Twelve Short Stories With A Twist

all," he said, "but it might have something to do with the clone syndrome that we are just beginning to understand. It is known that every cell in the human body has the property to reproduce another human exactly like the owner of the body. It's possible that there is still a part of Benny Harris left somewhere within you. It may be that a remnant of Benny's brain, in your left leg, is attempting to control that leg."

  Horrified, Robert asked what he could do.

  "Wait for me," the doctor exclaimed. "We'll let the leg take us where it wants to. Maybe it just wants to go to the boxing ring," he said with a hint of sardonic humor in his voice.

  Forty-five minutes later, Dr. Thorne arrived at the Moore mansion. Robert and the doctor sat and talked while waiting for the disorderly leg to begin expressing its will.

  They did not have long to wait. "It's happening," cried Robert. "The leg, it's pulling at me.

  "Go with it," Dr. Thorne cried out excitedly. "Let's see where it wants to go!"

  With a cooperative Robert Moore, the leg led him and Dr. Thorne to Robert's Rolls-Royce. Through subtle motions transmitted to the young man's body, he was guided to drive to State Prison. Dr. Thorne gained entry to the prison. The car, along with its occupants, was allowed to drive to the prison's hospital. The rebellious leg was controlling all actions.

  In the hospital, the perverse limb led the two men to a laboratory buried deep within the bowels of the huge prison. In the lab, the trek ended in front of a glass jar containing a human brain. The label on the jar read, Benjamin R Harris.

  "That's Benny's brain," Dr. Thorne whispered in awe. "His leg has brought us here. It wants Benny's body reunited with his brain."

  Quaking with fear, Robert gasped, "What can I do. Make it stop!"

  "There is not a moment to lose," Dr. Thorne shouted. "The leg must be removed. With it, you will be tormented for the rest of your life."

  "Anything, anything!" Blurted Robert. "Losing a leg is a small price to pay for peace."

  Hastily, an operating room was prepared. The required attendant personnel were swiftly recruited. They were told that Roberts leg was infected and had to be amputated at once in order to save his life.

  The operation was performed. Several hours later, Dr. Thorne visited Robert in the recovery room. "How are you feeling, Robert?" He asked.

  "All right, I guess," he responded. I have pain, but that's nothing compared to what I've gained. "Losing a leg isn't so bad. I can get an artificial one made up. Despite the setback, I can still enjoy the life I had planned."

  "Of course," Dr. Thorne assured him "the nightmare is over. You can now…"

  The doctor stopped speaking and stared intently at Roberts hands. "Why are you doing that?" He asked

  "Doing what?" A frigid ice cube crept up Robert's spine.

  "Why are you clenching your hands?"

  He got his answer in an unexpected way. Just in time, Dr. Thorne was able to evade a vicious right and left combination thrown at him by Robert Moore's fists.

  A Reenactment To Justice!

  It was Saturday, October 15, 2016. Norman Kendall awoke at seven to a voice that seemed to be coming from everywhere in the room. He opened his eyes and looked around. There was something familiar about the room, but it was not the bedroom in which he had gone to sleep the night before. He felt groggy from some unknown cause. He listened to what the voice was saying.

  Norman Kendall, you are reliving a day in your life from this same date in 1991, Arise from your bed, and check to see whether your gun, in the middle bureau drawer, is there.

  Norman was fifty-two. He was about five-ten, balding with streaks of gray in the hair that still remained. He was about twenty pounds overweight. His eyes were gray, as was his small mustache. He was wearing blue pajamas.

  He placed his feet on the wooden floor and walked unsteadily to the bureau. He recognized the furniture in the room from a bedroom, having the same appearance as this one, in which he had slept many years before. Opening the middle drawer, he saw a small caliber automatic.

  The voice instructed,

  Do not touch it. Walk to the kitchen.

  He was fast regaining his strength as he took the several steps that led to the nearby room. He entered the kitchen. It was not the kitchen that he had used for the last several years. It looked exactly like one that he had known from a long-ago past. At the kitchen table, was sitting a young, blonde woman. She had a cup of coffee in front of her from which she was sipping. She had on a pale, yellow night gown that had seen much use.

  "Lillie," he gasped. "You're, you're . . ." He was not able to complete the sentence. He had intended to say, "You're alive!"

  As before, the voice seemed to come from everywhere.

  You are in the kitchen of your apartment on the same date as today in 1991. Help yourself to some coffee and sit facing this woman.

  Numbly obeying the command, Norman did as the voice had directed. "Lillie," he muttered, "Is this you? Am I dreaming? I need to wake up!"

  Speak to this woman as you did on October 15, 1991.

  The woman spoke for the first time. "I'm real, Norman dear. Tell me that you have found another and that you will be leaving me."

  "Lillie, that was in the past. You're dead now. Why are you here, if you are really here?"

  "We are reliving that date, that last date of my life. Tell me about Edna."

  "Edna was a momentary thing! She meant nothing to me! She stayed with me only a short time. What I did, I did from a moment of insanity!"

  "Tell me, that you knew I was pregnant! Tell me that I was ruining your chance for happiness. Tell me that you needed me out of the way."

  "Lillie, that was all a mistake. I was looking forward to having our baby."

  "Tell me what you said when I told you that I would not grant you a divorce. Repeat those terrible words."

  There was silence in the room.

  Tell her what you said.

  "I didn't mean it what I said! I didn't mean it!"

  Tell her what you said.

  "Something about getting rid of her. But they were just words. I didn't mean them!"

  Do what you said you would do!

  "I can't. I can't."

  Do it!

  The voice was fierce. The demand was intense.

  Do it! Now!

  Norman stood and walked back to the bedroom. He was gone for a minute, then came back with a gun. He faced the woman and pointed the gun at her.

  "Say what you said to me before you pulled the trigger!" the young woman commanded.

  "I can't!"

  Say the words! This is a reenactment of that date. You will not be set free until the reenactment is fully completed exactly the way it happened.

  "With this gun . . ."

  Continue!

  "With this gun, I put an end to you and that thing in your belly!" Ronald yelled strongly as if reliving the emotion he had felt on that day twenty-five years earlier.

  "Then?" It was the woman's voice.

  "I shot you!" he shouted. "Yes, I meant to do it! You were in my way!" Norman pulled the trigger. A shot rang out. The woman fell to the floor.

  Norman turned from what he had done, and strode briskly from the room and into the bedroom.

  Three police officers were waiting for him there. They had heard and seen everything. Two of them immediately put cuffs on Norman and escorted him from the room.

  The young woman had risen from the floor and joined the officer who was still in the bedroom. A young man came from somewhere and joined them.

  Officer Jamison said, "What is the whole story, Ms. Farmer. How did all this come about?"

  This is what Jessica Farmer said:

  "The thing that he said was in her belly was me, I'm Jessie Farmer. Lillian Kendall was my mother. I've been told that I am the spitting image of mom. I knew my father would think I was his wife who he killed. There had been someone nearby who had heard enough of the conversation and who had acted promptly enough so tha
t my life could be saved. Mom died but there was not enough evidence to charge my father. This reenactment took a lot of planning. We had these two rooms built. My husband, Ted Farmer, here, was a rock in my support. He and I drugged my father while he slept and brought him here. Ted was the voice that you heard. The gun, of course, shot a blank."

  "Your plan worked perfectly," said the officer. "We might say that it was A Reenactment To Justice!"

  Note: The author of this story reads one of his stories on Youtube. To see and hear, open www.youtube.com and search for "Grandpa Mario reads Remembering the Anniversary".