One April Morning -- Spring 2013 Story Challenge

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One April Morning
A BigCloset/TopShelf Story Challenge Presented By
Erin Halfelven

The street sign pointed only one way, the little lane met the larger street but did not continue on the other side. A large Craftsman-style home occupied one corner, converted years ago into a sort of rooming-house-cum-residence-hotel-cum-bed-and-breakfast. A big squarish building with gables and porches, the one-time mansion bore it’s demotion to commercial property with the dignity of a bankrupt financier operating a hot dog wagon.

A woodlot sat on the other corner, a clutter of neat stacks of firewood and seemingly random piles of jumbled logs. The randomness, the owner would say, resulted from the necessary moving and turning of the piles of curing wood. A regular array would be less efficient at the task and would have to be unstacked and restacked to be sure the wood cured evenly. Simply moving the pile from one place to another once a week with an ancient forklift turned all the logs over and assured that each got enough sun and air to turn into perfect firewood.

The lane did not continue past the end of the woodlot or the small row of outbuildings behind the mansion. The house, being the only important building facing the street, bore a singular number and the name of the lane as its address. One April Morning.

On this particular morning, a resident of the former mansion woke to a life-changing discovery....

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Michael stumbled out of bed.

"Too much partying, Go to cut downs on the booze."

He thought to himself... barely.

Unfortunately he was less hung over and more drunk that was good for him and partially fell, partially staggered down the stairs.

He came to a halt by bashing his head and body against the side of a built-in cabinet. A previously unseen door slid open.

"W.T.F?" he exclaimed. Slurred to be honest.

Well, not exactly W.T.F. Hey, he'd been at a REALLY great party, was hung over and damn near killed himself falling down the stairs. If you did that your language would NOT be *proper English* either.

Curiosity getting to him or maybe his inhibitions being still suppressed by the cheap wapatuli from the party, he entered the strange doorway.

"Whoever put that pink Peppermint Schnapps in the ... I kill the bast... URP... tard."

Fumbling for the switch he knew MUST be near the door, an odd tingle ran though his hand and into his inebriated body from what felt more like the plastic handle of a screw driver than a light switch.

But light switch is must have been as bank after bank of old fashioned fluorescent shop lights flicker on, glowing a bit pinkish . The flickering did his hangover no favors nor the increasingly strange sensations he was getting from all over his body.

He steeled himself together... for a while.

"Looks like the owner must have got a deal on those old warm white lamps. I do admit they are less hash than those greenish cool whites but damn It makes everything look so... pink!"

"Whoa. My voice sounds weird. Must have really tied one on."

He wandered around the mazelike rooms.

"I swear the house is bigger down here than on top. Almost like that TARDIS thing on that sci-fi show my geeky cousin Billy keeps talking about. Mind you he is only a distant cousin and he's kind of cute. And for a skinny guy he sure isn't lacking in THAT department, WOOF!"

Michael started to breath faster. "What the hell was I thinking? My cousin, that twerp is cute? And well hung? I'm no fruit! I'm a girl.. I mean a man!"

His musings where brought to a halt by a sudden violent series of abdominal cramps. As if someone was manipulating his internal organs like a they were modeling clay.
Only by great force of will and after swallowing a sample packet of Midol he found lying on a counter did the cramps subside.

He tried to calm down and almost succeeded when it dawned on him the knotty pine paneling had disappeared and the walls, the ceiling even the floor were now revealed as entirely made of tools.

The only furnishings were steel roller cabinets. The drawers all lined with rubber or felt mats and covered in carefully arraigned assortments of hand and power tools. All with a disturbingly familiar logo. How familiar Michael would soon learn.

The light fixtures were a service garage mix of trouble-lights, multi-tube overhead florescent lamps. Scattered randomly were otherwise normal appearing floor lamps but with shades made out of corrugated fiberglass finished with a fringe of small combination wrenches.

The odd feeling light switches were now revealed as actual screwdriver handles.

The floor was a mosaic of various saw blades, crow bars, cordless drills, pipe wrenches, pliers, nippers and every other tool you could conceive of.

And as to conceiving.

"Like, O.M.G? Who stole my underwear and put this dress on me? Gods, I look like a Barbie Doll. What's with my voice, I sound like a girl?"

Then he say himself in a telescoping mirror, the kind auto mechanics use.

"Makeup? I have makeup on? Ooooh I just luvvv the eye shadow. My eyes look so sexy. I'll bet my yummy cousin will beg to go out with me."

Some last remnant of Michael panicked, searching feverishly for a way out, an escape. He was trapped in a nightmare world forged in the darkest depths of the Sears Roebuck Catalogue.

"Huh, I'm not a ... I'm a girl? I'm a GIRL!!!!"

Michelle tried to escape but too late.... His favorite tool was gone, replaced with a deep-well socket.

No more would Michael brag with the boys. But the boys would always find time for the centerfold sexy Michelle. No one knew their way around tools better than she nor cared for them more lovingly. They were always willing to talk shop with the Tool Girl.

Yes, Michael was the victim of a curse or was Michelle the beneficiary of a great blessing?

No matter which you think the conculsion is inescapable.

This truly was a Craftsman home.

John in Wauwatosa.

P.S. You may all groan now.

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Comments

Crafty

I'm not sure everyone knows what a Craftsman home is. Perhaps this link will help.

Yes, it was a "bit" too far to go for a pun, and the Sears "Big Book" catalog is long gone, so even if you had reached into the front section of that book, where all the clothing was, I'm not sure that many would have recognized it. Still, it was a fun exercise, even if it wasn't perfectly "handled."

Love it

NoraAdrienne's picture

My son and his wife own a Sears house in upstate NY... May I have the address for that B&B please.. I'd love to visit it.

I didn't claim it was GOOD entry... just an entry --grin --

As to Craftsman homes they rehabed one in California a long ago on This Old House back when Bob Villa was still the host.

As I understand it Craftsman homes and their furnishings where somewhat related to the Prairie School of architecture, Wisconsin's Frank Lloyd Wright being it's most famous proponent.

Lovely homes with enough architectural gingerbread to not look out of place near a Queen Ann but far more practical and ... well modern in many ways.

Plus I cranked this *GEM* out in something like an hour so consider the level of effort put into it.

AND that IS the point of a shaggy dog tale, to set up one monumentally bad pun.

I had fun and few minds were damaged so no harm no foul.

Hum, if you break a Craftsman house can you get it replaced for free at any Sears?

And yes, Sears did sell entire house kits for some time. The post WWII thing would be those glass enamel steel homes that were popular for a short while.

Come-on folks. This one works as a fun or a evil premise. Post and have a go at it.

I could see this as a funny frat house romp. A serious romantic bit. Self discovery or even a mad scientist/cult/evil entity plot.

Erin has gifted us with a pretty much wide open premise. Have a whack!

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

A Craftsman home? Do you not

mean a Craftswoman home? LOL :) Does she cook with Betty Crocker?

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Oh John!

You crafty devil you! But really John, a deepwell socket? LOL! (Hugs) Taarpa