Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound Annual 3

Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound

  Annual 3

  by Christopher D. Carter, © 2014

  Text and Illustration Copyright © 2014 Christopher D. Carter

  All Rights Reserved

  Also by Christopher Carter available at ebook retailers:

  Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 1-5 (Book 1)

  Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 6-12 (Book 2)

  Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound Annual 1

  Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound Annual 2

  Discover other titles by Christopher D. Carter at

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  To Be Continued

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  *

  Huit Brighter

  *

  Three Rivers, California

  “Good morning, Mr. Brighter,” the nurse said as she studied the notes on the handheld while standing at the end of the bed. The lines curved up at the edges of her lips as she put on the fake smile that she had practiced so many times over the years, and she held the expression like a professional as she read through the patient’s records. “I see that we have you down for a trip to the cardiologist today. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” she asked though she did not expect a coherent reply of any sort. Mr. Brighter laid in the bed with his head turned toward the morning light in the window, and his eyes lit up at the sound of Nurse Corona’s voice. It took him a good thirty seconds to raise his head and turn it her way, but he managed to slowly turn his pale face toward her and open his mouth as if to say something of significance. Over the next thirty seconds, he slowly rolled out a long, few syllables, but Nurse Corona had already pulled out her stethoscope to take his blood pressure. She neglected to pay any real attention to the words that he worked diligently to form, and as was normally the case, she completed her quick examination before he ever sat forward on the mattress. With a sigh of regret, Huit Brighter watched the round backside of the middle-aged nurse swish back out of the room to be replaced with the short, grumpy nursing assistant who only half-heartedly washed his armpits and crotch before spilling his morning juice all over his bed sheets.

  “Well, I see you’ve wet the bed again, Wheaty,” Urina jested at the stain left over from the orange juice. Though she knew that she was at fault for the accident, she also knew that no one would be the wiser if she blamed the spill on Huit. The world moved by in a whirlwind for the young fellow, and his reflexes were unequipped for the rigors of dealing with everyday life in a nursing home. He sighed in disappointment to himself as she removed his gown and slid on his blue pajamas for the trip to the doctor’s office. When Urina had dressed him in everything but his shoes, she stripped the bed down and threw the sheets into the laundry basket outside of his room and disappeared around the corner. Huit stood alone in the white room in his socks on the cold floor, and he waited for her to return with his slippers.

  Slippers. It had been three weeks since Huit had last seen the slippers. They had been placed on the inside of the doorway to his room, in plain sight for anyone that strolled by. At midnight on a Tuesday, he had seen the night watchman walk by with the third shift nurse, and their shadows passed out of view as their conversation continued.

  “Sugar, are you goin’ to let me come see ya at the laundry room later? I got something that needs cleanin’, baby,” he said as he attempted to put his arm around her waist.

  “Now you know that ain’t happenin’, Scoot, so you can just keep movin’ round and punchin’ the keys,” she replied with a smack of his hand.

  “Mmm, mmm. Smack it harder, baby,” Scoot teased her, and she turned up her nose at him and walked off in a huff to the nurse’s station. “Shake it like you mean it,” he said to himself under his breath as he watched her strut away in anger. He pulled the toothpick out of his mouth and then scanned the electronic key on the wall at the end of the hall. Then, Scoot strolled confidently back down the hallway outside of Huit’s room and stopped so that only his shadow showed at the edge of the doorway. The shadow knelt down to the floor, and a hand reached in to snatch the pair of slippers that sat just inside the doorway. Just like that, Huit’s slippers were gone, and he had to make his trip to the doctor’s office with just his socks on.

  Huit really hated this nursing home. For him, the days passed by as if he were watching a really boring movie, and all he could do was observe. His movements had always been slow when compared to the movements of the other people in this world, and there was nothing that he could do to change that. Nor would he ever choose to change it. He had never known the world to be any other way during his one hundred twenty years on the planet, and there was certainly no reason to wish for a change now. The nurses and nursing assistants helped him as much as they were able. The therapists had determined long ago that there was nothing that they could improve with his ability to move his hands and feet. He could stand up, walk, flex his hands, and eat his food; it just took him eight times longer to do activities than “normal” people. Sometimes his movements were acceptable, for instance, when he played a long game of chess or checkers. At other times, such as now when he had a doctor’s appointment, the need for a speedier process was evident.

  All of these thoughts swirled in his mind until the nursing assistant returned with a wheelchair and parked it behind him. She left the room while he slowly squatted, and he sat back sluggishly on the taut fabric seat while she threw another set of sheets onto the wet mattress. She never made the effort to dry the mattress out, and once again, he would have to sleep another lonely night on a wet bed in this filthy environment. He sighed to himself as Urina wheeled him out into the hallway past the empty nurse station and down to the front doors where the handicap accessible van was waiting outside. She waited patiently for Doug, the janitor/facility mechanic/cook, to come out and help load him into the van. Urina drove the van, and she knew how the control mechanisms of the transport vehicle worked. She did not need Doug’s help, but she liked it when someone else participated in manual labor besides herself.

  “Damn glad we have her,” Huit thought to himself as the exhaust fumes poured out of the tailpipe and wafted into his lungs.

  “Hey, darlin’. You need help with Huit,” Doug asked as he came out the door of the facility and opened the door to the van. He was a strong young man and never hesitated to help, even when he was not asked directly. Doug had learned that Urina depended on him in these situations and that he should just go ahead and plan on helping whenever he saw the need. He quickly worked the lift, rolled the wheelchair onto the platform, and raised Huit up into the vehicle and out of the smog. Doug turned his head and coughed to the side once as the grey smoke covered him in a fog. “Urina, next time, please leave the van off when you’re loadin’. The battery charge can handle the lift for one person even when it’s not runnin’. But the smoke’s killin’ me.”

  “It’s cold, Doug bug, and I ain’t about to freeze out here,” she replied as she hopped into the driver’s seat. Before he closed the door to the van, Doug looked eye level and noticed something that he had missed earlier.

  “Huit, man, you can’t go out today with just your socks on. You’ll catch cold, boy,” Doug said as he left the van door open and looked in at Urina. “Girl, where are his shoes?” She looked back with a smirk.

  “I ain’t his momma. How would I know what he’s done with his shoes?!”

  “All right, all right,” Doug said with a wave of his hand. “Wait right here, and I’ll take care of it,” he explained as he shut the door to keep the exhaust ou
t. A few seconds later, Doug came out of the building with a fresh towel to wrap around Huit’s feet. When he was properly bundled, Huit could feel the tingling from the numbness in his toes subside, and a slow smile crept across his face as the van drove away.

  “Thank God for Doug,” Huit thought to himself as they made their way to the cardiologist appointment. Urina looked at him from the rearview mirror, and she scratched her head as she considered Huit.

  “I don’t know why you go to the cardiologist. You’re too young to have heart problems, and goodness knows, you never do anything. There’s something goin’ on in that head of yours, but darned if I know what it could be,” she blurted out and then turned her eyes back to the traffic at the stoplight. It was true that Huit’s skin was as smooth and unwrinkled as a teenager without the zits, but he was much older than his appearance belied. Maybe Huit would make the effort to write a message down for her and leave it on the cabinet next to his bed. Then she would know that he wasn’t just a person with a disability.

  “I might as well be talkin’ to myself. Useless,” Urina remarked.

  “Okay, scratch that last thought,” Huit reasoned.