Daily Archives: October 9, 2019

hole 02

It just came up from one of those illogical cracks in the road. Broad daylight; scurried sideways toward the park to his right. Directly in front of him. In a hurry, as rats are wont to be, but not *too* much so, he also noted.

“I *hate* rats,” Herbert Dune managed after watching it disappear down another hole, thinking back to Spunky’s and Bob Waffleburg’s slip about a secret room the night before.

I don’t mind rats atall, thought Sandy Beech inside, actor countering character once more, as in a yin-yang relationship. Day and night. Guess that could be one reason they hired me for the part, he then realized.

“Just ignore the rats,” sweating Herbert Dune chanted while continuing forward over the crack. “Ignore rats.”

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hole

They were watching “Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein” on the tellie tonight, a logical choice. At a predictable chase scene through a haunted castle, Merry Gouldbusk leans over and tells Herbert Dune that she got in contact with her brother about the banners. Herbert Dune arches his spiraling eyebrow a little higher, Spock style. “Welll?” he replied, thinking she needs to speak up for the microphones. But, overall, her acting was acceptable lately. She’d been taking lessons from one of the best. She’d learned a lot since Rosehaven. Except for the occasional name slippages she was fine. But just that: acceptable. Ordinary, even. Oh Alice Frame, Sandy Beech thought, how’d I get chained down with you. I am like a clipped Icarus.

“He said he had nothing to do with it,” answered Merry Gouldbusk, speaking up a bit at the encouragement of Bob Waffleburg off-camera.

“How,” stumbled Herbert Dune, then started again. “How is that *possible*?”

“*Dad-dy*,” Satan’s spawn Melvin complained from the pillow beside them, totally immersed in the castle shoot.

“Tell you what, young demon. You’ve stayed up too long past your bedtime already. Time to join your brethren upstairs. We’ll continue the movie tomorrow night.”

“Awww,” he exclaimed not too loud while obediently getting up and stretching and yawning. For a little demon, he was quite well behaved. They all were. Except Spunky of course.

—–

“Annnd. ACTION!”

“So explain what you said before.”

“About the banners?”

“Of course.” Stop ad libbing, Sandy Beech thought bitterly inside. Stick to the script!

“Welll…”

“Wellll?” Herbert Dune echoed back.

“He said he didn’t do it.”

—–

Sandy Beech complained to director Bob Waffleburg afterwards. “Jeez, it’s right there on the banner. *INGO*. How could her slightly older brother, her *Big Brother* after all, not be head of the police state here and spy on her all the time? Answer me that genius director.” Before, Eraserhead Man and his disjointed plots. Now, Bob Waffleburg’s logic gaffes. And he’s not a surrealist. No excuse for him!

“We’re… working on it,” is all he could answer that moment. Later, while the two were drinking at Spunky’s on Southside (no relation to Spunky the little demon), he let slip a little more. “It involves rats. *hiccup* And a secret room. *BURRP*”

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