Storybook: Bedtime Tales for Grave Snatchers

By Tommy Richards

When the Night Falls-A graphic look into the tortured mind of Jerry as he gives us a play-by-play account of the war waged upon all mankind by Satan and his army. Why is it happening? With guidance from Artimus the Giant, Ezekiel the Wizard and the British army, find out if the world will be subjected to Satan’s minions for all eternity.

Tonight’s the Night for Poor ‘ol Fred: A short story about Fred and his quest to find his dream girl. Will Debbie be the one?

A Better Breed of People: Billy Van Zant, a cab driver, who was pulled over and then tortured by a few bad cops. When he decides to take matter into his own hands ,find out how he plans to execute his revenge. Will he be successful?

The Aftermath: A novel about Brook Shore Island, a melting pot and a vacation spot for tourists. A place where race riots and police corruption are allowed to go unchecked. But then a hurricane rips through and unleashes a spell over the island. When the dead rise, will our survivors overcome their prejudices? Or will their hatred for one another stand in the way of their own survival.

Leave the Crypt Alone: Darling Joseph is the ultimate prankster and his poor neighbors are at his mercy. But did he finally go too far this time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546264378

Tommy Richards

Tommy Richards, a horror junkie and zombie lover, is taking a second stab at scaring the world with his creations. Since he grew up reading horror comics and Stephen King books, he now feels that it's time to unleash more mayhem. Enter if you dare!

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© 2018 Tommy Richards. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  11/12/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6438-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6437-8 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

When The Night Falls

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Contents

Prolouge

Chapter 1 - It’s Not Only Me

Chapter 2 - Artimus, Ezekieland The British

Chapter 3 - War…And The - Gathering Of - The Good

Chapter 4 - Death…And Then There Was Mitch

Chapter 5 - The Battle For All Mankind

Chapter 6 - And When It Was All Said And Done

PROLOUGE

Alas, the moon rises and the night turns to fright; there’s no twinkle, twinkle little star out tonight. The laughter of demons that roam through my mind and the smile of Satan fills me with fear. His tongue lashes my sweat, his breath lashes my ear. He loves to feed off my fear.

The snow covers the graves but I still hear the corpses lament. I know how they feel; trapped in their coffins with no way of escape. Like my mind, we are in here forever. No more flowers of joyous celebration; now the flowers cover the lonely graves.

And how I long to be with them. Even though the muck enfolds them, soon they will be swirling dust; merely a memory…but free.

I now walk the earth teased by the sunlight for even the sun cannot set me free. I walk slower now, burdened with the unprovoked grip of terror. He, with his talon, digs deeper into my brain and pushes the button again; the one that sends the electricity of panic flowing through my veins.

That is why the Beast lives and I die when the night falls.

CHAPTER 1

IT’S NOT ONLY ME

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1

The air is bitterly cold and it’s an eerie cold at that. The mists that I speak of are consuming the lands around us; emanating from the pit and drifting through the graveyards. The ancient ones are violating the graves and the forces are trying to become as one. I believe that he is the one.

He is the mind reader that attacks my senses; paralyzing me for what he thinks I might know. He knows that I hear the corpses just like the others who hear the same.

I now know that I must travel back to my old town of Bay Terrace. Over there is another cemetery that is calling out to the living as well. One particular grave calls out to me the loudest. In that grave is a young man; we used to call him Sandy because he was a tall fellow with long, curly blond hair. His death was a hard one to swallow. We used to drink, smoke, chase girls and laugh at the world around us; never caring about anything except for our next buzz. I miss those teenaged years of angst and rebellion; wondering where our next gig would be. Perhaps it was the mass consumption of LSD that permitted the demons to enter the opened windows of our minds. Poor Sandy, it was the needle that finally claimed him.

My name is Jerry and I miss him very much.

Be as it may, I know what has to be done. But I fear thinking about it for the Devil himself will surely read my mind. He is a nasty ol’ boy.

He may be the Devil as we know it; but being casted out from the heavens still makes Mephistopheles only second best. He is cursed and hence; his powers are weaker in the daylight. His lieutenants slumber during the day and the others just choose to play around when the night falls. As I speak of this, I have now noticed that dusk is upon me and so is the Prince of all lies. My throat is starting to close and my lungs are gasping for air. Once again, I can feel the incoherent whispers penetrating my senses. These feelings of panic that bear down upon my chest are paralyzing; and the last thing I hear before I pass out is the low, grumbling but booming laughter of the evil one himself. It’s so easy to attack the flesh for it is weak. Even he knows that my soul and will are a tougher task. As I awaken, I find myself lying in my own vomit and coughing out the rest of the leftover puke that is still clinging to my lungs. Thank God that the sun is up and his power has lost its grip. This is why I die when the night falls and The Beast wins yet again.

2

I have decided to travel immediately so that I may take advantage of the daylight. I will say it again; it’s not only me. The corpses in the nearby graves are advising me to seek out an old acquaintance named Andrew. He also knows of Satan’s plans to throw us all back into the darkness. As I stroll and start to make my way up the hill, I begin to feel the coldness coming from the depths of the cemetery. The crunching of the leaves disappear to the sounds of ice and snow giving way to my footfalls. I have heard that there is ice and snow forming all around the graveyards. Nevertheless, I cannot allow these events to prevent me from performing the tasks that I have been instructed to do; I must go and find Andrew in Bay Terrace.

Andrew, from what I still remember, was a big lug who loved everybody and everything in life. He was a religious type who was not shy about letting you know that you are some kind of sinner. This is why I believe the corpses when they say that they have been reaching out to him the most. However, like some of us, Andrew had a slight weakness with LSD. The acid opened those damn windows in our minds and it was through those keen perspectives that allowed the Beast to pass in and out. I remember a while back, on this one particularly chilly night when we threw a keg party; we lit a fire in a metal garbage and then hovered around the flames. Even though a few drinks will warm you up, it was still nice to watch the flames harmlessly kiss the cool air. As we were drinking, some guy I knew decided to throw a rabbit into the fiery garbage can. We all cringed at the high-pitched screams echoing through the woods. That was when Andrew reached into the fire and rescued the helpless little fur ball. Andrew burned his hands but he saved a life; the life of a rabbit. To some people, this would be rabbit stew; but not Andrew.

It doesn’t matter, we are all God’s creation, he said. I smile when I reflect upon all of this; he was a good guy and I was wondering if I would recognize him after all these years (I’m sure I will) and besides, I was looking forward to seeing him again.

Anyway, I still had a long way to go for this particular journey. The spirits informed me that it was best to travel by foot. This was the best advice from the dead.

I had not even reached Worthington Forest yet when in North River, I ran into a priest named Father Ralph Graham. Everybody knew him as Father Ralph and he would always preach about the proper paths that we should choose. He was a kind man who always wore a smile upon his face. He was also the type of priest who would show up at the keg parties of under aged drinkers and make sure that the kids wouldn’t get out of hand or get into some kind of trouble with the police.

The man I was looking at was not the Father Ralph we once knew. He was old and frail and the wisps of long, white hair fluttered about in his weathered face. His hands were shaking and he was clutching a large crucifix. He possessed a deep gaze of despair in his bloodshot eyes. He knew what was coming and he knew what it had done to Andrew. How a wonderful kid like Andrew had suddenly changed in a blink of an eye.

The story was that first Andrew decided to try to burn down his own house; while his family was still inside. The authorities labeled the fire to be an accident after the family made it out safely. A few days after that incident, some locals spotted him wielding a steak knife and he was chasing his father through the park. Luckily, a few of those guys tackled and subdued Andrew. His father (out of embarrassment) did not seek help for his son. Father Ralph then told me that the police found a young man sitting in the park. Andrew was still holding the bloody axe that clutched one-half of his father’s face; held there by the eye socket. After the police followed the bloody trail back to his house, the word was that some of them had to be consoled; and a few ended up sick after observing what they had stumbled upon at the scene. Strewn about the house were pieces of his father’s corpse. His mother’s naked, headless corpse was hanging upside down in the doorway of the kitchen. Using rusty rail spikes, Andrew nailed her feet and shins to the wall just above the doorframe. The dog’s food bowl contained her head and he placed the dog’s water bowl right underneath her neck. Word has it that the water bowl was overflowing with blood…and all over the kitchen floor. He had raped, mutilated, and beheaded his sister. With brutal force, he then shoved the dog’s head so far up her vagina that her vulva had split sideways and down to her rectum. The rest of the headless dog was smoldering in the oven.

The authorities committed Andrew to a hospital for the criminally insane where eventually one night, the staff and the security guards tied him down and beat him beyond recognition. Andrew died from his wounds and the hospital officials claimed it was self-defense so ends the story of the misunderstood Andrew. It was the Beast who guided his hand. The priest’s hands were still shaking when he withdrew a weak and weary slug from his flask. Father Ralph had so much more to tell me; he was in shock about what the world had become; in shock about the world all around him and how the corpses have the ability to use telepathy. The dead are spreading the word to the wisest and bravest of men; that these cold waves must not form a fellowship. The ancient ones appear in icy forms and ghostly shapes and if you peer closely into the cemeteries, you can see their glowing eyes. The silvery eyes are blink-less, shiny and always seeking their brethren. However, they move very slowly. Father Ralph believes that the clean spirits of the corpses are trying to pull them back into the bowels of the pit.

There is a war going on in the afterlife, he said. Father Ralph then informed me to seek out Artimus the Giant who lived in Worthington Forest. He is misunderstood, very gentle and a very wise man. Scorned upon by the common folk, he was an alchemist who practiced black sorcery and witchcraft. Naturally, these actions have made him an outcast. While standing at eight feet tall and with his command over The Wolves of Worthington Forest, this does indeed make him an imposing figure. The hungry beasts of the night protect him because he feels that anybody walking onto his lands may be intruders who are there to kill him. In some cases, that was the truth. The common folk could not understand that Artimus was a special man; nor would they even try. He had the wisdom and purity to take hold of black magic as it were and use it for his own good. This is what sickened The Beast; he who created all that is evil. He looks upon Artimus as a mockery to his rules and is highly insulted and even jealous that Artimus has the will that Satan himself can never possess. And when Satan sent a pack of wolves into Worthington Forest to shred Artimus to pieces, the big man turned around and made the wolves take heed to his own will. He not only trained them, but he breeds them as well. This is why Artimus is a chosen one; it is the ultimate challenge and Satan would bask in the delight of cracking his will; killing him would be too easy and simply not a lot of fun for the Beast. Perhaps Satan under estimates his own will; as mad as he his, he can just sit and wait out the years so he can savor the taste of Artimus’ pain. It’s all a part of the big game.

Still, I must see this man for he too knows what is afoot and he is the only one who can find Ezekiel the Wizard. Father Ralph, exhausted and plagued with fear, asked me to stop so we may sit on a park bench as I too am stricken with fear. I know what will happen when the night falls.

Stay with me, Jerry, the priest insisted,

I have the crucifix and therefore we are safe.

No such luck, I can feel the icy claw slowly make its way up my spine. I look to the west as the sun is setting and lo, the blackness drops over me; he has come. When the night falls, I cannot distinguish from what I see or what I hear. Is it reality or a nightmare? Either way, I know what I see. A very large and imposing black shadow. It is a shade of black deeper than that I have ever seen. It lifted the shrieking priest with sudden speed and with its giant claw; it castrated the priest with one powerful tug. Blood was spurting everywhere as it shoved the penis down the priest’s throat and silenced him forever.

Why not me? I thought as I passed out. I guess Father Ralph had a big mouth; he told me too much. The Beast wins again.

3

I woke up at sunrise and looked upon the castrated priest lying beside me in a pool of blood. That was when I realized that the Beast snatched the large crucifix from Father Ralph and stabbed him through the eye. He buried the cross right through his skull and into the ground beneath his head. This is all a game to Satan and maybe he allows me to walk the earth for he feels that I am a worthy adversary. I must be brave… very brave…unthinkably brave.

Anyway, I’m a musician. Maybe some crazy priest could get off delving into this shit but not me, no thank you. How nice it would be if I could simply live out my life in a peaceful world of beautiful music and all of its creations. However, I must carry on. I am going to Ryan Cemetery to visit Sandy’s grave. I have not heard his whispers lately so maybe I should talk to him face to face. Perhaps he can tell me a little more about Artimus and Ezekiel. A little more advice from the afterlife couldn’t hurt.

First, I had to do the unthinkable. I wanted Father Ralph’s crucifix. Even though the crucifix was no match for him, it was daylight so maybe I can ward off the spirits in the cemeteries. There was only one way to do this because the cross was jammed tightly in the ground.

I placed my boot on Father Ralph’s face and with a firm grip on the bloody cross, I yanked it up as hard as I could and it was free. The pull also ripped brain matter out, the grey fleshy bits spewed all over my face and hands… something I never thought would ever happen in my lifetime.

I traveled onward feeling safe knowing I have the sunlight at my back and the crucifix in my coat pocket. The cool breeze calms me as it almost helps me to forget the miles that I had walked and to forget the nightmares and the sleepless nights. Not sleeping is the worst. I always hear the clock on the wall and the ticking of the clock is pinned in my mind. Tick…tick…tick…tick…tick and it always seems to sound louder at night. Anyway, my feet are killing me and I am hungry.

A little while later, I stumbled upon the delicious aroma of a roach coach. What a relief; I had not eaten since yesterday and my stomach ached. That along with the dreaded hunger headache; it was a good thing that I brought some cash with me. So I strolled up to the truck and happily made my order:

Two hotdogs please, I said.

With mustard, chili and a can of soda.

I found it strange that this old man did not seem to bat an eye at his blood covered customer. Hey man, all I cared about were the hot dogs and my money was still green. I paid the old man and he gave me an assuring wink and a smile. Eating feverishly, I turned to walk away when he said:

Give up your foolish quest. I whirled around and his eyes were aglow with that shiny, silvery stare. He gave me a twisted sneer as he slowly faded into icy particles that proceeded to slowly rise above the truck. I looked down at my half-eaten hot dog and I saw that the hot dog was Father Ralph’s penis and the other bun contained his testicles. I immediately dropped to my knees and proceeded to puke up the foul, ingested meal. I was also vomiting blood because the can of soda was actually a can of blood. Once I collected myself, I looked up and the truck was gone without a peep… just as if it was never there. I guess it never really was. The Beast was playing his games again.

You bastard! You motherless fuckin’ bastard! I screamed. You got me again!" I still needed something to eat; I was tired, weary and hungry and I still had to carry on.

As I approached Ryan Cemetery in Bay Terrace, it was getting eerily cold again. Bitterly cold and this was when I noticed that there was snow and ice on the ground at the cemetery; just like the one across from my house. At the gates, I noticed a lot of movement on the grounds and there they were; giant worms with human heads and mouths full of razor sharp teeth that were dripping with flesh.

The Verminites, slithering through the slime of the ruinous graveyard; picking clean the bones of the rotting corpses. Strewn about the grounds were the spilled coffins and the rotten bones. I ducked behind a row of untouched tombstones and crawled to where I knew Sandy laid to rest. I was too late; Sandy was gone. All that remained in his grave was his violated coffin.

As I cried, I heard a deep, resonate voice behind me utter:

The Verminites… monsters from the pit; I’ve been following you, Jerry said Artimus the Giant. At 6’ and 1", I had to look straight up to the sky in order to look at his face. He was a brick wall of a man with long black hair that swept down to his waist. His legs were like human tree trunks and for the first time in my life, I felt very puny and insignificant. His father was a Cherokee Indian and his mother was a Hungarian, gypsy fortuneteller. Artimus had a broad jaw and deep, dark eyes. He informed me that the Beast himself had sent the Verminites here to punish the corpses for speaking to us. This now explains why I haven’t heard Sandy in my thoughts lately.

We must go, he warned.

We don’t want to be here when the night falls… The Beast is everywhere.

He picked me up like a father carrying his son in his arms and he walked us out of the graveyard. He was comforting and the security of his unworldly strength made me feel safe; I then drifted away into a peaceful sleep. The last words I heard were:

You and I have a lot to talk about. It was very easy for me to fall asleep like a baby. I was cold, tired, and weak from hunger and I needed to rest. Artimus knew this. Artimus was indeed a very good man.

CHAPTER 2

ARTIMUS, EZEKIELAND THE BRITISH

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1

From out of the depths of serenity, the silence of the cool, dark night was broken. The shrilling sounds of howling and barking roused me from my slumber. I slowly got up (while noticing that I was in a bed built for a giant) and looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. I thought to myself that this must be Artimus’ cottage. It was a simple dwelling with a large doorway and many stacks of books all about the place. There was a small fireplace with a fire burning and the light crackling of the wood was soothing to me. I began to wonder how I actually slept without nightmares or the whispering of the voices in my head. That was when I noticed that right above the bed, a dream catcher was hanging on the wall. It was a handmade circle of cloth with a picture of a dove sewn into it and the feathers from a dove were draping a few inches above the pillow.

The wolves were outside circling nervously around the cottage. I supposed that I was safe so I went to the window to look outside where down below, I can see that it was the Wolves of Worthington Forest. Artimus was not here which worried me as it had worried the wolves; they were an aggressive pack. They possessed red glowing eyes, sharp fangs and steely black fur and it was obvious to me that they were not about to go away. They can smell me but now, they can see me. They were scratching at the wall and leaping in the air to reach me. That was when I heard a loud voice bellowing from out of the forest. The voice yelled out just one word…

Hold!

With that one word, the wolves stopped dead in their tracks and silence reclaimed the night again. I looked up and through the trees and through the fog, I see who I believe is Artimus. He was walking calmly towards the cottage where the wolves were greeting him like playful little puppies. Artimus knelt down on one knee as he gently spoke to them and patted them on their heads.

Now off you go, he said to his children and the wolves retreated into the blackness of Worthington Forest. It looked like they were chasing a ball or a squeaky toy if you will. Artimus, back from a hunt, made his way into the cottage and was carrying a few pheasants. The dinner bell went off in my head. I never ate pheasant before, but I was so hungry that my guts ached. So I watched him. I was in awe of this giant man and the way he had handled his pets. As he was preparing our meal, I said to him,

That was impressive. He looked over his shoulder with a smile on his face.

Gave you a bit of a fright didn’t they? You bet they did, I answered.

Would you like to see more? he asked.

What do you mean?

He then proceeded to tell me how through alchemy, he had actually trained the wolves to do as he commanded. He fed them, nurtured them, and actually played with them. He loved them so and he wanted to protect them from the world outside Worthington Forest. So besides for his own safety, it’s another reason why he stays holed up in the cottage. The notion of his babies slain by hunters etched a worried look upon his face. He then shook off this vision and proceeded to show them off and a smile returned to his face.

The wolves always do as I command, he said and with that, he pulled out a giant horn that he had carved from the wood of an oak tree. He shaped it in the form of the letter S.

When I blow this horn, they will come to me all ready and willing to fight to the death for my protection, he said.

He strolled to the window where he trumpeted out a long, mighty blast from the horn. It was a war cry calling out into the night. Before you knew it, they came running from the trees screaming for blood as their hair stood on end. When they approached the cottage, he said to them.

GO! And remember the scent of this man for he is our friend. They silently sniffed the air as they then made their way back to the forest.

HA! HA! HA! he roared. This is why Satan wishes he were me! AHA! HA! HA! I snatched the wolves from his jealous claws and made them mine!

So that story is true? I asked.

Pretty good, yes? I was in total disbelief. He laughed again and said that we will eat, drink, and talk about why I am here. He cooked the pheasants on a skillet and then poured red wine into our goblets.

Eat, he ordered, you will need your strength. He added herbs, spices, and the aroma filled the air. My mouth was watering. The table was already set as we both sat down and proceeded to eat. He raised his goblet to mine for a toast and said:

Let us drink to victory and a long life of prosperity. We tapped away and I found myself drinking a very smooth and a very aged wine. Better than the stuff, I drank as a kid you can bet on that.

After we ate, he lit his pipe and filled the room with a lovely and a very familiar fragrance. He then passed it over to me.

The Beast is among us, he whispered through a cloud of smoke.

But why me? I abruptly asked. If the Beast wants us, why doesn’t he just take us all now? Artimus replied that if he could, he would have a long time ago.

The Beast isn’t all powerful as the almighty creator. He depends on the weaknesses of men to knuckle under and fall in. So, in the meantime, he picks and chooses his players as his own playthings. It is all like a puppet show to him but he loves a challenge. To be able to beat the holiest and strongest of wills is the biggest thrill for him. However, humanity’s faith is not very weak. It is the prayers and the callings of the good that allow the warnings to be seen and to be heard in our dreams. Artimus continued.

This is also a test of faith by God himself. I also believe that the almighty allows these things to happen so that we can prove to Old Nick that all of humanity’s faith in him is stronger than that of the will of the Beast. Something in my gut tells me that they may have made a wager with all of humanity at stake. Artimus then put his big hand on my shoulder.

Jerry, my friend, you have been chosen as a player in this round. You claim that the Beast wins when the night falls. That he leaves you in a twisted heap of weakened flesh. You see my friend, your will and determination to carry on means that Satan actually loses the battle. This is why you came to see me. You’ve held it together unlike your old friend Andrew who proved to have a will that is much weaker than yours.

Does falling victim to the power of the Beast mean that one would be doomed to Hell?" I asked.

It depends on the person Artimus replied.

Well then how about Father Ralph? I asked. Artimus just looked at me and grumbled. Father Ralph is in Hell; he had a weakness for boys and the drink destroyed him as well.

He what…?"

You heard me! The priest burns in hell; he tried to make good but it was too little too late…warning people about the Beast was supposed to be his mission on earth in the first place. He chose not to do that every time he betrayed the trust of the children. Why do you think he hung around with you and your friends? Not for your safety that’s for sure.

Oh man…Well then what about Andrew’s soul? I asked.

Andrew is probably stuck somewhere in between awaiting his fate. The ones who worship the Beast are doomed to Hell. Andrew and others like him didn’t worship the Beast which means that their eternal fate rests in our hands.

Well that isn’t fair to him or us! I cried.

WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT BEING FAIR?!? Artimus shot back. Life is what it is and you must keep the faith or we will lose the war! The Beast will throw his armies at us and you must be strong. No matter what you see or hear, you must hold yourself together and be braver than you’ve ever imagined you can be.

We both paused and when we did, we heard a loud, gelatinous splat against Artimus’ door. Artimus picked up a giant sword and with me in tow, he slowly opened the door. The door was red with blood. What was once a female, is now lying in a heap of flesh upon Artimus’ doorstep; obviously bitten to death. All the limbs were bitten off at the joints. There were teeth marks on every piece of skin that had remained. The back part of her skull (along with the bloodied blonde hair) was still intact. Due to the savage nature of the gnawing, the torso was now without a bosom. Her womb, by God, ripped out of her and left on the porch so that we can bear witness to her unborn son. In addition, as if that was not enough, even the unborn fetus had his throat slit. All I can do was stand and stare in disbelief. Artimus bent down and picked up a golden crown.

The Queen he said.

Who… Who-wh-wh-what? I stammered.

It’s Queen Cynthia. Artimus replied remorsefully, The British are here.

What do you mean? What’s going on? I asked.

Artimus already knew about the arrival of the British.

My father speaks to me, he said. The ancient forces are everywhere, even in Europe and all over England. England’s great King Victor has claimed that his beloved and pregnant Queen Cynthia has disappeared into the icy mists. The very thought of losing his Queen and possible heir to the throne has him shattered. Now you and I, Jerry, have bear witness to the fact that the future King of England, and the King’s namesake, is gone. He now fears for the safety of his daughter Princess Jillian Elizabeth. The King will be bringing a small army of his best soldiers here to seek me out.

Are they looking for The Wizard? I asked.

Yes Artimus replied, King Victor did not approve of Ezekiel the Wizard and the powers that he possessed. He did not take heed of the warnings told unto him by the great wizard. The King cracked under the pressure from his council and the people of England. So he banished Ezekiel from the country. Now, the great wizard is somewhere here on our lands and he is probably in hiding. So, King Victor is coming here to me for I am the only one who knows how to find Ezekiel. This, my friend, is another test of faith. King Victor has remained in this war. His lost love keeps his spirits alive. We must go at daybreak.

2

We finished our pipe, went to bed and I managed to fall asleep. Lo, I had a dream and for once, it was a good dream. I was at the rope and Sandy was there! Man was it good to see him. He wore a big smile on his face. We had a long embrace and then he said to me,

You need to go and find Richie; he’s still in the neighborhood.

Ok, Sandy I said But dude, why couldn’t you just stick to weed? We all warned you about the needle.

Am I insulting you? he asked sharply Who died and made you the boss?

You did and I miss you man. I suppose I miss the old days and how things used to be. Everything sucks now.

I can’t help you there, life goes on babe. Just make sure you go to Richie’s house. That was when Sandy began fading from view. I yelled out to him, but he only raised his hand to say goodbye. And soon he was a part of the mist that swirled in my dream state and then sleepy time was over. I woke up to the smell of breakfast and there was Chef Artimus looking at me with a big smile on his face.

What? What’s so funny? I asked.

I hope you don’t mind Pheasant eggs, Artimus said.

No, I don’t I said.

So! Who’s Richie?

How do you know Richie? I asked. He glared at me as if to say, That was a silly question. So, he answered me by simply stating that I talk in my sleep.

I also see that you are a restless sleeper. Perhaps when this is all over you will be able to rest. Now, who is Richie? he asked.

Richie is like a brother to me, I said. "He was an intelligent guy who was also just as wacky. He liked to push the boundaries such as strolling through the hallways of a very strict school and not wearing a shirt. This and having a spiked Mohawk with rainbow colored stripes dyed on the side of his head. But he had this certain charm that allowed him to get away with his behavior. As a freshman, he once jumped on the principal’s back and told him that he wanted a piggyback ride.