A Short Story

So if you've read the other couple of short stories I've posted on this blog, you are already aware that they are in a different style than what I use to write my books. And on the off chance that you haven't read any of my books (shame on you!😏), I write Mystery/PI Detective stories featuring Tony Razzolito. I write the detective stories using past tense first person and alternate to a third person POV when needed to advance the story. The short stories are written in third person POV and tend to be a little bit more on the strange and slightly unusual side.

I use this blog to post my thoughts on writing in general, personal stories about my life, information on my books, and the occasional short story. And when I do post a short story here, it's something I'm experimenting with since I'm trying to stretch myself beyond the Mystery/PI genre. So the stories may have some flaws, and probably even need more tweaking, but I look at them as a work in progress. A way for me to work out the kinks, so to speak, and get some feedback in the process. What I care about most is that they are fun, entertaining, and maybe even leave you wanting more.

So here is a little short story (around 1100 words) I've been working on --

The Secret  

   Samuel J Potts was a family man. He had a wife, Jessica, a twelve year old son named Daniel, and a ten year old daughter, Melissa.

   The Potts were an affluent family by most anyone’s standards, and as such, lived in a very nice house in a very nice neighborhood. They lived in a sunny state located in the southern part of the US and enjoyed the typical outdoor lifestyle that area of the country allowed.

   Sam, as his wife called him, worked hard over the last fifteen years building the business that provided the existence they’d all come to appreciate. He had taken over the funeral home his father owned, and that he had worked in as a boy, and turned it into a chain of six across the three surrounding counties.

   His father had been known for his kindness and his compassion, and it had ensured a marvelous reputation for the business. So when his dad retired and turned it over to Sam, he was able to easily secure the investors needed to grow the one funeral home into six.

   Life for Samuel J Potts appeared to be wonderful. He had a nice home, a loving family, money in the bank, and a thriving business to pay for it all.

   But the magnificent life that he built was not all it appeared to be, and the anxiety he felt that it could all come crashing down at any moment was real. He feared for what would happen to him and, more importantly, to his family if the truth were to come out. But he wasn’t sure if he could prevent it from happening, he wasn’t sure if he could change.

   Samuel J Potts had a secret.

   The panic was already starting to set in. She had been awake for about ten minutes or so—long enough to realize that she was trapped. Trapped inside of some sort of box. Darkness enveloped her and she could hardly see her own body as she lay flat on the hard wooden bottom. Sweat dripped from her forehead down the bridge of her nose, some of the droplets veering off into the corners of her eyes. Others rolled off the tip, landing on her top lip, causing her to taste the saltiness on her tongue as she licked around the opening of her mouth.

   She tried to push up on the top of the enclosure, which was about eight inches above her head. It didn’t budge, causing her breathing to become heavier and more labored as she realized she could not sit up. She frantically pushed out to the sides and hit the walls before her arms were able to straighten.

   She knew she wasn’t just in a box… she was in a coffin.

   Samuel J Potts looked up from the body he was embalming. He pulled off the rubber gloves he was wearing and pulled the headphones from his ears. He stood there with his head slightly cocked, listening.

   Thunk!

   There it was again. He was not hearing things.

   Shit! He thought. She woke up. I guess I didn’t use enough chloroform.

   He usually used a sedative, administered intravenously, but it had been an unusually busy few weeks and he didn’t have enough of the good stuff left.

   He rolled the body he was working on back over to the freezer and shut him inside. Then he walked out to the main parlor and approached the casket sitting in the middle of the room.

   Samuel J Potts leaned over and spoke to the woman inside. “Shhh,” he said, as he softly rubbed his hand in a circular motion along the mahogany top. “You’re only making it worse.”

   The woman was hysterical. “Wh-why are you doing this to me?” She was crying uncontrollably. "Who are you? P-please get me out of here,” she pleaded.

   "You know I can’t do that.” He sighed, and then said, “You weren’t supposed to wake up—at least not until the heat became unbearable.” He closed his eyes as he thought about the sweet, panicky screams he knew would come later. He opened his eyes and took in a deep breath. “Try to relax and let yourself go to sleep. It’ll be much easier on you... for now.”

   The woman was frantic, but she tried to calm herself down. She began to take in slow, deep breaths. And it was working, but not for very long. All of a sudden she could no longer take in a deep breath, it would not come. She couldn’t inhale as deeply, and realized that the oxygen in the box was almost gone.

   As soon as Samuel J Potts stopped hearing any noise from the coffin, he smiled. Finally, he thought. It was time to finish the job.

   The casket was already sitting on a set of rollers so he maneuvered it from the parlor down to the room in the basement where the big furnace sat.

   He lined it up to the doors, swung them open, and pushed the box inside. He punched the ignition switch and a big whoosh let him know that the incinerator was on and heating up.

   He pulled up a chair and waited. Soon he would get what he needed. Soon.

   Jessica Potts waited up until her husband came home from work. She loved her husband. They had been together for close to twenty years. Married for sixteen of those years. They had built a wonderful life together and she was happy. He had been a good provider for her and the children, and for that she was grateful.

   Over the years she had gotten used to him working late a couple of times a month, but the last few weeks had been busier than usual, and Sam had been away twice a week instead of twice a month.

   The lights moved across the interior walls of the house as her husband pulled his car into the driveway. The front door opened and the love of her life entered their home.

   “How are you feeling, Sam?” She met him in the doorway and kissed him passionately.

   Samuel J Potts sighed. It was a deeply satisfying sigh. He smiled at his wife. “Better. I feel better,” he said.

   She looked at her husband lovingly. “So, you got what you needed?”

   He smiled. “I did… for now.” He kissed his wife, took her by the hand, and led her down the hallway to the bedroom.

   Jessica smiled coyly as they made mad, passionate love. Her husband had a secret, and she would never tell.
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Well, there you have it - another short story from my semi-warped mind😎

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Over the next few months, I’m going to chronicle a bit of my childhood and my upbringing. Not every week, but every so often I’ll add another piece. But before I saunter down this road, I want to make it clear that I loved my parents very much. Oh, we had our moments, and being the time period that I grew up in, some things will seem a little strange or maybe even unforgiving to some of the younger folks who read this, but it was a different time. As a society we’ve learned and changed a lot over the years about how we should be raising our children—some of it for the better, some of it perhaps a little too politically correct for my taste, and some of it that I just don’t understand or agree with at all.

So I’m going to tell a little bit of my story over time. I think it’s a good story, perhaps a little crazy here or there, but nothing earth shattering. It will give you some insight as to who I am, how I came to be the person I am today. You may agree with what I am writing or you may not, but most of you have never met me, and most of you probably never will, yet here you are reading my blog. Whether you visited through my twitter or facebook, or perhaps even bought one of my books, you are here… and I thank you for that.

I grew up in a time when we rode in cars with bench seats and without seatbelts or baby car seats. Station wagons with roll crank handles for the windows. Air conditioning? In a car? Are you serious??

It was a time with TV, but black and white TV. Color, at least in my house, came along later. And cable, well let’s just say that I was a teenager before we got that first wired, push button cable box. And programming signed off for the night, leaving a test pattern for your viewing pleasure.

Playing sports was all about winning and more importantly, learning from the pain you felt from losing—any trophy I had on my shelf was earned because of my ability to excel and not my ability to simply show up. When I lost, sure I felt bad, but then I was able to learn and grow from that experience. It made the eventual win much more meaningful. It taught me how to handle rejection and how important it is to work hard and not just expect things to be given to me.

We ate dinner as a family every night, with balanced meals that included meat and potatoes, bread and vegetables. We drank whole milk and ate eggs—no one was telling us to cut out any of the food groups, or to fast every other day… we simply exercised… outside in the fresh air.

All I can say about raising a family back in the ‘60s and ‘70s verses today is that overall, I turned out okay, as did my brother and sister, as well as the friends I grew up with. I’m healthy, well adjusted, and respectful to people. Now don’t misunderstand me, I see a lot of young people today that are being raised right, but I also see a lot where things could be better. And I don’t believe in the idea that just because you may be having a hard time economically, making it harder on you or your family, that it gives you permission to disrespect the rest of the world. But then again, what do I know? When I grew up it was a different time.

So, here we go—

My Childhood – Part One: The Parents

I was born in the last year of the sixth decade of the twentieth century. My parents were married the year before that, and for the most part held to the traditional roles of that time. My mother was a stay-at-home mom, but of course, back then it wasn’t referred to as being a stay-at-home mom. It was just what moms of the sixties and early seventies did. The fathers went to work and the mothers stayed home and raised the children.

I guess you could refer to me as a hell-raiser as I certainly did test my parent’s patience. Since my mother was the parent that was around the most, she carried out most of the disciplinary action. I was almost always getting myself into some kind of trouble, and she felt it was her duty to get me back on track. Her favorite weapon of choice during those times of discipline was the hairbrush. She claimed that she used the hairbrush instead of her hand, because her hand got sore when she needed to spank me harder than usual. She used her hands too, but if I needed a harder swat, the brush provided that extra oomph.

There were times, however, when she thought the crime severe enough for her to pull out the big guns, the ultimate weapon, which was a verbal promise of what was in store for me. She would stare me down and say, “You just wait until your father gets home, young man!” Those ten words would instill a fear in me that would cause an immediate turn around in my behavior.

Waiting for my father to dole out the punishment meant a swift smacking on the backside with the dreaded belt. I only had to have the belt strike my butt one time to understand that I needed to avoid any future encounters with that leather whipping torture device. My mother knew that, so the power for her was in those ten words. She knew it would straighten me right out.

Now, if you're starting to think that I was constantly getting beat with either a belt or a hairbrush—don't. These tools were only used in extreme situations that were usually brought on by myself. Also, keep in mind that it was the late sixties and spanking your child was not a reason to call out the National Guard back then.

My mother seemed to have this elaborate punishment system consisting of different levels depending on how bad the behavior was, according to her. If my brother and I were at odds, either verbally or physically, we would simply be grounded. If we hurt our younger sister in some way, we got spanked. If we mouthed off, we got the back of her hand across the mouth. If we continued to mouth off after the hand, we were also grounded. If we knowingly ruined or broke anything that belonged to either parent or the whole family, we were grounded. If we swore, the back of her hand across the mouth. No washing your mouth out with soap threats here, the hand was quicker than the eye. If we lied about anything, the brush made an appearance. If we combined crimes, such as ruining something and then lying about it, Dad was conference in, and the belt would make an appearance. The system must have worked, because none of us ended up in jail or in therapy.

As the oldest child, I think my parents were harder on me than on my brother and sister. But, I'm sure that if you asked either of them, each would say our parents were hardest on them. And, if they want to get a blog of their own, they can tell their story. Until then, we go with my version.

My mother kept me on a pretty tight leash as a kid. For a while, it seemed like anything that was in fashion or trendy went against Mom Company Policy. I couldn't grow my hair long when it was in style, I wore the more economical no-name brand sneakers instead of Converse or PF Flyers (Nike and Reebok have not always been the popular shoe, it just seems that way), and my bed time was always a little earlier than most of the kids I went to school with. As I grew into adulthood and had kids of my own, I had a better understanding as to why these Mom Company Policies were put into place. It’s not easy being a parent, but trying being a kid just entering Jr. High—as a pre-teen some of these policies could be devastating.

I was constantly getting phone calls from friends after I was already in bed. You can only explain it away, the next day in school, saying you went to bed early because you were not feeling well, just so many times. After awhile, they know you're lying. It's hard to get a reputation as a cool guy, if your mom keeps telling your friends to stop calling after eight, because that's when Joey goes to bed.

As I look back on it now, I know my mother meant well. It's not like she purposely would try to humiliate me—it just worked out that way. But, considering the alternative, I'm glad she was like she was. At least I knew she cared… At least I know that now. Back then, I wasn't so sure.

And then there was my father. Dad worked for the same company for over thirty years. Because it was blue collar shift work, his schedule was always changing. There are some people that would use that as an excuse not to spend time with their kids. That was never the case with my father. He always made time for us. He did like to go to the occasional clambake, and he bowled every Friday night, but that was the extent of his outside world contact. He spent most of his free time with us.

Even on bowling night, he never stayed out late drinking with the guys. Instead, he always stopped for pizza and came right home. It became sort of a tradition. Every Friday during bowling season, we'd eat pizza on the living room floor in front of the TV. He always had it home in time for Tarzan.

The only real time I ever knew my father to cut loose was when he was going to one of the clambake parties his company held each year. Those were the only occasions I can remember him ever coming home juiced. I guess it was one of the few places he felt he could break out of the "dad" mold and have a good time. No kids, no wife, just the guys. Every man needs to have a male bonding experience once in awhile (although, they would never think of labeling it as such back then). It's that, "boys will be boys", mentality. It's something all men carry into adulthood. The need to be with people who completely understand their thought process… other men.

Mom couldn't stand these rare outings. He really only attended once or twice a year. It wasn't the idea of him going that bothered her as much as the condition he would arrive home in. What bugged her was the fact that he was driving. My mother knew that his place of business provided a bus to and from the party, but my father always seemed to miss it. She suspected he wasn't even trying to make the bus.

He would come home trying to act as sober as he could. We'd all be in bed. Nobody was asleep, but we were all in bed. He would come in, go to the refrigerator, get a beer, and watch the tube. He would then tell my mother that all he drank was 7-Up, and now that he was home, he was going to enjoy a few beers. Good plan, dad. The only problem was that he had that, "the more I try to be quiet, the noisier I am" syndrome one develops when experiencing a slight buzz. My mother knew… she always knew.

It made for some interesting conversation between the two of them. You could hear a pin drop in our bedroom as we strained to hear what was going on. I'm sure they fought about other things at other times, but these were the only times we ever heard the festivities.

The next day it would be as if it never even happened. Business as usual in the Congel household. My mom and dad truly loved each other, and they loved us. It was important to both of them that we were insulated from any arguments or issues they might be going through. Whether that was as simple as a spirited night out that my father would have that my mother did not appreciate, or something heavier like a financial issue. We never had a clue if there was any kind of concern or rift between them. Ever.

My parents are both gone now, and it hurts me a little to know that the greatest appreciation and admiration I had for them as people, not just as my parents, but as individual people, didn’t happen until I was an adult, and they had passed on. When they were alive, I was too busy living life, raising my own kids, and getting over hard feelings from long ago issues. But I’ll save that until another time. 

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Thanks for reading! I'll dive in a little deeper the next time I visit this topic 😏

And... I encourage you to please explore the sites below -

Find my books here amazon.com/author/joecongel

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My Yearly End of Summer Vacation Trip 

Every year, usually the week before Labor Day weekend, I make the trek from North Carolina to my hometown in Central New York to visit family and friends. I pick that particular time on purpose because it coincides with the New York State Fair, which is held that same week and closes out the summer fun in the Syracuse area.

I generally stay at my sister’s house, which is command central for all things family. Most of the get-togethers, parties, and other family functions are held at her house. They have a good size yard and the neighbors are spaced out far enough that the noise level is never an issue, which is critical since even a small gathering will typically be fifteen to twenty people. My sister and my brother-in-law have five grown kids, all with a spouse or significant other, and something like ten grandchildren, ranging in age from around thirteen all the way down to a couple of years old, give or take. Mix in my brother, his wife, their two teenage daughters, assorted friends that like to drop by, and one very overweight ambitiously anxious beagle, and you can see why there is never a dull moment.

With all that, you’d think I would prefer staying at a hotel so that I could have a little privacy and some time to myself. Amazingly, I actually have just that. It wasn’t always that way, but since none of their kids actually live at home anymore, I have my own bedroom and bathroom which affords me the privacy I need if I start to suffer from family overload.

I always look forward to this trip and I have pretty much maintained the same schedule of events every year. I drive rather than fly, as I love the solitude and the time it gives me to think about and solve all the world’s problems as they pertain to me.

Once I arrive at my sister’s house, I spend the first night catching up with her and her husband. The rest of the week goes as follows: I attend the State Fair on three days—which are determined based on the free concerts I want to see each year, and I spend one day (I rotate every other year) on a trip to Cooperstown and the Baseball Hall of Fame or a quiet day in the quaint little village of Old Forge on the Moose River in the Adirondacks. I generally meet up with friends I haven’t seen since the year before, and with various family members while partaking in these activities. I also spend a lot of that time enjoying adult beverages, primarily craft beers from local Central NY breweries, which are available at all the places I just mentioned. We wrap up my yearly visit with either a wonderful day on my sister’s party boat on one of the area lakes, or we have one of the aforementioned family get-togethers at the house, with everyone in attendance.

It’s a routine I don’t generally vary from, and a routine that I don’t usually alter… that is until this year. This time around everything changed. My daughter and my grandson came along on my trip this year. There have been other years when my daughter or my son have come along on this journey. They are both adults and when they’ve been able to make the trip in the past, we’ve had a blast doing all the things I like to do. They enjoy seeing family that they don’t get the chance to see that often, and they like the fun that the State Fair offers, and both are baseball fans. So we’ve always had a great time and my routine really didn’t have to vary just because they were along for the ride.

But like I said, this year was different. This year it all changed. I knew it would change a little, but I really underestimated the amount of schedule altering having a fifteen month old baby along would cause. Yes… my grandson is fifteen months old, and I’m knocking on the door of my sixth decade, so I haven’t been consistently around anyone in that age group for a very long time. Now, don’t get me wrong—I spend plenty of time with the little man, but after I spoil the hell out of him, play with him, and essentially do all the things a good grandpa does, I give him back to my daughter… his mom, and I go about my adult life.

I wanted them to go to New York with me. I wanted to spend the time with them. After all, I love them dearly. They are my world. But I totally forgot that all of the careful planning I had done for this trip, the timelines I wanted to follow, wouldn’t mean a thing if they interfered with the schedule of a fifteen month old child. It has been close to thirty years since I’ve had to worry about things like that, and it threw me off… big time!

I soon realized that we were operating on LMT, Little Man Time. I had to accept the fact that we would be following his routine for the week and not mine. In the beginning of the week, I struggled with that idea. My daughter laughed at me, and told me that she knew all along that I didn’t realize what I was getting myself into when I insisted that they join me on this year’s New York adventure.

On the days I planned on attending the fair, we left the house every morning much later than I would have in year’s past. Last year, I would have been at the fairgrounds mapping out my day before eleven in the morning, and would plan on staying all afternoon and into the evening for the various shows and events scheduled throughout the day. This year, at eleven in the morning, I was sitting in my sister’s kitchen feeding my grandson so that my daughter could take an uninterrupted, peaceful shower.

Last year, I would stroll through the Center of Progress building looking at all the cool things the vendors had to offer. This year, we strolled through the animal buildings looking at all the cows, chickens, pigs, and goats.

Last year, I would walk around the midway checking out all of the crazy amusement rides trying to figure out how much I could have to drink and not puke if I got on any of those rides. This year, we walked around the Kiddie Land area of the midway trying to figure out which rides my grandson would be big enough to ride on with his mother.

Last year, I would find joy in watching the drunk old guy dance to whatever band was playing at the free concert venue. This year, I found joy in watching my grandson dance up and down to the music with a big smile on his face in that same free concert venue.

Last year, I ate sausage sandwiches, barbeque, loaded fries, spicy food I’d never heard of, and drank beer. This year, we ate hot dogs, mac & cheese, funnel cakes, ice cream, and drank water and milk.

Overall, a much different Fair experience than I was used to. In years past I had never entered any of the animal buildings or even knew where the Kiddie Land area was located. I purchased food this year from vendors I didn’t even know existed since they sell products I never seek out when I’m at the fair.

This time around it was Cooperstown and the Baseball Hall of Fame's turn in the yearly rotation, and that trip took on a different perspective, as well. The last time I was there, I strolled around the museum and the grounds for hours taking in the history of baseball and the area. I would walk around the village on a quest to find cool and unusual baseball related items appropriate for my personal collection. This year, we strolled around the Hall of Fame gift shop watching my grandson’s eyes go wide and listening to him yell out his favorite word, ball, over and over again at all the different sized baseballs all over the place. And, we walked around the village on a quest for cute baseball related items and clothes that were appropriate for him instead of for me.

When we left the village, we stopped at a cider mill for lunch and spent more time there than we did at the Hall of Fame. I watched my grandson marvel at the farm animals while he yelled out his other favorite word, duck. We looked at the antique tractors, homemade farm-style gifts, drank cider, and wound up the afternoon participating in a plastic duck race.

Not my typical day at the Hall of Fame experience.

Every year when I come back to my hometown of Syracuse, I like to get together with a couple of my best friends. We usually go out for a few beers and have a grand old time joking and cutting up with each other. This year, instead of meeting out at a bar or restaurant, we were all invited over to one of my friend’s house for dinner. So my daughter, my grandson, and I went over and spent an evening with two of my best friends, one of my friend's daughter, and his seven month old grandson. The energy of the evening was fueled by our daughters and our grandsons getting to know each other. All I could do was sit back in amazement as I watched our daughters talk about motherly things and all things baby. The evening had a totally different vibe than what I was used to when my buddies and I usually got together.

We ended the week with a big party at my sister’s house and I watched in admiration as my grandson quickly became the star of the show. Everyone wanted to spend their fair share of time with him, and he ate it up. It was fun watching family treat my grandson like a king for a day, and seeing them respect my daughter as a mother. It was interesting as it seemed like my sister and my sister-in-law anointed my daughter into that special club called motherhood, forever recognizing that she was no longer a little girl but instead an actual adult.

On the trip back to North Carolina, we took a side trip to Hershey, Pennsylvania and spent a couple of hours at the World of Chocolate. We took my grandson on a ride that showed how they process and make the chocolate for Hershey candy. His wide-eyed amazement and the smile on his face was all I needed to see to know that he loved it. It was loud and colorful and full of animation and music and he just cooed and laughed the whole time. I don’t think he had any idea of what they were talking about, but he sure had a good time bopping to all the music and cartoon animation throughout the ride. And to top it off, he got some free candy at the end.

After a fun afternoon at Hershey, we continued our long drive back to Charlotte. We finally arrived back at home base later than originally expected, and totally exhausted. But as a mother’s work is never done, I watched my child lovingly tend to her child, making sure he was tucked in for the rest of the night before she finally said goodnight herself.

This vacation was the longest time I had spent alone with my daughter since my grandson was born last year. I have always respected and liked the person my daughter has become as an adult, but this trip really opened my eyes as to what a truly wonderful mother she is. Seeing her interact on a full time basis with her baby, reminded me of how her mother interacted with her when she was a baby. She learned from the best and has put all that knowledge into raising my grandson. I’m lucky to have them in my life and I’m excited as my daughter and her husband are expecting baby number two in December. So I get to be a grandfather for a second time, and I am looking forward to it!

This year the trip was definitely a different experience than what I had originally planned or expected it to be, and I broke from a routine I had spent years perfecting. But after experiencing LMT, Little Man Time, and all that went along with it, I am extremely glad that they came with me, and I realized my routine was really not broken at all. It had, in fact, been changed and improved for the better over the routine I was used to following every year.

So yes, it was a different trip this year. But I wouldn’t change one moment of it for anything. With the two of them along, this year’s trip turned out to be the best one yet. The new experiences I shared with my daughter and my grandson have created some wonderful memories that will keep me smiling for a very, very long time to come. 

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So that's my story and I'm sticking to it! It turned out to be one the most joyous weeks of my life!

    ***   ***   ***   ***

 I encourage you to please explore the sites below -

Find my books here amazon.com/author/joecongel

Follow me on Twitter @JoeCongelAuthor

Like my Facebook page: JoeCongelAuthor

Visit my Web page: Here