SHERYL

Above is my first published book, "Everybody Loves a Rainbow."  To purchase a copy of this book, click here: RAINBOW

This book is a compilation of life experiences and lessons that I hope will be an inspiration to others. I was encouraged to put these stories into book form by my husband Dennis and my cousin, V. Karen McMahon, an experienced author and editor.  The short stories that follow on this page are not part of the Rainbow book, but I hope you enjoy them as well.

SHORT STORIES:

MISSING MY FREEZER

The two of us built our house from the ground up. All was new except our rattle trap of a Subaru. It was perfect for us—cheap and gas affordable.

We rode together to work in the early hours of the morning before light of day. Almost every morning, I would feel a rapid wet slap to the back of my head. Fred vowed it was not him and after months of monitoring, I knew it too.

Many odd things happened in those first two years. Fred’s shoes would be found in our front yard, placed explicitly, as if someone had stepped right out of them.  Our paychecks would be missing at times and then later we would find them in plain sight. Christmas presents would disappear only to be found in an extra bedroom on the bed in plain sight.    

When getting up in the morning, many times we would find all of our outside doors open wide.We would be together     watching television and our bathroom water would come on full force. We would be awakened in the wee hours of the morning by our television, radio and boom-box blaring all at the same time. When we bought our property, there were raised areas all around the property. We thought they were graves, but we never found anything

The disturbances stopped abruptly after giving our freezer away to a friend

Actually, I miss that freezer

STALKED BY A SHADOW

As a teen, I would often wake up screaming as I scrambled to get the light turned on. In the dimly-lit room with only the moon for light, I would see a shadowy hand gripping a knife, coming down quickly toward my face. Other times I would see hands holding a pillow that would be pressing downward toward my face, trying to smother me. I finally left my room light on continuously.

I seemed to grow out of this, until one night I lay sleeping in my dorm room, where I had a visitor that appeared as a shadowy figure standing by my bed. This figure seemed petite, but would intentionally fall across me. It seemed it would ultimately smother me to death. I chalked this up to an overwhelming amount of stress due to my studies.

I graduated, moved in with two old ladies, and got a job at an old hospital. Some wings of the hospital were no longer in use. Sometimes I would walk the halls and visit the vacant, spooky rooms. There were reports of screams and call lights coming on in the empty rooms. Some saw what they described as angels. I never had any of those experiences, but I was drawn there in the evening when the light was getting dim. I would occasionally witness a shadow near me, and would walk quickly toward the brightest light.

One night I woke up to see a heavier female figure standing by my bed—just looking down at me. The following morning, I mentioned it to the oldest lady. She said, “Oh, honey, I am sorry. I should have told you that Clara (the other old lady) was released from an insane asylum.” That night I put a chair against my door. There were no visits from Clara, but it did not stop that shadowy figure from standing at my bedside.

Eventually I married and moved in with my dream mate. I continued to have bad nights and bad dreams, but I would somehow hide this from my love.

Now, I am old and fatter, and a stroke has left me an invalid. I am living in one of those homes that no one wants to end up in—a house of horrors. When the moonlight dances around me, I can’t reach my light when the shadowy figure appears. When the shadow falls over my body, no one will believe me. When I scream now, no one listens to me. I am helpless.

My shadowy figure has stalked me all of my life and now has finally gotten the best of me. I can’t move, so the shadow just stays there in one place, wherever I am. My shadow won’t leave me; it is there all the time.

As I am being carried out on a stretcher, my head is covered up. There is no moonlight, only pitch black. At last I have won; my shadow is gone. 

A BROKEN HEART

 Hi, my name is Jessee. I am pleased to meet you. I live on a large farm with no neighbors at least for a mile. I live the freest life that one could ever want. I make my own decisions—I wake and sleep when I want, I eat or do not eat at my own discretion, and I bathe when I say. My favorite hobby is hunting and I am excellent at it. I am a part of a large family that really loves me. I am told I am quite handsome by all those around me. I am quite spoiled, but well-behaved and loyal to a fault.

If you have not guessed, I am a proud and confident pure-bred Golden Retriever and we all have been living here for eight years now and loving it.

One day I noticed a lot of commotion that I didn’t understand. It seemed that trucks were carrying large loads of furniture and boxes out of my family’s house. At the end of the day, my best family friend put a rope around my neck and led me into the barn. I have never been so hurt. Never before has a collar touched my neck, let alone a rope. He led me up to the loft of the barn, turned me loose, hugged and kissed me and left.

I watched them drive away as a tear trickled down my snout and without thinking I jumped from that window and tried my best to follow. But after running for miles down that awful hardtop road, I just couldn’t keep up. I was confused and hurt and I have never felt so alone.

I started to go back to my farm, but my feet were bleeding and sore. I looked around for a safe place to spend the night and found a hollowed-out tree. I don’t know how long I slept; it seemed forever. Depressed, I just laid there for three days and didn’t move. I didn’t realize my family came back for me bright and early that next morning but could not find me.

It’s has been two years now since my family left and I am so alone. Oh yes, I am still free. But without love, I might as well be in a deep dark dungeon. Lately my family has been on my mind. Are they alright? Are they safe? Are they missing me as much as I am missing them?

The jump from the loft caused damage to my hips and I am in so much pain now. I am nearly blinded from cataracts and my hearing is almost gone. But worse than my illnesses is my broken heart.

To everyone, this is my desperate cry, please help me mend my broken heart and let me live again.

TEARS ARE FLOWING!

Jessee was last seen trying to drag himself down close to the edge of the riverbank. He knew that he had to lap up some water to keep himself hydrated.

Jessee has had a rough two years living alone away from his beloved family. Over time he has become thinner and his hair is ratty and dull in color. Jessee was still hunting and eating and sleeping and going through the motions of living. But just surviving was not enough—he was literally failing to thrive because he was not receiving the love he was missing.

Jessee now lies by the sweet smelling water as he drifts in and out of consciousness; he is extremely weak. The weather is getting cooler now and his only thoughts are of his lost family. To his last breath he will fight to see his family one more time.

It was a cool morning and his breath was becoming shallower. Jessee was barely aware of his surroundings when suddenly he could feel warm and gentle hands picking him up. Were they angels carrying him to heaven, he thought? Is it over before I can see my family again? A tear appeared once again at the thought.

Weeks later Jessee woke up out of a coma. He looked up into the most beautiful loving pair of eyes that he had ever seen as he realized, “Wow I can see.” He once was blind, but now he could see, and he wasn’t even in heaven. He found out later that he was in a hospital. While he was in a coma, the veterinarian had surgically removed his cataracts. He could hear other dogs barking and birds chirping and cats meowing, all which were in the hospital with him. His ears had been cleaned and his fur had been brushed. Even his sore hip joints felt better—he felt like a new dog!

Yet, his thoughts soon focused on his first love. The doctor knew this wonderful dog must have had a family and put an ad in the paper about Jessee needing them. He wrote a plea for the real owners to please come, so Jessee’s broken heart could be mended. The doctor didn’t bother to ask for him to be adopted because somehow he knew that just any home would not do.

The kind doctor expected someone to come, but an entire family showed up—unheard of. Jessee was out back in his large pen, and you could see the expression on his face slowly change; his ears perked up, his eyes were wide and bright with excitement and he was smiling. He could smell them, hear them and sense them despite the long yard and the walls and the doors. He was not about to wait, he had never jumped so high as he cleared that fence and bounded through the doors into the arms of his beloved family.

 Jessee had many tears flowing now--not sad tears, but happy ones.

OH, RATS!

The beautiful farmhouse that we have had in our family for generations is no longer warm and friendly. It is a hateful place where I merely exist now.                

Our dogs and cats are cowering and afraid. Most have left home for good. The birds no longer sing, and the squirrels have stopped storing up for winter.

Our barn is desolate and the cows and horses won’t go in there anymore. Our lovely farm used to be a free-flowing home for cows and horses happily coming and going. Fresh hay was the smell of the day. The hogs would “pig out” and wallow in the mud and squeal with delight—now they just grunt angrily. Our dogs and cats would lie together and there was always peace.                                                                                                                                                                                            

I know that a farm invites a lot of different types of animals. Some are not so desirable, but we had plenty of room and food for everyone, varmints included. So we didn’t bother to kill anything; in fact we welcomed all.

Lately we have been targeted and threatened, and now our home is no longer a safe place to be. Huge husky rats have purposely chewed holes through our roof and the rain is damaging our antique furniture and valuable hardwood floors. There are holes in our walls that have allowed snakes, skunks and  raccoons to take up abode  here.

The sound of feet heavily walking within our ceiling is deafening and the stench is overwhelming.  Yellow stains are on the ceiling and the drywall is crumbling. I feel eyes in the dim light at night watching me. I am sometimes awakened by something running over my legs while I lie in bed. I am shaking and my mind is showing signs of insanity.

What have I done to deserve this? I have welcomed all and harmed none. I thought the new way of thinking was to fight no one and to love everyone no matter what. It was ingrained into my psyche that animals are equal with us and there is good in all.  

I have taken to my bed now and afraid to move. In my dreams the rats keep telling me to leave at once or suffer the consequences. They want my house and barn—and will stop at nothing to get it. Could I be dreaming all of this—is this really happening?    

I hear a commotion but I’m afraid to open my eyes. My mind is scrambled and I’m weak, but I know that something is going on. I finally opened one eye and gasped as I saw several big owls sitting all around me. They were “screeching” and “hooting” as they were killing rats left and right. I was shocked that I could so easily smile as I watched so much death!

It suddenly dawned on me—we must become more like wise old owls, because some animals are just plain evil.  Thank God they were there in time to save us from the rats.

TELL THEM I MISS THEM

A pregnant cat chose my place to have her babies. She had to choose because she was put out of her long-time previous home, discarded like an old pair of shoes. The first time I saw her was in my husband’s workshop and right away we looked at one another and felt a bond. She was so tame towards me; I knew she couldn’t be a feral cat.

She made herself a bed beside the workshop, underneath the thick azalea bushes. I counted four newborn kittens. One was gray and white, one all gray, and two were black as night. The black ones looked like twins.

I always fed and watered Mama and checked the kittens every day, and after two weeks I noticed that one of the black ones was missing. It was hard to see them in the thick bushes so I thought perhaps I had miscounted.

The kittens grew and we played and loved each other. Mama cat was the best mother an animal or a human could possibly have been.  Mama taught them to hunt, fight, keep clean and keep their nest clean.

She fed them and protected them through the summer storms, the heat, and from wild animals. She was fierce—she would have given her life for her babies.

Once Mama misread our German shepherd’s intentions towards her four-week-old kittens and Mama was more than ready to take on our very big dog. My husband was standing nearby and she turned to him as if to say, “And I will take you on too.” Both stood down. Mama was a small cat, but she was dynamite.

One evening, as the cats and I were relaxing with each other, I saw a small solid black cat sitting at a distance, watching us. It had such a yearning look—so alone, hungry and so wild.  It looked exactly like Midnight, Mama’s black kitten. It was the same size, the head was shaped the same, and their eyes looked so alike. My memory drifted back to when the kittens were first born, when I thought Midnight had a twin.  He just showed up there, unexpectedly, out of the black night—just appeared out of nowhere. Where did this cat come from? When Mama’s babies were born, did she mistakenly think that Midnight’s twin was dead and dragged it off to keep the nest clean? Could it be that this kitten survived without Mama?

I tried so hard to make friends with this new cat but this just wouldn’t happen. One evening I looked out my window and saw Midnight and the stranger huddling together, as if they had never been apart.  Then suddenly, they were gone from my sight. I never saw either one of them again. I am still looking for them; if you see them huddled together in the midst of the night, tell them I miss them. 

THE HOUSE SPEAKS

My husband and I live in a small rural community that is 30 miles from the nearest town. If we need a loaf of bread, gas for our vehicle, or medical care, we must go the mileage. We travel the same route every day. The trip used to be worse before the interstate was finished and also before we were able to afford a FWD SUV. Now it does take less time, but we still travel every day—the same route to our work place and to our grocery store.       

Once we get off the interstate, we would arrive in the city. Each trip we made, we would pass by this one very small house, in the distance up on a hill by itself.  Since this shack of a house was built, there have been many fancy big houses that have been built all around it.               

Every time we would drive by this house, my head would seem to automatically turn toward this shell of a house. I even mentioned this house to my husband, but he would just grunt and pretty much ignore me. There was just something about that house, but I never could put my finger on why it was such an attention-getter for me.    

It was strange that who lived in the other houses held no interest for me; just that little white house on the mountain. There were goats all around on the rocky mountainside and they seemed to hover around the house.                     

All the way to work or to town, in my mind I would fantasize who might have lived in that house. I wished I could go look in and then maybe I could get some answers to my obsession about it. It was such a small house; some would consider it a shack. It must not have had more than four rooms in it total. I sensed the family must have been poor and I could just picture them barefooted with ragged clothes as they would run and play all over that mountain. I felt I could see and smell the smoke coming from that chimney and taste the good food coming from that old cook stove that I imagined that was in the kitchen. I imagined there were lots of kids and sometimes I thought I would hear singing and laughing and sometimes even thought I could hear someone praying.

I would finally come to my destination and be jarred back into reality. I would fuss at myself for having such vivid thoughts and imaginations. I was troubled by this fantasy world but I would return to it time and time again. It was really beginning to bother me more every day. Actually I was addicted to my thoughts of this house and it’s past.    

My brother that lives out of town came to visit and we had some business in town. We were catching up on all kinds of things, having a fun time and then, there it was. I was passing that house again that sits up on that high mountain. I showed my brother the house and explained to him how attracted I was to it and how aggravated I was getting.

He quickly interrupted me and just looked at me for a moment. He said, “I thought you knew; we grew up in that house and you were born there and we lived there until you were 5 years old.” I had 10 other brothers and sisters at that time. He told me that I cried and cried when we had to move. He told me how I had broken my arm there on the porch, and had smashed my nose, and how I would pick flowers and bring them to our mom and how pretty the kitchen would look.

He told me how we would all sing around the table and say our prayers at night and how we would all have to sleep together; some even would have to sleep at the foot of the bed. I asked him if we went barefooted and if we had ragged clothes.       

I have heard that walls can talk, so I know that little white house was trying to speak to me. No one had torn that house for 30 years, but it is gone today. Once I knew its history I made my way up the mountainside and went in and made my peace. I sat at the old wooden table and sang. I returned to the porch where I had cried when I had to leave. I felt such a connection and apparently the house was connected to me. I told the house good-bye and I knew it was getting tired of standing and I told the house it was okay to go now.                                                                                                                       

I am glad we got to say good-bye.

WAITING FOR CHRISTMAS                                                                           

Christmas time’s a coming, and I can hardly wait. Each day is a sluggish countdown. That is how I remember Christmas as a child growing up. Our small tree would be decorated with strings of popcorn and what we called jingle bells. We made jingle bells by cutting strips of paper and pasting them, end to end, which would make a circle. We would color each strip of cut paper, and then we made home-made paste by mixing water and flour together, which would make a wonderful paste. This process would make a long string of connected “jingle bells,” which didn’t really jingle. This was so much fun.

I would get so excited along with my ten brothers and sisters as we would search the Sears and Roebuck catalogue and make a list a mile long for what we would like to have. We never dreamed we would only end up with a bag of marbles and a jump rope. But by the time the excitement was there, it didn’t matter what we got, we loved it just the same. The anticipation was what made the wait so much fun.

As I grew up and I had a family of my own, those traditions faded away and we make our own traditions. I still have great excitement as I wait for Christmas. I can hardly wait because I know Christmas time is coming. My husband and I and our three children have a tradition of going to a tree farm and cutting down our own tree and we each decorate it with the brightest and biggest ornaments and lights that you could imagine. The Sears and Roebuck catalogue has long gone, but we do have black Friday sales, cyber Monday and the Smart phone to tell us the best places to go to shop and still wish. Our wishes are more expensive and more technical, but the anticipation is still alive. The difference is, we are blessed to be able to get our children their wishes. Christmas is so much fun.

Now I have grandchildren and great grandchildren and we are again waiting for Christmas. I live alone now, but I am still waiting for Christmas. I am excited that Christmas time is coming, but to be honest I can’t remember if I even own a tree.

My grandchildren keep calling me and telling me how many days it will be until Christmas and I am still waiting.

They haven’t called in a while and I am still waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting………

JAKE’S BEST CHRISTMAS GIFT

Like most children, I enjoyed Christmas. I enjoyed making a wish list, decorating the tree, and helping make cookies. Even though we were medially poor, I really liked all my gifts. Oh, they weren’t much but I didn’t mind, because I loved waiting to look in those wrapped-up temporarily unseen gifts. I would hold each package and savor the suspense. As I held them I would enjoy imagining anything that could be within that pretty wrapping paper. I would hold off opening them up as long as I could until I kept hearing the screams of my sisters saying, “Hurry up Jake, open it.” As usual the gift wasn’t much, but I got over it.

As I got older and looked back in time, I believe I was a sissy. I had a lot of sisters and I would color with them, play store with them, jump rope and dance. Girl things, ugh. As a teen I realized how embarrassing those memories were, but oh well, no one has to know anyway. I loved my sisters dearly.  

As a teen, it was around Christmas time and this time I got a gift I didn’t want or like. It was the first time that I had been treated in this fashion. It was the worst thing that could happen to any human being.

I struggled through my teen years but I used my talent of daydreaming to wane away the years. I finally got out on my own, but my past would not leave me alone. I turned to what most other people turn to and that is drowning my sorrows in alcohol or any pill that would make my past go away. I spent a few nights in jail. I even got thrown out of towns and never could hold on to a relationship.

Christmases became my worst nightmare. I would really bury myself, almost literally, but even death did not want me. I was slowly trying to kill myself and would have, but I was afraid of death.          

Drunk as a skunk, I just stumbled along as I walked down the city streets. I saw double as I looked at the red and green lights strung along the sidewalks. “Here comes Santa Claus” rang in my ears and my head was beginning to really throb. I was nauseated and knew I was going to hurl. I just wanted somewhere to sit down and I saw what I thought was a house with a light on. I turned the doorknob and found it was open. I went in and the lights were so bright it made me dizzy. Somehow I knew there were dozens of people there, but right then I didn’t care. I just got to the first place I could find and sat down and then curled up in a fetal position on the bench.

I thought I was asleep and maybe I was, it is hard to say. In my dream or in my imagination, or maybe it was reality, someone was speaking to me so plainly that I understood exactly what they were saying. It was like they were talking to me and only to me. The voice or maybe it was an impression was speaking to me personally, it was like they were reading me like a book. I was still and quiet, in such a way I don’t believe I have ever been. It was like my own heart was loving me.

I sat up on the bench and I didn’t feel drunk anymore. I felt different somehow. Someone was standing and speaking and they were offering me the best Christmas gift that anyone could want or dream of or ask for. That sparked my attention and my mind went back to my childhood and remembered how I would hold a package and imagine all the good things that I wanted to be in that package.

 I was being told by a person and by my heart and by a small still voice, all at the same time, to go ahead and take this free gift that was being offered to me tonight. It would be the perfect and best gift that I could imagine. I thought, now that is a tall promise because I am an expert at wanting the best.

I made my way up to the front to receive this free gift and I told the small still voice that I would willingly accept this gift.

It has been years since that day and I will promise you that definitely this was the best Christmas gift that I have ever received and it was free

It was more than I could ever dream or imagine or ask for.  

If you have not received a gift like this, when you hear that small still voice offering this gift to you, accept it; you won’t regret it.            

The best Christmas gift I have ever received.