Fanstory.com had a writing prompt today that asked you to write a story with the first sentence being there was a knock on the door.  This is what I came up with.  I'm not real comforatble with writing dialog, so this was new for me.  

Going Home

There was a knock on the door.
 

“Kenny,” a soft female voice called through the front door.

It caught me by surprise, as I was sitting alone in my living room.  My wife Karen had already gone to bed and I was alone reading from my favorite Sherlock Holmes book.   I wasn’t expecting any visitors at this late hour, but that voice seemed somehow familiar. 
 

Before I could rise to answer the door, the knock came again, this time more insistent than the first. 

“Kenny.  It’s time.”  The female voice called through the door this time.

It’s time?  Time for what?  I don’t have an appointment at this time of the night.  I’m 63 years old and I’ve been retired for several years.   I don’t have any business to conduct from my home at this hour.

But that voice?  Where do I know that voice from?  No one calls me Kenny but family, and most of my family are dead or live out of state. 

I placed my book on the coffee table, took off my reading glasses, and rose slowly from my favorite spot on the couch.  My lower back gave out a quick sharp spasm, reminding me of my advancing age and deteriorating spine.   I moved to the front door and hesitated.  Could this be some rouse from a robber trying to access my home and steal my possessions?  Or some young punks playing ding dong ditch and waiting down the street to laugh at me when I open the door?

“Who’s there?” I finally called out through the door to the unknown visitor. 

“Kenny.  It’s time.”  The voice responded. 

I turned on the porch light and looked out through the peep hole.  The light illuminated the entire front porch but I couldn’t see anyone through the fish eye lens.  Could she be hiding behind the potted flowers that line the porch?  Perhaps she has stepped back onto the lawn beyond the porch. 
 

“What do you want?” I called back through the door.  Perhaps my little sister has arrived in town unexpectedly I thought to myself. 
 

“I’ve come for you,” the voice now informed me.
 

You’ve come for me? I wasn’t expecting to go anywhere tonight. I had actually been losing interest in my reading and was considering going to bed. 

I checked above the bookcase to the right of the front door to ensure my revolver was still there in its hiding place.  Once I was secure in the knowledge that I could defend myself from an intruder, I unlocked the front door and opened it a few inches. 

No one was there. 

 In my mounting anger, I yanked the door fully open and stared out onto the porch.“Who’s there,” I demanded.

Slowly, as if just a mist, the figure of a woman began to materialize in front of me on the porch. I stood at the door with my mouth open, staring at a slender woman in her late 20’s wearing a white sweater,  shorts, bobby socks and white saddle shoes.  She had brown wavy hair, with a bow on the side, firm cheek bones, and full lips adorned with red lipstick.  The woman stood there looking at me with a huge smile on her face.

“Mom?” I said in disbelief as the word sprang from my mouth. 

“Kenny I’ve come for you.”  The woman said in that soft voice.  “It’s time for you to come home.” 

I stumbled back a few steps in shock.  “Mom?” was the only word I was able to say as I stared at her standing on my porch. 

“Yes Kenny.  I’m the character you remember as you mother. I’ve come to escort you home.  There will be plenty of time to explain. 

Could it be her?  Was I experiencing a stroke and having delusions?  Was this some kind of elaborate practical joke being played on me by an old friend or worse an old enemy?  The voice is the same as I remember, although the dress isn’t what I would have expected. 

“I am home, Mom.  What are you talking about?”

Wait.  Why am I talking to this person, playing into someone’s maniacal scheme? My mom has been dead and gone for several decades. 
 

“Look.” Is all she said as she pointed into my house with an extended index finger.

I looked back into my house and my breath caught in my throat.  There I sat on the couch in my favorite spot, slumped over at the waist, holding my Sherlock Holmes book open in my lap.  Dead.

“How can I be dead Mom?” I said as I looked back at her in horror.  “I don’t feel any pain.  I’m still awake.  Where’s the bright light I'm supposed to go towards?”

“Kenny, you have left that body and you’re in spirit form now.  Again. You are back in your original form and will be returning to your original dimension with me.”  You have been in other dimensions, as other characters, and your memory will return when you pass through the veil. 
 

I looked back into the house and saw Karen approach me on the couch, shake me, and then collapse in tears.

“We should leave now.” My Mom explained.  “The pain you spoke of will be experienced by those we have left behind and are not pleasant to witness.  Karen too will return through the veil in her own time.”

My mom extended her arm and I took it with some trepidation. 

“Step up,” is all she said. 

We walked forward and stepped up onto an invisible landing and a veil opened before me like the curtains of a movie theater.

“Dad?” 

Grandma???

Went for a bike ride in and around Bonnelli Park and Brackett Field today. (Wednesday)  It was a clear day with lots of sun and a cool breeze.

I'm still working on taking selfies with my new phone camera.

Happy Birthday to one of my favs, actress Elisabeth Judson Shue, who turns 51 years young today. 

Elisabeth is married to director Davis Guggenheim and they have three children. 

Elisabeth is one of my favs for her roles in "Back to the Future," and "The Saint."

Elisabeth has a BA degree in political science from Harvard.

Elisabeth is currently starring in "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation."

"The Saint" with Val Kilmer

Enough is Enough

When we will say that enough is enough.

We’re sick and tired of all of this stuff.

Another school shooting; ten people are dead.

Another place of learning was just sprayed with lead.

Guns don’t kill people the experts will scream,

“Coming for my guns” is Obama’s big scheme.

The 2^nd Amendment is all that they need,

It doesn’t make a difference how many people bleed. 

But we’re not under attack; a militia doesn’t seem needed,

None of the states, to my knowledge, have seceded.

The Russians aren’t forming at our borders to attack,

Our military is the greatest, that’s a fact Jack.

Politicians don’t care; it’s elections that matter,

They’re not affected by a little blood spatter.

They’ll give their speeches and show their dismay,

Then have their hands out to the powerful NRA.

Guns, like our cars, seem to need regulation,

A license and insurance shouldn’t cause indignation.

Let’s take the first step and make guns more secure,

The average gun owner will surely concur.

For the sake of our kids, it’s about time for a change,

Our schools should be safe, not a damn shooting range.

It’s time to stand up and shout enough is enough,

I’m sick and tired of all of this stuff. 

--Ken Ferguson-- 

Could get some rain this weekend!!  Yeah!!

Trashed

When you’re walking through the lot,

It wasn’t yours, it matters not.

Pick up that discarded piece of trash,

Your decision might seem quite rash.

Your friends will think of you as weird,

But the trash has disappeared.

Take a second to make a difference,

You’ll feel better for your assistance.

The guy who left it was such a jerk,

His responsibilities he surely shirked.

But stepping over it makes you as bad,

You may set an example for some young lad. 

We often ask, “What can I do?”

“I’m only one,” of this it’s true.

Pick up some trash, though it’s not yours,

Grasp the opportunity when it occurs.

To make the world a better place,

And live together with love and grace. 

--Ken Ferguson--