April 12, 2005

It begins!

Allow me to present the first story written for my Creative Writing class. Our assignment was to write a three-page story about finding something in the backyard. Enjoy. Or mock, whichever you're more comfortable doing....

May 7
All I can remember clearly is the doorbell ringing. Everything else is fuzzy – the two men in the doorway, the glances they made behind me, and the blinding pain in the back of my head. Actually, thanks to the welt, that memory’s pretty clear itself. Next thing I remember is lying in the back seat of a car; my hands behind my back, my mouth covered by a rag, and my head racked with agony.

I had very little idea what was going on, and it was hard to gather my thoughts. Through the pain, I connected the men at the door to the ones that had been setting up the pool in my backyard. My next door neighbor set me up with the service. “Yo, summer’s coming, man, and you’re gonna need something to keep cool. That or something to get the chicks over and keep warm, am I right?” What a jackass. It wasn’t a bad idea, though – it added a lot of value to the house. Plus, well… I guess I wouldn’t mind the whole chick thing. So, he set me up with, as it turns out, the people that were driving the car I was lying in, prone and confused.

But why? Not that I think my own neighbor wanted to see me carted off (though I’m sure it looked somewhat amusing), but why were the pool people the ones to do it? I’ve never done anything illegal, I’m sure as hell not a dangerous guy, and I can’t think of anyone that I’ve offended badly enough to find myself in this position. The only odd thing that I can think of was last Friday – come to think of it, they stopped working in the middle of the day. They had all gathered around something they’d found in the hole they were digging for the pool, but I couldn’t see from the window, and I didn’t think it was any big deal. As the foreman, or whatever he’s called, was telling me they were stopping early, I saw them carry something away in a long, black bag. He told me they’d gotten about seven or eight feet done in a week, which is pretty good, so they were going to save me some money and not charge for the hours they weren’t working. At the time, it sounded like a bad excuse to head to the bars early, but now I’m not so sure.

May 8

Funny how the better my head feels, the clearer my thinking. Though I should’ve realized this sooner, I’m pretty sure that a dead body was found in my backyard. It should’ve been the body bag I saw on the Friday, or even the fact that they’d dug just over six feet into the ground, but no. It actually didn’t click until I heard the guys (my captors, if you will) talking outside the small room I’ve been kept in. Every time they talk about what was in the bag, they always refer to it as “him.” I still don’t get why I’m in here, though – even if they found a body in my backyard, why would they need to take me anywhere? It’s not like I knew anything about it, and I’ve only lived in the house a few years. They would’ve asked questions if they thought I knew who it was, but they didn’t. Hell, they didn’t even ask me any questions before they knocked me out.

Oh. Oh, shit.

Maybe they don’t need me to tell them who it is cause they already know. What the hell – who the hell was buried in my backyard that could be so big that they’d take me out of my home and stick me in a cell with no windows for days at a time?


Now I’m really scared. I’d just finished writing those questions when two of the captors walked into my cell (which is really what this room is) and let me know a little of what was happening. Both men were huge and wore suits to make sure I knew it. They told me the kidnapping wasn’t personal, they just had to protect something they’d found. I told them I knew nothing about it, and they just agreed, adding that they wanted to make sure it stayed that way. The taller of the two even apologized for the bump on my head. The only thing keeping my retort for leaving my mouth was the large magazine of the pistol sticking out from his coat pocket.

They left after a while, but I could still hear them in the other room. It seems that someone on the inside (Frankie, I think they called him) was trying to make himself some money and let the discovery leak to the press. I don’t know what the papers would want with the knowledge that some dead guy had been buried in my backyard, but my guards were very concerned. They said someone had to “get to” Frankie before word got out.

May 9

Someone got to Frankie, but not in time for me. The two guys walked into my cell and slapped down a copy of the Globe on the floor in front of me. I still can’t believe the headline. Turns out, it’s the only paper Frankie got to before he was got to himself. Since the Globe isn’t the most reliable of sources, they’ve dodged a major bullet.

Not me, though. I’ve seen the headline, as well as the body, so I know the truth. I’m also the only person (aside from the goons in the other room and whomever they work for) that knows just how accurate the Globe is in this instance.

I’m really scared. They said they’d take me back home soon, but I’m not so sure. I don’t think they know about this journal, but I’m tucking the headline inside, hoping that if I don’t make it back, someone who can put two and two together will know the truth. Really, at this point, I think it’s all I have left.

The following were excerpts of the final pages of a journal found tucked in the pocket of a coat worn by Jacob Millerman. Tucked behind the front cover of the journal was a ripped out headline reading JIMMY HOFFA’S BODY FOUND IN MAN’S BACKYARD.


At 12:36 PM, Blogger NANDO J said...

Good story so far. Who found the coat and where was the guy? I want more!!!!


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