Nature reminds a obsessively, belligerent homeowner, who is boss.
(Photo: face in forest by gothicrider)
The Golden Calf
JP Sclafani
Ralph stepped out the garage onto the driveway's hot asphalt, squinting against the dazzling sunshine. He wiped the lone bead of perspiration rolling off his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. There was still more work to do before he could declare his work done for the day. This yard was his passion- his life, his way of showing the world that perfection existed. His perfect world consisted of planting, growing, mowing, trimming, weed-whacking, blowing and hauling. It was his burden, and his solace.
At the office, Ralph was just another timecard, in at 8, and out at 5. But here at home he was the one in charge- he mattered. Every tree, every shrub, every blade of grass owed its very existence to him, and in turn, it had to be perfect. His house had to be the best on the block, a real showpiece- and it was!
No one else in the house really understood the importance of the work he performed at home- their home. Not Brenda, nor the boys. Sometimes it seemed they didn't even care, so in turn, he cared less for them...or the human race, for that matter. He had the nicest home in suburbia, and that's all that mattered. Ralph worked at it every day, year after year.
He surveyed the yard and noticed, for starters, that the lawn needed a quick mowing. Even though it was only cut two days before, it had grown. It must have been the torrid rainfall yesterday. He watched glumly from the garage as the rain fell, keeping him from his weekend toil.
The Husqvarna, 140cc Briggs & Stratton, Gas Powered Lawn Mower roared to a start. Then sliced though the verdant grass like a scissors through paper. He hummed along in unison with the motor as the mower snipped and shredded along straight lines, then turning on a dime, cut sharp corners. In no time he made short work of both the front and rear lawns. Boy, they made a good team- Ralph and Husqvarna, master and servant. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, then he noticed the row of arborvitae hedges separating his yard from the idiot neighbor next door, had also grown. Of course- it didn't bother the neighbor, he had no respect for property.
Ralph whistled loudly as he strode briskly to that side of the house, stopping before the towering row of hedges. He squinted against the blaring sun. Removing his baseball cap running his fingers through his short military cut, he appraised the twelve foot high hedge line. They seemed taller than ever. It must be that new nitrogen-blast fertilizer he had recently switched to.
Ralph vigorously climbed the 10 foot aluminum ladder he had carried over. The hedge trimmer buzzed in his hands as he took it to task. In no time, it's razor sharp teeth were chomping through the top inch or two of greenery, as he worked up a sweat under the heated July sun. But it was all worth it.
Ralph stepped off the ladder and inspected his handiwork. Perfect. He turned toward the garage and into the house.
"You finished Hon?" Asked Brenda in her sweet voice and toothy smile, baby-blues twinkling in her globose cherub face. She was affixing her pure white, frilly day-apron over her rotund figure clad in a flowery sundress, preparing for another blessed Sunday of cooking and housework.
"Lawn grows like weeds." Ralph replied in between gulps of homemade pink lemonade. "Just mowed it the other day."
She sidled up next to him. "It must be all that tender loving care you give it. I know, why don't we go to the beach today? It's such a perfect beach day...and it's been sooo long since we spent a day together. The boys are away--"
"No not today," he interrupted, "still have more trimming to do- you know, the yard doesn't tend itself."
"Yes, I know sweetie, but--"
"But nothing Brenda. I have to take advantage of the weather and do my work. You know, I missed the whole day yesterday. How can you ask me to take off?" He asked incredulously, draining the tall glass. "Oh well- got to get back out there. Call me for lunch." And he was off. The screen door slammed behind him.
When he stepped back out onto the lawn he couldn't believe his eyes- "What the...?" He voiced. The lawn had somehow grown again. Now, he knew for a fact, he had just cut it it's prescribed three and a half inches tall! What was going on here? He scratched his head under his baseball cap. Then, he starred unbelievingly at the row of hedges where little green shoots had sprung out on top. "This isn't happening..." He muttered, as he grabbed the ladder again and tugged it over to the hedgerow.
This was it! He was in charge here and he didn't put up with any bullshit! He slugged the hedge trimmer to the hedge top and proceeded to chop, passing this way and that way, in big lacerating arcs. His arms screamed from the additional effort as he dropped back to the ground. Then, grabbing the mower he hurriedly filled it to the brim with gas. This was war! He spat, and went back to work. An hour later everything was cut, for the second time that day.
Ralph wiped the sweat, now streaming into his eyes, with the back of his hand. His tee was soaked, but he had no time to change. It was already three o'clock, and he had enough exertion for one day. The yard work was finally, finished! But when he glanced sidelong at the hedgerow, he actually saw more new growth sprouting as he watched.
"Nooo!" He cried.
"Damn, damn, damn!" He snarled, violently grabbing the ladder once more. He dragged it to the beginning of the hedgerow, mumbling and cursing all the way.
Grasping the heavy hedge trimmer in hand, he proceeded to climb the steps, missing the second one and smacking his shin. He cried out. His shin throbbed in unison with his head, which had developed it's own pulsating ache. He attacked the hedges with an angry growl escaping his lips. Twisting and turning in unnatural stances on top of the aluminum ladder, the ladder's legs suddenly shuddered, causing Ralph to lose his balance and topple off right into the heart of the hedge's thick tangle and disappearing from sight.
A little while later, Brenda stepped out of the house, onto the front porch and scanned the yard looking for her husband. He wasn't in the front, so she walked over to the side. The hedge trimmer lie on it's side, and the ladder was still set up and leaning into the hedges.
"Hon?" She uttered, glancing around, "Ralphie?" Only the chirping of some birds on top of the hedge answered. She waited a few more moments, then shrugged and went back into the house.
Had she lingered a little while longer, she might have heard the muffled whimpering escaping from the dense mass of arborvitae as it sprouted unnaturally, cruelly, around and through the figure helplessly entangled in it's suffocating embrace.
The Butcher's Boy
- 2011 Readers Favorite Award Silver Medal Winner in Horror - Fiction
A Paranormal/Chiller by Michael Robb
Thirty-one years ago, Buxly the Butcher went to trial for killing h
