Friday Flash Fiction, as it is now erroneously termed, has switched things up this week. Instead of an opening sentence, we were given four words we needed to include in the story. They are in blue.

"You understand, of course, why I must appear in disguise," said the woman from behind her rubber mask.

Actually, I understood nothing about this situation, but sometimes it was better to not to ask a crazy person anything. I just stood behind the counter, waiting for the insanity to spill forth. I didn't have to wait long.

"I need to know I can trust you," she said, conspiratorially, looking over her shoulder and to the left and to the right, to make sure no one was listening. At 1:30 a.m. in the Kinkos on Broadway, that meant the one college student sitting at the PC with his earbuds in and his iPod cranked up. I think Crazy Lady was safe. For now!

"If they knew I was here, revealing all their lies, it would be the end of me. AM I MAKING MYSELF CLEAR?" she hissed between clenched teeth, grabbing my apron to pull my face closer to hers. Or, rather, the fake rubber one. "I don't have much time," she continued, slightly more calmly, yet no less unbalanced. "I need you to make 500 copies of this." She handed me a piece of paper.

It was blank.

I looked up at her. "You can't see it, can you?" She said, pityingly. "Only the Chosen Ones can read it. But we will spare you innocent bystanders when the time comes."

"Thank you. You're very kind," I replied. "Do you want this on white or colored paper?"

I couldn't see her face, but from the tone of her voice, she must've been looking at me like I was a brain-damaged cocker spaniel. "Dear," she said, patiently. "Do you think that message would show up on colored paper?"

I retreated to the storeroom, where I opened a fresh ream of white paper, put her sheet into an "originals" folder, waited a few minutes, and returned to the counter. I handed her the stack and cheerily announced, "All finished!"

She looked at the crisp white bundle, then at me. She pointed a manicured claw and me and spat, "You are one of THEM! You are trying to TRICK ME!" She backed away from me, shaking. She was seriously unglued.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to trick you. I ... just thought..."

"That I am crazy? That there is nothing on the paper?" she finished. "I assure you, young man, the future of the human race could very well depend upon you doing as I ask."

"Let's compromise," I said. I'll run this paper through the copier, but I'm only going to charge you for a ream of paper. It would soothe my conscience."

She nodded, so I took the papers back from her. "Uh, which side is...?" She pointed to the side facing me, to indicate where the message appeared. I dutifully performed my service, and handed everything back. This time, she was visibly relaxed.

She paid, of course, in cash.

As soon as she left, the college student jumped up from his seat and ran after her. Dismayed, I raced after them. I found the "student" on top of the masked lady, snarling at her in an unknown language and choking her in an alley. I pick up a metal garbage can lid and smacked him across the back of his head as hard as I could. He fell off and released his grip, but dashed away carrying as many papers as he could from the scene. Only about half of her order lay scattered about the alley, some in puddles of dank water.

"Are you all right? I asked her, panting. I helped her up, and began collecting whatever papers I could find. "Do you want me to make some more copies for you?"

"Yes," she croaked out from her damaged windpipe. "You have achieved redemption!" she announced, with a triumphant gleam in her eye.

Just then, we heard the explosion. I didn't need to look; I knew it was my store. The Kinkos had gone kablooey. But even before the blast had taken my livelihood, I knew that I was now part of something much bigger.

Blue Gal alerted me to a disconcerting film lineup on American Movie Classics: The Prince of Tides followed by Bridges of Madison County.

If you don't understand why that is nauseating, I can't explain it to you. If you understand, I don't have to.

Barf.

I don't feel like it, but she does. She wrote about Halloween.

*not you, you stinkin' mummies.

When you live in a neighborhood where someone owns a margarita machine and every Halloween involves a block party, "things" happen. And by "things," I mean I get tipsy. So tipsy that I believe I drank beer from a CAN. Of course, I've been drunker on Halloween, but anyways...

Überdilf, the girls, the dog and I stumbled home around 10:30 p.m. with the remains of my spiderweb 7-layer dip, 1/5 a bag of Fritos Scoops, our soft-sided cooler (empty), and the happiest hot-dog-and-potato-chip-laden dog in the world. We scrape off our Halloween makeup, put on our jammies and fall into bed. We all fall asleep immediately, including the comatose dog who accompanied the trick-or-treaters leash free and, as I mentioned before, consumed every bit of food that dropped from the drooping paper plates of drunken Halloween revelers.

That explains why she didn't bark when the doorbell rang at 12:30 a.m. (old time. New time: 11:30 p.m.) I was briefly roused from my fog, but thought I was hearing things, because Captain Food Coma the Wonder Dog didn't bark.

At 4:20 a.m. (3:20 new time), I swear I heard a mans voice calling, "Hello. Hello. Hello." from the foyer. Our foyer has a certain echo to it. I sat up. Again, the dog said nothing. I really WAS imagining it this time, but it was a great time to get a tall drink of water and some Tylenol, so I did. As I was about to climb back into bed, the doorbell rang. I KNEW it was for real this time. And the dog finally barked.

Dilf even woke up, which is really saying something, considering he could sleep through an atom bomb WITHOUT tequila being involved. We both went to the door, Dilf opened it and there was A., the ten-year-old girl from two doors down. Crying. She was locked out of her house ALL NIGHT. No one was home. We quickly let her in, put her in the guest bedroom, I rubbed her back and comforted her for a little while, then we went back downstairs (oh, the master bedroom is on the main floor in this house) to bed.

It seems she was supposed to spend the night at a friend's house and her mom took this opportunity to stay out all night. A. tried to call her mom using a neighbor's phone, but when mom saw an unfamiliar number, she didn't pick up. I don't know why A. left the friend's house (she said she was "tired" and wanted to go home.) I don't know why the mom didn't check her messages. I don't know anything other than the fact a 10 year old girl was left outside on her porch on a cold night and I WISH I would've answered the door the first time.

for a phrophylactic glass of water before heading back to the halloween block party because this shit is OFF THE HOOK

Like "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown," I must watch (and post) this classic every year.



I can watch this over and over and over and over...