Charles Pendelton
      © 2008 Marty Langdon
Chapter 09

                Early morning visit

A white sanitation truck slowed to a whining halt along an adjacent street creating an ominous
sound, so distinctly pitched it instilled fear in small unsuspecting animals. Animals that were
usually confined to their own private quarters; not animals of the wild. As it was coming up the
block, Mr. Begaul had decided to take his dog Pixie for a walk. That was obviously a mistake
for the high strung Chihuahua darted from it in terror! It then released what sounded like a
quick burst of compressed air, and that must have sounded like a dragon hissing fire at the
small creature, for it took off like a bullet and almost snapped its own neck in the process!

If you take into account that its brain couldn't have been larger than that of a quarter, maybe
then one could understand what kind of torment it must have been suffering. From where I
stood in my room, it looked like he had a gigantic spider with six legs there on that leash
moving about at warp speed and upon thinking that I immediately shuttered. I do think in all
honesty if it ever got off that leash it would simply run until it dropped dead somewhere.
“That's one feisty little bastard,” I said aloud in my room to my own surprise!
I pulled the tight
screen up with much difficulty and stuck my head out. Upon doing so, I could see it was going
to be a beautiful day. Pete arrived early for a change and slipped in through the back door.
The time read 8:07 when I heard him surreptitiously ascending the staircase.

“Do my eyes deceive me?
Has the afternoon man arrived before twelve O'clock?”
“Ha-ha, you're a barrel of laughs.”

Where we came from calling someone an afternoon man was sarcasm in its purest form. It meant
a person who didn't work, who stayed up all night long and didn't go to bed until the sun peaked.
A person who didn't arise until after the stroke of twelve, and usually wasn't seen until around three.

“I don't think I've ever seen you before twelve O'clock!”
“You're a pisser man,” he said in an almost jovial tone.

“Take a look at what I have here.” He pulls a record out of a folded brown paper bag.
It was the new Tull album! “Here check it out, I picked it up Wednesday in my travels.
I like it better than Stormwatch, but not Songs from the wood.” “Is it really that good?”
“Once you get used to it, it is.” “The broadsword and the beast. What's this a satanic album,
because if it is, it's going out the window.” “Don't be an asshole, it's not a sa-tanic album!
Shaking his head in disgust. After further examination, I came to the conclusion that it had
to go. I then pretended the record was a Frisbee and Peter screamed! “Don't be stupid, it's
the last one in the store!!!” I then started laughing and said in my stoney voice, “did you really
think I was going to wing it, man?” “I wouldn't put it past you, if that's what you mean.”

He then paused to run his hand through his hair like a comb, and it appeared to me as though
he had gotten so flustered, he forgot where he was in the conversation.
Carefully, he picks up
my lava lamp from atop the wooden radiator cabinet and with his back turned toward me
begins speaking to the inanimate object as if it were a gentle thing that could understand.

“Anyway, it's not one of those albums that's gonna make you jump up and down. . .
It takes a couple of listens before it starts to grow on you.” “In other words, it sucks.”
(He spins around) “Nah man, it doesn't fucking suck!” Slamming his fist down upon
my dresser like the Hulk in a heated rage!!! “Now you're just being a prick!

                                                                     Pg 40

“Do you remember when I went to summer school at Farrell? The year the first
Car's album came out? I was just a sophomore then, but I can remember saying
to myself, I must have that album!!! After I bought it, I started to hear every
single song from the LP playing on the radio! I'd put it right up there on the shelf
with Dark side of the moon, Wake of the flood, and my Rocket to Russia album!”

“The more I think about it, the happier I am I went that year. Even though I rued going
with all my heart and soul.” “At least you never got left back. Did it help you at all?”
“I don't know if it helped me, but I started smoking pot that year. The pot helped me,
I guess.” “How so?” “It made me less pragmatic.” I'm not sure I knew at the time what
the word pragmatic meant, but I had a pretty good idea, and so I figured I'd just use it.

                                                Magic - Keep on movin' on

“Pussy willow,” I said, referring to song seven on the album.
“What is he singing about, a tree?” Pete looked at me with an
expression of mild disdain. “You're joking, right? Are you serious?”
“I'm screwing with your head man, take it light already!


Where were you yesterday,” I asked? “Yesterday I was just floundering around.
I rode my bike to Tottenville, walked around the Conference House for awhile,
and then came back. Then I looked for you, but you weren't around so I hung
out with Paul at his house for awhile. We split a six pack of Kronenbourg and
talked for a bit.” “I bought Kronenbourg last week! I mean Löwenbräu, sorry.”

I then removed from my box a wonderfully rolled pfleuba as we called it that year, and
proceeded to light it.
“How on earth did you roll it that perfectly? “Well, for starters
the pot was slightly moist, so I nibbled off what remained of the stems and then after
scrapping next to nothing, I rolled the buds, rather than crumble them. Then I kept it
in my drawer for awhile.” “This is excellent,” said Peter as he toked away. We passed
it around until there was nothing left but a charcoal stem and two burned fingertips!

The time was now nearing 8:20. Peter turned the white plastic knob on my television
set and went past each individual station until he reached channel 13. Mister Rogers'
Neighborhood was on, and Fred was talking in television land. Everything seemed to
be a-okay from that side of the table; where no one ever gets hurt, and pain seems to be
nonexistent. Without warning Pete jumps up and does an astounding imitation of Fred
Rogers while holding his breath. Speedy delivery, Mr. McFeeley. . . Speeee-dy delivery!

I couldn't help but bust out laughing! “Look at this guy,” I proclaimed!!! Pete now had his hand
covering both eyes and could in no way stop laughing! “What's wrong with you Fred,” was all
he could muster in a glassy eyed stupor so pronounced, it seemed he could not catch his breath!

                                                                     Pg 41

I find it hard to believe that a fully grown man can act like that! Now if I had to do a children's show;
let me rephrase that, I'm going to incorporate you in this too. If we had to do a show like that, we'd
be tripping over things, acting like dopes and the kids would love it! Hello kiddies, today we're
going to talk about getting high. You don't want to do any of this stuff because it isn't good for you.
Pete man, you sound like the president of a tobacco company!!! I-cannot-believe I-am watching
this, I said in the mechanical voice of R2-D2. When Fred Rogers began singing the song, It's Such
A Good Feeling, neither of us could contain our ourselves! Peter laughed so hard he was in tears!

After that, Fred wave's goodbye to trolley and before long the children's show had ended.

It was cool being a jerk, and who really cared about the things people think about
or the thing's people do anyway? Whatever motivates you, that's my motto. He
turned the dial until he found something of interest. The Addams Family came on and
Morticia was grooming her hair. Isn't it just lovely darling, she thinks to herself?


I don't know why,” said Peter, “but I just can't get into this show. No matter how many
times I see it.” “Yeah,” I muttered. “I think it's because Lurch is way too despondent, and
Cousin It, just flutters around without meaning, uttering complete nonsense that no one
of a sound mind could understand! Everyone in the show understands her except the
people viewing! Wednesday's too whiny and Pugsley, where did they find that kid?”
“He belongs on a farm somewhere in Idaho! He's always blowing things up! What's
with that? Here's a new train set Pugsley, now be a good boy and blow it up for me!”

Hey Pete, imagine your dad got you this really cool robot, and
you blew its head off with an M-80 in the middle of your bedroom!
What should the rational response for doing something like that be?
Do you think your dad would have been really cool like Gomez?

I think he'd-a-bludgeoned me to death!!!

And look at Fester!!! He's always got that friggin' light bulb in his God damn mouth!
Need a light Gomez? Let me just unscrew one from gran-mama's lamp! Peter then
begins doing his unique pantomime routine. First he impersonates his character by
unscrewing the light bulb from an imaginary light source. Then pretends to put the
bulb in his mouth as would a jubilant Fester Addams! Then with his eyes rolled up
and his mouth in an 0 position, he looks like the confused alien which appears to
be having a nervous breakdown in Edvard Munch's painting, The Scream!!!!

                                                                     Pg 42

I am now in stitches and nearly fall to the floor! Soon it is 8:30 and the show has ended.
After a seemingly long commercial break, another show airs. On 1313 Mockingbird Lane,
we find the Munster's shuffling about in a timely fashion and distilling mirth.

All the cobwebs and antiquated furniture nestled away in the arcane
dwelling was now a sanctuary of peace for me to reflect upon. A grand
escape so to speak. I soon found their homestead to be reminiscent of
that of my grandmother's house and began to think of both houses, as
though there were a direct correlation between them. As my being
dissolved into lethargy, my mind was transported to that old black
and white Victorian mansion. Pete then staggered to his feet to do an
imitation of Herman lumbering in after a hard day's work. In a dry but
pleasant voice, he utters the following phrase “Le-Lee, I'm home!”


I don't know how, but he had the science down pat, and with that sullen
face of his ever changing, he could impersonate anyone to a tee! The wind
was blowing outside that house like a giant twister was coming, while I
felt as calm as a zeppelin floating unhindered in an immeasurable sky.

In an anomalous way, it was almost breathtaking!

Then the daydreams overshadow my mind,
and I allow myself to be led by them. . .

As I transcended deeper into the picture, the story unfolded wonderfully. The pictures in my head
were more along the line of daydream patterns summoning me to participate with them. As I began
to dwell on this, my mind whisked me away. I drifted into the house on a cool breeze rustling through
the curtains and settled down amongst the dusty furniture. The only currency I needed to take with me
had already been smoked. I was now but a vapor in the mist of time. While the episode continued to
play on, my mind manufactured dreams, creating new roles for me to partake in. Most of the time
I didn't have any say in the matter.

Static soon interrupted the picture and a brief adjustment had to be made to the antenna which
was now drooping to one side. As I wandered past bedrooms and bathrooms like a midsummer
breeze, I became skeptical as to why I was there in the first place. Finding myself atop the old
staircase, I was not surprised to find that under this staircase no dragon was hiding.

That was all a great hoax, but aside from that everything had been masterfully reproduced
right down to the finest detail. How charming everything looked in a peaceful and dreamlike
atmosphere! As I moved about under the spidery stairs, I now felt as though I were being
watched by over a billion eyes! Creeping ever so gently, I made my way down the ancient
withered steps to the lowest region of that house. Here I discovered a multitude of carefully
stored wine bottles preserved in a dank dark corner of the stone walled cellar!

                                                                     Pg 43

Using my hand, I wipe away dust from two of the bottles. One I can tell is from 1896 but the
other is obscured. Wait, I am beginning to see something. No that's only my reflection. Hold on,
there it is, 1902! In the earlier part of the twentieth century, the concept of paper labels wasn't
even a fathomed thought in the brain of inventors! I then carefully placed the bottle back where
I found it. Scurrying about like a mouse through cold torch-lit passageways and into an eerie
laboratory, I found everything to be in a neat and precise order.

Beakers filled with red and green liquid were contained to their holders. There a bubbling flask
of amber liquid simmers on the burner to await grandpa's return. A plume of smoke suddenly
appears before me! Poof!!! “What is it, you ask?” spoke the old vampire excitedly. “Why it's
grandpa Munster's super growth formula of course! It'll make anybody ten times taller, enabling
them to conquer any foe at all. No one will ever bother you again, but if I find out you're trying
to swindle me, I'll make you ten times smaller and watch you get eaten by a hungry aphid!
Here, let me show you!” exclaims grandpa enthusiastically as he pours the two liquids together!
“Now all you have to do is drink it!”

Traveling to the upstairs portion of the house, I can now see an extensive library of voluminous books
covered in layer upon layer of undisturbed dust. All first editions protected from the elements of time
and sun. They are all here for your reading pleasure or simply for you to gloat upon at your leisure.

Each room tells a story where the past and present meet. Tree's sway and bend as the impending
storm approaches. Leaves which have pulled away from their branches fly aimlessly in the gusty
wind. Suddenly, the air explodes fulminating in a barrage of pandemonium as the sky crackles
and the thunder booms! Follow the orchestral arrangement of tumultuous sounds as it brings
forth a torrent of darkness in its heavy pitter-patter. Outside you may hear the rain falling to the
sound of a thousand horses. Where tears of victory come streaming down the fragile panes in
stride, unabated. Carefully, they tell their own tale of woe. The years are heavy ladened with
sorrow, but not for you. You hear only hollow echoes within the sanctity of the abode. . .

Am I watching the show?
Am I even here?

Vintage decor that has long since vanished in a time frame
now our own is perhaps the most beguiling. Can it be done?
Is it possible to create another realm of living within the current realm,
we are all subject to participate in?

I suppose, if one has the finances and if one has the time.

                                                                     Pg 44

Time what a cursid thing. It moves by invisible numbers that can always be traced back,
but can never be traced forward. I then
realized that time itself doesn't really change at all.
Every season is
more or less the same. It is we that have been changing as new ideas come
forth. As I got higher, I began to think more and more of
that house. I couldn't fathom being
endowed such a magnificent
dwelling. One with grand arches atop its roof and high ceilings.

house like that is the equivalent of a town whose population is 1, and you are the sheriff!
The pleasures of getting high, I thought and why
is it illegal? It gives the hopeless hope while
enabling the blind to
see. If but for a fleeting moment, we're a terrytoon in time!

We joked around for awhile before breaking the seal on a bottle of Jeremiah Weed to welcome
in “I dream of Jeannie.
” The time is now 9:00, and everything was as calm as could be outside.


I wasn't into the color scene as much as I was for the black & white shows, so my attention
span was limited to about twelve seconds, give or take a few. Together we downed a shot
in unison and Peter gave his opinion while pointing up toward Christ. Nectar of the Gods!”

He then held that glistening shot glass at eye level, while conveying an emotion I am still trying
to define. Similar to when a person is
overcome with joy, the words which have almost escaped
from the tongue, suddenly diminish.
The occupant, baffled at his own loss for words realizes
there is nothing he can say, and so he continues to admire the jigger of honey-like liquid as
though it were
a shimmering cup of green absinthe, designed to open his mind.

“One more and that's it,” I said, like an overpaid actor. “Don't be a killjoy!” “Listen, this is a hundred
proof, and I don't want you getting sick in the house.” “There's no way this is one hundred proof!”
“Yes-way, see for yourself, it's right here on the bottle. Keep thinking like that and we're both
gonna be throwing up.” “Ain't that somethin.' I thought it was sixty, seventy proof tops!” After
partaking of this splendid drink, I began to feel somewhat propelled into storytelling and laughter.
It was now that I then told Pete an anecdote, of how I bought the bottle. “Three weeks ago, I felt like
taking a little walk, so I left the car in the driveway and began walking not knowing where I'd end
up. As fate would have it, I ended up in Greenwich shopping plaza. I entered the liquor store and
asked them if they had any weed. They looked at me dumbfounded. I then said Jeremiah Weed,
and they all laughed behind the counter!” “Why of course, straight down, you'll see it on the right!”
Pete appreciated the story and laughed.

                                                 “Only you would do that!!!”

What did you think of that Honeymooner's episode last night? I love that episode! I love it when
Ralph gets stuck between the pipes! Do somethin' Norton, you gotta help me! Nortin? NORTIN!!!

They're playing your song, Ralph! I don't care whose song they're playin, I'm not answerin!!!
“Sometimes I almost forget that 328 Chauncey street is a prop! I know! replied Peter ecstatically!
It suddenly seemed as though everything was going right today, and I, had not a care in the world.

Dial j for janitor

I dream of Jeannie ended at 9:30, I was in a starry haze that defined description,
and before I could even realize what was happening, another show ended and it was 10:00.

Suddenly, I thought I heard the telephone ring in the kitchen, and so I went downstairs to answer it.
Mom is on the other end and has called to say she will be coming home early today. She also tells
me no one better be here when she gets home, especially Peter! I tell her no one will. The time now
reads 10:57. My parents never liked Pete due to a condition he acquired called opsablepsia. I believe
it started from smoking too much pot, but Peter will deny this. On those rare occasions when he
actually seemed to overcome it, he was then way too pauciloquent in his speech.

                                                                     Pg 45

After the inevitable phone call, I went back upstairs with two glazed longcookies
and gave one to Peter. Aren't pop tarts supposed to be heated?” He asks with
a blank expression. That was yesterday, today it's a cookie so eat it.”

“Can't I at least have a glass of milk with it?” “What are you a cat or somethin,'
just eat it!
” I surprised myself as I unknowingly became Ralph Kramden and
hastily blurted the words out! Peter laughed at the way it sounded and gobbled
down the cookie. After this tasty little treat, we listened to some music.

After that I asked Peter a question. . .

“Question, what is the best song on the Too old to Rock 'N' Roll album?”
Well, I'm gonna have to go with the title cut on that one, what do you think?”
I think the best song on that album is Strip Cartoon!” He get's me with a trick
question. . .
That's like asking someone, which member of Pink Floyd sang
Have A Cigar?” *The answer is no one of course*

We each took a few more hits off the ornate bong as we laughed and talked about
nonsense. Soon the mooring line slowly loosened itself from around its massive
bollard. I then realized there was no longer anything securing me to my sanity,
and so I began to drift away. This time abased and dejected for the gloom had
set in. Why should I even care about today, if tomorrow I might be struck down?
Soon the years will become days and all whom I know and love will vanish from
this earthly place, leaving only me to face that terror. When at last, my casket is
lowered into the ground, no one will even remember my name. . . Who was I?

I wasn't a Beatle, neither a Picasso, nor a famous actor. When I started things,
I usually never finished them, and when I did finish them, they were never done
right anyway. Everything that was once so perfect was now just a big mistake.
The smoke had blown into the dark quarters of my brain, and I became morose.
Today, I could not win. Eventually, I managed to sweep aside the wretched thoughts
that manifest despair, and concentrate on a day which beckoned me to join it.

“It's almost eleven thirty,” I balked. “Wanna go down and raid the fridge?” “Won't you
get in trouble if we do that, or don't you remember what happened the last time we ate
everything in sight?” “Yeah I know, but I'm hungry so let's go.” The more we stuffed our
faces, the hungrier I became and the hungrier I became, the more I found myself eating!

“If I must say, what a voracious appetite I have today!” I weighted a hundred and
fifty pounds, and could eat almost anything put in front of me. . . We just kept on
going until finally, the pound of ham and the pound of turkey breast was gone. It's
safe to say that when Ramon comes home and looks for his cold cuts, he's going to
find nothing but head cheese! Soon it was nearing twelve, so I went back upstairs.
There was a certain book I needed to thumb through before we began our excursion.

   And not even the shadows of fate could keep the hands of time from turning.

                                                                                 The Lines End - Miss Illusion                                                         
                                                                     Pg 46

Reviews for chapter 9

Craig Martinson - You have a unique writing style and your technique is masterfully composed!
How long did it take you to achieve this form of writing and how many books have you already written?

If any image on this site is considered to be offensive, it will be removed. If it has been copied without
proper consent, please contact me immediately and the image will either be removed, or credit shall be
given unto the person or persons responsible. Whether it be an artist, photographer, cartoonist., etc.

PG 40) Lights in the night by Marcelo Sanchez -

PG 40) Lava Lamp
by Doug Fraser -

PG 41) Rocket to Russia
by The Ramones -

PG 41)
Löwenbräu original -

PG 41) Mr. McFeeley
- (David Newell) -

PG 42) Won't you be my neighbor
- Mister Rogers -

PG 42) The Addams Family
- (Title card) - 

PG 42) M-80 brand firecrackers
- Made in China -

PG 42) The Scream
by Edvard Munch -

PG 43) The
Munsters - (TV series) -

43) Two tickets to Dublin by Andrej Mashkovtsev -

43) Smaug by Alberto Gordillo -

PG 43) Old wine bottles
- Badia a Coltibuono (Gaiole in Chianti, Italy) -

PG 44) Grandpa Munsters laboratory -

PG 44)
La bibliothèque by Claude Verlinde - 

PG 45)
I dream of Jeannie - hand painted limited edition 245/250 -

PG 45) Jeremiah Weed 100 proof Bourbon Liqueur

PG 45) Green Mana potion
by Lipták László -

PG 45) The Honeymooners
- Dial "J" for Janitor -

PG 45) Wreck of time
by Mihai Criste -

PG 46) Kellogg's blueberry Pop-Tarts
(circa 1967) -

PG 46)
Physician liability by Jon Krause -

46) Burger deluxe by Todd Schorr -

46) Illusion of time by Svetoslav Stoyanov -