*Note to the Reader; Birthday Stories are exactly what they sound like, stories that are created and gifted to family and friends. They are short works of fiction in the raw, no copy edits, kind of like live theatre, what you see is straight from my imagination to you, pure, simple and honest and yeah, sometimes a bit weird - I hope you enjoy. RB
At least that's what Joe's Mom used to say. Doesn't matter if you prayed to God every Sunday or stole money from the collection plate. Good or bad, sometimes things just happend and Louise Brydon was going to learn that lesson hard.
The spring had been unseasonably warm the year Joe was gifted with Louise. It was just after his 20th Anniversary at the park when she arrived seemingly from the bowels of hell itself.
Louise had been CEO of a large oil and gas corporation but decided that taking a step back in her twilight years to share her knowledge and experience.
"A not-for-profit organization would be the best way to pay back my blessings" she said. "For what was afforded to me in life, " she said almost as an afterthought to the board in her best Betty Boop voice.
No one was particularly sorry to see her go, in fact they saved the going away party until after she had, well, gone away.
Louise was used to having things done a certain way, within a certain time frame and in a certain manner. Pedantic might be another way of saying that, "Anal retentive," was how Amy her assistant had said it once.
Joe on the other hand was one of the good ones, an artist of the truest form and he did not subscribe to that particular ideology.
This bothered Louise. She was the only person he had ever met that held such an unjustly resentment towards him it actually personified her character.
The park where they both worked is known as the largest living history museum and was only weeks away from opening day.
"Things had to get done!"
The inflection in her voice lifted at the word done as if that was suppose to somehow soften the message she meant business.
On an overcast day in April, heavy black clouds stood sentinal in the western sky threatening snow. Louise had marched in to Joe's office with her iPad in hand singing.
"Joe, I need you to come with me so we can review all of the exhibits that need attention."
She was already gone before he'd looked up.
Louise was on a roll, rifling off task after task, pointing to the different buildings that needed repair when the unthinkable happened
A can of paint fell out of the clouds turning her into an ink spot on the grounds.
"Chesus Christ" Joe yelled leaping back. He instinctively looked up but there was nothing to see.
In the centre of what used to be Louise was a 4 liter paint can. The lid had opened slightly but otherwise appeared to be undamaged.
Joe leaned forward, craning his neck, listening intently to a buzzing sound coming from the tin. An oily black liquid was now pooling on the grass about a foot away from Louise. Whatever it was that was spraying from the tin glistening in the days diminished light.
Joe scanned the horizon hoping to see someone.
"Of all the times to forget my radio." He muttered to himself.
He forced himself to look back down and stared in disbelief. The oil spot had darkened, no light glared off the surface, it looked flat yet it also seemed to have depth.
Louise's right hand suddenly away as if it had dropped off the edge of a table as the oil slick spread underneath it. A small stone then rolled over the edge and disappeared.
"What the fuck?"
Joe leaned closer trying to see into the black but could see nothing. He took off his hat tossing it at the black circle and watched it fall away into space.
Without hesitation he reached over removing the tin from its resting place.
Whatever this is, Joe understood it was profoundly special and had to be guarded. The inky spot appeared to have stagnated, blood was beginning to flow over its lip into the abyss along with small chunks of Louise.
The sight was repulsive and yet it gave Joe the answer to his question.
"How do I keep anyone else from finding out about this."
He returned from the shop in minutes, out of breath holding a rake in one hand and a bucket of sand in the other.
The area where the ink spot had started seemed to have moved. Half of the body was now gone along with the crimson waterfall. Joe helped it along by raking the remains toward the obsidian hole which was approximately 2 feet in diameter now. It struck him then that there was no sound. Raking yes, metal twanged on sand and stone (and Louise) birds still chirped, leaves bristled in the breeze but there was nothing as things entered the hole. In fact sound along with light and everything else for that matter simply disappeared.
Joe had brought the sand to cover up the blood stained grass but it turned out, he didn't need it. As he was raking, one of the metal teeth grabbed the edge of the hole and he ended up dragging it like a disc along the ground. Whatever was on the surface fell away. It was like some cosmic vacuum only it had no impact on the grass or the soil. The oil had now solidified and acted like a piece of paper with the small exception it was not just a piece of paper. It reminded Joe of an old cartoon, Wile. E. Coyote. painting holes on the road to capture the roadrunner.
Joe stood mesmerized. It could have been 30 seconds and it could have been 30 minutes. Joe wasn't sure of anything anymore but he suddenly realized he could see his shadow. He looked up and realized the clouds had lifted, the sun now warming his face.
From the shop he heard a familiar voice yelling to him.
"Joe!, Joe come on it's time to go. Dont worry there's plenty of work to do tomorrow. "
Joe waved and smiled.
He grabbed his tools and hummed a song as he walked away.
"Yes there is," he thought, "yes there is."
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