(Scrappy Doodles – Photos by Joe)

My gloved hand along with a red leash was outstretched to Scrappy D, who had led the way into the northeast corner of Central Park. Splayed out in front of us was the Harlem Meer. Ice had started to form on the lake’s still waters. The sun beamed just above the buildings on Fifth Avenue, and yellow rays spread through gray clouds. The sky loomed like it held a summer thunderstorm. The Meer didn’t smell much like water, nor did it smell like city grit or like the barren trees or grass in the park.

It was too cold to smell properly, but not to feel.

We had just come down Broadway, in an uptown section divided by a tree-lined median. We passed Scrappy’s favorite grocers and restaurants on Broadway, where he sniffed up a storm and proudly marked the turf. Here and there, I had picked the little guy up and gave him a hug. He loves hugs; he digs his head in my neck, and I swear it feels like he hugs me back. He’s awesome. But I was in a bad way and didn’t want to use him too much. I just love him. I love how he struts with his head high as if he’s leading a parade. In his bug eyes there’s almost always a remarkably clear, confident look. While like normal dogs, he enjoys smelling sh-t and getting into stuff. He doesn’t mind when strangers pet him. Most everyone who meets the little guy, loves him. Sometimes I have a desire to emulate Scrappy. I know that’s crazy, but he’s flat-out awesome.

Minutes ago when we came upon Central Park’s northern border at 110th Street, I thought how I should have steered the little guy into Morningside Park, that was a block behind us. I saw Scrappy D lift his curious eyes to Central Park’s stone wall, before gazing at the trees. The leash became taut. I didn’t have the heart to change his direction.

My problem with “woman x” had started after I received a threat from a demon in Central Park. And now back at the apartment my friends were performing a house blessing to exorcise woman x. All week I had been trying to convince them that she was not an evil spirit. They didn’t believe me. After some harsh words in the morning, I had grabbed the dog and left.

(Harlem Meer in September)

Twenty minutes had passed since we entered the park. By now the cold stung my cheeks. I pulled on Scrappy D’s leash and told the little guy it was time to go home.

On Broadway, as we approached our street, I began to needle my gut. It felt like an open space had sprouted inside me. I knew that my friends had been successful. They had banished woman x’s spirit from our apartment and my life. Days ago she had promised me that she would be my personal seer and protectorate. I believed her. (I had developed strong feelings for her.)

When I entered our uptown apartment, I saw standing to the side of one my four friends, the legendary psychic named Mona. In NYC’s paranormal circles, all one need do is mention her first name. She is one of our ”heaviest-hitters.” On occasion she has appeared in my dreams. I believe it’s not a coincidence, and that her volition enables her to do so.

I raised my brows to my lady friend(LF), who diverted her gaze. All we do lately is argue, and it’s getting difficult to think about the times when we didn’t. We have trust issues, actually, she does.

The pizza and Chinese delivery guys(aka num and nuts) flanked LF with their shoulders high, as if they guarded her. LF was dressed in a cream-colored pants suit and had makeup on. That evening there was a Christmas party to attend at the pizza delivery guy’s mother’s townhouse on Staten Island. I still had to shower and shave, and they looked sharp and clean–ready to walk out the door.

“She’s gone,” I said to Mona, who had been studying me. Next to her was Benny, “the cigar store Indian.” The two had their jackets on, and they were edging toward the door.

Mona didn’t respond, though she seemed to be reading my face like it was a crystal ball.

I let my eyes trace the apartment walls. If I was upset that woman x was out of my life, I didn’t let it show.

“You did a great job,” I muttered. “Place seems spiritually bereft.”

Mona nodded.

“She wasn’t a bad demon,” I said.

LF gave a cold stare.

“In times of good, possibly,” Mona said carefully. “Though good is boring to most supernatural entities who are not free. This one was bound to your life, eventually she would have destroyed it, and you.”

“Now she’s gone,” Benny said and opened the door to the outside hall. He put a hand in the small of Mona’s back. “We have to be going, too.”

Benny, who is an old homeless man, wore a new wool suit, and I thought of the times I had seen him picking through trash cans. What the hell does he look for? It wasn’t food or aluminum cans. Once he had found an engagement ring, I remembered. Benny is also a clairvoyant. He is the person I turn to when I have problems with the paranormal. For the most part, he is secretive about his sources. I thought that he must have a personal seer like woman x.

(Broadway by 110th Street – Morningside Heights)

“Call if you need to,” Mona said to me with a ring of concern and left with Benny.

I shrugged, slighted that they were leaving so soon and with so few words.

“We have to help set up for the party tonight,” LF said in a monotone voice, and took Scrappy D by the leash. “You can meet us there later.”

“Maybe, I don’t know,” I said dejectedly.

LF didn’t respond. Once num and nuts realized I wasn’t going with them, their eyes sparked up.

I glared at LF and she turned away. That killed me. Then her red lipstick hit me as sexy, but if I wasn’t going with her–who were those sexy lips for?

“Okay, bye,” she said. There was an awkward moment as she left without a kiss goodbye.

It felt like another empty space had opened in me. I sighed and folded my arms, noting again how the apartment appeared to be wiped clean of any traces of incorporeal life.

—

Here are all the posts in this series: Episode Thirty-Three

Empty Spaces

The Demolition Man’s Secret

Shapes

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels

(Morningside Heights apartment – Photos by Joe)

“I tell my lady friend everything, except stuff that’s gross or rude, or that she doesn’t need to know . . .” From: “When Benny was a cigar store Indian”

~

Everyone knew I was lousy. And that was after a Herculean effort to hide how bad things really were. Because I was ripe for the taking, I was going down. And after a while, I didn’t even know it . . .

~

It was a Friday night and I was munching like a nut on Cool Ranch Doritos. There was also an open bag of Garden Salsa SunChips on the table. I poked my hand in there every-so-often, but was concentrating on the Doritos. My lady friend(LF) came into the kitchen. On her way to the fridge, she ran her fingers over my dome.

I heard voices out in the hall and craned my neck. A Diet Pepsi in hand, LF turned from the fridge and shot me a curious look. The door to the apartment opened. The pizza and Chinese delivery guys(aka num and nuts) entered with blustery words and sweeping gesticulations solely directed to LF. I paid them no mind. In behind the two stepped the slight of frame, Benny, “the cigar store Indian.” He gave a pleasant smile as his eyes wandered the apartment.

A whisper came to me just below num and nuts’ chatter. “Downstairs, waiting,” someone said–

I knew it was ”the woman.” Like last night, I thought she must be out in the street, waiting for me. Thankfully only I could hear her ethereal voice.

An inner fire lit my eyes. I gazed up with a detached smile and happened to meet LF’s brown eyes. A pang of guilt spread from my gut as I realized my smile was meant for another woman. I looked to the floor, thinking how no one can see deeper into me than LF.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I’ve never polished off two whole bags of Doritos,” I said sheepishly, ”and don’t know why.”

LF slipped into the chair next to me and pushed close. She murmured in my ear. The sibilance felt good. She always feels good. A tingle ran down my neck and arm as if set off by a teasing hand. “We need to talk,” she said.

“Yoo-hoo, come outside,” came the woman’s voice, seeming to tug at my core and touch on the bond I shared with LF. My breathing quickened. I fixed on the Doritos.

“Talk about what,” I asked, stone-faced as I remembered “the kiss.” I couldn’t say if the moment was real or not. It was late last night and I think I was sleepwalking. With the trust of a child, I entered the woman’s arms, met by lips that were like pillows. In her eyes was a beckoning light. They opened to a place that I couldn’t describe though wanted to know.

“About what’s going on with you,” LF said. Her face was puffy; she held back tears.

I shrugged and severely eyed Benny, who pulled off his overcoat and hung it on the rack by the door.  ”Jacket better not stink,” I said quietly, and noted that the old homeless man had on a nice green sweater.

Num and nuts sat across from me. Both fixed their hair and adjusted their clothes. When they caught my derisive gaze, their heads quavered, and it seemed like they were looking in nine different mirrors, and simultaneously at muah.

(527 West 110th Street – gargoyles and singing warlocks)

“What’s there a windstorm outside?” I said to LF, and motioned to num and nuts. The two immediately folded their arms and gave beady-eyed stares. Both had their hair slicked back. They looked like yuppie Internet executives.

“Baldie, be nice,” LF said.

Btw, if you’re from the burbs and are wondering why two guys who deliver food are home on a Friday night, it’s because delivering sh-t is more popular in the daytime in Manhattan. Oh, Scrappy D wasn’t there with us. He was on loan to LF’s niece. She’s real cute and does well in school, and has been begging to have the D-mister over her house for a sleepover. I won’t lie and say I said she could. I was nervous about the whole situation, but he has on like nine collars with his name and ph#, and an ASPCA chip implant. My only fear if he did get away, is that he’s the best dog in the world, and someone might not want to give him back.

“Have something for you, come downstairs,” the woman said, whom I had first thought was a demon. But I didn’t think she was a demon any longer. In that instant part of me believed she could transform me into something new and better. The other part of me wanted her as Adam did Eve . . .

“It could be that special,” she said, reading my thoughts, which since I think loud is no mean feat.

My feet shuffled and I looked to the door.

“You have to open up about what’s going on,” LF said, eyes fixed on me, surely knowing I was avoiding her gaze.

“Ask this bastard what’s going on,” I said and pointed to the cigar store Indian, who gave a warm smile like he was settling in for turkey dinner. “He speaks to the who’s who of paranormal NYC; he must know what’s up here.”

“Stop it,” LF said. “Stop trying to pretend you’re all right. No more ‘hiding behind Coltrane,’ nonsense,” she said, referring to how in the past week I’ve tried to mask my problems. One night in the apartment I had been so out of my head, I even wore my iPod earbuds, which I do for when I need to break into dance to hide frightful spasms. But she knows all my tricks, and when she asked me what I wanted for dinner, I couldn’t answer properly, so I started to dance and said “mac and cheese.” When she looked crossed eyed at me, all I could say was “baked with breadcrumbs and parm on top.”

“It’s really a bad situation you’ve gotten yourself into,” Benny said as he smiled like I was passing him a plate of turkey, cranberries, garlic mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, with a biscuit on top. “I know who the woman is, the one you saw on Lexington Avenue.”

My brows shot up. “It’s really, partially, all your fault,” I said, and with those words steam didn’t come out of LF’s ears, but it seemed like it did. “It really is!” I told her with downcast eyes. “I asked him for help in dealing with the paranormal, and wound up in deeper trouble.  But, um, she’s not, the woman’s not–anything. She’s not my problem,” I said, and it felt like the truth.

“She has the ability to turn you into a demon,” Benny said. “Though she wants more.”

“Don’t worry about me. I was actually thinking of becoming a vampire.” I said smartly and smiled. “That might be cool.” The pizza and Chinese delivery guys looked at me, and I showed them my fangs, or at least where they would be. “But I wouldn’t want your blood,” I told them. “Because I don’t want to wind up a whacked out vampire.” I laughed, but no one else did. They all looked at me without talking. “Num and nuts could both jump out the window for all I care,” I added, because it was the only thing I could think of to break the silence.

“Joe, this is serious,” LF said.

“She wants your blood, all of it,” Benny said in an ominous voice. “But to take it, you have to submit fully to her. And once she has your blood, she has the will of your soul.”

There followed a moment of suspended animation or whatever the moment is where no one is breathing and sh-t. It took a minute for me to laugh and make like I didn’t care. “Well, that’s easy, I won’t bother with her.”

“A wily, stunning beauty, you would think her sole purpose is that of seduction,” Benny said. “Her lust for you may seem sexual in nature, yet her desire is for an evil you could not understand. While her ways are such that a person, mortal or not, can’t resist. When you think she’s not near, you’ll turn to find her arms are locked around you. What can only be a sign of more trouble, is that she doesn’t even have a name.”

“You can’t kill her,” LF said.

I heard the woman outside laugh and say “Nooooo.” In my head I echoed the negation. I wouldn’t let them get to her.

“That’s a tough order even for a demon of the lowest order,” Benny said. “While this one is a succubus, and one without a name. She wants something and she gets what she wants.”

“Which is me,” I said and smiled as I heard the woman outside say–

“Yeeeessss.”

“And it’s too late to convince her that he doesn’t have ‘the blood,’” Benny stated. “But we’re not without recourse.”

“What kind of blood?” LF asked.

I stiffened. I knew I had to get this inquisition over.

Benny’s eyes moved slowly over our faces, and he spoke in a whisper. “The blood of Christ.”

No one said a word for a moment. But I was smiling the whole time and when no one noticed, I laughed and stood up like I didn’t have a care in the world. ”We don’t have to talk about this on a Friday night,” I said, making my way out of the kitchen. I made a turn for the door and snatched my jacket off the coat rack.

“Joe, where you goin’,” LF said.

“Out for a minute, clear my head,” I said with a laugh and opened the door.

—

Here are all the posts in this series: Episode Thirty-Two

The Destroyer Cometh

Someone’s Calling In The Night

Photo of the succubus in my bed‏

An End To All Days

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels

(Photos by Bald Punk – click twice to fully enlarge)

I took loads of photos from Morningside Drive and decided to post most of them. I like to take pictures of churches and parks. Heaven forbid I see a squirrel or bird, I take like 9 billon shots of them.

I think my next story post will be a tale the cigar store Indian told us. It’s really, really, really far-out there. I wish I would have taken notes when we talked with him. Unfortunately, I was drinking a beer and eating, and didn’t realize the weight of his words until halfway into his story. I have to find the bastard, and double-check shit with him.

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(Photos by Bald Punk – Click twice to fully enlarge)

I took these pics of Eglise de Notre Dame on the same day I took those of the Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine.

Notre Dame is on Morningside Drive and West 114th Street. Of the churches I’ve been inside in NYC, it’s one of my favorites. The grotto has adreamlike atmosphere and seems to draw my worries away.

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(Photos by Bald Punk)

I spent the day in church. First we went to Notre Dame on Morningside Drive, and then around the block to Saint John the Divine.

I took a few pics of Notre Dame Church and will post them another time. It is very beautiful. For now, here’s St. John the Divine.

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS