Thumps and Losers: Two Short Stories Read online



  Thumps and Losers

  Two Short Stories

  Marsha Ward

  Copyright 2011 Marsha Ward

  https://marshaward.com

  Cover Photo Copyright Penny Mathews

  www.credos.us/zoofythejinx

  All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced in print or electronically, other than brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews, without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Thumps in the Night

  Losers Weepers

  About the Author

  Connect with Me Online

  Introduction

  Because I have made a reputation as a writer of Western tales, folks might think I never have written anything in any other form or genre. On the contrary, here's proof that I can write short works in other time periods.

  ~Marsha Ward

  Thumps in the Night

  Two thumps awakened Muriel Harris in the night. She clutched the covers to her chin, wishing Mel hadn’t had to leave on a business trip the day after they’d moved to the country.

  The thump came again, louder this time, followed by a screech of metal against metal. Muriel reached for the flashlight she’d put on the bedside table because the worker from the rural electric company hadn’t made it out to their place to turn on the electricity yet. She cursed her carelessness in leaving her cell phone on the patio.

  The smooth metal flashlight felt cool in her hand as she got out of bed, but before she could switch on the beam, the flashlight slipped out of her shaking fingers and crashed to the floor. Muriel went to her knees in the dark, feeling around for the flashlight, but it was not to be found.

  A clatter of metal came from the kitchen, and Muriel jumped to her feet. What was out there? Not knowing was worse than facing the unknown, so she felt her way to the door.

  As she stumbled down the hallway full of unpacked boxes, she stubbed her toe on a hard leather object that fell over with a clatter. She bent over to rub her offended toe, and her hand made contact with a long, smooth metal shaft.

  Mel’s golf clubs! A weapon, she thought, and pulled the shaft free of the bag.

  More noises came from the kitchen, and Muriel felt her way forward, clutching Mel’s club. She carefully peered around the corner into the kitchen.

  Red, glowing eyes looked down at her, and she thought, A bear! The immense animal was between her and the back door, so the cell phone was useless to her. She froze, weapon at the ready.

  Suddenly, the red eyes moved, as the animal leaped to the counter from the top of the ‘fridge, sending metal pots crashing to the floor.

  Can’t be a bear, she thought, heaving a sigh of relief and swinging the club at the glowing eyes.

  The eyes retreated to the far end of the counter. Inching slowly past them, Muriel made her way to the patio door, slid it open, and returned to her previous position by the hall. She poked the gold club toward the eyes, making shooing noises. The animal jumped from the counter and fled toward the door opening to the lightening sky.

  As it passed through the door, Muriel’s eyes narrowed and she chuckled to herself. She could hardly wait for Mel’s call later today. They would really laugh about her frightening experience with a “bear” that shrunk into a raccoon.

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  Losers Weepers

  “Mom,” cried ten-year-old Bobby Brown as he rushed in the door from school. “Guess what I found on the street! It’s a wallet, Mom, and there’s a lot of money in it.”

  Thelma Brown put down the iron and brushed back the hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. She looked on as Bobby opened the wallet and spread out the cash on the worn kitchen table. “Money, huh? Where’d you find all this money?”

  “Down on 5th Street. The wallet was just sitting there in the gutter.”

  “Somebody lost it, son. Is there a name inside?”

  “No. I looked for that first off.”

  “You’d best take it to the police station.”

  “Mom! It’ll go to waste, sitting there in the sergeant’s desk.”

  “Did you lose this wallet? Did I? It don’t belong to us, son. The police can find the owner.”

  “Ah, Mom!” Bobby hit the table leg with the side of his shoe. “That’s not fair. We can buy stuff with the money. Maybe get Pa well.”

  “How do we do that?” Thelma’s voice raised a fraction. “No. That money ain’t ours. The owner’s probably worried sick right now. Maybe it’s somebody’s rent money, or cash that’s been saved for a rainy day.”

  Bobby sighed. He’d heard of a “rainy day” all his life, but had never seen his mother spend money just because the clouds gathered. “I guess I can take it down to the sergeant.”

  “That’s a good boy, son. Go wash your face and spiff up a bit before you leave. And take your books to your room. They don’t belong on the kitchen table.”

  Bobby’s steps dragged as he left the room. He washed up, then got the wallet from the kitchen table and stuffed the cash back inside. His mother stopped ironing long enough to give him a quick hug and some quiet words of encouragement.

  “Supper will be ready when you get back, son,” she said, returning to the ironing board. “Mrs. Landis will pick up her shirts about six, so get along with you so I can finish up.”

  ~~~

  In the next few weeks, Bobby was happier than he’d been for a long time. The sergeant had told him if the owner of the money didn’t claim it in a month, Bobby could come and get it, and it would be all his.

  “What’re you gonna do with all that cash, Bobby?” asked his buddy, Scoots. “I’d buy a Schwin bicycle, you know, the one in Pop Larnigan’s window.”

  “I think I’ll buy my pa a train ticket to the sanitarium in Arizona. Maybe there’s enough money so we all can go out there. The doc said Pa’s lungs can’t get well in this sooty air.”

  “Man, oh man, you can probably buy a horse in Arizona,” Scoots said, pulling back on imaginary reins. “Whoa, boy, whoa. Giddy up.” He dashed around the street, loudly giving directions to his horse.

  Bobby laughed, and joined him.

  ~~~

  One month had passed; Bobby and Scoots stopped at the police station on their way home from school. Sergeant Randisi looked down at the boys. “You’re in luck, Bobby. No one has come by to claim the money. Now, if you’ll just sign here.”

  “Gee, thanks, Sergeant.” Bobby put his books down on the desk to take the clipboard, then he scribbled his name on the form and handed it back. “Gee, thanks. My mom’s gonna be so surprised. Man, oh man! Scoots, can you go down to the train station with me?”

  “Bobby,” said the sergeant. “Go home first and tell your ma. She might like to advise you.” The man handed the wallet to the boy, whose eyes sparkled. “Here you go, Bobby. Don’t spend all this money in one place.”

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you. Gee, Scoots, let’s get outta here. ‘Bye, Sergeant.”

  The boys ran down the sidewalk, laughing and talking, then turned the corner onto 5th Street. A man dressed in a dark coat put out his arms and blocked their passage.

  “I’ll have that wallet, now,” he said, his voice darkly menacing.

  “What wallet?” asked Bobby, backing up, and looking for a way around the man’s bulk.

  “The one you stole from me,” answered the man, his fingers twitching. “I saw you turn it in to the coppers.
Now you have it back. Give it here.”

  “I didn’t steal it from anybody,” Bobby said, shifting the wallet to his other hand. “I don’t think it’s yours, if you saw me turn it in and didn’t go claim it.”

  “It’s mine, all right,” the man growled. “I got suppliers to pay, so give it to me.”

  Bobby ducked as the man grabbed at him. “Scoots, here,” he yelled, and tossed him the wallet.

  Although Scoots caught the wallet in the air, the man twisted around and seized the boy’s arm.

  “Bobby,” he screamed, and threw him the wallet.

  The man lunged after Bobby, who backtracked and ran the way he had come. “Run, Scoots,” he shouted, and the boys ran around the corner, into the arms of Sergeant Randisi, who was carrying Bobby's abandoned books.

  “Sergeant, that man—“ Bobby shrieked.

  The sergeant looked at the man, who screeched to a halt and turned to run away. “Hey! Benny! Stop, or I’ll fire.”

  The boys ran back to the station and grabbed an officer before he entered the front door. Sergeant Randisi needs help,” Bobby said, pointing toward the corner. “A man attacked us—“

  “Stay here, boys,” he said, and ran off toward the corner, drawing his revolver. He soon returned, accompanying the grinning sergeant, who had a firm grip on Benny’s arm.

  “Good work, boys,” the sergeant said to Bobby and Scoots. “We’ve been looking for this one for a while, now. He’s a known drug pusher, and there’s a warrant out for his arrest.

  “He said the money was his,” Bobby said, holding up the wallet.

  “No, he didn’t come in to the station and claim it, boy, so it’s still yours. Go on home now and see your ma. She’s probably watching for you to get home.”

  “Sure thing, Sergeant.” Bobby turned to Scoots. “Let’s get out of here.”

  ###

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  About the Author

  Marsha Ward is an award-winning writer and editor who has published over 900 pieces of work, including Western novels, short stories, numerous newspaper articles, and sections in books on writing. She is a member of Western Writers of America, Women Writing the West, Rim Country Writers, and American Night Writers Association. Born a while ago in the sleepy little town of Phoenix, Arizona, Marsha grew up with chickens, citrus trees, and lots of room to roam. She began telling stories at a very early age, regaling neighborhood chums with her tales over homemade sugar cookies and milk. Visiting her cousins on their ranch and listening to her father's stories of homesteading in Old Mexico and in the Tucson area reinforced Marsha's love of 19th Century Western history.

  After many years in the big city, Marsha now makes her home in a tiny hamlet under Central Arizona's magnificent Mogollon Rim. When she is not writing, she loves to spoil her grandchildren, travel, give talks, meet readers, and sign books.

  ~~~

  ~Marsha Ward

  The Owen Family Saga (Novels):

  Short Story & Poetry Collection:

  Short Stories:

  War Party https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/56917

  The Usual Game: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/57171

  Cottonwood Cowboys: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/57562

  Non-fiction:

  Rapid Recipes for Writers…And Other Busy People https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/34581

  Connect with Me Online

  Website: https://marshaward.com

  Author Blog: https://marshaward.blogspot.com

  Character Blog: https://charactersinmarshashead.blogspot.com

  Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/marshaward

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormarshaward

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarshaWard

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