Chrysalis: 1986

Chrysalis

1986

Table of Contents Prose CONTRIBUTOR James Hanauer TheReality of Combat Rebecca Harvey Cut Cost Joe Osefchen The Hedge

PAGE

Joe Osefchen The DubiousRise of Cedric Kendall McClung Panacea

PAGE

10

Marshall Ramsey Timber Song

20

Jacqui Reinhert Depression

12

Dwayne Lloyd Forgotten Partner Shadow

13 15

Chris Boxwell LaNeige

17

Jim Ferneyhough TheRain Fell (prose poem)

17

1

Dan Gribbin Lines on a Page

18

3

Mike Medlin RightNow

23

5

Chrissy Moss The Hamburger

24

28

Poetry Rebecca Harvey When His Lifeline Was Severed

by His Broken Dreams

CONTRIBUTOR

8

Art CONTRIBUTOR

PAGE

Chris Wright Pretty as a Picture

25

JoAnne Howard Nous A vans Sculpte Nos Initiates

26

Amanda Snapp Congestion (prose poem) Demons

34 34

Suzan Dean Frustration

35

CONTRIBUTOR

Jay Guilaran Regina Whitlock Joel Sodikoff Melody Timmons Lee Buckner Heidi Stutts

PAGE

logo page 2,6, 12 9, 14, 19,27 18,25,35 23 inside back cover

Photography Chris Johnson

cover, 7, 16,24

He expanded his feat into many brave deeds, When a question was raised on the fate of his steed. ''That craven ran off, that cowardly lout.

"He followed me later, but I refused to remount. "

***

"/ heard of the ogre; a hero was needed.

When I cornered the beast, he begged and he pleaded.

That I would slay him he knew in a glance.

He gave himself up, he had not a chance. "

***

The King, he was heirless, and needed a son.

In the hero, young Cedric, he located one.

The people adored him and followed him 'round.

A crowd, it would gather when Cedric was found.

***

The ogre was gone and Cedric was prince.

The telling has grown to grander lengths since.

He would re-fight the battle, and make a grand show; The fact not included was the monster's big toe.

***

Cedric was prince, and then he was king.

On a table of gold sat the head of the thing.

What he kept in a chest would have caused a big row.

On a pillow of ermine sat the monster's big toe.

-Joe Osefchen

Chrysalis

1986

Page 4

Panacea I see a woman-young and pretty Smiling she says her name is Panacea I try to ask her about her name Do not worry, she says, it'll only get in the way Suspense is part of the game.

Apprehensively I begin to wonder Am I still sane?

Then start to ponder Am I part of someone's evil game?

Be not in confusion For what you see I am not an illusion She says to me.

We are inseparable Living in euphoria Together so comfortable My sweet Panacea.

All things will come to an end She has gone away Having a short-term friend I live for tomorrow and today.

-Kendall McClung

Page 5

Chrysalis

1986

Timber Song ARRGH.' Does this slaughter ever end?

I've been cut, sliced, ripped, and thrown into a certain class.

Does he ever consider all my pain and discomfort?

Used to be a single body standing in the forest So tall, so bold, and so carefree gleaming in the sunlight.

Every day I would grow taller, Feel photosynthesis coursing through my veins.

Now, I've been reduced to pieces, chunks, and slabs.

Stacked up and sent for more slicing and sawing, To die for the comfort and good of a man.

-Marshall Ramsey

1986

Page8

-Drawing by Joel Sodikoff

Page9

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1986

autumn wind. Their flaming bodies crashed to the ground as their screams of anguish filled my ears.

With the enemy's objective reached, the shelling stopped. An uncanny quiet fell over the jungle as the hands of death claimed their own. Only the cries of the wounded, as they fought death's grip, broke the haunting silence.

It was but a short time till a new chopper arrived bringing aid to the wounded and an express ride home for the dead. Though I was not wounded, the pain I felt was unbearable. There was no aid or relief for the pain I carried. None, not then, nor now.

Next came the ghoulish task of identifying the burned bodies and placing them in body bags for shipment home. My nostrils were filled with the stench of burned flesh; my friend's blood dried to a scaly crust between my fingers. The reality of combat stared me in the face. Greg's words echoed in my mind: "They're all the same, somebody gets killed."

The order came to move out. I picked up my weapon and put my feelings away. I boarded the new chopper, thinking, "This can't be real." However, with each new combat mission the reality of combat became clear: "Somebody gets killed."

All the training in the world could not have prepared me for the reality of combat. The swiftness of death, the pain of loss, the denial of human D feeling. Such is the reality of combat.

Page 11

Ch rysalis

1986

Shadow There you stand so quiet, Always in your place.

I've known you all my life, I've never seen your face.

You follow me around, Beside me every day, But when I turn to watch you, You merely look away.

You're such a faithful soldier, You jump at my command.

I reach into my pocket, You sacrifice your hand.

Morning turns to midday; It's you I walk upon.

You try to hide beneath my feet, Afraid to see the sun.

Sometimes I don't want you, But there you are again.

I hate the way you mock me, Still, I like to have a friend.

The light of day is waning, Only streaks on painted sky.

I look to check your presence, You've grown to mammoth size.

Then twilight gives to darkness; Are you shrinking out of sight?

No, I am now the shadow, And it's you who rule the night.

-Dwayne Lloyd

Page 15

Chrysalis

1986

La Neige

a

La neige silencieuse tombe doucement la terre.

Un miracle-doux et pure.

Pas de bruit.

Seulement le chuchotement de deux amoureux main main.

a

The Snow The silent snow falls gently to the ground.

A miracle-soft and pure.

No harsh sound.

Only the whisper of two lovers hand in hand.

-Chris Boxwell

The Rain Fell The rain fell in sheets. Cold clear droplets filled the hot humid air and they sounded, as they hit the pavement, like the uncoordinated beat of a novice drummer. The rain cooled the streets and sidewalks of the city, evidenced by the rising steam. It washed dirt, grime, and a month of hot days into the drain. Afterwards, the air was clear and cool like a fresh Fall morning.

-Jim Ferneyhough

Page 17

Chry salis

1986

-Drawing by Joel Sodikoff

Page 19

Chrysalis

1986

and my arm hurt.

"You can't wimp out, Baxter," Jackie's snake­ mouth spat. "I'll spot you!" He handed me a penny.

I'd never felt anything so cold.

Jackie's eyes branded their message into mine.

Don't out-toss me this time, they said. I swallowed hard. My mouth tasted like tarnished copper and moldy wood.

Jackie tossed with the concentration of a discus thrower. His penny fell three inches from the wall.

Abraham Lincoln stared heavenward with pity and defiance.

"Damn " Jackie moaned, and lit another Marlboro.

"Your turn, Baxter," said Terry. "You don't have to throw any better than my grandma to beat that."

He gnawed his pinky.

I gazed at the wal I, then at Jackie, then at my arm. I pitched the penny directly at the wall. It slid down and fell flush with the bottom brick.

"Forfeit," Jackie grinned.

"It counts," Terry said.

"No, it doesn't. Not if it hits up on the wall."

Sweat ran down my back like snow melting.

Terry's eyes were sparkling and I could tell he wouldn't back down.

"Where I come from, it counts."

"But," spat Jackie, "this isn't where you come from. It's illegal here."

Terry looked at me, his eyebrows raised in a question mark.

"Jackie's right," I replied. I stared at my Converse All Stars. I'd never noticed the hole in the right one unti I then. Oddly enough, it was about the size of a penny. But the sounds of Terry's money hitting the pavement roused me from my daze. He'd won again.

Page 21

"No way," Jackie snarled. "You've gotta be cheating."

"Me? You're the one that wanted to play two-to­ one," Terry shouted as well as he could while chewing on his index finger.

He bent low to scoop up the pennies. He flipped the penny Jackie had loaned me in my direction.

"Where I come from, you won this."

The crimson flush that washed over Jackie's face began at the soiled collar of his t-shirt and climbed over his eyebrows. He'd been mortally insulted.

"You low-down mother - - " Terry's rattling voice cut him off.

"Care for a rematch?"

Jackie was the champion; he couldn't refuse.

"First I'll win your money, then I'll kick your ass all over this alley," he said through his gritted, yellow teeth.

He spun around to face me.

"Give the guy back his penny. He won. Not you.

You don't win."

I held the penny out for Terry. He only winked at me. Why did he do that? I wondered.

Jackie turned to me and snatched the penny from my palm.

"You owe me one, shrimp."

Leave the kid alone," Terry commanded with a strange gleam in his eyes.

"Make me," Jackie fired back.

"Okay, wise guy, let's make this a little more interesting. I've beat your butt three times already.

The kid here's more of a match than you."

The redness spread from Jackie's face to his ears.

He reached for another Marlboro.

"What do you wanna bet that I beat you this time?"

Terry giggled, sounding like a train was chugging up his throat. He eyed the cigarette jutting from the

Chrysalis

1986

space between Jackie's index finger and thumb.

Terry gnawed on his ring finger for a few moments.

He giggled louder and the hair on my arms stood at attention.

"Your right index finger," he said.

"What?" gasped Jackie.

Then realizing that it wasn't cool to gasp, he pretended to be calm.

"My finger, huh? Does that mean I get your finger when I win?"

"We're still playing two-to-one. If you win you get both my index fingers."

You're crazy, man," Jackie smiled.

"Hey, but you said you were gonna win-so what's the big deal. If you take both my pitching fingers away, you don't have to worry about me making you look bad in front of your little friend," he winked at me again.

Jackie glared over at me. I smiled.

"It'll be a piece of cake, Jackre."

"Why don't you do it, then? The serpent had returned to his lips.

"Terry didn't ask me. You're not going to wimp out, are you Jackie?" I laughed.

"Hell, no." He pitched after rubbing his rabbit's foot for luck. His coin landed on edge and spun four times. It fell flush with the wall.

Ch rysalis

1986

"Beat that!" Jackie called triumphantly.

Terry turned his back to the wall. He giggled that eerie chugging sound and pitched his pennies behind his back. Both fell flush.

"Tie," Jackie said.

"Where I come from, two beats one."

"What?" Jackie cried.

The snake had crawled away from his mouth. It was a grim white line.

"No. It's not fair. It doesn't count," he babbled.

"Baxter, what do you say?" Terry asked.

"Two beats one," I whispered.

Jackie started to run but Terry tackled him.

Jackie struggled and screamed. No one in the street noticed. I saw a silver, gleaming flash as Terry's knife hacked into Jackie's finger.

"No, please don't!" was all Jackie could say before the sobs hijacked his voice.

Terry raised the severed finger above his head in triumph. He danced away from the all_ey's crouching shadows into the leaping sunlight of the street. I think he pushed the tip of the severed finger into his mouth before I turned and retched.

"Baxter, help me," Jackie sobbed.

His voice faded into that barrel a person falls into as he's fainting. The concrete was colder than Jackie's penny that August day.

â–Ą

Page22

Right Now Here I sit behind my unsturdy wooden desk with A flickering light gleaming on my pen As it moves across the paper.

The light stops of its own free will And a struggling life suddenly turns Into a silent dark death.

After I throw away the old and find a new, The light is rekindled by a fresh glowing bulb.

I look down and see an ant go across the tan Carpet underneath my unmade bed and decide Not to kill it. I'm not in the killing mood.

However, I write my words on a dead tree, One in which lovers' initials may have once Been carved.

A tree that stood tall among others Now lies flat between two identical pieces of Death.

-Mike Medlin

-Drawing by Lee Buckner Page23

Chrysalis

1986

-Photo by Chris Johnson

The Hamburger Clink . . . , shshsstt.

Oh! Whoa! Here we go!

They've thrown me on the grill.

Why? I ask.

I was content as a frozen slab, Nestled nicely in the fridge.

But, alas, It's not to be.

They wanna fry me!

Up and over, up and over.

Hot, oh so hot.

Ch ry salis

1986

Achoo! How would you Like me to pepper you?

Oh, no! Not again. Whoa!

Over I go.

Ah. I'm done, now, on To the bun. So soft, Kinda slippe ry. I think I'm Gonna like this bun. I'm warm and cozy. Kinda happy, Kinda light.

I think I might like Being a super burger Delight!

-Chrissy Moss

Page24

Nous Avons Sculpte Nos Initiales Nous avons sculpte nos initiales profondement dans le bois Pas seulement de /'arbre ma,s de I'eternite.

Nous sommes lies ensemble par /es filaments de la toile que nous avons tissee et /es tisserands de temps ont embrouille nos vies pour toujours.

-JoAnne Howard

We Have Carved Our Initials We have carved our initials deeply in the wood not just of the tree but of eternity.

We are bound together by the threads of the webs we have woven and the weavers of time have entangled our lives forever.

-JoAnne Howard

Chrysalis

1986

Page 26

-Drawing by Joel Sodikoff

Page27

Chrysalis

1986

was going to have it cut down, but maybe I will try trimming it first. It would probably be expensive to get the whole thing cut down, anyway."

The old man smiled. "Yeah, you're probably right. And if you don't like the way it looks trimmed, you can always cut it down later."

Fitz's wife Debra could be seen on the porch. She gestured to her husband that he had a phone call.

"Wei I, Stan, I've got to run. Can you stop by later for a beer?"

"Of course, my boy," said Stan in a fair imitation of W. C. Fields. "A cold beer is like a beautiful woman; cheaper by the six-pack."

The men laughed and parted company. Fitz went inside for his phone call, while Stan wandered off down the street.

3 A week after the conversation with Stan, Fitz finally got around to trimming the hedge. With brand-new electric clippers in hand, he swaggered up to the plant like a gunfighter in an old movie.

"All right, Marshal," Fitz said. "This yard ain't big enough for the two of us."

He flipped the switch on the clippers and began cutting off the wayward branches. Everything went well for about two minutes. Then the clippers whined to a halt.

"Damn! Looks like I'm out of ammo."

Fitz checked the clippers and then the cord. He could find no reason for the interruption. After a few more minutes of fiddling, he put the clippers back in the box and made a mental note to return them to the store.

He was just getting ready to go inside, when he saw Stan coming up the street. Fitz waved and the old man waved back.

"Hey, Stan. Taking a little stroll?"

Grimoor smiled. "Exercise, my boy, exercise.

I'm thinking of walking to Florida this winter. It'll save airfare."

Fitz laughed and told him about his encounter with the shrub.

"Don't worry about it, my boy. Old Stan will trim that oversized fern for you tomorrow."

Fitz started to protest. "Stan, I can't ask you to do that."

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"Of course you can't," Stan chuckled, "that's why I'm volunteering. I'm retired, which means I've got nothing to do.

"I'm trimming your hedge and that's the end of it.,, Fitz saw that it was useless to argue about it. He invited Stan in for a beer and hoped he'd forget all about the hedge by tomorrow.

4 Stan didn't forget about the hedge. The next day, when Fitz arrived home, he found the bush neatly trimmed.

After admiring the work for a few minutes, he had to admit that the bush looked pretty good. The wayward limbs had been snipped off, and it no longer looked like a den for snakes.

"Well," he said to himself, "I guess we'll keep the hedge after al I." Fitz went inside and ate the wonderful dinner that Debra had cooked. By the time he was ready for bed, Fitz was certain that he was the happiest man on earth. With a smile on his face, he drifted off to sleep.

That night was when the nightmares first began.

The nightmares were always different, but they all had one thing in common. They always ended with Fitz being swallowed by the neatly trimmed hedge in his back yard.

Needless to say, the next week was hard on Fitzpatrick. The nightmares continued and became more horrible. He was starting to dread going to sleep.

He told himself that the dreams would end. The hedge was merely a symbol of his new responsibility as a homeowner.

Fitz was a rational man, and rational men know the difference between dreams and reality. The problem, he knew, was in his head, not in his yard.

If Fitz had simply been a little less rational, things might have ended differently.

5 The pets bothered Debra Fitzpatrick for a while.

In a single week, she had received four calls from neighbors looking for lost pets. She couldn't believe that so many animals had gone AWOL at one time.¡

Chrysalis

1986

Finally, she decided that someone must be snatching them. Debra had read of such things in the super­ market tabloids.

"Probably those research people," she said with disgust.

Fitz knew nothing about the missing pets. If he had known, he might have felt an uneasiness creep­ ing over him. As it was, he remained blissfully ignorant.

It was the disappearance of James Edward, Jr., that finally caught Fitz's attention. The boy age five had simply vanished one evening. Ads w�re placed and rewards were offered, but to no avail. Little Jimmy was nowhere to be found.

The local paper ran a story comparing the Edwards case with a series of child disappearances that had occurred in Winslow seven years earlier.

The author was of the opinion that a religious cult was responsible for all the snatchings. Why there was a seven year break, the author could only speculate on.

When he thought of Jimmy Edwards, Fitz got an uneasy feeling somewhere deep inside. Being a rational man, he knew that plants simply do not eat little children. However, in his dreams that night he watched his hedge devour a steady parade of th�m.

Of course, at the dream's end, the plant ate him as well. It always did.

6 Fitzpatrick decided that mowing the lawn had simply lost its appeal. Still, it had to be done.

In the bright light of Saturday afternoon, he pushed his mower with all the energy of a wounded slug. Sweat ran down his chest, and the sun was in his eyes, but still Fitz pushed on. A rational man takes care of his yard,even if it does want to kill him.

How good it would be, he thought, to just stop and rest for awhile. To sit down in the shade for a thousand years or so. And just sleep.

Fitz no longer felt the sun in his eyes. All he felt was his weariness. He wanted to forget the wife, the mortgage, everything.

"What am I," he thought, "a machine that does nothing but work."

He needed a place where he could get away from everything for an hour. For a day. For an eternity.

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1986

"Kevin!"

Fitz tried to respond,but the weariness wouldn't let go.

"Kevin Robert Fitzpatrick!"

"Concentrate," he told himself as he tried to focus. Slowly, Fitz regained control of his senses.

He blinked and looked around.

"Kevin," his wife asked frantically, "are you okay?"

"I ...uh ...yeah, I'm okay. It must be the heat Deb. I just blacked out."

She still looked worried. "You were walking straight into the bush, like you didn't even see it."

He hadn't seen it, but he didn't tell her that.

"It's okay, babe. I've just had too much sun.

That's all."

He reached down and cut off the mower. Taking his wife's hand, he headed back toward the house.

Just before they went inside, Fitz took a quick look at where Debra had stopped him. The lawnmower was just inches away from the hedge.

Fitz' rational mind tried to tell him that there was a rational explanation for all of this. It told him that dreams are not reality. Fitz didn't believe a word of it.

Now, for the first time, he wondered if he was going insane.

7 Stan Grimoor stood with Fitz in the back yard.

Against his better judgment, Fitz had told Stan about the nightmares and the blackout. To Fitz's relief, the old man didn't laugh. In fact, he seemed quite concerned.

"Are you feeling okay, now, Fitz?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine now, except that I haven't been getting too much sleep."

Stan smiled hopefully. "Well, there you have it.

Lack of sleep can really confuse a guy. Maybe you just need some rest."

"It's not the lack of sleep that causes the night­ mares. It's the nightmares that are causing me to lose sleep."

The older man considered this for awhile.

"The heat, then. It was damn hot that day.

Maybe you got a touch too much sun."

Fitz shook his head. "That's what I told Debra '

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but I lied. I've taken enough First Aid courses to know the symptoms of heat stroke, and I didn't have any of them."

Stan shrugged. "You've got me then, lad.

There's an explanation for what happened, but I'll be damned if I can find it."

Both men stood in silence for a moment and then Fitz turned to look at the hedge.

"Who planted that thing, Stan?"

Stan scratched his head. "I really couldn't say.

It's been there as long as I have. It was here twenty years ago when the Vogels moved in.

"The Vogels were the people that lived here before you."

Fitz nodded. He remembered seeing the name on the deed he had signed.

"Yeah," said Stan, thinking back, "the Vogels were nice people. It's too bad what happened to them."

Fitz looked interested. "What happened to them, Stan? I know we bought the place from a nephew up in New Hampshire."

"That's a good question, lad. It seems that one day, Mrs. Vogel just took off for parts unknown. Left all her stuff behind and didn't say a word to anyone about leaving.

"A week later, Mr. Vogel followed her.

"The cops came and they decided that the wife had run off with another man. Mr. Vogel had tried to go after her.

"After they'd been missing for seven years, the nephew had them declared legally dead."

Fitz thought carefully about what he would say next. An idea had crept into his head, and he wasn't sure how to express it.

"Do you believe that's what happened, Stan?"

The old man shrugged. "I don't see how it could have happened any other way."

"Stan, a woman doesn't leave home without taking her clothes with her."

"I don't know, Fitz. Maybe her lover bought her a new wardrobe."

"And maybe he didn't."

A patronizing tone came into Stan's voice. "Then what do you think happened to the Vogels, Fitz?"

"I don't know, Stan, but I intend to find out." He

Page]]

turned to leave. "I've got to go now. I'll see you later."

"Sure, lad. Whatever you say."

Fitz went inside and changed his clothes.

"Debra!"

"Yes, dear," he heard her voice answer from the den.

"I'm going to the hardware store. I'll be back soon."

"Okay. While you're out, pick me up an 'En¡q uirer.' 11 As he was going out the door, he had a last minute thought.

"Stay out of the backyard while I'm gone, Deb. I think I saw a poisonous snake out there."

"Sure, baby. Don't forget my paper," she yelled over the sound of her television show.

Thus reassured, Fitz headed down the driveway.

He wasn't going to the hardware store. He was going to visit an old friend from his college days.

The man's name was Ceeding, and when Fitz had known him, he had been very interested in the occult. He was a psychologist now, but he was the closest thing to an expert on the supernatural that Fitz knew.

Besides, Fitz thought, if Ceeding told him he was crazy, at least he could get some help.

8

Ceeding remained silent for several minutes after Fitz had finished the story.

Finally, unable to endure the silence, Fitz spoke.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Am I crazy or is something in my backyard trying to get me?" supposed to Ceeding frowned. "How am know?"

Fitz couldn't believe his ears. "You're a psycho­ logist aren't you?"

"That's 'psycologist,' not 'fortune teller.' I can give you a couple of basic hypotheses, but at this point, that's the best I can do."

"Okay, hypothesize away."

"Hypothesis One: You are mentally ill. You are subject to extreme paranoid delusions, stemming

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1986

from any number of causes. In this case, you need help."

Ceeding reached into his jacket for a pack of cigarettes.

"Hypothesis Two: You are not mentally ill. There is something going on in your backyard that you don't understand."

"Okay," Fitz said, "assuming that I'm not a raving looney, what is out there?"

11 Again, I'm not a magician."

"No, but there was a time when you were an expert on everything from flying saucers to astral projection."

Ceeding smiled. "I still am. I decided a long time ago that this world has no absolutes. We have weathermen who can't predict the weather, and economists who can't predict the economy. Man, for all his boasting, simply doesn't know everything. I don't think he ever will. There will always be some things that cannot be explained or predicted."

Fitz smiled. Despite the designer suit, the spacious office, and the wall full of diplomas, his friend hadn't changed much.

"It's a wonder your fellow shrinks don't run you out of town."

"Are you kidding? I'm up for president of the Psychologist's League next month."

Ceeding lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. "Now, let's look at your problem.

"Several cultures have legends of plants being possessed by spirits. Most of these spirits are said to be benign, but a few of them are described as evil."

Fitz looked nervous, on edge. He too Iit a cigarette.

Ceeding continued, "If there is one legend that fits your situation, it is the American Indian story of the 'Places of Power.' According to some Eastern tribes, there were small areas of magic scattered throughout the forests. In these places, the plants were supposedly endowed with tremendous power.

"Some of these areas were good in nature, while others were not. Some were places of evil, places of the Wendingo."

"But I don't live in a forest," Fitz complained.

"Three hundred years ago, the entire state of New York was nothing but one massive forest.

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1986

"I can't be certain about what's in your yard, but I've given you my best guess."

Fitz nodded. "Okay, let's say it's possible that the hedge has stood for that long. If it does have power, then it could have used that power to protect itself."

Ceeding put out his cigarette. "Of course. It could also change its form if necessary. In the legend, it's the ground that's possessed by the spirit, not the plant itself."

A bad feeling was creeping up Fitz's spine. "You mentioned the 'Wendingo.' What is that?"

"It is the most malicious spirit in Indian folklore.

A demon that devours the innocent, body and soul."

9 Debra was still watching television when the door bell rang. She got up to answer it.

"Hello," she said to the small boy who stood before her. Debra didn't recognize him, but there were too many children in the neighborhood to keep track of.

The boy was crying. "Lady, can you help me get Skippy back? He ran into your bush and won't come out.I! She smiled at the helpless child. "Of course we'll get Skippy back. Is Skippy your doggy?"

The boy nodded. ''He's only a puppy, and he gets lost sometimes."

"Don't worry, we'll rescue him."

The boy smiled.

Debra had forgotten all about the warning from her husband. She took the boy's hand and allowed herself to be led into the backyard.

"Okay, show me where Skippy ran into the bush."

The boy pointed to a place along the hedge.

"He ran in there and he won't come out," the boy said, "Please help him."

Debra bent close to examine the spot he had indicated.

"I don't see him. Maybe he ran out the other side."

"I don't think it works that way," said a voice from behind her. It was not the voice of a little boy.

The last thought that Debra had as she was shoved forward into the hedge was that the voice had

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sounded vaguely familiar.

The hedge rustled for a moment after she entered and then became silent. Of Debra, not a trace remained.

10 The car jerked to a halt in front of the house. Not pausing to cut off the engine, Fitz ran inside.

"Debra," he shouted into the silence. He searched every room but found no one. With a look of terror, he raced toward the back yard.

The yard was also empty, but next to the hedge, Fitz saw something sparkling on the ground. It was an earring, but Fitz stared at it as if it were some alien artifact. He had given the pair to Debra on their third anniversary.

Slowly, Fitz sank to his knees and began to scream.

"No!" he pleaded, not wanting to accept the obvious.

"You wanted me, but you took her instead, you bastard."

Tears fell from his eyes. He clenched and unclenched his fists until his palms bled.

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet. "You think it's over, huh? Just a light snack before bedtime?"

Fitz's eyes danced around the yard and came to rest on the garage.

"Well, it's not over; not by a long shot!" He turned and went inside. In a moment, he emerged with two gas cans.

"Yes sir, we're going to have a barbecue, you and I. Those leaves are going to be nice and crispy soon.''

His eyes gleamed as he poured the gasoline around the base of the hedge. When he'd emptied the first can, Fitz moved back about ten feet and put both containers down.

"Here you go, back to Hell where you belong."

He reached into his coat and pulled out a match.

"For Debra," he said, as he struck the match. He threw it and instantly the hedge was engulfed in flames.

Page33

"Burn, Bastard."

The hedge shook violently as it withered. Its leaves flapped and its branches popped.

Fitz flashed out a humorless smile. He was so involved with watching the hedge that he didn't notice the small trail of gas that had leaked on the ground. A tiny stream of fire was all that he saw before the cans at his feet exploded.

11

A month later, two men stood on the lawn, staring at the scorched earth.

"Poor guy," said Stan Grimoor. "First, his wife left him and then he burned himself up."

The new man nodded. "Why did he want to burn down that hedge anyway?"

Stan shrugged. "Who knows? He had some kind of fixation with that hedge. He thought it was the cause of all his problems."

"You know," said the new man, "it's ironic. The guy got himself killed trying to get rid of that bush and he didn't even accomplish that."

He pointed to where a new hedge was just sprouting up.

Stan nodded. "Yeah, I could have told him that burning wouldn't do any good. You've got to get into the ground and kill the roots if you want the whole plant to die."

The two men talked until it started getting dark.

"Well," said Stan, "I'm sure you're going to like living here."

The new man nodded and said good night. Stan waited until the other man had gone inside before he left.

In the twilight, he seemed much younger than he had a moment ago. His face had become younger and he looked remarkably like the boy with the lost puppy.

"Yeah, Fitz," said the boy Grimoor, "I could've told you it wouldn't work."

Smiling, the child walked over to the hedge and D disappeared.

Ch rysalis

1986

Congestion I come back to the roomfrom class. Brain clogged with information. !feel gray, cloudy, foggy (Or is itfroggy?) Jumbled brains, a mixture of blue, gray and gold. Sleepy Black. As I start to relax, the information flows from my brain to my handfreely as it becomes unclogged. Ifeel my mind emptying out onto the paper. The story begins to unfold. The spider web, the crickets in song and the day in the library are exposed openly on my paper.

-Amanda Snapp

Demons Demons, dragons are under my bed.

The Wicked Witch of the East reaches up to grab my hands and pull me under.

They congregate at night, conspcrzng, they 're coming to get me!

Watch out!

I cling to my pillow.

Grasping it for life.

I curl up in a tiny ball.

I am careful not to let a hand or foot fall by the side of the bed.

-Amanda Snapp Chrysalis

1986

Page 34

A tip of the hat in thanks to: Bill Saari Alan Weltzien Jim Hissom Jane Stogner

Special thanks to Jim Flanagan of Copenhaver Publishers, Inc.

Chrysalis

1986

-Drawing by Heidi Stutts