Shrugg, 1 Mile

By G. A. Schindler

Kirkus says: " Schindler manages to dodge long-established tropes...a quick, easy read...plot moves smoothly.... Schindler has some enjoyable out-of-the-box ideas
Another reviewer says: ",...characters and conversations authentically sketched,...pace propels the reader onward, without sacrificing nuance. The best kind of modern science fiction

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. A. Schindler
• Release date: Jul 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310509995

G. A. Schindler

G. A. Schindler was born in 1946 in a suburb of Detroit, Michigan, where he grew up with three brothers and a sister. His father, a factory worker, sang in the Detroit Rackham Choir and was an avid gardener. His mother, (93 and doing fine thank you), was active in civic affairs. He received a degree in education with an English major from Eastern Michigan University. Some time spent teaching convinced him that it wasn't his calling, so he traveled to San Francisco. During three years in the bay area, he met and married his wife. They celebrated their fortieth anniversary in March of 2014. In the mid-seventies, the couple moved to New York City, nearer her family, and three years later they traveled to Michigan to settle down near Detroit where they live today.Mr. Schindler was a cab driver, apartment building manager, and locksmith in California and New York, then a social services worker seventeen years in Detroit. He went on to start a cab company from which he retired in 2012. He's quite proud to describe himself as "low man on the totem pole" in his family, where he has a "lowly" B. A., his wife an M. A., and their only child a recently earned Ph.D.Hybridizing daylilies and writing have been his main hobbies. He inherited a love of gardening from his father, "but dad was far more diverse. I keep it simple and specialize. Each year I plant several hundred seeds and once-in-a-while find a flower worth introducing."He describes himself as "always a poet since high school, but not particularly prolific". He studied journalism in college and wrote articles and a column in the EMU school paper. He turned to songwriting in the eighties. Though satisfied that he authored some fine lyrics, he found no avenue for publication.Since he retired, he's joined some writing groups and found more time and energy to spend on writing. Summer in the garden, winter at the computer and occasional travel, make him wonder how he ever found time for work.

Book preview

Shrugg

1 Mile

G. A. Schindler

copyright © 2014 G. A. Schindler

first edition (revised)

edited by Amanda Brown

and Larissa Ghiso

cover design by G. A. Schindler

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

The Beginning

The Hugging

Allways Saturdaze

Begin the Trip

Shrugg, One Mile

Treed In Shrugg

Meet Magoo

Shrugg

More Hugging

Band Aids R Green

Writer’s blog

preview

other books by G. A. Schindler

I'd like to thank Chris Kwapich, who helped me get the ball pen rolling and my wife, Susanna, who helped me keep it rolling.

~ 1 ~

THE BEGINNING

Mark closed the door after that last strange trick-or-treater and turned off the porch light. He was dead tired. The plan was to go back to his apartment to sleep, but he was too tired to drive. Falling into his old bed sounded great. He was house sitting Halloween eve for Mom who'd been staying with Aunt Joan to help out since her operation. It wasn't that Mom feared vandalism, though soaped or waxed windows were a bothersome possibility. It was more that she didn't want to disappoint the kids. She'd been dependably giving out the best treats on the block for years and Mark didn't mind changing his shift at the restaurant to spend the evening handing out her treats.

The weather was nice and it had been enjoyable. First the little ones, often timid in their cute costumes with parents hovering behind. Then the boisterous thundering horde. Luckily Mom knew. She had enough stuff for a standing army. Mark pretended not to notice the repeaters, but gave them less the second time. Finally the bigger boys in small groups came around, minimally costumed, hurrying to fill their pillow cases, cutting across lawns, determined to cover the entire city.

That last tall loner wasn't in a hurry though and he sure had no minimal costume. He was Spiderman from the neck down, but with a black stocking tight over his entire head under a wide-brimmed hat like an old-fashioned Canadian Mountie. The hat glowed quite brightly and made him appear faceless. Headless horseman had skittered across the back of Marks mind. This headless Spiderman was nearly tall enough to look Mark in the eye but frightfully slim, the only guy thinner than his own skinny self, Mark had seen in ages. And those arms, amazing.

A congenial sort though. In no hurry. Quite slow in fact. Mark had poured the last few candy bars from the bowl into faceless Spiderman's nearly empty pillow case and been thanked in a strange but somehow familiar voice. Then: Here's a treat for your trouble, mister. And Spiderman placed a small pen in the empty bowl Mark held. Mark thanked him and watched the back of his strange figure recede into the darkness moving in a tired yet rather fluid gait, arms hanging nearly to the ground. Just before faceless Spiderman's glowing hat disappeared into the darkness, he began whistling that song the ice cream man always plays. The whistling faded slowly when he'd been swallowed by darkness.

There were more candy bars in Mom's hefty stash to refill the bowl but it was late enough. He turned off the porch light. It was nice to be back in the familiar house. The kitchen and bathroom seemed so big after four years in a smallish apartment. His footstep seemed to echo loud. Of course he visited Mom here often, but it was different alone at night in the old place. Mark sat at the kitchen table, stared at the oven and wondered how much room there'd be to spare if he put his microwave and toaster oven inside. And her refrigerator. Was his fridge even as large as just her freezer compartment on the left side? Everything here was actually the same as when he moved out but for the huge brushed steel fridge. She and Dad had bought it soon after Mark left. They had needed that big fridge more when he and his older brother Don were around, but couldn’t afford it then. Mom always wanted one with an ice maker on the door. Too bad Dad hadn't lived very long to enjoy it.

Mark was beyond tired and his stomach didn't feel too good. It had been a long, hectic day at the restaurant--food spills weren't all that unusual, but three in one shift tied the record. He'd arrived hungry just before the first tiny goblins, so while he distributed those candy bars a couple too many found their way to his mouth. He favored dark chocolate. Now his stomach wasn't enjoying dark chocolate so much. Too bushed to even shower, he chewed two Tums, washed them down with ice water--the ice dispenser on the fridge door working great--climbed the stairs, brushed his teeth, undressed and fell into his old bed. He was nearly asleep before he hit the mattress.

Sometime in the night Mark awoke to bright red and blue lights shining up from the neighbor's back yard to dance on the ceiling above him. He went to the window, but couldn't see much through the big tree. The foliage was thin enough to let the lights shine through some, but too thick to reveal anything about the source. He raised the window but there was nothing to hear. Donning his pants, he sprinted downstairs and out the back door. The tall, wooden privacy fence blocked his view, though he could see pinpoints of light through the cracks. He jogged twenty feet along the fence to the big knothole, knelt and put an eye to it.

There in the middle of the neighbor's yard stood an upright cylinder seven feet tall and five feet wide. Its surface looked similar to the brushed steel of his mother’s refrigerator. A row of lights around the top of it flashed alternately red and blue. Suddenly one side of it slid open and out stepped the last trick-or-treater, skinny, mister faceless Spiderman. He took one step, slid the door closed behind him and then turned and walked away in that slow but fluid gait, whistling the ice cream man song. Those long arms hung nearly to the ground. His glowing hat disappeared into the darkness and the ice cream man song slowly faded into the sounds of frogs croaking and crickets chirping.

The moment the whistling was gone the cylinder door slid open and another skinny, faceless Spiderman stepped out. Like the first one, he closed the door and walked into the darkness, whistling the ice cream man song. And when his whist-ling had faded, yet another one came out and walked away, whistling that song. The only difference was that they went in different directions. When yet another emerged, Mark wondered what the heck this was, a clown car or something. You couldn't fit that many of these guys in that size cylinder. But out they kept coming and walking off in different, seemingly random, directions. He lost count of them but couldn't stop watching--couldn't take his eye from the knothole. Until one headed in his direction. Marked ducked down to keep his eye from being seen through the knothole. This faceless Spiderman, and his glowing, wide brim-med hat, passed effortlessly right through the privacy fence a few feet from