From Another Place and Time

By R. R. Paolino

Mr. Paolinos six short stories entitled From Another Place and Time is strongly influenced by his early years of growing up in the Oakland, San Francisco Bay Area. Those years, unfortunately, were overshadowed by the pale cloud of the Great Depression and the tragic events of the Second World War. Slowed by a learning disability, his writing interests and style didnt develop until later in life. Since then, his creative energy and imagination have continued to inspire him to test his writing skills.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543468670

R. R. Paolino

Rudy Paolino, a native of California, along with wife, Sharon is a long time resident of Orange County, California. Since establishing their home there in 1984, Mr. Paolino has been a member of two charitable organizations in the city of Mission Viejo, and was honored in both for his service to the community. Additionally, he continues with an undaunted interest to study the art and craft of writing through both Saddleback and Irvine Valley Colleges Emeritus Creative Writing Programs. His is also an active participant in two less formal writing support groups in the area. This, in part, has led to his being invited as a guest presenter of his childrens scripted poems for two of the city of Mission Viejos librarys annual poetry month celebrations.

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Copyright © 2017 by R. R. Paolino.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2017918092

ISBN:                   Hardcover                              978-1-5434-6869-4

                            Softcover                               978-1-5434-6868-7

                            eBook                                     978-1-5434-6867-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 12/12/2017

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CONTENTS

The Mill Pond on Turkey Creek

Beguiled Expectations

The Fable of Cecil the Two-Legged Centipede

The Feu Follet Effect

My Interview with Lucifer

The Reluctant Predator

I

dedicate this book to my wife, Sharon, who has supported me in every adventure I have attempted or pursued. None of it would have ever happened without you, Babe.

With all of my love,

R .

THE MILL POND ON

TURKEY CREEK

SOUTH CAROLINA

1949

Weren’t that often we’d be see’n Homer Cole up this way. Think’n ’bout it, it’d been quite some time since last… maybe five, six months. No matter, even as far out as shout’n range, I’d have recognized him from anybody else in the whole of Greenwood County. Had a manner a’ walk’n that validated him…someth’n akin to a shuffle. Not really foot drag’n, but it’d be easy to say they nev’a left the ground much. Head’n shoulders a bit hunched down, make’n like he was haul’n a sack of bricks. Slow n’easy. Same pace in summa heat, winter cold or pouring rain, made no never mind…it was Homer’s style. Even his clothes and shoes branded him. Rough cloth pants, shirt, ’n-coats… rarely pressed. It wouldn’t surprise me none if he inherited most of his pappy’s clothes after that man passed.

From where I was seated, out on the front porch of my house enjoy’n the morn’n sun, ’n easy rockin’ in my Pappy’s ole plantation rocker, I could easy see he weren’t alone. That’s if y’all call be’n accompanied by a runt bitch socializin’. Then it struck me, someth’n was amiss here. If that’s the same animal he was supposed to have put down months ago, what all happened ’bout that I’m think’n. And why in tar nation is he walking her up here in this neck of the woods?

As I’m see’n him meander’n this way, Homer is keep’n the dog entertained with a dead branch of a white oak. He’s heave’n it some distance while follow’n after her, and when she returns it, the two of them wrestle for it. Homer usually wins out, then once again, he’d be toss’n it, and once again they’d be play’n the same game of ‘tug-of-war’… all over again.

Homer made it clear to anyone who’d listen, he weren’t plan’n to keep her, no how. And, why would he? He already is own’n two of the finest bird dogs in the whole of the county.

No doubt this here runt had grown some since I last saw her, but not to the size of a normal golden … know’n as I do ’bout this breed. Flawed as she was, she’d nev’a be a prized birder, let alone used as a dam. So see’n Homer walk’n and play’n with her like he was made no sense unless there were some oth’a kind’a shenanigans go’n on I weren’t aware of.

In the past, I recall ma missus, Betty Jean say’n, Vidalia Jessup, Clyde’s widow, been lean’n heavily on Homer’s neighborly friendship for favors…sometimes a bit too often. Once again, Betty Jean said, Vidalia called on Homer to put a runt pup down, since she had no heart to it herself. Accord’n to Betty Jean, Vidalia sold off three of the pedigreed pups, plan’n to keep one oth’a of the litter and its dam. Keep’n the runt, she claim’d, was mo’ than her fi-nan-shuls could bear.

* * *

Sometime back, the barnyard talk was that Homer had even given the runt a chance to be what she was born to be. One day he took her along with his two prized birders to the millpond on Turkey Creek to see how she’d react if she were in a real bird hunt. As the story went, jist as soon as he fired off his shotgun, the runt cowered down by his feet and began to shake and tremble so much, Homer thought she were gonna die of heart failure. Of itself, that might not have been a sorry situation for Howard, hav’n to put down the pup some oth’a way.

Clearly, see’n from where I’m sitt’n, in my rocker, that dog was look’n jist fine n’healthy. Heard he even gave her a name, n’called her, Miss Jitters.

* * *

See’n Homer and the runt comin’ eva closer, I was start’n to feel real uneasy, like someth’n unpleasant was ’bout to happen. Ain’t but a moment later is when I heard the screen-door come open behind me and, to no surprise, I find my missus, Betty Jean. In a kinda of preee-tentious manner she ask’d if that were Homer. I didn’t say noth’in, but she did.

Well by golly, she titter’d, look’ie here…it is him, and ain’t that the dog Vidalia Jessup gave him to put down?

I didn’t bother to look back at her, sure she was wear’n that, ‘what me?’ look she’s able of make’n, while add’n, For heaven’s sake, why do you suppose Homer be call’n on us this early in the morn’n?

* * *

Now, I wouldn’t call what Betty Jean’s got, as a really malicious mean streak. But, she do have a way of even’n thangs out if she was feel’n they needed to be. I be know’n her since first grade when she sat jist front of me in the ole schoolhouse next to the Turkey Creek Baptist Church. Miss Clarkson was our teacher, all the way from first grade to eighth, and Betty Jean Calkins was her favorite pupil. She always had her homework done perfect and knew the answer to every question Miss Clarkson posed. Little Miss Smarty Pants is what I started call’n her back then.

So I did things to pester and annoy her. Thangs like put’n live frogs in her lunchbox or dip’n the end of one of her braids into the inkwell in my desk. Best ever was the time I put a hand full of night crawlers in all of her coat pockets.

She, though, had a way to get’n even with me, on one particular hot summa day. Me, my pals, Homer Cole, Clyde Jessup, Web Higgins and Jimmy T-bone Biddles, were swimm’n in the mill pond on Turkey Creek…necked. When we weren’t look’n, she and Vidalia sneaked down to where we left our clothes and took all but our shoes. Then they hung the clothes up over the