Secret Eyes (2)

He didn’t share these theories with the Misters anymore after he’d once heard Hester murmur to John, “more like she was a little slut, got herself knocked up one day.”
I think Hester's words really hurt True. Tears had welled in his big yellow eyes when he told me about it. He’d always liked the Misters, said they were pretty decent as foster parents go, treated him like a regular kid instead of a farm hand. As far as I know True didn’t hold that remark against Hester, he just didn’t ask her so many questions afterwards. Course, by then he had me for a friend and I could listen to True talk all day. I think that’s why we hit it off so well. True’s a talker with big ideas; I’m a listener with hives.
True had come to Maine as an inquisitive seven-year-old. Together we spent the remainder of our childhood exploring the wonders of small town living. Everything was such a huge deal when I looked at it through True’s eyes. To True, everything about the country was exciting. He absorbed the hills and valleys of West Ellis as though he were studying for a test or something. And questions, the questions True could come up with always floored me. I’d lived in West Ellis my whole boring life and never questioned anything about it. The town was just there. That had always been enough for me until True came along with his never-ending curiosity.

Continued in the next post

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Secret Eyes (2)

Secret Eyes (1)

True Boyer and I were friends the minute we both plunked our butts on Mrs. Randal’s dunce bench together in the second grade.
Not that we’re stupid or anything; True had this annoying habit of questioning adult logic that Mrs. Randal didn’t care much for and I happened to back him up that day, which I’ve been doing ever since. True had a knack for asking questions that drove adults crazy.
I once heard his foster mother, Mrs. Mister, say; “the boy was born with a question mark in his mouth.”
This came after True grilled her on why she had married John Mister if it meant going through life called either Mrs. Mister, or Hester Mister. How he managed to ask those questions with a perfectly straight face, I’ll never know. Mrs. Mister had haughtily suggested that a boy named True shouldn’t be throwing stones at glass houses, or something like that. True had smiled, and shrugged, and given me one of those yellow-eyed looks that said, “you see, Bernie, adults don’t know everything.”
True always maintained that his missing parents had named him “True” because they expected him to get to the bottom of things. All he really knew about them was that they’d abandoned him in a church when he was two days old. True used to speculate that they had been famous artists dying of AIDS who had tried to leave him a message with his unique name.


Continued in the next post

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Secret Eyes (1)

Star 77

Marion T. writes:
Dear Weezel,
It was about 11:00 PM and my friend’s daughter Lauren was driving to visit a friend. An UNMARKED police car pulled up behind her and put his lights on. Lauren’s parents have always told her never to pull over for an unmarked car on the side of the road, but rather to wait until she gets to a gas station, convenience store, etc.
Lauren had actually listened to her parents advice, promptly called *77 on her cell and proceeded to tell the dispatcher that there was an unmarked police car with a flashing red light on his rooftop behind her. The dispatcher checked to see if there were police cars in her area and there weren’t. He told her to keep driving, remain calm and that he had back up already on the way.
Ten minutes later four cop cars surrounded her and the unmarked car behind her. One policeman went to her side and the others surrounded the car behind. They pulled the guy from the car and wrestled him to the ground. The man was a convicted rapist and wanted for other crimes as well.
How scary is that?

Dear Marion,
I never knew about the *77 direct link to State Trooper information, but heed my advise -- especially women alone in cars on dark, deserted highways -- you should probably never pull over for unmarked cars in an unpopulated area. Police should respect your right to keep going to a safer place. This story sent a shiver down my spine. We all believe in and trust the police . . . this is why unsavory characters like to use these tactics to lure in unsuspecting victims. Marion, keep your fingernails sharp, keep a dagger in your boot, a huge hatpin in your scarf, and a vial of pepper spray in your pocket. A little fear of the unknown wouldn’t hurt either. Thanks for the story & stay safe. --W

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Star 77

Skeleton Key

Welcome back, Devoted Reader.
I hope once you acquaint yourself with my grave markings of lingering dread, you will feel free to comment on my work or remark about your fears. Imagination is the key. Never take for granted something that you can imagine better. I like to write about things just outside of the box -- sometimes horrible things and sometimes merely thoughtful things -- always unusual things. I like to write about and contemplate everyday life, with a slightly dark and sinister twist!
I especially enjoy watching movies that are equally dark, twisted, and terrifying.


Skeleton Key


Louisiana’s boggy, heavy atmosphere is a character as well as a backdrop for this 2005 thriller. Gena Rowlands at 75 is amazing in her role as feisty Violet Devereaux the wife of stroke victim Ben played by John Hurt. Home nurse, Caroline (Kate Hudson) answers an ad and finds herself becoming Ben’s live-in caretaker in a creepy old southern mansion where the mirrors are all mysteriously missing. An ornate skeleton key, a mysterious closed-up attic room, brick dust, musical chants, and hoodoo rituals blend together to cover a dark secret with a beautifully executed twist ending that this watcher didn’t see coming. This movie held my interest – I would watch it again.




The Skeleton Key (Widescreen Edition)

Skeleton Key