The Scout Badge

An elderly couple stops a young scout in the street. They tell the child he’d be perfect for odd jobs around their house. Thinking this would be a great way to earn a badge, the scout agrees.

The following Saturday, the scout rings the bell of the old house the couple live in. The wife takes the child out back to the garage with the promise of milk and fresh cookies when the job is done. The husband explains he would like the mason jars in the boxes along the back of the garage buried in the ground starting at the back of the property. The scout takes a box and the spade to the back fence and begins to dig. There are jars of beans, corn, chili sauce and peaches. It makes sense to bury some of the jars since it would be cooler in the ground, although this isn't the way Mother or Grandmother store the canned goods. A couple of the jars have cash in them; saving for a rainy day.

The scout gets to the fourth or fifth box, and by this time is not paying attention to what is in the jars. And then, by the end of the last box, he notices packed in one jar is the earring belonging to that of a teacher at school. Oddly enough, the earring is still on the teacher’s ear which is now on packed with some pickled eggs.

The Mausoleum

I remember my fiancé and I were spending the day in a local cemetery. We had our picnic and list of headstones of the rich and famous we wanted to find; a couple presidents and a rock star were on the top of the list.

We drove around, found a few interesting stones and a huge shade tree to have our picnic under. When we finished, I bundled our picnic trash to toss in the bin next to a row of mausoleums. Always the snoop, I’d begun to look through the windows. Most of the windows here blackened with decades and sometimes a century, of grime.

I came up to one with beautiful colored lead glass windows. Someone paid attention to them, the sun bounced off them creating a rainbow. I walked around the small building, looking in the windows at the brass name plates. I called over to my fiancé to have him come and take a look. I turned to look through the colored glass in the front. That was when she lunged toward me, pressing her rotting face against the glass. Her finger nails missing from scratching to get out. I could read what was left of her lips.

“I’m trapped in here, help me!”

Prying the narrow doors open, I felt her bony fingers grab my shoulders. I’m sure the screams I heard were mine.

I now sit in that room.  My once copper red hair is snow white. My fingernails are gone. I wonder what happened to my fiancé. 

I’m alone and no one comes to look through the beautiful colored lead glass windows.