Wouldn't It Be Funny If...

By BJ Neblett

What if a cell phone could do your bidding for you? What if a laptop had feelings? What if an actor were to give the performance of his life... literally? These are just a few of the possibilities as popular author BJ Neblett tears open the doors to some alternate realities and peeks inside. Doors that probably should remain nailed tightly shut. This collection of Fantastic Literature brings together a man destined to fight our wars; a spirit that refuses to leave his best friend’s side; an inmate facing unseen fears; a man on the brink of suicide; and a musical instrument straight out of Freud’s nightmares. If you’ve ever rooted on your favorite sports team, gotten lost in the dark, or longed to write the next best seller, and wished for an easier way, then read on. This collection is for you. Only take a tip from Roger Martin, the hero of It’s Only A Game and be careful what you wish. In some realities anything can be possible when you dare to ask, “Wouldn’t it be funny if..."

• Language: English
• Publisher: BJ Neblett
• Release date: Sep 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463202234

BJ Neblett

BJ Neblett is the author of the highly acclaimed literary fiction romantic adventure Elysian Dreams.His short stories and poetry have been featured in magazines and anthologies.Raised in and around the city of Philadelphia, BJ began writing at an early age. For BJ, writing was a way to order his thoughts and to, “Make some sense of the world.” That world was the 1960’s where BJ discovered more than just childhood pleasures and boyhood adventures. He also discovered irony, an irony that seemed to escape those around him. And so BJ wrote. Starting with simple compositions in grade school, he quickly moved on to short stories. With Ray Bradbury and the Twilight Zone and Saturday afternoon matinees as his mentors, BJ wrote about space and friendly aliens and not so friendly things that go bump in the night. Soon discovering the opposite sex, BJ did what any smitten young man would do, he began to write poetry, his work appearing in a national anthology while he was still in high school. And so it continued: during service in the Army; throughout a thirty year career as a radio DJ and a stint working as a for hire cooperate softball gun; while on an extended cross country odyssey of self-discovery, and culminating as a master audio-video tech. BJ has seen and done it all. Today, recalling his corybantic life, BJ is still writing. With one successful novel under his belt, plus several published stories and poems, BJ is hard at work on a sequel to Elysian Dreams; a collection of Fantastic Literature stories; a follow up to Ice Cream Camelot, his historical memoir; and as always, more short stories. When not writing, BJ can always be found on the soft ball mound; kicking back around town with friends; tinkering with his old cars; listening to his extensive record collection, or just relaxing in his Seattle home with one of his vintage guitars.

Book preview

Wouldn’t It Be Funny If…

Fantastic Tales For Fantastic Minds

by BJ Neblett

Copyright 2018

by BJ Neblett for Alpha Pup Publishing

Smashwords Edition

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This E-book 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 are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite E-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is lovingly dedicated to Alissa,

Kelly, and Shae

Part One: Techno-scary

Full Of Woe

It’s Only A Game

Where Are You Going?

Ghost Writer

Crank Up The Wyrd

Part Two: What?

Ripples

Nothing

The Visit

Static

The Performance

The Gift

Part Three: Things That Go Bump In The Night

Seven Seconds

Purple Heart

The Man Who Wouldn’t Die

Satan’s Blood

About The Author/Books By BJ Neblett

Preview: Planet Alt-Sete-Nine: The Lost Princess

Part One: Techno-scary

Full Of Woe

Melissa hated Wednesdays. Wednesdays to her represented everything that was wrong with the world, her world anyway. Wednesday was not a day but a hole, an unfilled gap – like the inside of a cheap jelly donut – between Tuesday and Thursday.

Her teachers always seemed to spring pop quizzes on Wednesdays. Her annoying baby brother, as much of a surprise to her parents as to her, arrived on a Wednesday. Wednesdays are neither here nor there. You are neither just starting nor almost done with the week. It’s too far to care about last weekend; not close enough to plan the next.

Nothing ever happened on Wednesdays either. It’s a lousy night for TV viewing that is if Melissa cared about T.V. Back in her parent’s day new movies opened on Wednesdays. But with few exceptions, most multiplexes now premiered on Friday.

C.D.’s and D.V.D.’s are released on Tuesdays. Magazines generally hit the stands on Thursdays. Sunday is family time and Monday back to school. Friday nights are for friends, Saturday date night. Although, since being dumped by Bobby three Wednesdays ago, Melissa’s social life progressed at the rate of an arctic glacier.

And who ever came up with that ridiculous spelling: Wed-nes-day? There aren’t even any good songs about Wednesdays. What possible good was Wednesday? Nothing! No good at all as far as Melissa was concerned.

Melissa stood in front of her full length dressing mirror this Wednesday morning, as she did every Wednesday morning, grousing about: her clothes – too nineties; her hair – not nineties enough; her eyes – not blue enough; her legs – not long enough; her nose – too big, and her breasts – too small for a fifteen, almost sixteen year old. And that was another thing – why did all these problems seem to come up on Wednesdays? In Melissa’s mind it was just more proof that Wednesdays hated her.

This is definitely a Wednesday blouse, she said aloud, stripping off the pink Oxford in favor of a pale blue cotton pull over.

There, that’s definitely NOT Wednesday.

Fastening a medium length gold rope chain – the one that once held Bobby’s class ring – around her Audrey Hepburn neck as her mom called it, Melissa decided jeans, and sweater and a pair of Reeboks were the best she could hope for on a Wednesday.

As she brushed her buckskin hair, a deafening thunder clap shook the two story colonial style home. It was followed by lightening which turned the battleship grey skies amber. The sound of heavy rain filling the aluminum gutters reached her ears. Melissa rolled her eyes.

Wednesdays! she muttered through gritted teeth, then gathered up her books and headed down the stairs.

Good morning, Princess, and a happy Hump day! Tom Evans just missed with a kiss to the top of his daughter’s head as she hurried past.

Hump day? What’s that some new age save the whales’ slogan or something? she asked, pouring herself a glass of orange juice.

At the kitchen table Melissa’s mom Julie a taller version of Melissa – the pair more closely resembled sisters – struggled to get two year old Andrew to finish his now cold oatmeal. No, silly, hump day is Wednesday, as in over the hump. Turning back to her son she found the oatmeal piled in a mound on the floor, the boy smiling innocently.

Melissa flopped down on a chair, giving her dad’s morning kiss a chance to find its mark. Sounds stupid to me, she said.

Not at all… Your mother and I met at a hump day happy hour.

You mean you picked her up in a bar!

Tom looked at his wife who was busy cleaning the floor. Her expression offered no help but to say, you made that mess, you clean it up.

He thought for a moment. Well, not exactly. It was a club, a night club. I wanted to dance, so…

You picked mom up in a disco? Melissa made a face. Yuck! Where was I conceived, in the back of a Ford Tempo?

That’s enough, young lady. Her mother glanced out the window as she rinsed an oatmeal clogged dish rag in the sink. Your father was quite the charmer; and quite the dancer.

Outside, a car horn sounded above another roll of thunder. Your ride is here. Don’t forget your umbrella, Julie chided.

Umbrella… Melissa let out a quick breath. Parents were bad enough, but parents on Wednesday – hump day – were positively exasperating. Ok, Tom Travolta…

That’s John Travolta…

Whatever, just don’t forget to pick me up after school. We have a driving lesson.

Holding her English textbook over her head, Melissa dashed out the back door. By the time she climbed into the waiting van her hair was flat. Rain dripped off her nose and ears. The two girls in the back began to giggle, as did Mrs. Coleman, the car pool driver. Susan, Melissa’s best friend, sat next to her, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Unable to contain herself, she swallowed hard and burst into laughter.

Melissa closed her eyes, trying to disappear into the bucket seat.

Wednesdays…!

The rest of the week was marginally better. For Melissa marginally better usually meant disastrous. Her luck held true: arriving at school, she discovered not only she forgot her lunch money, but that her math and English homework, which if truth be known, took her all of fifteen minutes to complete while on the phone, had melted and run thanks to the rain. It now resembled the Picasso’s and Dali’s she studied in art class. And, her father, ever the absent-minded professor, did indeed neglect to pick her up after school.

Thursday the rain continued harder, and the pop quiz she hoped the math teacher forgot on Wednesday showed up. By Friday the car pool more closely resembled Noah’s Ark as it plowed through the rain swollen streets. It smelled as bad too, thanks to Susan’s Black Lab who was headed for an appointment at the vets. When the girls piled out of the van in front of the school, Melissa’s cardigan smelled like wet dog. She was sure Wednesday had cursed her.

Ah-choo…

Bless you, honey. I think you are catching a cold from all this rain.

I’m fine, mom, honest.

It was Saturday afternoon. Melissa and her mom sat outside J.C. Penny’s, eating hot, soft pretzels from Auntie Anne’s. Mother daughter malling became a Saturday tradition at the Evans home just as soon as Andrew was weaned from his mother’s breasts. Tom spent time puttering around the house doing guy stuff with his young son. Meanwhile, Julie and Melissa mined unexplored shopping grounds. This Saturday it was the Exton Square Mall, less than thirty minutes from their suburban Philadelphia home.

Still, I wish you’d be more conscious of your health, especially in the rain. You never wear your boots or take your umbrella.

Boots and umbrellas are for geeks. Very Wednesday, Melissa said, wiping mustard and cinnamon, her favorite pretzel toppings, from her lip. She tossed the crumpled napkin into the trash.

Her mother smiled and shook her head. Honestly, I don’t know what the big deal is with you and Wednesdays.

Wednesdays hate me. But that’s ok, I hate them back. They’re useless. I wish Wednesdays would just go away. Who needs them?

Julie laughed at her daughter’s remark as the two strolled past K-Bee Toys. Just remember what Nana says, ‘Be careful what you wish. It might come true and you just may regret it’.

Yeah, well, Nana lives alone with six cats and talks to George Washington’s ghost.

They both laughed out loud causing a passing security guard to stop and turn. Well, you know, her mother added, that old house of hers is said to be one of old George’s stop over’s. It has just never been satisfactorily verified.

It’s old and spooky enough, Melissa agreed.

Near the center court a banner announced the opening of a new cellular phone store. Directly before them, in the center of a wide aisle, between Kay jewelers and Banana Republic, sat an eight by twelve-foot open kiosk. A large red sign overhead declared: Grand Opening Everything On Sale.

Oh, mommy, look! Melissa ran ahead a few steps then turned, wide eyed. Look… it’s a sale… can I please have a cell phone, mommy? Please?

Julie knew her daughter’s mommy tone all too well, including the innocent deer caught in headlights look. We’ve talked about this before.

I know, I know… but… Melissa paused, searching for the right buttons to push. My birthday’s coming up, and besides…

Ok, here it comes, her mother thought smiling to herself.

…besides… dad forgot me at school three times this week! I could have called to remind him. And… when I get my license it will be a great safety thingy to have, Melissa said all in one rushed breath.

Her daughter’s logic stopped Julie in her tracks. It was only two times your dad forgot you, but at least you didn’t say, ‘Everybody has one’. And the safety thingy does make sense.

Melissa took a hold of her mother’s hand, half leading, and half pulling her. When they reached the booth, a middle aged woman appeared as if out of thin air.

May I help you? she said through lavender painted lips. I’m Glenda, the owner. Welcome to OZ Cellular.

Mother and daughter looked at each other. Glenda… OZ? they said in unison.

The woman blushed. Yes, well, this used to be and occult shop. You know, candles and dragons and the like. Unfortunately, cell phones and accessories sell much better than love potions these days. And I couldn’t afford a new sign and letterhead and such, so… what are you going to do?

It took a moment for Julie and Melissa to decide if the woman was serious. She was. As if to assure them, she motioned to the glass case separating them. Oh, I still have a nice selection of amulets and tokens and of course spells and potions. And a fine vintage grimier, very reasonably priced.

There on the shelves, next to the latest in cellular technology from Verizon and Sprint and T-Mobile, sat an assortment of rings, necklaces, amulets and coins, plus detailed pewter statuary of castles and wizards and dragons. In the next case, surrounded by ear phones, car adapters, and other accessories, were beautiful crystal gazing orbs of varying sizes and hues, along with a thick, ancient looking leather bound book.

Julie blinked, just to be sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. The store owner smiled pleasantly from across the counter. Her age was indiscernible. Her pale skin and long straight hair the color of cigarette smoke, straw like in texture, reminded Julie of a witch. Her eyes were mysterious and cat like, and the simple black dress which reached to the floor seemed to be that of someone in mourning.

Well… err… Glenda… Julie said, forcing herself not to stare. I thought maybe a phone for my daughter. She looked around. Melissa was engrossed with something in a counter at the end of the kiosk. It’s her birthday.

I think I have just the right thing. And it seems your daughter has found it.

They moved to the end of the booth. Glenda slid open the counter and produced a coffin shaped box about three inches long and one inch wide. It was bright ruby red colored and adorned with mysterious looking gold markings. To Julie’s surprise and Melissa’s delight, the hinged cover flipped down, revealing a fully functional phone with an L.C.D. screen, and a large keypad inscribed with the same strange signs, as well as the normal alpha-numeric table.

It’s very unusual, the woman said. There were very few made. It was hand fashioned by a small company in Salem, Massachusetts.

Unusual doesn’t begin to describe it, Julie replied.

Before she finished speaking, Melissa had the device in hand, pressing buttons and dialing numbers. Oh, can we get it, mommy? Please? It’s perfect!

Well, I don’t know…

Let me assure you, Glenda said, it is very reasonably priced, has an excellent warranty and service policy, and I can set it up for you in a matter of minutes on most any network you choose.

Julie looked at her daughter. Melissa was squealing into the coffin phone, as Julie found herself calling it, deeply engaged in a conversation with Susan.

I’ll throw in a complete set of accessories: Bluetooth head set, extra battery, charger, car adapter, case…the works, Glenda offered. Free, since it’s her birthday.

Taking in her daughter’s expression, Julie raised her hands in surrender. Ok…

By the time the contracts were signed and the activation completed, Melissa had made calls to half a dozen of her girlfriends. Glenda placed a large bag on the counter and handed Melissa a slip of paper. Here’s your number and all your accessories. There’s also an owner’s guide. Please, read it carefully, she said, placing a hand on Melissa’s arm and looking her in the eye. Your phone has some… unique… features. Use them wisely.

After more shopping and burgers and fries and chocolate shakes at T.G.I. Fridays – Melissa liked the name – mother and daughter laughed and joked about the weird little kiosk and its weirder owner as they drove in the rain down route thirty, heading home.

On Sunday the rain changed to a light drizzle and the thermometer dropped. Before the rains arrived the northeast was experiencing a balmy Indian summer. But now, the third week of October, temperatures fell into the forties and it looked like there may be snow by Halloween.This day the Evens family was visiting with Nana, Tom’s great aunt. No one knew exactly the age of the mysterious old lady who lived in the spooky ancient house on the hill. Not even Tom. When asked, she’d smile a crooked smile, flash a gold tooth, wink and reply, I stopped counting at one hundred. Few doubted her.

Nana lived in a three hundred year old farm house. The three story wood and stone building was one of a small handful of homes situated within Valley Forge Park, which still remained privately owned. It commanded a stunning view of the park, overlooking a rolling hill where determined American patriots drilled and practiced in the cold and snow, preparing to do battle against the British and Hessen troops. The house was not only well known for once housing George Washington and some of his officers, but for being haunted by those very same men.

Dinner over, Melissa’s parents busied themselves in the kitchen while Andrew slept. Melissa sat on a mushroom shaped ottoman, chatting with Nana. The old woman relaxed in an antique Bentwood rocking chair, lovingly stroking the large brindle cat purring on her lap. Six feet away, a pine log crackled and split in the huge stone fireplace warming the room.

Look what I got for my birthday, Nana. Melissa proudly held out the ruby coffin phone, and then flipped it open.

Oh, my, The woman leaned forward and accepted the device. She looked at it curiously then flipped it shut. What do we have here, Pywacket? The cat stirred on her lap, as Nana traced the gold markings with a wrinkled fingertip.

Do you know what they are? Melissa asked.

Nana held the phone closer to her eyes and hummed quietly. Finally she spoke, Runes.

Runes…?

Yes, my dear… runes… ancient letters… She looked at Melissa who now knelt next to her, intrigued. Some say witch’s writing.

Witches…!

Oh, yes. For a spell to work it must be written in runes. These are the letters of the witch’s alphabet, and these symbols represent the planets and the zodiac.

Melissa’s eyes grew wide. Really…? Do you know what it says?

Humm… Nana studied the lettering carefully, then gazed into the fire. It cast an eerie, flickering shadow across her face. Yes… yes, she said looking at the phone and reading:

"On Wednesday show

Full of woe

To make it right

By runes write"

Melissa wrinkled her nose, Wednesdays!

Yes, her aunt replied. As in the old poem:

‘Monday’s child

Is fair of face,

Tuesday’s child

Is full of grace,

Wednesday’s child

Is full of woe…’"

She smiled at Melissa. You were born on a Wednesday you know.

Melissa sank back on her heels, her soft blue eyes rolling, Figures!

Pywacket stretched on Nana’s lap. Sniffing the ruby coffin phone, the cat let out a guttural yowl, then jumped down and ran out of the room. The old woman nodded. Some say cats can see and understand things humans can’t.

Melissa pondered the cat’s actions, and then turned her attention back to the enigmatic phone. Yes, but what does it mean… the inscription?

Her aunt looked at the words again then handed the phone to Melissa. I believe it means it only works on Wednesdays.

Considering the phone, Melissa flipped it open, the L.C.D. and buttons coming to life. That’s silly… it works all of the time…

That evening Melissa lay in her bed studying the owner’s guide. In the section explaining text messaging, she discovered a button which permitted writing to the L.C.D. screen using standard characters or the strange witch’s runes. She realized each unique symbol – glyphs the booklet called them – stood for a letter of the alphabet.

At the end of the section she came across a cryptic warning:

CAUTION! TEXT