Unusual things may happen in our lives. Sometimes, the reason they occur can elude us.

However, if we are successful in discovering the cause for what happened, it might be something we didn’t expect. This becomes apparent in . . .

Drop Dead, Gorgeous

     I sat in the living room of my sprawling ranch house in Gotham, California, about sixty miles from the Bay Area. I stared across the room out the picture window and watched the leaves drop from the trees in my front yard on this beautiful late October afternoon. Millennial Avenue appeared desolate. No person strolled through the neighborhood. No vehicle moved up or down the street. The silence made me feel a bit uncomfortable.

     The phone on the round mahogany end table vibrated, sending a warbling sound through my somewhat uneasy, yet tranquil environment. I leaned over and grabbed it off its base. “Hello,” I moaned.

     “Mark my words, you’re not going to have the opportunity to see her if you don’t do as I say.”

     “Huh, who is this?”

     “You’ll find out soon enough,” a raspy voice echoed on the other end of the line.

     “What is this call about?”

     “Listen, Gorgeous. If you prize life, you’ll do as I say.”

     I’ve never been called gorgeous, . . . handsome, maybe. “Okay, I’m listening,” I said.

     “Go to the window and look outside.”

     Holding the phone in my hand, I got up from my seat on the plush leather couch and shuffled over to the window. My god! I saw a crowd marching like soldiers. There were at least twenty of them, maybe more. But how did they get there? Just a minute ago, there hadn’t been a soul on my quiet block.

     “What do you see?” the voice on the phone croaked.

     “People. But I don’t know where they came from.”

     “Turn around,” the voice ordered.

     So I did. “What the . . .? Where the hell am I?” Across the room, four-foot high counters lined the front wall. The sign behind these counters read, “Bethany National Savings.” Three office cubicles stationed on each of the sidewalls were vacant. I was in a bank and alone, or so it appeared. But how was my home phone, which I grasped in my hand, still working?

     “Now listen to me,” the gravelly voice sounded.

     “If you ever want to see her again, you’ll do as I say and do it now.”

     “Who is she?” I groaned. “And why am I here?”

     The voice ignored my first question, but did respond to the second. “Look around you. What do you see?”

     “An empty bank.”

     “You are very perceptive, Gorgeous. I need you to do something for me.”

     “What? And how did I get from my living room to the bank?”

     “I put you there. Now listen carefully. It is essential you understand and do everything I say. I mean everything.”

     “Who are you?”

     “That’s not important. Go to the third cubicle on the right, pull out the chair and sit down.”

     Why I did what he instructed, I’ll never know. But I did. Still holding the phone to my ear, I awaited his next instructions. Looking at the clock on the desk, I noticed it was 8:50 a.m. Banks open at nine. If I’m caught here, how do I explain it? Then I thought, morning? When I got the call, it was late Sunday afternoon. Why don’t I remember coming here? He said he put me here. How is that possible?

     “Are you settled in?”

     “Yeah.”

     “The computer should be on. Pull out the keyboard.”

     “Yes, the computer’s on. Okay, I’ve pulled out the keyboard. Now what?” I asked.

     “Type in the following numbers: six, two, three, eleven, fourteen, four, one, seven. Tell me when you’re done.”

     “I’m done. So?”

     “What do you see on the screen?”

     “Uh, the name, Marybeth and five sets of numbers. Who is she? And the numbers, what do they mean?”

     “Don’t play games with me, Gorgeous, if you ever want to see her again.”

     “I’ve never seen her before, so how could I see her again?”

     “No more questions. Just read me each of the number sequences,” the voice demanded.

     “Until you tell me what this is all about, I’m not doing anything.”

     “Don’t push me or you’ll be responsible for her death.”

     “Death?” Then the phone went dead.

     The alarm clock on my oak nightstand blared. I slammed the button on top to stop the obnoxious sound. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Oh, my. I had a dream—just a crazy dream. I breathed a sigh of relief and rolled out of bed.

     I better get going or I’ll be late for work. I washed up, dressed, grabbed an energy bar from the cupboard, and raced into the garage. Twenty minutes later, I pulled my three-year old Camry into Olson and Freedman’s parking lot on Third Avenue, where I worked as a business consultant.

     I entered the double-glass doors to the building and walked down the hall to my office. Entering, my secretary, Maribel, smiled and sung out, “Good morning, Mr. G.”

     “Good morning, my sweet Maribel, I chanted. But why did she call me Mr. G? My name is Havensworth.

     “Oh, Mr. Havensworth, a mail carrier delivered a letter for you,” Maribel shouted. “I put it on your desk.”

     “Thanks, Maribel,” I replied. I guess I misheard her call me “Mr. G.” With that nagging dream still stuck in my head, I went into my office and closed the door. As I picked the envelope up off my desk, I saw the words, “To: Gorgeous,” scribbled on its surface. I began to shake. My hands trembled. I knew this wasn’t a dream. But did I dare open the envelope?

     I stood staring at it. Then there was a knock at my door. “Come in,” I whimpered.

     “Hey, Charlie, everything all right?”

     “Yeah, George. Why do you ask?”

     “Just the way you told me to come in. It didn’t sound like you. You know, . . . strong and confident.”

     “Well, I’ve got something on my mind.”

     “Care to share it with me? It might be good to get it off your chest.”

     “I don’t know.”

     “What’s that you’re holding?”

     “Oh, just an envelope.”

     “Well, go ahead and open it. Maybe it’s from an ardent admirer.”

     “Yeah, that’d be the day. I haven’t had a date in over six months.” As I fiddled with the envelope, it dropped out of my hands and floated to the floor. Before I could react, George grabbed it.

     “Well, well, well. Hi there, gorgeous. Someone’s got the hots for you.”

     “It’s not what you think.”

     “Then what is it? Come on, open it.”

     It wasn’t sealed. The flap was tucked inside. Using caution, I slipped the flap out and up. I removed a sheet of paper. I glanced at it and then looked up at George. He gawked at me awaiting the great proclamation of love that would flow from my lips. Looking back down at the note, my voice quivered as I read, “Dear Mr. Gorgeous, . . ." I stopped reading, afraid to continue.

      “Keep going,” George gasped.

     “Why should I?”

     “You’ll never know unless you read it,” he said.

     So I continued reading, “Tom, they said if you wouldn’t cooperate, they would have no choice but to kill me. If you’re reading this letter, you now know that is what happened. I don’t know why you wouldn’t try your hardest to save me. I thought you loved me. As I prepare to leave this earth at the hands of these alien beings, I have nothing but contempt for you and can only wish you the same fate. They told me your death was imminent as they no longer had any use for you, Mr. Tom Gorgeous, . . . and neither do I.”

     “Is that it, Charlie? And who the hell is Tom Gorgeous?” George asked.

     “No, that isn’t it. There’s a closing line. It says, ‘Drop dead, Gorgeous.”

     “Is this some kind of sick joke?” George queried.

     “I don’t have any idea. I don’t know her or him? And I’m not him. And alien beings were responsible for all of this? This is insane.”

     “You have to do something,” George sputtered. “Go to the police.”

     “And tell them what? I was whisked out of my home on a Sunday afternoon by aliens and placed inside a bank Monday morning before it opened. Then I accessed someone’s computer. And because I wouldn’t cooperate by providing the information I found on it, I may have gotten a woman killed. Will you visit me at the maximum security prison for nuts where I will live out the rest my life?”

     George left my office unfulfilled. I sat at my desk, confused and frightened about doing something that seemed idiotic or doing nothing at all.

     Two weeks later, I walked into the office. Entering, Maribel smiled and sung out, “Good morning, Mr. G.”

     “Good morning, my sweet Maribel, I chanted. But why did she call me Mr. G again? She knows my name is Havensworth.

     “Oh, Mr. Havensworth, a mail carrier delivered a letter for you,” Maribel shouted. “I put it on your desk.”

     I entered my office, afraid of what to expect. I slithered into my desk chair and peered at the letter. My heart began to beat out of control.

     “Oh my, is this from her? But she’s dead,” I muttered. “And do they still think I’m him? Are they going to kill me? My god, what do I do now?” Stunned, I sat paralyzed, leaving the eerie envelope on my desk unopened.

     Then there was a knock on the door. Before I could say, “Come in,” it swung open, and a beautiful nurse, dressed in a white uniform, with a badge that read, “Marybeth Lawton, Wellington Manor Hospital, Mental Health Services,” danced into the room.

     “Good morning, gorgeous,” she murmured. “It’s time to take your medication.”

Copyright © 2020 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

By golly! It is St. Patrick’s Day. Have you ever wondered how this day came to be?

And how might it be celebrated today? Do things change over time? Well, let’s venture into a tavern on the green and see, in . . .

There is a story yet untold.

Today, on St. Paddy’s Day, let it unfold.

It began on a day a long time ago,

In a place called Ireland, the history books show.

It is about the truth of the leprechaun.

Is he a myth of olden times, nothing more than a silly yarn?

As the story evolved in Irish folklore and is today one we enjoy,

A smallish male creature appeared, wicked acts he did employ.

Now, on St. Patrick’s Day, in a tavern tucked away on an Irish green,

It is said, “Townspeople drink and party, some even become mean.”

So drunk are they at the end of the day,

Little people they begin to see, that’s what some say.

These little men dance and show their guile.

Some tavern dwellers exhibit a frown, others a smile.

Pranks these small beings play on the drunken mass,

Wrinkling their brows and winking, giving them sass.

They speak of pots of gold and of rainbows bold.

They concoct stories, imaginatively told.

They dress in funny little suits, with shamrocks on their hats.

With mischievous expressions on their faces, they look like Cheshire cats.

As day entered eve, the drunker the tavern folks became.

They even tried to give the little people a name.

One plastered man gave out a loud cry,

“They must be the leprechauns of old, those weird little guys.”

“Lepre what?” yelled another wasted chap at the end of the bar.

“They look more like those fellas in the circus who come out of a small car.”

Laughter erupted in the tavern in this quaint Irish town,

For these apparitions were not really leprechauns, but actually lepreclowns. 

Copyright © 2016 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Grandchildren are a precious part of our lives. When you live at a distance from them, you try to make the most of the time you do spend in their company.

On these occasions they may learn from you and, at other times, you may learn from them. Such is the case in . . .

A Lesson Of Love

     “Grandpa, Grandpa, help me sell my gold,” Drew shrieked.

     “What gold?” I inquired. 

     “Right here in my bucket,” he yelled, thrusting the green, plastic bucket under my nose.

     Looking into the bucket, I saw thirty or forty “gold nuggets” shinning back at me in the bright sun of a beautiful April day in 2010.

     “Wow!” I exclaimed. “You’re rich.”

     Somewhat bewildered, he replied, “Not until I sell them.”

     “Where did your gold come from, Drew?”

     He paused for a second and then explained, “My teacher gave each of us a bucket of gold for St. Patrick’s Day. She called us little leprechauns.”

     Drew, my middle grandson, is five years old and the entrepreneur of my daughter’s family. 

     “Well, how are we going to sell the gold nuggets?” I asked.

     He looked confused. “You don’t know?” he blurted. 

     “No. But it sounds like you do.” His puzzled expression seemed to disappear.

     “We’ll take my table and two chairs down to the end of the driveway and set them up there,” he stated in a very commanding voice.

     He led me into the garage. I grabbed two blue cloth lawn chairs and one end of a “table,” a thin eight-inch by three-foot board nailed to two side panels that served as legs.

     “Drew, who made the table?”

     Looking quite proud, he gushed, “Me.”

     Arriving at the end of the house’s long, winding driveway, we placed the table at its mouth, with the chairs behind it. Drew positioned the bucket of gold in the center of the table. 

     “Now what?” I queried.

     He stared straight into my eyes and said, “You do what I do.”

     Somewhat perplexed, I replied, “Okay, go for it.”

     Drew stood at his full height, which brought him to just above my belt buckle, and peering up and down the quite empty street, yelled in his loudest voice, “Gold for sale. Gold for sale. Gold for sale.”

     He did this over and over again. Then, looking back at me, he stated, “Well?”

     Not being stupid, I caught his drift and began to shout, “Gold for sale. Gold for sale.” I was very glad there was nobody in sight, as I hawked our wares. 

     Drew became restless when our expected clientele didn’t materialize. He persuaded me to take our bucket of gold and make the rounds of the homes up the hill from his house. He wanted to go door-to-door, but through my best efforts, I convinced him this would not be a good idea.

     We climbed the hill chanting as we went, “Gold for sale. Gold for sale.” However, no buyers came running to take advantage of our offer. Then from around the corner, an elderly woman emerged, walking faster than one might expect a woman of her age to walk.

     In his loudest voice, Drew screamed, “Gold for sale. Gold for sale.” The woman either didn’t hear him or didn’t want to acknowledge his pleas. Without turning in our direction, she vanished down a side alley.

     Drew became quite miffed by this turn of events. I, on the other hand, felt a sense of relief. We circled the winding block and made our way back to our “Gold for Sale” stand. 

     As Drew collapsed into one of the folding chairs, Grandma Barbara came down the driveway toward us to check on what we were doing.

     “What are you two up to?” She queried.

     “Trying to sell my gold,” Drew stated in a less than enthusiastic manner.

     “Not having much success, I take it?”

     With a frown on his face, Drew muttered, “No.”

     Barbara eyed our makeshift stand, looked at him, and commented, “I know what your problem is, Drew. You need a sign so people will know what you’re selling.”

     He responded to her suggestion with a jubilant, “Yes!” He pushed himself out of the chair and ran toward the house, disappearing from view.

     I turned to Barbara and handed her a dollar bill. “When Drew comes back, you need to buy some gold,” I directed. “Offer him a dollar for two pieces.” 

     After we’d concluded our conversation, Drew came charging down the driveway with an eight and one-half by eleven-inch sign on glistening white paper. My seven-year old grandson, Riley, followed close behind.

     Drew placed the “Gold for Sale” sign right in the middle of the table and turned to Grandma Barbara and blurted, “There’s the sign.”

     Barbara smiled and replied to his declaration, “Now that you have a great sign, I want to buy some gold. I’ll take two pieces. How much will it cost me?”

     He didn’t take any time before answering, with great enthusiasm, “Twenty dollars.”

     Barbara almost choked, as her dollar figure didn’t come close to what Drew wanted. Then remembering what I’d said, she asked, “How about one dollar for two pieces?”

     He pondered her offer for a moment before responding. Then he stated in a businesslike manner, “Sold for one dollar.”

     Barbara handed him the dollar I’d given her and received two sparkling pieces of gold. She then turned and headed back toward the house.

     As she departed, Riley looked at his businessman, younger brother and quipped, “Drew, you need an employee. I want to work for you.”

     To my amazement, Drew didn’t take any time to think about this offer. He responded, “Okay.”

     Having secured employment, Drew’s new employee surveyed the street. Seeing nobody in sight, he suggested we take our bucket of gold and go down to the bottom of the hill to find potential buyers.

     With Drew in the lead, the three of us proceeded down the street until we reached a common area of the housing development that had a cement table and three cement benches around it. Drew assessed the location and decided this was the perfect place to set up shop again. To my surprise, he had brought the sign along and placed it flat on the table in front of the bucket of gold. Then he walked to the edge of the common area, which overlooked the main entry road to the housing development. In his loudest voice, he bellowed, “Gold for sale. Gold for sale.”

     Within shouting distance of this young entrepreneurial spirit, a man and woman in their mid-thirties came up the road. Attached to leashes, they plodded along behind a beautiful golden retriever and a magnificent chocolate Labrador. As the pair and their dogs came closer, it appeared they wanted to know what Drew had yelled at them.

     I moved to the edge of the common area to join Drew who continued to scream, “Gold for sale.” He was so involved in barking out his offer he didn’t hear me explain to the couple he was selling gold painted rocks. To my surprise, the young women looked at Drew, who now became silent, and spoke in a gentle way, “How much will it cost me, if I want to buy two pieces?”

     By this time, a polished entrepreneur, Drew stated in a confident manner, “Twenty dollars for each piece.”

     The woman blushed and didn’t know what to say. Then she noticed me behind Drew, holding up one finger. She didn’t miss a beat and responded, “How about one dollar for each piece?”

     Somewhat reluctant, Drew replied, “All right, one dollar, for each one.”

     “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t have any money with me, but I will get some from my house and return to make the purchase. Will that be okay?”

     Drew didn’t seem bothered by this. He smiled and shook his head as the lady, the man with her, and their dogs headed home to retrieve the money.

     As we waited for the couple’s return, Drew and Riley played on the rocks on the hill adjacent to the common area, oblivious to the time it was taking for the couple to return to make the deal. I, on the other hand, had become more and more suspicious the woman had told Drew what he wanted to hear and had no intention of coming back.

     As my faith began to wane, I saw the couple coming around the bend and up the hill toward the common area. However, they were not alone. The woman’s male companion pushed a wheelchair carrying a little girl, about eight-years old, with wispy blond hair. Her head bowed, she appeared to be staring at the ground as she rolled toward us.

     Drew ran to the curb to meet them. The man prodded the little girl to give him the money she clutched in her small hand. She moved it in a slow, awkward manner toward him and placed three dollars onto his open palm. Expecting only two dollars, he looked befuddled. He paused for a moment and then handed two pieces of gold to the girl. 

     “Drew,” I inquired in a low, calm voice, “How much money did she give you?”

     He responded, “Three dollars.”

     “With that amount, do you need to give the nice little girl another piece of gold?”

     Without hesitating, Drew placed another nugget into the child’s outstretched hand. Then I said, “Wouldn’t it be appropriate if the very kind girl got to pick an extra piece from your bucket, as a reward for spending so much money?” 

     He thought for a moment and then lifted the bucket he had laid at his feet and allowed the girl to reach in and take her reward. Glancing upward, she smiled at him and murmured, “Thank you.”

     Drew, pleased with the sale, replied, “Thank you, too.”  

     The girl’s smile was contagious and Drew lit up. He stood there and stared into her eyes, with the broadest grin on his face. The warmth of this “Lesson of Love” surrounded all of us, as the eyes of both children remained glowing from an experience they would remember for some time to come.

     When the couple and the child departed and could no longer be seen from our perch, Riley turned to Drew and demanded, “What about my money? I’m your employee. I helped with the sale.”

     Drew considered his request and, to my amazement, handed Riley a dollar from his recent transaction. Riley grinned with delight and thanked his younger brother.

     Both boys giggled and teased each other as we closed up shop and started back up the hill toward home. My heart, too, had been touched as the “Lesson of Love” reached all who played a role in the sale of the “pieces of gold.”

Copyright © 2012 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

In recognition of Dr. Seuss’s birthday, on March 2, I participated in Read Across America Week. I read to third graders at Creekside Oaks Elementary School in Lincoln, CA.

One of my favorite Dr. Seuss stories is “The Cat In The Hat.” But as a writer, I did not want to read another author’s story. Therefore, I wrote my own, in a form similar to that used by Dr. Seuss in writing his story, as you will see in . . .

The Mouse In The House

Emma and Logan sat on the couch in their living room. It was a cold winter day. Emma shouted, “There is a mouse in the house.”

“I do not see it,” Logan said. “It must be your imagination playing tricks on you.”

But there it is again,” Emma yelled.

What happened next that day would change their lives.

The day was cold and dreary.
Two children had nothing to do,
so they sat on the couch
and dreamed, Emma and Logan, too.

Emma stared off into space.
and so did Logan, too.
Then she said aloud, “I wish
we had something to do.”

“Maybe we should go out
into the snowy backyard and play?”
Logan said, “It would be better
than doing nothing all day.”

Emma did not know what to say.
Go?
Go?
Go?
Go?
Out into the cold wet snow.

“Not for me, oh, no!”

But then she began to scream,
so loud it made Logan jump.
She had seen
a cute little thing—

maybe a mouse

running through the house.
“Logan, look
at what I saw.
It is a tiny mouse, I am sure.

Logan looked all around,

but did not see a mouse.
“Emma, it must be all in your mind.

There is no mouse in the house.”

“I know it was a mouse,

and there it is again.”
Logan looked,

but still there was nothing to see.
But all of a sudden,
this cute little creature
ran up his leg and sat on his knee.

Neither Emma nor Logan

knew what to say.
So they sat and stared at the tiny thing
on this cold winter day.

The mouse looked at Logan

in a strange way.

It was almost like

it wanted to play,

but it did not say.

And then it began to bounce

up and down on Logan’s knee.

It was a really a weird sight to see.

Emma watched,

as the mouse

spun around.

It was like

it was doing

a dance

without making

a sound.

But then its mouth

opened wide

and it began to speak.

Emma shrieked, “Eek!”

“Have no fear my dear,

for I am here.

I will help you play

and make your day.

This will be good, as you will see.

We will stay inside the house.

No need to go
out in the snow,” said the mouse.

“Follow me.
Follow me now,

for we must go.
And by the way,
my name is Oscar,
this you should know.

I have a secret I want to tell you.
But you have to promise

to keep it to yourself
and not share it
with your mom and dad.

For if you do,

This will make me very, very mad.

“Follow me.
Follow me now,

for we must go.

Time is running out.
This you should know.
The clock is ticking.

And I cannot make it stop.”

Neither Emma nor Logan
knew what to do.
Should they follow
a mouse
all through the house?
And keeping a secret
from Mom and Dad
made both of them
very, very sad.

But the longer they sat,

without moving from the couch,

caused the tiny mouse
to become a big bad grouch.

And his behavior made them shake,

in a way that felt like a huge earthquake.

Emma looked at Logan, and asked,

“What should we do?”

Logan shook his head and responded,

“I do not have a clue.

This is not a good game.
The mouse is our boss.
I do not think we have a choice.

We must listen to his voice.”

“You are so right,”
the mouse shouted out.

“You must do what I say.

There is no other way.
So follow me, for I am the mouse,
who will lead you through the house.
So get off the couch now,
or I will make your life miserable, I vow.”

Logan slowly slid off the couch,

and stood on the floor

facing the mouse—

now the master of the house.

Emma stayed on the couch,

wondering what she should do.
She did not want the mouse

to take control of her, too.

“I am my own boss,”

she said in a strong way.

“Now, you must go away.”

The mouse roared,

“I will NOT go away.
I do NOT wish to go!
No.
No.
No.
I will show you who is boss,
so you always will know.”

And then he ran out.
Emma looked at Logan.

“Now what do we do?”

Logan just uttered, “Whew!”

But before he could say
anything more,
the mouse came running

back in
through the door.

Then he got up on top
of the coffee table.

It rocked back and forth,

not appearing too stable.
Dressed in a black hoody
and carrying what looked

like a small water gun,

he laughed and shouted,
“Now we will have some real fun.”

“I am the boss,

but this you already know.
Now both of you stand up.

We have got to go.”
Not knowing what else to do,
Emma stood at attention,
and Logan did, too.
Then the mouse yelled

in a big loud voice.
Jump up and down.
You have no choice.

So Emma and Logan

did as they were told.
They could not refuse.
They were not so bold.
Then the mouse commanded,
“Get into line

and march down the hall.
Wave your arms up and down
and please do not frown.
And do not stop
until you reach the wall.

“Put a smile on your face
and laugh out loud.
These things are good,

and you know you should.
If you do not do them,

it would be a shame.

You must follow my instructions
and play the game.”

Emma asked,

“What is this game?

Does it have a name?

Please tell me,
or I will not play.”

 “Oh, yes you must,”

said the mouse.

“You must do as I say.”
“Well, what if we do not want to?”

Logan asked.

“But you do not

have a choice.

And it is not okay.”

So Emma and Logan

decided to obey

the mighty mouse.
It was the only way
to keep peace

in the house.

All seemed

like a total loss.

For they would have to listen

to the mouse in the house—

the boss.

But then things turned around

and went in another direction,

one they had not expected.

There in the hall appeared

the craziest cat,

dressed in a red bow tie
and a tall red and white hat.

To Emma and Logan’s surprise,

He was accompanied by

an ugly gray rat.

They could not believe their eyes.

The cat looked at them

and took a bow.

He smiled and said,
“No need to worry.

We are in control now.

And that funny looking mouse

has got to go.

This is no longer his show.”

To Emma and Logan’s amazement,
the tiny mouse yelled, “No.”

But this was not

his decision to make.

The cat in the hat screamed,

“You know the way out,

so go.”

And the mouse began to shake.

And then, with the ugly gray rat

chasing him,
he ran through

the front door,

as fast as he could,

since he knew

he should,

and was seen nevermore.

Emma looked at Logan,

and said,

“Now what do we do?”

Logan turned

toward the cat in the hat
and the ugly gray rat

and whispered,

“Thank you.”

The cat in the hat stood tall

And he and the ugly gray rat

Ran down the hall, yelling,
“That is that!
“That is that!
“That is that!”

Emma and Logan wondered

what this was all about.
Then from the end of the hall,
they heard the cat in the hat shout,

“I am the boss now,

and you will play my game.”

They shook in horror,

for this was strange.

Was everything meant
to remain the same?

Was nothing meant

to change?

And THEN,
the cat in the hat

laughed in a weird way,

and said,

“I am just kidding—

having fun.

“We have to be going now.
So we are done.

I have nothing more to say.”

And with that,

the cat in the hat

and the ugly gray rat

disappeared into the night,

in a very mysterious way.
Emma and Logan,

now in total fright

had nothing to say.

They hugged each other

and shook their heads.

They hoped that

what happened today,

then could be tucked away

and never happen again.

And so they crawled

into their beds

and pulled the pillows

over their heads.

They wished

for a restful sleep
and a peaceful night,

hoping tomorrow,

all would be right.

Logan looked at Emma,

breathed a sigh of relief,

and said ,”Goodnight.”

Then he reached over

to the nightstand

and shut off the light.

Copyright © 2020 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.