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  The Sisters Will Dance: Blaine Woosely claws his way back to the living. He has cleaned his blood of his addiction, and an unexpected, family farm home rewards his efforts. Only, the country acres isolate Blaine when a sharp-toothed monster hunts to bring Blaine back to dark. The sad history of Blaine's blood brings magic to the country home's new master, but in the end, only Blaine himself can break his chains.

  Mr. Hancock’s Signature: The dead walk in Monteray. The corpse of a nearly forgotten farmer named Hancock arrives via train. Ian Washington remembers Mr. Hancock and vows to return the body home. Yet Mr. Hancock's body will not rest while Ian works to reopen a cemetery, and the corpse staring each morning upon the doorstep forces the town to choose between the isolation of their fear or the hope of their fellowship.

  Jimmy Jack and the Smartman

  Brian S. Wheeler

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2014 by Brian S. Wheeler

  Contents

  Chapter 1 – A Lumberjack Slim

  Chapter 2 – Tomatoes and Folly

  Chapter 3 – Secrets of Employment

  Chapter 4 – The Pool

  Chapter 5 – The Stars Sound Terrifying

  Chapter 6 – Eavesdropper

  Chapter 7 – No Need for Old Friends

  Chapter 8 – Blinking Lights

  Chapter 9 – A Heavy Metal Party

  Chapter 10 – No Need for Grudges

  Help Spread the Story Across the Flatland

  About the Writer

  Other Stories at Flatland Fiction

  Chapter 1 – A Lumberjack Slim

  "Mitch Mark! Get your skinny butt to the back of the line before I Lumberjack Slim your scrawny neck on the concrete!"

  "You couldn't Lumber Jack Slim your fat, old lady, Danny Dale! You didn't see me cut into this line! You didn't see nothing!"

  I've been standing in line to visit our town's smartman all morning long, and the sun's rising higher and higher. Soon, those corrugated panels built above these wooden railings that direct the flow of us visitors each week to our town's intelligence adviser are going to heat up beneath all those solar rays. Tempers will really flare then. The smartman warned us that the shelter we built for the line waiting to see him would turn hot during the summer if we used that cheap, recycled, corrugated roofing. But none of us wanted to hear it. The plastic roofing panels the smartman suggested were going to be too expensive, and no matter what the smartman says, we just can't see the logic in spending a dime where we might instead spend a nickel.

  "Move it up there, Jimmy Jack! I don't want to miss when Danny Dale gives Mitch Mark that Lumberjack Slim!"

  "Then you should've gotten to this line earlier in the morning, Steve Stan!" I give my neighbor the rude finger. I've stood in this line as much as anyone else, and I know how you have to stand up for yourself while you wait to see the smartman.

  All those oafs behind me grumble, and so I push my elbow into the back of the poor, skinny soul in front of me. The entire line is squeezing into a mess of a mob that pushes against the maze of wooden railings. Everyone wants to get a look at Danny Dale confronting Mitch Mark. Mitch Mark is notorious for creeping around and butting up front in the line, and I wouldn't argue with anyone who would claim that it's about time Mitch Mark gets what's coming to him.

  "I ain't telling you another time, Mitch Mark! It's not right that you think you can sneak up in this line while everyone's waited so long to see the smartman."

  "I'll see the smartman as soon as I want to see the smartman!"

  The crowd cheers as burly Danny Dale lunges at Mitch Mark. I figure everyone thinks Danny Dale's size is going to make short work of Mitch Mark. But I know better. I've tangled with Mitch Mark a time or two myself, and I know Mitch Mark's quickness is cruel. My cheek bears the scar where Mitch Mark's class ring struck me in our last fist fight. Sure enough, Mitch Mark sidesteps Danny Dale's clumsy go at a bear hug, and Mitch Mark's left hand jabs out as he repeatedly pummels Danny Dale's thick jaw. Danny Dale grimaces, like he's real shocked Mitch Mark didn't just stand there and wait for Danny Dale's punishment. Everyone in line is surprised by how easily Mitch Mark dodges his attacker's thick arms. Danny Dale's eyes start swelling real narrow. His nose begins to bleed. I underestimated Mitch Mark myself once, and I'm not going to make that mistake twice.

  But then Mitch Mark forgets where he's at. Mitch Mark sure is quick, but he's never been real bright. Mitch Mark corners himself against a turn in the wooden railings. He grunts and delivers the strongest right hook he can muster to the side of Danny Dale's face, but he's got nowhere to go as Danny Dale's extra hundred pounds fall upon him. Mitch Mark snarls and bites like a rabid animal, but Danny Dale's foaming with anger, and he likely doesn't feel how Mitch Mark's teeth bite him. Danny Dale's wide arms pick Mitch Mark up from the ground and swing the smaller man upside down. The crowd goes wild as Danny Dale positions poor Mitch Mark's head between his knees, getting Mitch Mark set up just right before delivering a Lumberjack Slim, just like the fighters on television do every Thursday and Saturday night.

  I don't want to watch. I'm not a dangerous man, but I've found myself in enough scrapes to realize that those Thursday and Saturday night fights on television are far from real. I know enough to realize that Danny Dale's going to hurt Mitch Mark real bad if he goes through with it and slams Mitch Mark's head on the concrete in the performance of a Lumberjack Slim wrestling move.

  Danny Dale is laughing madly. "Time you learned your lesson, Mitch Mark!"

  The crowd screams in glee, and Danny Dale hops up and slams Mitch Mark's neck onto the concrete before I have time to turn away. There's a terrible popping sound when Mitch Mark's neck snaps. All the same, the crowd goes wild.

  "I told you I would do it, Mitch Mark! I warned you!" Danny Dale grunts as he pulls his mass off of the ground. "I asked you real nice to go to the back of the line. It's not right that you think your business with the smartman is more important than anyone else's."

  Mitch Mark remains planted face-first on the concrete. He doesn't move at all, and eventually, the crowd stops applauding.

  "Get your ass up before I give you another Lumberjack Slim, Mitch Mark!"

  Judging by the way Danny Dale's bottom lip is trembling, I think fear's replaced all of Danny Dale's anger. So I nudge my way through the shocked line to reach him.

  "You better call for an ambulance, Danny Dale," my whisper booms because the crowd's gone so quiet. "I'm afraid you broke Mitch Mark's neck."

  All the blood rushes from Danny Dale's face. I can't recall
a person looking so pale. "I didn't want to hurt him like that. I only wanted him to go back to the rear of the line. A Lumberjack Slim never hurts anyone like that on television."

  "I'm sorry, Danny Dale," I sigh, "but hasn't the smartman ever told you that what you see on Thursday and Saturday night wrestling isn't real? I'm afraid you've killed him, Danny Dale."

  The crowd gasps. Danny Dale looks for somewhere to run, but the line isn't going to let him get away. I figure everyone in that line suddenly thinks they had nothing at all to do with Mitch Mark's broken neck.

  The line doesn't move forward an inch while we all wait for an ambulance to arrive. We're all miserable from heat by the time the paramedics finally do get to our place in the line, and our stomachs have soured from having to stare at Mitch Mark's motionless body sprawled on the concrete. I find myself wondering what business Mitch Mark wanted to bring to the smartman, what business made Mitch Mark so impatient and tempted him to try cutting one more time forward in the smartman's line. Maybe Mitch Mark wanted to ask the smartman if it was too late to plant radishes in his garden, or if the smartman felt some lump on the back of his neck needed a doctor's attention. Maybe Mitch Mark wanted to ask the smartman what color would look best in that bathroom Mitch Mark might have been renovating in his parents' home as a gift for their anniversary. Who can guess what business brings a person forward to visit the town's smartman? I'll never know what business Mitch Mark had before Danny Dale snapped his neck with a terrible Lumberjack Slim.

  The paramedics cover Mitch Mark's body with a white shroud before lifting the corpse onto their cot and loading it into the back of their hovering ambulance. Danny Dale doesn't protest when the police cuff his wrists. Like the rest of us, Danny Dale knows the smartman will preside as both his jury and judge at his inevitable trial; and like the rest of us, Danny Dale knows the smart man will treat him fairly. It's not in the smartman's nature to behave any other way.

  I'm thrilled when the lines moves forward again, making it easier to dream there's a breeze coursing through the railings to alleviate an ounce of the humidity and heat. It's already been a long day, and there's still a lot of time ahead of me before I see the smartman. Still, I know it'll all be worthwhile. I know the smartman's advice will help my spirits feel better.

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