Horned Vegetable Creature

Vegetable Monster MNE_4534_resize

Horned Vegetable Creature
written by thecook210 aka Adventure George
copyright: ©2013 GCheatle
all rights reserved

This is my story

I’m a cook. I like to experiment with various dishes: dishes that might become menu options.

So it was that late one Sunday morning I prepped vegetables for a chicken cacciatore recipe. It was in the design process for possible inclusion in my collection of recipes for groups of twenty or more.

The peppers, both red and green were chopped and the mushrooms quartered and the sweet onions sliced. They sat in piles, some on the chopping board some on the counter top nearby. I turned to collect the needed spices. And as I did, it was then that I first heard the noise.

Usually music plays when I cook, but today I had chosen silence. Sometimes silence is distracting. But today was different. Today it was what I refer to as “blessed silence.” The incessant chatter that life sometimes generates was gone. No one was around. It was just me and the quiet.

It was because of this quiet that I heard it, the noise.

It was a gentle slush, much like the sound of a slight breeze on a lazy sunny summer afternoon – just enough air to move the very smallest of the leaves. It wasn’t so much that I heard it. I felt it – someone or something was there. Yet it was enough of a sound/ sensation that I turned around to see if someone had entered the kitchen.

Nothing! No one was there.

I returned to the spice cupboard, my focus to retrieve just the right one – just the right blend. A spice can add much to the flavor of a dish. It can distinguish it from others dishes with the same basic ingredients.

As I collected them, I heard the noise again.

Again I turned quickly. This time I was fast enough to catch movement over by the chopping board. Movement, but no one was around.

Spice jars in hand; I returned to the counter and dumped them. Then I saw it. I must have seen it before but just didn’t believe it and so saw it not. But now it was such that I couldn’t deny it.

The separated vegetables just chopped had collected – coalesced –were in process to make a whole. When I saw what was forming, my blood ran cold. There was an involuntary shiver throughout my body. And the words “Oh My God” formed unbidden on my lips. Instinctively I moved back.

There before me, and starting to move, was some sort of vegetable insect.

Its features were not fine and delicate like most insects. They were wide, almost club like. It was a bug with thick light yellow-green horns attached to the very top of its head. Scales were formed along its “skin” and two white leg-like appendages on the lower body.

Momentarily I was frozen to the spot. My desire was to run. Yet at the same time, from somewhere deep within me there emerged a more primal instinct.

Kill” It said.

This instinctual voice repeated and very loudly, “Kill this bug.”

It demanded action on my part. “Eliminate it.” “Stop it, now.”

My hand flew to my well used chef’s chopping knife on the counter. I grabbed it and chopped down through the very middle of the bug. Again my hand rose. And again it swung down and cut the insect.

Again and again it rose and descended until there was nothing left but pieces of mushrooms and red peppers and green peppers and sweet onions.

It was over and I was out of breath. The horned vegetable monster was no more.

I poured myself a mug of coffee and sat on a nearby stool. And as the adrenalin drained out of my body, I asked myself what just happened. I wasn’t so sure. But one thing I did know. I wasn’t going to tell anyone of this.

And I haven’t -not until now. And I tell you because I’m sure you won’t judge my mental state or pass this story on to others.

End End End

Detective Ronald Lewis

Character Introduction – Det. Ronald Lewis   

Detective Ronald Lewis is a fictional character in my in-process novel – Peter’s Vision. While a mystery, my intention is to populate it with interesting, true to life characters. Ron Lewis is one such. Let me introduce you to him in the following words.

Copyright: ©2013 GCheatle

I knew he was a cop as soon as he walked into my office. I rose to greet him and he towered over my five foot eleven and a half inches, even as I stood tall. Perhaps he was six five, maybe taller; almost half a foot higher than I was. I am too short. I know it and it bothers me.

He filled his gray suit with body that wasn’t fat.

It wasn’t his size that clued me into his profession. It was the way he walked, held himself. Tall to begin with, he was erect almost stiff. If it weren’t for the carpet on the floor, I am sure his well shined black leather and leather soled shoes would have tapped.

Immediately he reminded of gung-ho Officers I’d met while in the Army Medical Corp. Yes military bearing: stand tall, dress crisp, walk with conviction. It wasn’t so likely this was a spontaneous visit by the military in civilian garb – it was much more likely this was an enthusiastic police officer. Just the type I didn’t like so much.

He stopped and removed his gray fedora. “Doctor Carpenter,” he walked toward me and extended his hand. “I’m Detective Ron Lewis.” I took his hand.” A firm yet not overbearing shake.

This was the second time in two weeks I encountered the Police. I can’t remember the time before that. I don’t think that I had ever. I looked at him and just knew this wasn’t going to be good.

I gestured to the comfortable upholstered chairs over by a small table, clustered by a set of windows that looked out over a secluded court-yard. I intended it as a peaceful more intimate setting for folk, as comfortable as possible, that is, in a therapist’s office.

As we moved to the chairs, I took the opportunity and looked him over. He went together. I mean his dress matched his physical looks and each item the other. Either he has an innate sense of style, that, or someone dresses him.

He was in all grays and black, head to toe. I envy folks who can outfit themselves with clothes that match and then match the person. I’ve not been blessed with this sense.

A quick scan showed a light-skinned black man, shaved bald with an oblong shaped face, you know, almost egg-shaped. A silver stud glistened in his left ear, another in his right.  A short black goatee was under his lower lip. Thin black circled the glasses that sat a little way down his nose.

A silver chain was around his neck and hung breast bone high, flashed and caught my eye. The links were so large that they seemed as elongated O’s. I later saw a wide, silver, middle finger ring and matching  silver watch and band. The watch and ring were on his right hand. Probably he was left-handed.

Before we sat, he removed his gray tweed overcoat, folded it neatly and carefully draped it over one of the chair backs and placed the gray fedora on top. It was a precision placement, directly in the middle. He was a tad obsessive.

I remained standing for this and watched. When he finished I sat, he did also.

First meetings are information gathering for me. I am good at it. I learn much about a person in these first minutes. I suspect it is true for him also. I evaluated him, he me.

Grabbing the proverbial “bull by the horns,” I looked at him and asked, “What brings you to my office, Detective?”

“It is murder, Doctor Carpenter and a particularly gruesome murder at that.”

I was right; this wasn’t going to be good.

end end end end

Meet: Phelicia Hart, MD

Dr. Phelicia Hart  is a fictional character in my in-process novel – Peter’s Vision. While a mystery my intention is to populate it with interesting, true to life, characters. Doc Philly is one such. Let me introduce you to her in the following words.

copyright: ©2013 GCheatle

Character Presentation – Phelicia Hart, MD

“Good Morning Everyone,” she said as she quickly walked into the Clinic’s front room. The “she” is Dr. Phelicia Hart, the physician in charge and for that matter, the only general practice physician at the Picket Clinic.  More importantly, my sometime girlfriend.

Heeled black boots, close fit calf length black skirt, short black leather jacket with a light gray blouse under; this was Doc Philly as she preferred to be called; “I never did like Phelicia,” she often said.

I found it interesting that her name matched her walk or perhaps I should say her gait. Philly walked subtly toe to heel. And to see her cross the room in those heeled boots, back straight, head high, reminded me of a thorough breed horse: determined, self-assured, and confident; yes, a winner.

Just above her shoulders was straight deep black hair, almost china white skin, subtly enhanced with a touch of makeup color and black eyes that at times seemed to flash. Philly is striking to see.  From my perspective, she is a pleasure to look upon.  Yes, she is all woman and very female if you get my meaning.

Born and raised in Picket, like so many others of her generation, she went away for school after graduation. Folks thought that like her classmates this was a permanent move. But this wasn’t her plan.

As she said to the Gazette reporter on her return, “My dream was to get my medical degree and to return to Picket and set up a practice.” And so she did: undergraduate degree from Northwestern; Medical degree and Master’s degree in Community Public Health from Harvard Medical; residency in family medicine at The Maine Medical Center.

She lived her dream, returned to Picket and opened practice. Some years later, she borrowed the necessary money to build and open the Picket Clinic. It is affectionately known as Philly’s Place.

Movement and noise brought me back to the moment at hand.

Doc Philly noticed me in the waiting room and came over. Well not only the Doc but also her dog. Wherever Philly went her dog went with her, attached to her by one of those retractable leashes. I stood out of respect and to put a bit more distance between me and this jack terrier.

Of all the dogs I have known in my life, Disco was the most annoying. And today she was being very much her annoying self. It was interfering with me talking with the Doc. I was peeved but tried not to show it.

Cave canem,” I thought: “beware of the dog”. I paused in this thought and added “Cave canem, te necet lingendo (Beware of the dog, he may lick you to death.)” I couldn’t help but smile at my joke but did dare show it.

Disco for her part loved people and was excited to see me. Repeatedly she was jumping straight up; coming off all four paws as only a hyped-up terrier could.  I tried to keep my distance from the flurry of activity. Hyperactive is the only way to describe this dog.

“Enough!” I thought. But it wasn’t enough. The dog when not jumping was dancing, sort of, on her hind legs. Around and around she went as she often did; thus her name Disco.

Philly seemed not to notice what was going on.

Once Disco started this dance, she would keep it up until someone gave her a treat which she treats, she knew, were kept in a bowl on the side of the receptionists counter. Exasperated, I went slowly to the goody bowl. Doctor and dog followed. I retrieved and gave a doggie biscuit to the dancer dog.

Disco for her part satisfied went without protest to her cage behind the reception counter. Doc Philly and I went back into her office as opposed to the exam room. I was there on business and not as a patient.

The Clinic was the reality of Philly’s dream: three inpatient rooms, a modern surgery equipped for most out-patient procedures, a lab, three of those small examine rooms and a waiting room. In the waiting room and behind a counter where the nurse receptionist worked was a space for the part-time person who handled the billing. A mini kitchen, a unisex bathroom off the waiting room and a men’s and women’s lavatory and shower room in the back completed the floor plan.

And then there was Philly’s office. What can I say about her office?

As neat as my study is, Philly’s office was messy. And she loved it that way. “Don’t move anything!” she had more than once told me. “I know where everything is and moving it would make it lost.” Someone had given her a sign that said, “A messy desk is a sign of a great mind.” I was annoyed every time I read it.

I tried not to visit with her in her office. But today I had no choice.

end end end end end

Meet Father “BB” Barnett


Father Barnett is a fiction character in my in-process novel – Peter’s Vision. It’s a mystery but my intention is to populate it with a some interesting, true to life, characters. Father Barnett is one such. Let me introduce you to him in the following words.

Character Study – Bernard Barnett

Father Barnett, Director Personnel

We were gathered in the sitting room at the Residence of the Bishop. Father Barnett appeared at the door. In a loud voice, he greeted us “Good Afternoon everyone.” It wasn’t so much a loud voice as a big one. And it went with the rest of him. A big man at six four, and 260 pounds he filled the doorway.

On his oblong face, wire glasses sat partly down his nose. With sort of buzz cut; the rumor was that he cut it himself; a short half-inch chin beard matched the length of his hair. A black suit that ill-fitted him went with the look. In a strange way, it was almost stylish.

Smiling, he walked over, flat-footed, feet splayed. As kids we called it duck-footed. But that’s not appropriate in today’s world. He stuck his big hand out, shaking my hand.

“Doctor Carpenter”, he greeted, “so good to see you again.”

I smiled back, let him take my hand in his larger one, and nodded my greeting. I didn’t stand.

He turned to the Bishop and his large rear filled my vision. At close range it seemed even large for him. A light went on inside my head. No wonder, I thought, the staff refers to him as “B.B” Barnett behind his back. “BB” refers to “Big Butt”, not the initials for his name; my smile was now sincere.

Father “BB” Barnett was late turned to the ministry. Until age 48 he was in car sales, and as manager of the largest used car lot in the City was at the apex of his career. A lifelong Roman Catholic, and a product of parochial schools, it was at this late point he “heard the call” for Priests and responded. Now ten years later he served as Director of Personnel for the Diocese.

Despite Ordination, he retained much of the personality that made him successful in the used car business. A smiling, slap you on the back type of guy, he could convince you that the “piece of junk” with four tires in front of you was an absolute deluxe chariot that was too good of a deal to miss. It served him well in the present day Church where parishes closed due to decreasing membership and priests reassigned to account for their declining numbers.

. . ..