The Adventures of PB James: The Noxious Neighbors Part 7

The Noxious Neighbors Part 7
The whole world is blinding light and deafening rumble and PB is watching his own death approach. The squealing of the breaks makes his blood run cold and he looks away, not willing to watch the impact of the train head on. He spots the crevice under the platform when he turns his head. Without thinking he has launched himself over the tracks and into the tight space between the platform foundation and the tracks.
The train is rushing by and PB can’t breathe because of the dust and fear in his lungs. His whole body is shoved up against the dirty cement and the force of the passing train tears at his back. He’s relieved that death is relatively painless and then realizes he has dodged the train and is very much alive. The rumbling and the squealing die down. The train has come to a complete stop, trapping PB between the tracks and the platform.
He hears a few cries, a woman desperately screaming, and then every now and then the murmuring of a voice and footfalls above him on the platform. He lies there for twenty minutes until the train slowly eases down the track passed where his is pinned. A rescue worker drops down along the track and spots PB lying stiff and dust covered. The paramedic hollers up to the platform.
PB is arrested by BART police and then handed over to city cops who drive him to the local station. He is held in isolation for three hours until an on-call psychoanalyst makes it over to give him an evaluation. They meet in a blank white room on the third floor and the analyist introduces himself as Dr. Fischer. Dr. Fischer looks over his reading glasses at his subject and speaks from a dry mouth surrounded by a salt and pepper beard.
“Do you ever feel depressed Mr. James? Do you ever feel like life is just not worth living?”
“No.”
PB tries to take the edge off his tone but he’s very tired and hungry and his patience is used up.
“Do you ever have thoughts of ending your life? Maybe something comes up-“
“Look, I didn’t try to kill myself. It’s just like I told the cops: there was a man with a gun on the platform, Lord Zaldig, and he-“
“Lord Zaldig?”
“Yes, and he was coming at me with a gun. So I was stepping back-“
“When did you first see Lord Zaldig Mr. James?”
“Up in the hills. He was leading some people in some sort of ritual that involved killing a goat and then they were going to kill a girl. I filed a whole report on it. You can ask the cops.”
“And this is the first time you ever saw Lord Zaldig?”
“Yes.”
“The police said the person at the service booth never saw anyone like who you describe.”
“So what? Those people are morons. They’re sitting there yakking on their cell phones when old ladies are getting robbed by teenagers.”
“Has Lord Zaldig appeared to you before? Maybe when you were a child?”
“When I was a child? What the hell—“
“Have you had some emotional trauma lately Mr. James? Something significant?”
“Are you kidding? All I’ve had is trauma lately. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“Maybe you had a break up? With someone important to you?”
“Sure I had a break up. Who gives a shit? This is serious.”
“Sometimes we can’t tell when we’re affected by something like that. The wound is too deep for us to respond in an emotionally mature way. We lash out or maybe we try to harm ourselves.”
“You’re a quack.”
A couple of cops take PB back to a holding cell and he sits there for an hour. He paces the cell. The girl from the night before may still be alive but for how long? He decides that he must get out of there by any means necessary. They bring him back to the interview room and another analyst is called in. This one is an older woman. She sits at the table, stone faced and over weight.
“How are you PB?” she asks.
“Fine. But I do think there’s been a misunderstanding here.”
“How’s that?”
“This whole falling in front of the train thing.”
“Yes. Dr. Fischer says in his report that you claim there was a man that pushed you on to the tracks?”
“He didn’t push me. In fact he doesn’t actually exist. May I be honest with you doctor?”
“Please.”
“I simply fell. I don’t know how else to put it. I was thinking about something else and next thing I know I’m down on the tracks. It’s embarrassing.”
She scrunches up her face until the doe in her cheeks is expanded out. She looks for the truth in the bags under his eyes.
“So you made up this thing about a Lord Zoblad because you were embarrassed?” she asks.
“Yes.”
She leaves him in the room by himself for some time and then an officer comes and escorts him to a clerk who explains he will probably receive a fine in the mail from Bay Area Rapid Transit.
He leaves the station and the sun is starting to go down. He runs into Officer Timmons and Officer Schelznek on the steps.
“You’re the one with the car right? The one who said some cult took it up in the hills?” asks Timmons.
“That’s right.”
“You’re in luck bro. They found it earlier today, we just got the report. No damage either. They didn’t even take the catalytic converter. You probably can still pick it up at the garage if you hurry.”
PB thanks them, goes back inside to pick up the proper paper work, and catches a bus to the north side of town where they are keeping the car in a lot. The owner of the tow company is just shutting down for the night and PB has to plead with him to get his car out before the gate gets locked. He wins the man over but not before paying $150 for the few hours the car sat in the lot.
He drives down San Pablo Ave, relieved to push an accelerator again. He goes through a Jack in the Box drive through to celebrate with a vanilla milk shake and slurps at it with all the windows down. A street light shines off a bald man’s head from the sidewalk and PB chokes on his shake and some of it spills down the front of his shirt.
He pulls over and searches between the seats for a napkin. He comes up with one in the door pocket and begins to clean the spill. He notices a logo on the paper. It reads “Flores Familia” and he remembers a restaurant by that name a few miles from his apartment that he has never been to. He wonders how the napkin got into the car. He studies the logo, a bandito with burritos in his holsters instead of guns. He decides to go by.
Flores Familia is over half full when he arrives and he lingers near the long bar with the wood paneling in back. He doesn’t know what he expected. People are filling the room with pleasant conversation and filling their bellies with beans and rice and meat. He orders a margarita. He sips and the events of the last few days play through his mind. He can still hear the cries of the dying goat in his mind. He can still see Lord Zaldig raising the dagger above his head in the moonlight.
PB is half way done with his drink when he sees a waitress make her way along the tables. She is familiar and he realizes she has a striking resemblance to the captured girl from the night before; very similar eyes with the same nose and shape and rounded face. It’s not the girl though, very close, but not the same one. He wonders if it’s just the exhaustion messing with his mind. He approaches her as the waitress heads back towards the kitchen.
“You look very familiar. Do you have a sister by any chance?” he asks.
“I don’t got no sister. You don’t know me,” the girl snaps and her brown eyes flash at him.
PB finishes his drink and goes out into the parking lot, puzzled and not sure what to do. He is almost to his car when the Lexus with the tinted side windows pulls off of the street. He doesn’t notice it until it stops next to him and the shotgun barrel is sticking out the back window directly at his head.
“See you in hell puto!” a voice says and PB waits for the flash, too tired to try to duck this time.

To be continued in Part 8.

The Adventures of PB James: The Noxious Neighbors Part 6

The Noxious Neighbors Part 6
PB is desperately trying to rip the big man’s hands from off his neck. They are falling back until they are across the carpeted floor of the book store and PB feels the wooden counter top smash into the small of his back. It hurts and he can’t breath and he claws at the big man’s face. Someone grabs his right hand and another his left, allowing the big man to step back and get enough space to shove his fist into PB’s gut.
PB is on his knees and seeing nothing but red. His lungs are crying out in vain and he heaves and puffs and tears are streaming down his face. The big man has made his way around and he grabs PB by his arms, forcing him back to his feet.
“It’s him! From last night!”
The big man’s voice is high, almost squeaky, and PB doesn’t regret hitting him in the head with a tree limb.
“Who?” the bald one asks and he steps closer, staring into PB’s face with squinted eyes.
“The one from last night. The bastard that stopped the shadow ritual. It’s him!”
PB is getting his breath back and he can focus again. There are four of them all together. Owen is standing by the book cases, a dull uninterested look on his face. PB can’t see the big guy because he’s behind him and has his arms pulled together. He can feel the man’s breath on the back of his neck. There’s another one standing to the side, a man he doesn’t recognize with long hair and a band t-shirt. The bald man stands in the center of the room with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Who are you?” the bald man asks and runs pale fingers with long finger nails through his handle bar mustache.
“A guy. I’m just a guy,” PB spits out hoarsely.
The bald man looks at the long hair and the long hair steps forward and puts another punch firmly in PB’s stomach. PB is seeing shots of light and the room has gone pink again. There is bile in his throat and he wishes he had never moved into that apartment or even into that particular town.
“Why did you interfere with the raising of the great shadow?” the bald man asks. He waits behind the mustache and everything about the man makes PB’s skin crawl.
“Where’s the girl,” PB forces out and the words are barley a whisper but still hurt in his throat.
“We ask the questions my friend,” the bald man replies.
The long hair makes his way forward again but the bald one holds up his hand and stops him in his tracks.
“Do not hit him again brother. I fear that he will keel over and vomit all over the carpet,” the bald one commands.
“Yes Lord Zaldig,” the long hair replies and steps back to his position.
PB is grateful that Lord Zaldig called off the punch and he can tell from the bald man’s face that he knows it.
“Why are you here my friend?” Lord Zaldig asks.
“I’m not saying anything until you tell me where the girl is and what you have done with my car.”
Zaldig runs the nails through the mustache again and then points towards the long hair.
“Jerry, get me the sword.”
The long hair walks around the counter and into a backroom. The rest remain silent. They all stare at PB and PB tries to stare back with as much defiance as he can muster. Jerry walks back out carrying a long medieval sword in both hands. He brings it over to Zaldig and places it in the older man’s hands ceremoniously.
“This is the sword of the Great Shadow. Do you like it?” Zaldig asks PB slyly and the lips surrounded by the mustache retract into a hideous smile.
PB is about to reply when the door to the store opens and an eleven year old kid walks in. The boy strolls around the books shelves and directly into the ongoing interrogation.
“Do you guys have the whole Harry Potter series in paper back?” the kid asks and scans the room through thick glasses, waiting to be helped.
“The door is not locked?” Zaldig mutters accusingly at the big man as he lowers the sword to the side. He turns towards the boy “Young sir, we are closed at this moment. I believe we can get the collection put together for you if you can come back another time.”
Zaldig has placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and is leading him back towards the door. Jerry the long hair is staring at PB with a look of impending violence and PB very much hopes that Jerry was one of the people wearing a cloak that got hit with the tree branch the night before.
“Loki? Do you have your key?” Zaldig calls from the front of the store.
The big man grunts at Owen and Owen steps forward to take over as PB’s keeper. The big guy let’s go of PB’s arms and it is like being released from a vice. PB can feel the blood begin to flow through his veins again. He feels his head start to clear and immediately he throws himself against Owen, pushing the other man back into Jerry. PB is around the counter before either of them has regained their footing and he is through the back room and into the alley behind the store before any one has made chase.
His lungs are burning and feel like they are full of hot liquid. He doesn’t see the garbage cans or stacks of cardboard boxes that he is dodging; he only sees the mouth of the alley that leads to the street. He hears a cry behind him and glances back to see Jerry and Owen bursting out of the back door in pursuit. He is going to beat them and PB almost smiles before he sees that the big guy Loki take position at the alley’s entrance.
The big guy has spread his arms like he is preparing for a large affectionate hug. PB enters the radius of Loki’s extended arm span and the big man brings them together, forcing his prey towards his chest. PB let’s the arms close in around him and then throws his foot up into Loki’s crotch. A high cry emits from Loki’s lips with a gurgle and the giant crumbles to the cement at PB’s feet.
PB throws another kick to the big man’s chest and then he is out in the open, dodging pedestrians and tearing across the street in hopes of losing the remaining pursuers. A car screeches to a stop in front of him and another honks but he is oblivious in his desperation. He wants a cop but comes to a train station entrance first and ducks down the stairs to take refuge below.
He’s slowing down at the foot of the stairs and tries to catch his breath, the sweat dripping off of him and soaking through his clothes. He goes through the turnstile and down to the platform. The station is desolate, only a few scattered figures waiting for a train. He scans for a police officer of some kind and pulls his phone to call 911. There is no reception in the underground station and he curses as he walks off the adrenalin.
He can a hear a train making it’s way down the tube in the distance and decides he will get aboard and escape downtown for the time being. He is relieved to have made a decision and leans against a pillar to wipe the sweat off his fore head and out of his eyes. Now that his breathing has slowed and the adrenalin is draining from his blood he can feel the fear making its way to the surface. He hadn’t had a chance until this moment to realize how terrified he is.
The terror is in his arms and hands and stomach but then shoots up into his throat when he sees Lord Zaldig approaching from across the platform. The bald man has donned his long black rain coat that flaps around his legs as he walks. PB is sure the coat is simply to hide the blade of the shadow sword and he pushes himself away from the pillar and circles towards the platform’s edge.
He will simply make like he’s getting on the train and then break for an exit. He can jump a turnstile. Maybe the booth operator will notice and call the police. The cops will come and arrest the bald man. They will free the girl from where these fiends have her prisoner. They will locate and return PB’s car.
He continues to step backwards but keeps both eyes on the bald man who approaches slowly, slyly. Lord Zaldig’s mouth stretches back into a terrible smile again and his hand silthers its way out of the coat slowly, slyly. The approaching train is blaring its horn from down the tube and PB’s heart skips a beat and a half when he spots the gun in the bald man’s hand.
The scrapping of the train’s wheels along the tracks is gaining in volume and Lord Zaldig is extending the gun with the long silver barrel towards PB. PB is stepping back, back, back along the platform. He is anticipating the bullet coming out of the gun. He is waiting for the flash. He will drop then he will roll and he will get away but he has run out of room to retreat and he falls helplessly backwards after stepping off the platform.
He falls into the dirt and grime between the tracks and the whole world is filled with the deafening roar and the rumble of the approaching train. PB is shocked and confused and can’t understand where he is. All he sees is the bright light of the train as it bears down on top of him.

To be continued in Part 7

The Adventures of PB James: The Noxious Neighbors Part 5

The Noxious Neighbors Part 5
He is through the gate and up the stairs and it is clear that the screams are coming from the neighbor’s apartment. He tries the knob and the door swings open, revealing a laundry room that leads out to a hall way. The screams come rushing back, close now. He throws himself down the hall and he’s briefly in a small living room before finding himself in a bedroom with Ellie standing pushed up against the wall. She stops screaming the instant he enters.
“What the hell is going on?!” PB demands.
Ellie’s face is white as a sheet and all she can do is point into the closet. He makes his way across the room and over to the closet door. There is a box lying on the floor of the closet and inside is a dead raccoon.
“God damn. You’re boyfriend is into some sick shit,” he says.
“I don’t know what do.”
She leaves the room in tears and PB is left with the box and the raccoon. He puts the top back on the box and joins her in the living room where she is lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers.
“I knew I noticed a smell but I wasn’t sure,” she says “This morning I couldn’t stand it. It was horrible. I thought it was in the kitchen but then I really started looking-“
She trails off and takes a deep hit of her cigarette. The smoke and the crying have combined into hiccups which come out as little squeaks between drags. PB leaves her there on the couch and returns to the bedroom where he retrieves the box. He takes it behind the building and disposes of it in the dumpster. He returns to the apartment and Ellie is still pale but much more composed.
“Do you know what Owens’s involved in?” he asks her.
“No.”
“It’s not pretty. It’s some sort of gang led by a bald psychotic. They almost killed a girl up in the hills last night.”
“What girl?”
“I don’t know. A Spanish girl. They were going to kill her and Owen was involved.”
He expects her to ask how he knows this but she just lights another cigarette. He’s still exhausted but his own mind is asking a million questions.
“Did Owen come home last night?” he asks.
“I didn’t know he left. I was at work.”
“Where is he now?”
“At work I guess.”
“Where’s that?”
“Downtown Berkeley on Shattuck. It’s called The Hobbit Hole.”
“Does he have an older friend that’s bald?”
“He has friends on the Internet. Not one’s I’ve met.”
Part of him just wants to go next door and go to sleep but a bigger part of him is curious and an even bigger part of PB is scared. The fear won’t let him rest and he knows he has no choice but to go where the fear demands.
“You said the Hobbit Hole right?” he asks and heads to the door without waiting for an answer.
“Wait!” Ellie is on her feet and is stubbing the cigarette out “Can I stay in your place? I don’t feel safe here.”
He nods and lets her into his apartment which still sits neglected and full of boxes. He leaves her there and catches the train a few blocks away. He gets off at Downtown Berkeley and makes his way up out of the subway station. He only walks two blocks before spotting the Hobbit Hole.
It is a tiny books store in the mid way point of a block. He stalks it from the other side and observes the windows with the books and the green door and the wooden sign with the little gnomb painted on it. He crosses the street at the next block and slowly makes his way back to the store, entering through the door.
Business seems to be slow, besides PB there is only one other customer in the store. PB makes his way through the rows of book shelves and spots Owen standing behind the counter reading a magazine. PB makes as if he is browsing and looks over the titles on the shelves. It all is mostly comic books and fantasy novels. He makes it to the well stocked occult section before he hears the door swing open and a fourth person enter the store.
He peers over the shelves and spots the bald man with the handle bar mustache make his way up to the counter. He is no longer in his crimson cloak; he floats across the wooden floor in a black raincoat even though there are no clouds in the sky outside. The bald man consults quietly with Owen and then Owen is coming around the counter and making his way towards the occult section. PB feels all the muscles in his body tense up.
“Excuse me.”
PB is acting like he is engrossed in the titles on the shelf and doesn’t turn to look directly at Owen.
“Excuse me sir. We’re going to be closing for lunch. Feel free to come back after 1pm and make a selection then.”
Owen speaks flat and dull, like a robot. PB nods and follows the other customer out the door. He makes a right to get back to the train and almost walks head first into another pedestrian. He steps back to apologize and looks into the face of a giant, bruised along the right side where he was hit by a blunt object the night before. PB is looking into the giant’s eyes and he sees the spark in the pupils when the recognition hits the other man’s mind.
PB is thinking about which way to run when the giant’s hands are around his neck and he is being shoved through the door way and back into the store.

To be continued in Part 6.

Outside Lands: By Stan Clemons

This post has been provided by contributing journalist Stan Clemons and does not reflect the views or overall opinions of Dublin's World.

My mood and over all outlook on life had all gone sour as I walked up and down the streets of San Francisco, my forehead ablaze with exertion and irritation, not a cab in sight. As I trudged on with sweat streaming between my shoulder blades and down my temples I found other desperate people doing trying to catch a ride as well. They stood on countless corners and thorough fares at 3 o’clock on a Friday afternoon and looked determined and grim.
"How long have you been trying to find a cab?" I would ask.
"An hour."
"45 minutes."
"Two hours."
The reports were not good and we all looked at each other suspiciously, aware that we all wanted the same thing and that we were all close to the point of doing anything to obtain it.
"I've never seen it like this," one girl lamented.
"Outside Lands. Everybody's a passenger going to the park," a portly middle aged man explained.
Outside Lands. 130,000 people were headed out to Golden Gate Park for three sold out days of music art, and booze, and even though I was also one of these people, and even though I had a press pass, I couldn't help but think this was all such a pain in the ass.
Now remember, stalking the streets for an hour and a half in the relatively hot August sun will put anybody in a bad mood. Mine subsided slightly when a compact and cheerful Chinese cabbie rescued me from the corner of Sutter and Mason. He confided that he had already been out to the park once and didn't like the idea of going back but would help me out. He'd help me out by doing his job? Thanks. Appreciated. My mood took a slight swing back to the worst.
I explained that I needed to get to 41st and Lincoln to get in the media entrance and he said: "no problem, no problem. We're here now." He left me at 41st and what he said was Lincoln. I saw no entrance of any kind and it wasn't until I reached the next cross street that I realized I was on Fulton, not Lincoln. I cursed the cabbie a loud and began to hoof it, looking for a means into the festival.
I should mention at this point that I had bought a new pair of shoes the day previous and it was this pair that I was wearing as I stomped up Fulton. They were wingtips and slightly too small and at that point I could already feel the blisters forming along the heel and above the big toe. I felt like my feet were bound tight and every step was torture. I could hear a man crying out for the crowd to make some noise on a far off stage as I approached. The crowd responded with a mild cheer and I hated them all. My feet were turning into little bruised nubs and I felt like I would end the day with hoofs.
I reached the entrance to the festival and got on the phone, letting the bruised hoofs sit and take a break. An hour later a representative met me at the main gate, established my credentials, and I was inside.
Two things I noticed right away: 1) Outside Lands is full of Caucasians and 2) college age girls seem to really love head bands. Everywhere I looked: head bands. It's sort of this Pocahontas meets Flash Dance thing and I had no idea it was so big. I walked by the Sutro Stage first and it was MGMT wailing away up there. I had forgotten how much I enjoy their music.
I went to the Barbary Tent and saw The Shotgun Wedding Quintet do a few short sets in between burlesque and circus acts. Two girls wearing limited clothing would come out and swing swords around, a guy would join them with a whip, they would all stage fight for a while, and it was entertaining as hell. Some Australians took the stage at one point, a man and a woman. They had whips as well and juggled swords on unicycles. The man claimed he had 5 world records including the one for holding the most weight attached to an eye lid.
I watched a pretty little female comedian come out and imitate Asian pop singers, Lady Gaga, Michael Jackson, and a few dozen different versions of douchey men. I enjoyed it but it made me wonder how long the cute little white girls doing borderline racist (or just straight up racist) humor thing is going to last. Sarah Silverman got old for me a while ago, don't know about you.
The Shotgun Wedding Quintet played another set and then left. Having no other place to go and no one else I knew there at the time I decided to follow. They walked passed the food vendors and the rave tents and up to Fun Land, the VIP liquor garden. P-Dub had some drinks as did Adam Theis, as did Jon Monahan, and as did Dublin. Now most of my readers know my feelings about Dublin but if you don't I'll be brief: I can't stand him.
It’s not something I can totally explain. He just rubs me the wrong way. I appreciate him allowing me to present some of my writing on Dublin’s World but other than that; I really don’t care for him. Anyway, he had a couple of drinks and began to make comments I found offensive. After another round I couldn't take it any more and left Fun Land. I wandered out to the main stage and found some middle aged men playing music for the girls with head bands. I recognized the red headed front man and realized the men were the band Phish. Something about that scene was offensive as well. Or maybe I just don't get it. Whatever.
The sun was going down and my feet hurt so I returned to Fun Land and had a few rounds by myself. I was feeling light headed at this point, having not consumed any food in quite a while, but I followed a migration of twenty something’s and head bands to the Butro stage to see Big Boi from Outcast. There was a migration passing opposite my migration who had already waited some hours for Big Boi and had given up. My group pressed on.
Another hour passed as I sat in there in the crowd and I was starting to catch a chill. I remembered my press pass and used it to get back stage where I was told Big Boi’s DJ’s computer had died and there would be no way for them to go ahead with the performance. The manager went out on stage and announced the cancellation and a huge hostile cry went up from the crowd. It was the most reaction I had heard from any of the crowds that day and it made me recall what a performer friend had said about San Francisco once: “too cool for school. Worst audience ever.” I’m not saying I agree but it was interesting how reserved the audiences were that day, or at least until they had something negative to react to.
I found the back stage beer tent and began to swallow one after another. My feet were feeling more and more hoof like but the alcohol was helping. I was drinking my third by one of the trailers when the trailer door opened and woman emerged surrounded by two men. She was decked out in a long coat and wide hat and it took me a moment to recognize that she was Erika Badu. I stumbled after them and drank the beer by the stage as she performed. Once again the audience was mostly reserved but her performance was marvelous. I have been in love with her for many years and the crush continues.
After the show I wandered aimlessly until I was back near the Barbary Tent. The tent was closed for the night but the grove of trees that surrounded it were all lit up by colored lights and it was pleasant and slightly surreal. There were very few people left in the park and those that were still there scampered about doing their tasks and I minded my own business.
I was near the outskirts of the festival when a woman approached from the trees. She was older, hippiesh. She had a cup of something and she held it daintily in her grip and looked at me.
“You look thirsty,” she said.
I tried to reply but no words came and I realized she was right. I was so dehydrated that my mouth was too dry to work. She handed over the cup and I took a mighty swig. It was tea of some kind and my parched lips cried out in for more so I turned the cup outside down until it was completely drained.
“Not the whole thing you fucking asshole!” she cried and snatched the cup back.
She wandered off into the trees and I made my way back through the deserted tents and dark stages until I was back where the trees were lit up by the colored lights. The lights seemed to be glowing more now and I suddenly realized what I needed to do: remove my shoes. I took them off and put them down on the grass next to me and that was the last I saw of them because that, my friends, is the moment that everything changed.
There was light mostly, everywhere. And faces that smiled. The smiles were happy, to the point of being maniacal, and I was surrounded by them. I was walking but I couldn’t feel my body and I tried to hide from the light in the leaves of the forest floor but the light was too strong until I realized the sun was up and I needed to accept it. People were everywhere and the Black Keys were playing and then they weren’t and then I was in the Barbary Tent and Shotgun was playing and then they weren’t. People were eating kabobs and I couldn’t get over how the kabob was invented or who had discovered it and I went around asking people and nobody seemed to care. OK Go was playing and then they weren’t. I fell in love with a girl and she was the only one in the world that understood me until she disappeared and I started to question if she had ever existed in the first place. Then it was night again I was looking for the place where the trees were aglow in light and couldn’t find it anywhere and I was worried that I had no home and the tears were streaming down my face. Someone tried to comfort me but I didn’t want them to and I returned to the forest and the leaves and then all was black.

I woke up and there was a familiar face looking down at me. The face had a mustache and the top of the head was bald with long scraggly hair surrounding the baldness.
“Are you OK?” he asked.
I couldn’t tell. My skull felt kicked in and my face was on fire and I was hungry but other than that I seemed alright.
“Have The Roots played yet?” I asked.
“That was yesterday,” someone said.
“No it wasn’t. They play on Saturday.”
“Today is Sunday,” the familiar face said and I realized it was Gallagher the comedian.
I stood up and tried to gather myself. We were in the area behind the Barbary Tent where the stage hands stored the props and the equipment. Who knows how long I had been sleeping there. I went to a porta potty and looked into the piece of glass that served as a mirror in the door. My face was sunburned and there were leaves in my hair. I had missed the entire festival. Or had I?
I went back out and Gallagher was still standing there. I asked him how long I had been lying in that spot and he said for as long as he had been there. I asked if he was performing and he replied that he was about to go on.
“To smash fruit?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“How did that all come about anyway? That act?”
I was genuinely curious.
“I added it to the end of a poem that I do. It was supposed to be part of the performance of the poem. But all anybody cares about is the smashing of the fruit.”
“Have you ever heard of Black Gallagher?” I asked and with that Gallagher was gone, either offended by my question or at a loss for words. He disappeared into the tent and soon there were cries of joy coming from inside as pieces of corn chips and hot dogs and watermelon began to spray into the crowd.
I had enough at that point and I wandered, still barefoot, passed the tent and beyond the booths and out passed the fence. I walked along the street that crosses through the park and my feet were gray from the asphalt. I caught a cab back to downtown where I caught a train to Antioch, which is where I live, and I got in my bed trying to remember how to sleep.
I had to wait a few days before jotting this report down because everything remained scrambled and incomprehensible in my mind. Now that I feel mostly normal again I would like to drop a few random notes of things that come to mind after the fact. These are memories that are still a bit foggy and were hidden in the recesses of my mind after I consumed the old woman’s tea:

-the Jazz Mafia and friends performing acoustic in the main field. I remember Danny Grewen playing the trombone. I remember Doug Rowan playing the saxophone. Danny Brown was there and so was Joel Ryan. They were playing their hearts out and I could see the music.

-men on stilts calling out to me. They were always looking down at me. They all resembled my father.

-Latyrx playing on stage. Lyrics Born was rapping and Lateef was rapping and I wanted to raise my arms but I couldn’t because I was worried exposing my armpits would allow the bad energy to enter me. They played the song “Latyrx” and I realized it was the greatest song ever made. The Jazz Mafia Strings were backing them up and Joe Begale and Chris McGee were singing with Joyo Valarde and I was overjoyed.

-Dublin’s mustache. At one point I remember it following me around, just the mustache by itself.

What’s the moral of the story? Does it have a moral? I suppose one lesson would be that one should never drink from an old lady’s tea cup if one does not know what’s inside. Another could be that it is always better to go with comfort then to follow the whims of fashion and end up with uncomfortable shoes and a head band on. All that I know it that Outside Lands was an experience, not good or bad, just an experience, and that I have grown as a person from it.
This is Stan Clemons signing off.

-August 16th 2011

Exclusive: Stan Clemons Covering Outside Lands!

We have just recieved word this morning that Stan Clemons, part time editor and contributor to the West Contra Costa County Business Times,is going head first into this year’s Outside Lands music festival in Golden Gate Park. He will attend all three days and try to catch as much music and art as he possibly can including The Shotgun Wedding Quintet, Latryx, and others.

Join us here for his exclusive report.

-August 11, 2011

The Adventures of PB James: The Noxious Neighbors Part 4

The Noxious Neighbors Part 4
Two of the people in cloaks have dragged the girl over to the bald man and have thrown her to his feet. She is trying to scream but the gag in her mouth refuses to let the sounds carry beyond her lips. Everything is moving slowly. PB is seeing it all before him but his mind denies that it is happening. He refuses to except that he is witnessing a murder.
The bald man has begun to chant again and the circle around him is repeating the words. The girl lies at his feet, her hands tied behind her back, her head twisting left and right in terror. The bald man screams the words at the moon and the dagger reappears from his cloak. The girl stares up and she no longer moves, she can only watch the flames reflect off the blade.
PB is running towards a tree by the cliff ledge and before he realizes it he’s ripping a low limb off the trunk. It comes off easily but it is long and heavy and he throws the newly freed limb on to his shoulder and turns back towards the fire. He is not in a panic because everything is still moving slowly. The cloaked figures are still chanting, they do not notice his approach.
He drops the limb from his shoulder and lets it drag on the ground as he closes in. He can see now that the cloaks are dark crimson, not black like they had appeared from the bush. The only faces he can see clearly in the fire light are those of the bald man and the girl on the ground. The bald man has the dagger in both hands and has raised it above his head, the blade looking down at the girl hungrily. PB is running now, ten feet away from the circle, the tree limb lifting off of the ground.
He hits two of them with one swing, the branch smacking them across the back of their hoods. They are falling over each other and PB enters the circle through the hole. He doesn’t know if he’s going to make it out, all he wants to do is hit the bald head with the branch. He lunges forward and swings the branch above his head. His momentum is unstoppable.
The eyes of bald man have shifted in PB’s direction and he is no longer chanting. PB brings the tree limb around and let’s go, the heavy end propelling towards the clean cranium that shines in the fire light. The bald man ducks and shifts out of the way and PB is cursing. He feels someone on his heels and swings the branch around, catching another cloaked member in the chest. Crimson cloaks are fluttering around everywhere. The smoke from the fire is mixing with the dust and PB is swinging the tree branch wildly.
“Let’s go!” he screams at the girl.
She is rolling on the ground but can’t get up with her hands tied behind her back. PB realizes this and curses again. There is distance between he and the hoods now and he lets the branch fall as he reaches down and grabs the girl under her armpits. She’s surprisingly light and the adrenalin in PB’s arms has her hoisted up on her feet in one toss.
“Run God damn it!”
She is not listening or moving, she is watching one of the cloaked men come towards her. He’s huge, with hulking shoulders that are stretching the cloak around his wide neck. PB sees him too now and snatches the tree limb from the ground as the big man bares down on them. PB is in a half crouch and he has just enough time to swing the branch up and crack the end of it across the giant’s face. The hood has flown off with the blow and PB watches the eyes go dumb on the wide face as the big man falls back onto the bloody rock.
PB and the girl are running for their lives now, flying off the edge of the field and scrambling down the rocks. The girl is quick and nimble, launching herself from rock to rock in her bare feet with her hands still tied behind her. They get into the canyon and PB’s breath is solid, burning his lungs like he’s breathing ammonia. He doesn’t notice that the gag has worked its way out of the girl’s mouth.
“Diablo!” she screams “Diablo!”
The have reached the road and even with the adrenalin pumping PB feels his legs turning to rubber. He is almost to his car and realizes he’s lost the girl. He turns around and can see her down the street, running in the opposite direction. He gets in the car and rips out of the gravel and dirt onto the road, determined to snatch the girl and escape with both of their lives.
He has her in his headlights until she runs off the shoulder and into the trees beyond. PB jumps out of the car with the motor on and chases her. Its pitch black under the trees and he stops in his tracks, trying in vain to spot her. He stands still and listens but it’s only his heart beat in his ears.
He hears the sound of his car’s motor as it accelerates and drives off. He runs to the road but the car is long gone and all he can see is empty asphalt in the faint moonlight. He has no choice but to walk the way he came and he scans the shoulder for cloaked figures, wishing he still he had the tree branch.
The sun is coming up when he gets within a block of the apartment. Instead of going home he catches a bus and makes his way to the police station were he goes inside and announces to the woman behind the glass that: “My car was stolen and I almost witnessed a murder.”
Two uniformed officers are summoned, Officer Timmons and Officer Schelznek, and after doing a brief interview they drive PB up into the hills to the place where that morning’s fracas had occurred. PB leads the two men up through the canyon and over the rocks to the field above. There is nothing but trampled grass and the black mark of dead bon fire.
“You say they killed a goat?” Officer Timmons asks.
“Yes. Right there. The guy got its blood all over this big flat rock.”
“What rock?” asks Officer Schelznek.
“I don’t know. It’s gone now.”
All three men climb back down to the road and the police officers drive PB to his apartment where, after getting the model and make of his stolen car, they leave him. PB watches them drive away and he is exhausted. He walks back towards his apartment, the idea of his bed the only thought in his head. He is almost to the gate when the screaming begins.

To be continued in Part 5.

The Adventures of PB James: The Noxious Neighbors Part 3

The Noxious Neighbors Part 3
PB waits around the corner of the building for Owen to walk to his car on the street. He hears the car start and then he runs to his own rusty Honda to begin the pursuit. The adrenalin is making its way through his veins but he can’t help but feel slightly foolish. For all he knows Owen is making a late night snack run or an emergency trip to the store.
The clock on his dashboard says it is two twenty two in the morning. The break lights of the Volkswagen look like two evil eyes staring back into the night. PB follows them cautiously, staying an even one hundred feet behind as Owen drives off of the city streets and up into the hills above the east bay. There are no other cars on the road and PB is worried the other man will easily notice the tail. The unrelenting curiosity and worry from the last twenty four hours spur him on and keep him navigating the car up into the hills, staring into the two evil red eyes.
Owen’s car pulls over onto a dirt turnout on the side of the road and PB continues passed him and watches the rearview as the headlights of the Volkswagen turn off behind him. He continues to drive until he gets to an extended shoulder along the road and he turns the car around. He waits for a few moments, keeping an eye on the rearview for any on coming cars and then eases the car forward and down the road until he can see Owen’s parked car in his headlights. He pulls over and parks as well.
He approaches the car slowly, walking along the asphalt almost on his tip toes. When he gets within fifteen feet of Owen’s car he pauses, dropping down to a crouch. He can see from the light of the half moon that the car is empty and he looks along the shoulder for some kind of movement. He sees nothing but he can hear a noise, what sounds like the rustling of fabric, and he creeps along the shoulder and into the high grass off of the road.
He crouches again and he can see Owen under the trees just ahead of him. It’s hard to make out in the darkness but it looks as if Owen is pulling some sort of bag or shroud over himself. He has the thing completely around him and then pulls what looks to be a hood over his head. He straightens and flattens the shroud around his body and then walks quickly on passed the trees and PB follows closely and quietly behind.
They make their way up through a shallow canyon, one man slinking along like a hooded ghoul, the other stepping gingerly along, one foot after the other, trying to keep his heavy breathing controlled and inaudible. The canyon goes uphill between two rocky cliffs. There is a trail but PB can not make it out in the darkness, he simply follows the ghostly shape in front of him and pauses behind bushes momentarily. The trail becomes rocky as it reaches the summit between the two cliffs and PB is climbing the rocks almost vertical, trying to make out the shape above him.
He is at the top and he finds himself looking into a field. There is a bon fire burning in the middle of the field but it is obscured by a line of cloaked figures that surround it. There is one cloaked figure standing outside the circle and PB thinks it must be Owen. PB crawls through the field on his belly, trying to keep his body below the high grass and out of the light coming from the fire. The same low hum that was keeping him awake at night is now coming from the circle of cloaked figures but the volume is increased ten fold.
He crawls all the way to a clump of overgrown bushes that sit thirty feet beyond the fire. He slowly sits up and peers through the sharp leaves. He watches and one of the cloaked figures breaks from the others and steps into the circle. The figure holds up one of his arms and the low hum stops instantly. He points the arm towards Owen and the circle breaks, allowing Owen to enter. Owen removes his hood and the other man does as well, revealing a bald head and a face whose thin mouth is surrounded by dark black handle bar mustache.
“How is your progress in the raising of your shadow?” the bald man bellows at Owen.
“Not good. I have failed but I came close.” Owen replies.
The bald man’s eyes converge into a squint. He nods solemnly.
“Did you read from the book?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Did you draw the symbol?”
“Yes.”
“Did you use the blood of an animal?”
“I found one dead on the road and used it.”
“It was already dead?”
“Yes.”
The bald man laughs heartily into the flames between them.
“Well, there’s your problem,” he motions with his hand and three of the other figures break away from the circle “Will you join us as we raise the night shadow now?”
Owen nods and pulls the hood back over his head. He joins the rest of the figures in the far side of the circle and the three that had broken away return lugging a large flat rock into the circle and place it next to the fire. A fourth person brings up the rear pulling a small goat by a rope wrapped around its neck.
The bald man takes the rope and drags the goat over to the flat rock. He holds the goats between his legs and the goat braes and screams out into the night. PB can feel a long line of sweat making its way down his back. He is confused and frightened and wants to run but he can not look away. The bald man begins to bellow out strange words and the circle repeats them, one after another. The words are grotesque and ugly but they are no language that PB can identify.
The bald man pulls a large dagger from out of his cloak and holds it up to the moon. He begins to scream the words, saliva spurting out from his lips and dissolving into the fire. The goat is screaming and the circle is repeating the words. The bald man is hysterical and brandishing the knife and then he reaches down with the goat between his legs and slices open the animal’s throat. He holds the riving goat’s head steady so that the blood splatters and covers the flat rock.
PB tastes bile in his throat. He begins to crawl backwards, away from the bush. He looks out into the field, trying to spot the crushed grass of his earlier route. He lies down and begins to make his way slowly in the general direction of the trail down to the valley. He will go home and he will finish the tequila. He will sleep until morning and then he will go out and find a new place to live. He will forget this night and all of its freakiness.
A human scream stops him. He can’t move. He turns around and crawls back to the bush and he looks through the leaves. Two of the cloaked figures have dragged a young woman into the circle and they are pulling a gag over her head and into her mouth. The bald man is raising the dagger and says:
“Now let us spill the blood of the sinful and raise the night shadow!”

To be continued in Part 4.

The Adventures of PB James: The Noxious Neighbors Part 2

The Noxious Neighbors Part 2
He raps his knuckles against the door and immediately everything is quiet and still. The light is no longer pulsing from under the door. There is no low hum coming through the walls and there are no screams. He raises his hand to knock again but pauses, concerned that what he heard was just a television that has now turned off. He will look a fool in his first meeting with the neighbors. The droplets of red liquid that still sit on the stairs leading up to the landing confirm the strangeness of the night and the sudden silence makes the fear creep up his skin and catch in his throat.
He retreats back to his own apartment and locks the door. It’s cold in the room and he’s sweating. He goes into the kitchen and grabs his phone off the coffee table, the only piece of furniture he owns. The fear lingers and it has him handling his phone and contemplating calling the police. What would he say? There were some screams. Could it have been a television? Yes. I just moved in you see but I have a feeling, a feeling that something evil is going on in the next room.
He places the phone back on the coffee table and returns himself to the mattress where he takes down a gulp of tequila straight from the bottle before settling back down. He doesn’t rest but when the sun is finally coming up through the window he is asleep.

The next morning he makes some coffee on the stove and after drinking it he realizes he has no choice but to approach the neighbors again. The sounds from the night before are haunting him. The memory of the screaming sits in his ears.
He goes out into the hall and the red liquid has disappeared. The stairs are clean, cleaner than they were the day before. He almost second guesses himself again but forces his hand up and the knuckles against the door. A moment is passing but he can hear the footfalls inside the neighbor’s apartment as someone approaches the door. It swings open and a girl stands in the doorway.
She’s a pretty girl but her face is a bit too full and her eyes are weighed down by the eyelids which make her look dull. The skin on her face is very pale and she looks tired and washed out. Her hair is brown and limply surrounds the round face.
“What?” she says.
“I’m your new neighbor,” PB replies.
She nods.
“Did you happen to hear anything kind of weird last night?” he asks.
“Like what?”
“Kind of like screaming. And a washing machine.”
“I don’t think so.”
Her dull face is a blank and it makes him feel stupid. He steps back towards his own door and awkwardly waves to her.
“Well, sorry. Have a good day.”
He closes the door on the dull face. Some people you connect with and some you don’t he supposes. He begins to dig through the boxes looking for something to eat and there’s a knock on the door. He opens it and is surprised to find the girl standing there, still dull. She walks by him into the apartment and stands in the middle of the studio among the boxes and the mattress.
“You heard screaming last night?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t at home. I was at work.”
She looks down at PB’s scattered processions and sees the tequila bottle lying by itself next to the mattress, three quarters empty.
“Can I have some of that?” she asks.
He digs the other shot glass out of the box and pours one for her as well as himself.
“I was working but my boyfriend was here,” she says and sips her shot.
“Does he scream at night?”
“I don’t know. He has been acting weird though.”
“How?”
“Just weird. I work at the senior home at night and I sleep during the day and sometimes I’ll wake up and he’s just sitting there, not saying anything.”
PB doesn’t know the boyfriend so he doesn’t know if that’s weird or not.
“What’s his name?” he asks.
“Owen.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ellie.”
PB can’t really think of anything to say beyond that.
“The apartment smells strange too,” she says.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, just kind of weird. Like sulfur or something but really salty.”
Her description of the smell is disturbing. PB can’t think of what would create a smell like that.
“Have you talked to him about this? About the smell and how he acts?”
She shakes her head.
“Is there anything I can do? To help I mean,” he asks and immediately feels stupid.
She takes what he says and seems to weigh it for a moment before downing the rest of her shot and placing the empty glass on the carpet.
“Thanks but I think I just wanted someone to talk to about it. Welcome to the building.”
She goes out the door and PB watches her leave.
That night he sleeps on the mattress and dreams of the apartment next door and it is horrifying. The main room and the kitchen are just like his but the walls are covered in blood. There is a wide variety of snakes and potato bugs crawling through the carpet and on the linoleum. Ellie is in the kitchen and she is naked but it’s not sexy or erotic, it’s disturbing. She is acting processed, dancing madly around the kitchen and stepping on the insects.
The dream shatters. The walls are humming and the sound has woken him up again. This time he jumps up and gets dressed immediately, rushing around half blind. He gets to the door and the humming stops. He stands perfectly still, waiting.
He hears the door across the hall unlock and open and he looks through the peephole and sees who he assumes is Owen make his way out and with a backpack strapped to him. He’s a little shorter than PB and his hair is cut short with a scraggly beard of grown out peach fuzz that lines his jaw line. Owen makes his way down the stairs and out the gate. For a reason that he can't give at that moment, PB slips out his own door and down the stairs in pursuit.


To be continued in Part 3.

A Conversation on Film between Dublin and Robert Fong: Reservoir Dogs

(Dublin and Robert Fong met up on a furlough day and watched a film together. This time Robert Fong picked the movie)

D: Reservoir Dogs? I’ve seen it.
RF: So have I.
D: Shouldn’t we watch something neither of us has seen?
RF: F**k that. This movie is the sh*t.

(They watch the movie)

RF: So?
D: What?
RF: What did you think?
D: I’ve seen it before. What can I say?
RF: Say what you thought when you saw it?
D: When I first saw it? Or what I thought just now?
RF: How about when you first saw it.
D: Well that was like fifteen years ago so it’s kind of tough. But I know it f**ked me up.
RF: What do you mean f**ked you up?
D: Well, it’s gruesome. I mean the guy is sitting in a thick red pool of blood the whole time. It’s disgusting.
RF: It’s real.
D: What does that mean? It’s real?
RF: That’s how people bleed when they get shot in the stomach.
D: Oh yeah? I didn’t know you ran across people when they’re shot in the stomach. That’s interesting Bob.

D: For some reason Harvey Kietel annoys me.
RF: Watch it buddy. That’s the Bad Lieutenant you’re talking about.
D: Why does he have to get all in the blood with Tim Roth? You know what I mean? I know he feels bad about the guy getting shot but does he have to roll around in the blood like that? It’s gross.
RF: The two guys are bonded. He’s trying to help the guy.
D: By rolling around in the blood? It’s disgusting. Plus what’s with the little whine he does at the end before the cops bust in.
RF: He just got shot. People have a tendency to whine when they get shot.

RF: What’s your favorite part?
D: I don’t know. I kind of like the scene where Tim Roth tells the story about the weed and it changes location six times. I like when he’s saying it to the cops in the bathroom. It kind of breaks the moment from the tough guy bulls**t and becomes surreal for a moment. I’d forgotten about that.
RF: I like the part where Michael Madsen chops the ear off.
D: Of course you do.
RF: It’s horrible. I know that. But it’s funny too. When he chops off the ear he talks into it. That’s f**king hilarious.
D: That’s what’s horrible about it.
RF: Exactly. Its f**king horrible because Michael Madsen is so cool and charming-
D: And a psychopath.
RF: Right.

D: Why did you want to watch this?
RF: I don’t know. It’s been years and it’s one of my favorite movies.
D: Don’t you think it’s kind of weird that there’s no women in it?
RF: Why?
D: I’m just pointing out a fact.
RF: That’s bullsh*t. There are women in it!
D: When?
RF: The chick that shot Tim Roth. She was a woman!
D: C’mon. She was in it for three seconds tops.
RF: I’m just pointing out that your f**king fact is in fact false.
D: Fine.

RF: I give that movie two thumbs up. It’s a f**king masterpiece!
D: Well you’re going to have to explain that one. You can’t just go around calling things masterpieces.
RF: Why are you so against it? This movie changed film.
D: How’s that?
RF: You don’t know s**t. This movie broke open a whole independent movement in the nineties. This was huge.
D: Maybe so. But does that make it a masterpiece?
RF: Look what you said. You said it f**ked you up.
D: Right.
RF: That’s the sign of a good film.
D: Is it?
RF: Yes! Tarintino knew what he was doing. He was taking the audience for a ride. He knew he was f**king them up.
D: Maybe so. I don’t know.
RF: Yes!
D: Well how do you feel after the movie is over?
RF: Like I just went on a crazy a** ride.
D: Anything else?
RF: What the f**k do you feel?
D: Nothing really. That’s the problem. Shouldn’t we leave a movie and take something from it?
RF: What the f**k is your problem? Did you like it the second time?
D: Sure.
RF: Were you entertained?
D: Yes. It was entertaining.
RF: Bam! Here’s a movie that you’ve seen before and you’re still entertained. That’s the sign of a great movie.
D: Hmm…

(November 2010. El Cerrito CA)

The Adventures of PB James: The Noxious Neighbors: Part 1

The Noxious Neighbors: Part 1
He carries the last box of books up the stairs to the new apartment and he puts them down on the landing so he can unlock the door. He pulls the key and swings the door open and he looks at the four walls of the cramped studio and feels…. he doesn’t know. Loneliness perhaps? Definitely sadness. He feels the end of something but feels no new beginning and that is painful.
He turns around in the doorway to pick up the box and eyes the door to the neighbor’s apartment. The new apartment is in a duplex built above a Peruvian restaurant. There is only he and the neighbors in the building. He hasn’t met them yet. He doesn’t want to. The one good thing he expects now that he has his own place is total solitude. He will read and eat food and watch television (once he gets one) and mind his own business. He thinks that is all he wants. What he knows is that he wants a drink.
He goes through one of the fifteen or twenty boxes that lie on the carpet of the apartment and digs out the bottle of tequila. He goes through another box and comes up with a shot glass. He drinks two shots in a row there on the carpet and then crawls over to the mattress and sits on it with the bottle in one hand and the shot glass in the other.
He is thirty years old and this is not how he had pictured his life turning out. He had imagined that he would have a career of some kind. He had thought he would have a few things figured out. He at least thought he would be in some sort of solid relationship but now she is across town in the old apartment and he is here on the mattress.
He pours another shot and puts it down his throat. This apartment does not feel like home. He has two more shots and then falls back onto the mattress and doses off.


He awakes to the low hum. It’s pulsing through the walls and it annoys him. Is this how living here will be, large washing machines running and vibrating the walls all night? If it is then he must get used to it and he lies back down. He begins to drift off again but he dreams of her and that is annoying as well. Then the screams begin and he is instantly awake.
He sits up and tries to figure out if the scream was part of the dream or if it was real. Could a scream from a dream wake him up? He thinks not. He knows not because now the scream is piercing through the room again. It is muffled by the wall which means it is coming from the neighbor’s apartment. The machinery is still vibrating the walls. Maybe the screams are from a washing machine that has an overly human sounding alarm?
He digs his watch out of the carpet and looks at it using the light coming from the window. God damn it, its 3:39 in the morning. This can’t go on, especially if he gets a job some day. He pulls himself off of the mattress and stumbles over at least four boxes trying to get to the door of the apartment. He wipes the sleep from his eyes and stands in his stocking feet, contemplating the walk across the hall.
It comes again: the scream. It is not a machine he realizes now. It is most definitely not. It could be a woman but it seems too low. It is incredibly frightening listening to the scream through the door. In fact it's blood curdling.
He opens the door to the hall and stands on the landing. The scream comes again. It is screeching out through the neighbor’s door and there is a light coming from under the door, a blue light that could be from a television. A television, that’s it! He glances down the steps to the gate below and notices thick dark droplets of some kind of liquid dribbled out all the way up to the landing. He reaches down and touches one of the drops and holds his finger up to the light of the hallway. The liquid is sticky and it is red on his finger. It is a dark red, like spilled blood.
The scream comes again and PB James realizes he has no choice but to find out what is going on behind the neighbor’s door. He is standing in his boxers and a t-shirt and he is very scared. He reaches up and knocks on the door.

To be continued in Part 2.