glances.

What was going on?

“Yes, let me guess. You saw a woman with her stomach bust open, in a dress and coat, with the baby still on the cord to her, right?” The cop asked and was taking his seat back behind his desk.

“Yes…” Michael confirmed and head spinning, he grabbed onto the desk to keep from sinking to the floor.

Marlon supported him from behind, his own knees weak..

“Yeah…” The cop nodded. “That’s not a strange occurrence in these parts around this time of year. You see, back in 1934, a woman named Liza Simmons who was expecting, worked as a house keeper to some people here in town--she lived in the woods as she and her husband, Richard, weren’t that fixed for money, you know. And she always walked to the street to be picked up by her boss…” The cop reached into his desk and came up with a box of donuts, offering them to the Jackson.

Both declined. Neither didn’t think they’d be able to eat again after what they’d seen.

Munching on another glazed donut, the cop spoke some more.

“So the boss, a rich lady named Pearl White gets there, no Liza. The woman gets out her car and goes to Liza’s house and finds Richard alone, eating his breakfast--he was factory worker here in town-- and tells him Liza wasn’t on the road. Well this worried Richard, because he’d seen his wife take off. He’d kissed her goodbye. So the two of them going running through the woods, calling for her. And I’m sure, just like you, they heard a baby crying…”

Michael and Marlon stiffened up, but said nothing.

“And suddenly the crying stopped. Then Pearl screamed and fainted, leaving Richard to find his wife and baby dead. Called the police, called the coroner. Damndest thing.. With the autopsy and all, they said that since Liza was on the side of the road, some driver must have hit her and knocked her back in the woods. Must have been doing some hell of a kind of speeding because she was hit so hard, it knocked the baby clean out her!”

Marlon sagged to the floor and crawled over to the trash can emptying what was left of his stomach into it.

Michael just sat there. Numb.

“We never did find out who did it. Richard died not too long after--from a broken heart people said. But this is right around the time, the anniversary of those lives cut short. When people start claiming to hear and see stuff…It was Liza’s first child--she was only seventeen. Damn shame….”

The cop went to say more, but Michael stood and started slowly making his way for the door.

“Just forget it kid, please! You can‘t do anything! You‘re decades too late!” The cop called after him as he left the station and took a seat on the front steps, head in his hands, trying to figure out just what he’d witnessed. What he had been through.

Tears of confusion fell from his eyes as Marlon emerged, just as shell-shocked as he.

He took a seat near him and as Michael blubbered that the whole episode had been his fault, Marlon tried to comfort him.

It took a good long while before both men could get their heads on straight enough to get back in their car and continue on to Dover. They had missed their flight, but caught a later one on home. They just really wanted to get as far away from Delaware as humanly possible.

As crazy as it all had been, the death and the bodies and the possibility that it had been an illusion, one good thing did come from it.

Janet had been scared straight, and never caused any sort of trouble, ever again.

 

THE END!!