Author: allen0997

Lamented ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp

Lamented image 5

Lamented
~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp ~

(This is a repost. It has been published in The Literary Hatchet.)

A child’s life in school is a continuous round of simple commands: stand up, sit down, go out, come in, open the book, close the book, stop talking, start reading, don’t run, spell the word, solve the problem, go to recess, come in from recess, go to lunch, come back from lunch, don’t cheat on quizzes, write legibly, don’t stand up in the swing, don’t wear your hat in the house, don’t tell lies, don’t spread disease germs, use the bathroom when you’re supposed to and don’t wet your pants.

Recess was over and all the children came back into the room quietly and took their seats. Looking out over the ten-year-old faces, Miss Snow saw that one piece of the mosaic was missing. On the outer row of desks, next to the wall, third seat from the front, the space ordinarily occupied by Ella Ruffin was without a face and without a body.

“Does anybody know where Ella Ruffin is?” Miss Snow asked.

No answer.

“Did anybody see Ella?”

“She was sitting out on the playground when the bell rang,” Kay Hood said.

“Why was she doing that?”

“I don’t know, Miss Snow.”

“All right, everybody open your social studies books to page thirty-eight and begin reading the chapter on Peru. I’m going outside for a minute and see if anything has happened to Ella.”

She was sitting all alone at the corner of the playground, a tiny, frail child in a vast expanse of asphalt.

“Didn’t you hear the bell?” Miss Snow said.

“I heard it,” Ella said.

“What’s the matter? You’re not sick, are you?”

“No, I’m not sick.”

“Well, come back inside, then. We’re just starting social studies.”

“I can’t get up,” Ella said.

“Why not? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not hurt. It’s worse than that.”

“Ella, I haven’t got all day! What is the matter with you?”

“I wet my pants.”

“Oh, Ella! Why didn’t you go to the restroom when everybody else went?”

“I didn’t have to go then.”

“Do you want me to bring you some paper towels?”

“No.”

“You can’t sit there all day. Come on inside and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

“I’m not getting up.”

“Why not?”

“After I peed in my pants, I did the other. You know. I pooted in my pants. It was an accident. I sneezed and it just happened.”

“You go on home, then, and get yourself cleaned up. You’re excused for the rest of the day.”

“I can’t go home. There’s nobody there. The door’s locked and I don’t have a key.”

“Do you want me to call your mother?”

“She’s in Atlantic City.”

“What about your father?”

“He’s been drunk for three days.”

“Don’t you have an older sister?”

“She’s in the hospital with vaginal bleeding.”

“I’ll go get the school nurse and she’ll bring a big towel to tie around your waist and she’ll take you back to her office and get you cleaned up.”

“No, I’m not getting up. I’m too embarrassed.”

“Ella, there’s no reason to be embarrassed. It was an accident. Everybody has accidents.”

“How many people have you known of that’ve peed in their pants at school and then pooted on top of it?”

“All right. We all have embarrassing moments. We’ll get it straightened out.”

“People will laugh at me when they see what I did.”

“No, they won’t. Nobody will even know.”

“They already know. They were talking about it.”

“Who was?”

“Certain people.”

“You can’t sit there. It’s going to rain. Just look at the sky. If you can’t go home now, you’re going to have to come inside. Come on in now and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

“I think I’d just rather sit here for a while.”

“Ella, I’m responsible for you and I can’t just let you sit out here by yourself during school hours.”

“I’ll be all right. When school’s over, I’ll go home just like I always do. If you would be so kind as to have somebody bring me my coat, that’s all I ask. It’s yellow. It’s hanging in the cloak room next to the fire extinguisher.”

“Well, all right. I guess I can do that. But if it starts to rain, you come back inside, do you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If nothing else, go to the girls’ restroom on the first floor and wait it out. Nobody will see you.”

“I will.”

Miss Snow went back upstairs to her classroom and put Ella Ruffin out of her mind for the time being. In a half-hour or so, the sky turned dark and the wind blew briskly from the southwest. The rain began lightly at first and then came down in torrents. The windows had to be closed and the lights turned on.

When Miss Snow’s eyes were once again drawn to Ella Ruffin’s empty desk, she remembered something she was supposed to do. What was it? Oh, yes. She was going to have somebody take Ella’s coat down to her, the yellow one hanging in the cloak room next to the fire extinguisher, but she somehow forgot. Poor Ella. A little girl outside in a rainstorm without a coat. She’d probably end up with a terrible cold, at the very least.

A lightning strike that shook the building to its foundations caused the lights to go out. Miss Snow knew that nobody was going to learn anything as long as the storm kept up, so she told everybody they could close their books and sit quiet as mice and not make any kind of disturbance. A few of the children were nervous and worried about the storm, but most of them were excited and couldn’t sit still. They hoped that school would be called off for the rest of the day and they would be released into the wild like a bunch of captive birds.

The children jabbered among themselves and Miss Snow let them do as they pleased as long as they didn’t make too much noise. The other fourth grade class across the hall was not making a sound; likewise the fifth grade classes down the hall.

Miss Snow stood up from her desk and went to the window, hoping to see some sign that the storm was dissipating, but there was no indication at all that their old school building and everybody in it was going to be saved from annihilation by lightning and thunder. From her third-floor perch, she could see the playground, but not clearly.

Water had collected at one side of the gently sloping playground, as it always did during a heavy rain. Gravity forced the water into a trough where it ran off into storm drains.

She was going to turn away from the window and go back to her desk when she saw something that arrested her attention. In the rushing water that had collected and was running off, she thought she saw a small, shabby, blonde girl in a plaid dress, face down, arms out, being carried along in the torrent. She couldn’t be sure of what she saw and when she strained to get a better view she decided that what she had seen was a clump of old newspaper.

When the rain let up a little and the sky became lighter, the lights still hadn’t come back on, so the principal, Mr. Murtaugh, sent word to all the classes that school was suspended for the day and everybody could go home or could go to the devil if that’s what they wanted.

Miss Snow dismissed her class and they left, eagerly, in a happy, holiday mood. She herself was relieved that another day was over, another week, and for two days and nights she wouldn’t have to give school a single thought.

In the night she woke up thinking about poor little Ella Ruffin. She hoped she had made her way home in the storm and hadn’t caught a cold. She probably should have insisted that Ella come inside, not matter how embarrassed she was. And maybe she should have called for help when she thought (or imagined) that she saw Ella’s body floating in the runoff water during the storm, but she didn’t, and in those situations it’s best not to think about it anymore. She was sure it all worked out for the best.

Monday morning was a new day. The sun was shining and the air cool and fresh. As teachers and students alike arrived at school, they all heard the sad news.

Ella Ruffin had been found dead in the river, several miles away from the school. Nobody knew how she came to be there. Police were not ruling out the possibility that she had been abducted by a madman, sexually molested and killed, and her body dumped into the river.

The police came to the school and asked Miss Snow a myriad of questions. Did the little girl leave school before she was supposed to? What was she wearing? Did Miss Snow notice anybody suspicious-looking near the school that day? What kind of family did the little girl have?

Miss Snow told them all she knew. Ella lived outside of town on a farm, or what used to be a farm. The family was poor and there were many children, who often came to school dirty and poorly clothed. Ella usually kept to herself and didn’t mix much with the other children. She wore ragged clothes and always seemed sad and underfed. You couldn’t look at her without feeling sorry.

When all their questions had been satisfied, the police left and Miss Snow took a deep breath and hoped she wouldn’t have to speak to them again. The whole thing was too distasteful to even talk about.

The class took up a collection for a floral tribute for Ella. The entire fourth grade class attended the funeral, including Miss Snow. Ella wore a white dress with a white ribbon in her hair and a spray of white flowers in her hands. Since the family was without funds, an anonymous benefactor from town paid all expenses.

On a certain day a few days later, Miss Snow arrived at school early, before anybody else was there. She had some work to do that she wanted to get done before her students arrived.

She turned on the lights and opened some of the windows to air out the room and then she sat down at her desk and started working. A slight stir in the room caused her to look up and when she did she saw Ella Ruffin sitting at her usual desk on the outside aisle, third row from the front.

The apparition seemed so real that she spoke to it.

“Ella,” she said, “what are you doing there?”

But, of course, there was no answer. Ella just kept working, kept writing, and Miss Snow knew from the way she looked that she wasn’t really there, or, anyway, not in any physical sense. She wore the white dress and the white ribbon in her hair. She was altogether clean, something she had never been in life, and, not only clean, but glowing with a kind of radiance.

“Ella, how are you?” Miss Snow spoke again. “I was very worried about you.”

Ella did not look up or acknowledge Miss Snow in any way. She continued to write and in a little while she became dim and disappeared as if she had never been there at all.

When Miss Snow’s students arrived, she had everybody pitch in and clean out Ella’s desk, throw away any old papers, and turn in her textbooks. Then they took some cleanser and wet paper towels and gave the desk and its seat a good cleaning from top to bottom. When they were finished the desk gleamed. She then pushed it out into the hallway for the janitor to pick up and put in the storeroom for when a spare desk was needed.

The next time Miss Snow saw Ella, she was floating up near the ceiling, as if floating was the most natural thing in the world for her to do. She floated on her stomach and when Miss Snow became aware that she was there, she turned over and floated on her back and made her way out of the room that way.

Finally Miss Snow believed that Ella was taunting her in a way and she wanted it to stop. One afternoon after everybody had gone home and Miss Snow was still at her desk, she looked up and there saw Ella standing a few feet away looking at her.

“Did you want something, Ella?” she asked. “Can I do something for you? I think you need to go on to wherever you’re supposed to be and not hang around here anymore. It’s not healthy for you or for me.”

Ella made no reply.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” Miss Snow said, “but, really, considering the circumstances of your miserable life, don’t you think you’re better off where you are now? I know it’s not your fault, but your mother and father ought to be ashamed of themselves for having more children than they could reasonably take care of.”

Still no reply.

“I’m going to go home now, Ella, and I want you to know that this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other. I won’t see you again, Ella. Do you understand what I’m saying? You’re going to have to quit haunting me or whatever it is you’re doing because it’s not helping either of us.”

Ella smiled blandly and faded into the air, as if she had never been there at all.

It was Thursday before Easter. School was closed for Good Friday, so Miss Snow was going out of town for a couple of days, up to the small town where her parents and her retarded sister lived. She went home and packed her suitcase and collected her mail and set out in her car, glad for the chance to get away for a while.

After she had driven for an hour or so, it began to rain; a light rain at first and then a pounding, punishing rain. She turned on her wipers and headlights and cringed when the lightning ripped the sky. She turned on the radio and found some soothing jazz music to calm her nerves.

It was an old country road, curvy and hilly. She had to watch every second because it was fully dark now and the road was unpredictable: a hilltop curve followed by a precipitous drop as if you were skating off the side of a mountain, followed by a curve in the other direction and then a climb up a steep hill with woods on both sides.

Once when the lightning flashed, Miss Snow realized she wasn’t alone in the car. In the passenger seat beside her was Ella Ruffin. When Miss Snow became aware of her presence, she realized that Ella had her head turned slightly and was listening to the music on the radio.

“Don’t you like this music, Ella?” Miss Snow said. “Do you want me to find another station?”

While she was turning the knob on the radio, she came to a low place in the road where water was flowing across. It was so dark she couldn’t so how far the water went and she had no way of knowing how deep it was, but she was tired and impatient and couldn’t stand the thought of anything holding her up. She drove into the water, hoping against hope that it wasn’t too deep to drive through, and when she had driven a hundred feet or so, the water drowned out the engine. She tried to restart it, but it showed no signs of life.

“What do I do now, Ella?” she said.

But when she turned to her right in the dark she saw that Ella was no longer there.

Believing she had no other choice, she opened the car door and when she did the cold water rushed in and covered her feet. Shivering, she stepped out into water up to her knees. When she was leaning back into the car to get her purse and some papers, a wall of water she never saw came out of the darkness and overtook her and knocked her down. She struggled the best she could, flailing arms and legs, but the water carried her away and she was dead in a matter of minutes. Her body was found three days later a couple of miles away, bloated and unrecognizable.

Miss Snow’s fourth grade class took up a collection to buy her a floral tribute to go alongside her closed casket. The entire fourth grade class attended her funeral, accompanied by their newly hired teacher, a fat woman named Mrs. Ruby Valentine, who was nothing like—looked nothing like—the late and lamented Miss Snow.

Copyright © 2026 by Allen Kopp

by allen0997

His Butterfly ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp

His Butterfly image

His Butterfly
~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp ~

This is a reprint. It has been published in The Literary Hatchet.)

Lieutenant Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton of the United States Navy had seen the world and known many woman. In 1902, while stationed in Nagasaki, Japan, he took unto himself a Japanese wife. She went by the name of Butterfly and she was young, innocent, untried and untested. Any objective observer might have said the marriage between Lieutenant Pinkerton and his Butterfly was a misalliance and doomed to failure.

Butterfly believed that Lieutenant Pinkerton would take her back to America with him—what American husband wouldn’t?—and she would be happy for the rest of her days. Happy knowing she was the perfect wife for her perfect American husband.

Forward-looking—and impelled by her desire to be a good American wife—Butterfly abandoned the religion of her Nipponese ancestors and converted to Christianity. Her family, never too keen on her marriage to an American in the first place, disowned and abandoned her. She believed, however, that her all-consuming love for Lieutenant Pinkerton would see her though any of life’s tribulations.

Lieutenant Pinkerton rented a pretty little house with sliding doors on a hillside in Nagasaki. He and Butterfly were blissfully happy for a few days, but then he was called away again. Such is the life of the navy man. Not to worry, though. He would be back and get his Butterfly and take her back to America with him and all would be well.

Butterfly waited. Days became weeks and weeks months. Every day she went to the top of the hill overlooking Nagasaki harbor and watched for signs of the return of Lieutenant Pinkerton’s ship, the U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln. Every day she returned to the little house with the sliding doors with a lump of disappointment in her throat, but with the belief and the hope that the next day would be the day of his glorious return.

Suzuki, Butterfly’s faithful servant, wanted to write to Lieutenant Pinkerton, wherever he was, and tell him he had a son, but Butterfly wouldn’t let her; she would tell him herself, whenever the time was right, and that would be upon his return to Nagasaki. (The boy, conceived on the wedding night, was called Sorrow. When his papa returned to claim him, he would be called Joy.)

Three years passed and still the U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln did not reappear in Nagasaki harbor. Butterfly could not help feeling sad at times, especially when the sun began to go down and she must face another long night alone, but she had much in life to make her happy—not the least of which was her son—and she was never without hope.

A wealthy man of Butterfly’s own race, having heard the talk of her erstwhile American husband, proposed marriage to her, but she turned him down. She already had a husband, she said, and she didn’t want another.

And then the day came, as Butterfly knew it would!

The American consul sent word that Lieutenant Pinkerton was back in Nagasaki! Her joy knew no limits. When she thought about the moment when she would lay eyes on him again, she felt that she would not be able to continue breathing. Her chest would not contain her wildly beating heart. She would die of happiness.

With Suzuki’s help and the help of her tiny son, Butterfly gathered flowers to adorn the house. The three of them put flowers everywhere, making the indoors seem like an extension of the garden.

Finally, after these hurried preparations, the moment arrived. Pinkerton was on his way up the hill. When she saw him far away out the window, she drew in her breath and covered her mouth with her hand. She asked the Christian God to give her strength.

When the knock came, Suzuki opened the door. There stood Lieutenant Pinkerton, much the same as the last time she saw him, his face a little thinner and graying at the temples.

He took a few steps inside the door, smiling and uncertain. Butterfly wanted to run to him, but that was not the way of her people. As she watched him remove his hat and walk nearer, her face clouded when she saw he was not alone. Coming through the door behind him was a stylish American lady in a beautiful white dress. In about three beats of her heart, Butterfly understood all.

“Everything looks lovely,” Lieutenant Pinkerton said, seeing the flowers. “This is the most beautiful place on earth.”

He was going to take Butterfly’s hands in his, but she bowed in front of him.

“I am honored,” she said.

“I want you to meet someone,” Lieutenant Pinkerton said. “This is Laura. My wife.”

The stylish American lady in the white dress stepped forward smiling. “How do you do?” she said. “I’m so happy to meet you!”

“I am honored,” Butterfly said, bowing again.

“I hope you have been well,” Lieutenant Pinkerton said formally.

“Yes. Well,” Butterfly said.

“I wasn’t sure if you would remember me after all this time.”

Butterfly turned away and Suzuki helped her out of the room.

When Suzuki came back a few minutes later, alone, Lieutenant Pinkerton was waiting.

“Butterfly asks to be excused at this time,” Suzuki said. “She extends every apology.”

“I’ve come for the child,” Lieutenant Pinkerton said.

“Child?”

“Yes, my son. I mean to take him back to America and give him the upbringing he deserves.”

“You don’t think he belongs with his mother?”

“He will have a mother. My wife.”

“Butterfly begs your forgiveness. She asks that you return tomorrow at this time, when she will be better able to converse with you.”

“Well, all right,” Lieutenant Pinkerton said. “I guess I can do that. But tell her I won’t tolerate any monkey business of any kind from her or any of her family. I’ll come back tomorrow at the same time to collect the child. Tell her to say her goodbyes and have his suitcase all packed. I won’t brook any further delay.”

After Lieutenant Pinkerton left, Suzuki went to the room at the back of the house where Butterfly was. She was standing at the window looking out at the trees.

“Japanese wife is a not real wife for American husband,” Butterfly said.

“He will come back tomorrow at the same time to take the boy,” Suzuki said.

“He will not take my son from me.”

“What will you do?”

“I know I can’t beat him in a court of law, so I will beat him another way.”

“What way?”

“After we dine, you will take the boy into the hills to the home of your mother and father. Don’t tell anybody where you are going. Stay there until I send word that it is safe to come back.”

“My family will be happy for me to pay visit with delightful boy,” Suzuki said.

During the unhurried meal that they took on the terrace, Butterfly informed the boy that he was going away for a few days to the country with Suzuki.

“Aren’t you coming, too?” he asked.

“Not this time,” Butterfly said. “I have to stay home and tend the flowers.”

“After we get to the river, we’ll take the boat the rest of the way,” Suzuki said. “You’ll like the boat.”

Suzuki put the things she would need and the things the boy would need into a bag, changed her shoes, and she was ready to go. Butterfly walked to the road with them, carrying the boy. At the point of departure, Butterfly handed him over to Suzuki.

“Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!” Butterfly said. She kissed the boy on his forehead and on each cheek and he began to cry.

“Soon you will be back home again,” she said. “You will not be lonely.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Suzuki said. “There is a full moon tonight and we have friends all along the way.”

When Lieutenant Pinkerton returned the next day with his American wife and the American consul, Sharpless, Butterfly greeted them graciously, as she would any old friend. She served them tea and poppyseed cakes and asked them questions about America and about their sea voyage. After an hour or so of small talk, Lieutenant Pinkerton, who had been squirming impatiently the whole time, asked where his son was.

Butterfly looked at him and smiled her sweet smile. “He is not here,” she said.

“Not here?” Lieutenant Pinkerton said.  “Didn’t you hear what I said yesterday? I mean to take the boy with me and our boat leaves at four o’clock.”

“He is not here,” Butterfly said.

“Where is he?”

“He is not here and the time of his return has not been decided.”

Lieutenant Pinkerton stood up abruptly and glared at Butterfly. “I don’t know what you are playing at here, but whatever it is it’s not going to work. If you think you can defy me, you will feel the full force of American jurisprudence.”

“Have another cup of tea,” Butterfly said.

Lieutenant Pinkerton was not accustomed to having his desires thwarted, as Butterfly well knew. He would threaten or intimidate as he saw fit. She would stand against him like a small boat in a big storm. The Christian God stood beside her.

“If you stand in the way of my taking my son with me today,” he said. “I want you to know I will be back with a team of American lawyers trained in Japanese law. We Americans are very determined in all things.”

“I hope you have a most safe and pleasant journey back to America. I will tell my son upon his return that his father paid us a visit and inquired after his health.”

Sharpless and Lieutenant Pinkerton’s wife gave Butterfly sympathetic smiles. The wife approached Butterfly and wanted to shake her hand but Butterfly retreated to the far side of the room with downcast eyes.

Butterfly expected more raging from Lieutenant Pinkerton that day or the next, but she heard nothing. When she went to the top of the hill overlooking Nagasaki harbor, she was relieved to see the American ship had departed.

Suzuki and the boy returned home after four days in the country and it was a most joyous reunion. The boy had many stories to relate to his mother about boats on the river and about the farm animals he had seen.

He grew up to be a decent young man with the beauty of two races. Butterfly gave him the name Benjamin Pink, so he would never forget his American father. He got a job at the American hospital as an orderly and hoped to train as a doctor’s assistant. He married a comely Nagasaki girl and within five years they had three children, two boys and a girl. No matter how large the family became, he would always insist that Butterfly live with them. He couldn’t envision them ever living apart.

Butterfly heard many years later that Lieutenant Pinkerton was dead. She wrote his American wife, whose kind face she remembered, a letter of condolence. A month later she received a reply, telling her that Lieutenant Pinkerton had never stopped thinking about his little Japanese Butterfly and the little son he never laid eyes on. He hoped they might all of them meet together in heaven one day so he could beg their forgiveness.

After reading the letter, Butterfly wiped away her tears, the last she would ever shed for Lieutenant Pinkerton, and put the letter in a drawer where it wouldn’t be disturbed. Someday, when the time was right, she would get the letter out again and, as they all sat around the table, she would tell them what a fine American man he was and how lucky she was to have known him.

Copyright © 2026 by Allen Kopp

by allen0997

June the Tenth (Not a Cloud in the Sky) ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp

The Day Belongs to the Rain image 6

June the Tenth (Not a Cloud in the Sky)
~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp ~

(This is a repost. It has been published in The Literary Hatchet.)

Mother was sitting at the kitchen table working on her deviled eggs, nails red against the white of the eggs. Lex walked past her on his way to the sink to get a drink of water but she didn’t look up. He drank half a glass full and turned to face her.

“I don’t want to go on the picnic,” he said.

She laid down her knife and took a drag on her menthol cigarette. “Why not?”

“I’ve got a stomach ache.”

“What you need is a good bowel movement.”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “What I need is to stay home from the picnic.”

“By yourself?”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” she said.

“But why?” he whined, hating whining but not being able to help himself.

“Don’t you want to see your great-grandma turn ninety?”

“She can turn ninety without me.”

“No, you can’t stay home. I want you at the picnic with the rest of us like a normal person.”

“What difference does it make if I’m there or not?”

“Because it’s a family gathering and you’re a part of the family. If you’re not with us, everybody will wonder where you are.”

“Can’t you just tell them I’m sick?”

“Now, Lex,” she said, pointing the knife at him, “this discussion is at an end. You are thirteen years old and that’s old enough to understand the importance of attending family gatherings, especially since some in the family are getting older and won’t be around forever.”

“Oh, I hate family gatherings.”

“Now, I don’t want to hear any more complaining. Go get your swim trunks and wrap them in that big towel with the fish on it and brush your teeth and get ready to go in about fifteen minutes. As soon as I can finish these stupid eggs.”

“I don’t need to take my swim trunks,” he said. “I’m not going in swimming.”

“Why not?”

“I said I have a stomach ache. You’re not supposed to go in swimming with a stomach ache. You can drown.”

“That’s silly,” she said. “Nobody’s going to drown. And, anyway, your cousins will be disappointed if you don’t go in swimming with them.”

“No, they won’t. They don’t care about me.”

“Why are you being so negative today?”

“Because I’m sick and I don’t want to go on any stupid picnic.”

“It’ll be fun. You’ll enjoy it.”

“No, I won’t.”

“When you get with your cousins, you’ll feel much better and you’ll want to race them to see who gets to the pool first.”

“Nobody does that, mother.”

Mother sat on the front seat next to father, the Tupperware container of deviled eggs on her lap. While driving, father smoked one Chesterfield after another, searching for the ballgame on the radio and not being able to find it.

“What in the hell did they do with it?” he said, turning red in the face.

“I wanted you to wear the blue plaid shirt today,” mother said. “I laid it out on the bed for you.”

“What difference does it make what I wear?”

“I just want you to look nice, is all.”

“For your family? Why would I want to look nice for them? I’d rather have Chinese water torture than to spend the day with your family!”

“It won’t kill you to be nice.”

“It might. And why does everything have to be ‘nice’ all the time? I think it might be ‘nice’ for you to try to expand your vocabulary a little.”

“You don’t need to trouble yourself about my vocabulary.”

Lex sat in the back seat with Birdie and tried not to look at her. She was already wearing her swimsuit. It was yellow with big pads in front to hold up her nonexistent breasts. She looked like a stick-thin child in a lady’s swimsuit.

“You look so silly,” Lex said.

“Not any sillier than you do, you big baby!” Birdie said.

“Mother, did you know she’s wearing lipstick?”

“Hey!” father said, turning around to look at Birdie. “You’re fifteen years old! Who do you think you are? Jane Russell?”

“I thought a little bit of lipstick wouldn’t hurt,” mother said. “She’s so pale.”

“Well, she can stay pale! She’s not wearing any makeup until she’s considerably older.”

“It’ll come right off in the pool, anyway,” Birdie said.

“When people see you in that hideous bathing suit and with lipstick,” Lex said, “they’ll laugh themselves silly. Who do you think you are? Jane Russell?”

“Oh, shut up!” Birdie said. “You make me sick!”

A traffic jam slowed them down for about ten minutes, but when they got to the park they found the place easily enough where mother’s family was gathered. Father parked the car and turned off the engine.

“Let’s see if we can all get along today without any complaining or negative emotions,” mother said.

“That would be nice!” father said.

Father, mother, Lex and Birdie all got out of the car and greeted the family with kisses, handshakes, and clichéd greetings. Mother handed the deviled eggs to aunt Vivian, who always took charge of the food. Somebody gave father a beer and he sat on a camp stool ten feet away from everybody else and lit a cigarette.

“Did you have trouble getting here?” mother’s sister, Peggy, asked her.

“No,” mother said. “Why would we?”

“Everybody was here before you were.”

“How’s my favorite grandma?” mother screamed, brushing past Peggy.

Grandma Pearl was the guest of honor. It was her ninetieth birthday and she was the center of attention. She had her hair done the day before and had slept sitting up all night to keep from mashing down her cotton-candy curls. She was dressed in a new lavender pantsuit and slippers to match.

“I’d never believe she’s ninety years old,” uncle Mervyn said. “She don’t look a day over eighty-nine!”

Everybody laughed except grandma. She didn’t understand the joke at all and wasn’t sure she hadn’t been insulted.

“Pooh to you!” she said.

“He was just kidding you, grandma,” aunt Vivian said.

“We need to get this nonsense wrapped up and get back indoors,” grandma said. “It’s going to rain.”

“But there’s not a cloud in the sky, honey!”

“Well, the rain is coming, just over there, and I don’t want to get caught in it. It’s going to be a bad one.”

“Just relax and try to enjoy yourself and don’t worry about a thing.”

“I want some hot coffee!”

“We didn’t bring any coffee, honey. It’s too hot for coffee. How about some iced tea or some lemonade?”

“No, I want coffee!”

“One of us is going to have to go find some coffee and bring it to her,” aunt Vivian said.

“No!” aunt Linda said. “She’ll be as tyrannical as you allow her to be. Just give her some iced tea and tell her it’s coffee.”

“You all are going to try to kill me afterwards,” grandma said. “I know you are.”

“Sounds like grandma’s havin’ a good time,” uncle Lyle said.

The uncles focused their attention on Lex. He knew it was coming and dreaded it.

“How has the world been a-treatin’ you?” uncle Herm asked.

“All right,” Lex said.

“What are you a-gonna be when you grow up?”

“I don’t know. A circus clown, I guess.”

“Have you got a girlfriend?” uncle Mervyn asked.

“No.”

“Why not? You’re comin’ up to that age.”

“I stay away from them and they stay away from me.”

“Aw, you’ll change your mind, boy, after a couple years of puba-tery!” Haw-haw-haw!”

“What grade are you in now?” uncle Lyle asked.

“Eighth.”

“What sports are you going out for?”

“None.”

“None? Why the hell not?”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“All the boys in our family are good at sports. Just look at your cousin Virgil there! He’s on the track team and the basketball team. I think he’s even going to try out for the swim team.”

Lex looked over at Virgil to be polite. Virgil smirked back at him in a superior way. Virgil’s younger brother Vernon whispered something in Virgil’s ear and they both laughed.

“I think you should seriously consider going out for some sport,” uncle Lyle said. “It just don’t seem normal otherwise.”

“Other things are more important to him,” mother said.

“Like what?”

“Raising his grade-point average so he can get into a good college.”

“Oh, one of those! A college man who can look down on all the rest of us!”

Everybody laughed and Lex wished he had been able to vomit before he left home.

After the uncles were finished with Lex, they turned their attention to Birdie.

“How’s little Birdie girl?” uncle Herm asked.

“Fine.”

“When you gettin’ married?”

“After she finishes high school and college,” mother said.

“You got a boyfriend?” uncle Mervyn asked.

“Oh, no!” Birdie said. She giggled and blushed and her breast cups moved in the wind, showing there was nothing in them.

“Now that’s no way to be!” uncle Lyle said. “I’ll bet you’re a real heartbreaker!”

“There is one boy I kind of like, but he goes to Catholic school and he doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Uh-oh! A Catholic! You have to watch out for them Catholics!”

“I don’t see anything wrong with being a Catholic,” Birdie said, and the uncles laughed uproariously.

Grim-faced, Birdie stood up and went to join the girl cousins—Carline, Sharonda, Bertine and Maude—who were giggling and passing around a cigarette in a circle.

When it was time to eat, aunt Vivian and aunt Peggy sat on either side of grandma and after they filled up her plate with food, they began feeding her little bird bites. When they fed her too fast, she choked and turned red in the face.

“I can feed myself, damnit!” grandma said. “I’m not a helpless baby!”

“We don’t want you to spill anything on your beautiful new outfit,” aunt Peggy said.

“Oh, screw you!”

Father ate in silence, wincing when any of the uncles clapped him on the back or spoke to him.

“How’s work going, Theodore?” uncle Lyle asked him.

“Fine,” father said.

“How’s the fishin’ been for you this spring?”

“I never fish.”

“Read any good books lately?”

“Not that I care to discuss.”

He finished eating and pushed his plate away, lit a Chesterfield and stared off into the distance.

The girl cousins didn’t eat much because they were excited about going into the pool and believed they might die in the water if they overate. After a few bites, they each got up from the table, one at a time, and got into the back of uncle Herm’s roomy van and changed into their swimsuits, giggling all the time. When they were all changed, they stood around awkwardly, feeling exposed, not knowing what to do with themselves, their bone-white arms and legs on view for all to see. The boy cousins—Virgil, Vernon, Monte and Dickie—gaped at them and snickered. Vernon made howling sounds like a wolf baying at the moon, while pimply faced Dickie made pig snorts. Lex took one glance at them and looked away, finding the sight of them more than he could bear.

All the cousins were ready to go to the pool, but aunt Vivian wouldn’t let anybody go until after grandma’s cake had been cut. She brought the cake forward from the trunk of her car where she had been keeping it to keep the bugs off and set it on the table in front of grandma. There were nine candles, one for every decade of grandma’s life, but aunt Vivian was afraid to light them because the wind had suddenly become gusty and she was afraid that grandma might catch her hair on fire.

Uncle Herm went and got his camera. The four granddaughters stood beside grandma’s chair, two on each side, with grandma looking down at the blue-and-white cake with a look on her face that could only be described as one of horror.

After the picture was taken, aunt Vivian sliced the cake, putting the pieces on paper plates with a plastic fork on each plate. Vernon picked up a piece in his hand and stuffed it all into his mouth at once, causing the other boy cousins to do the same.

The girl cousins declined any cake. They had eaten too much already and were afraid of looking fat in their swimsuits. Aunt Vivian gave them all the go-ahead and they were all off to the pool.

Lex sat at the table, eating his cake methodically, watching the trees blowing, wishing he was at home by himself.

“Aren’t you going swimming with the other kids?” aunt Linda asked, giving him her fish-eyed stare.

“I didn’t bring my swim trunks,” he said.

“Oh, yes, you did!” mother said. “They’re in the car. Don’t you remember?”

“You’d better hurry up and catch up with the other kids,” aunt Linda said. “Kids love the pool.”

“Not all do,” Lex said, but aunt Linda didn’t hear him because a car was passing by and she was looking to see if the people in it were noticing her.

The wind picked up and the paper plates and napkins left on the table began to scatter. Mother and the aunts had to scramble to keep everything from blowing away. The uncles sat and laughed at them and drank their beer and smoked their cigarettes.

“It started out such a beautiful day and now it’s going to rain and spoil grandma’s birthday party,” mother said.

“I don’t mind!” grandma said. “You can take me back home any time!”

Dark clouds rolled in, blotting out the sun, with faraway flashes of lightning. The rain started light like fairy kisses but gradually grew in intensity.

“Not a good time for the kids to be in the pool,” aunt Vivian said.

Watching the sky, Lex smiled. He loved a good thunderstorm, the present one especially, because it reinforced his belief that the picnic was a bad idea in the first place. He was glad the day was spoiled. Even grandma was glad and the whole thing had been for her.

When the rain became a drenching downpour and the lightning became closer with every strike, aunt Vivian, with the help of uncle Herm, got grandma into the back of the van. She screamed with every lightning strike and pretended to be so scared, but Lex knew her and he knew she was enjoying every minute of it. She’d have something to tell her friends—her dramatic escape from a terrifying storm.

With grandma safely in the van, everybody else got into their cars to wait it out. With any luck, they said, it would only be five minutes or so.

“Do you think they’re safe in the pool?” mother asked.

“They’ll be all right,” father said.

“Lex, go get your sister and tell her we want to leave,” mother said.

“No! Do you think I want to get struck by lightning?”

Three lightning strikes in quick succession caused mother to yelp and duck.

“I’m going to get Birdie at the pool!” she said. “Lex, you come with me!”

She took Lex by the hand and they ran toward the pool. In a matter of seconds, they were drenched through to their skin. The rain now was an opaque curtain.

When they were close enough to the pool to see it, they saw people running toward them. Out of the crowd emerged Birdie. When she saw mother, she ran to her, sobbing and gasping.

“What’s the matter?” mother asked. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, mother, it’s awful!” Birdie said.

“What is it? Are you hurt?”

“Sharonda was struck by the lightning. I think she’s dead.”

Mother and Lex got Birdie back to the car. When father saw them coming, he jumped out and opened the door. Mother pushed Birdie into the back seat and got in behind her.

“Tell me what happened,” mother said, trying to wipe the water out of Birdie’s face.

“When the storm started,” Birdie said, “the lifeguards told everybody to get out of the pool, but a few stayed. They thought it was a lot of fun. Sharonda was one that stayed. There were about six others. She had just come up out of the water and was standing at the edge of the pool. I didn’t see the lightning that hit her but I saw the flash. After she was hit, she fell into the water. The lifeguard blew his whistle really loud to get everybody’s attention. A couple of boys got Sharonda out of the water and they started working over her, trying to resuscitate her, but I knew she wasn’t breathing. Somebody called an ambulance, but it hadn’t come yet. That’s when I left.”

“Do Lyle and Linda know?”

“I don’t think so. Nobody has told them yet.”

“I have to go tell them what’s happened.”

The ambulance came and loaded Sharonda into the back with hundreds of people standing in the rain watching. Uncle Lyle and aunt Linda followed behind in their own car to the hospital, where Sharonda, their only child, was pronounced dead.

On the way home, the rain continued unabated. Father drove with the headlights on, leaning forward, his face only a few inches from the windshield.

“This has been quite a storm!” he said. “The rivers are going to flood tonight.”

“Today of all days,” mother said. “Wouldn’t you just know it? On poor old grandma’s ninetieth birthday!”

“I knew somebody was going to die today,” Lex said. “Grandma knew it too.”

“Now we’ll have a funeral to go to,” mother said. “I hope you can still wear your blue suit.”

“No more family picnics for me,” father said.

Birdie sat on the seat beside Lex, sobbing quietly. It was going to take her a while to get over seeing Sharonda die. Lex would have felt sorry for her if she hadn’t looked so silly in her yellow lady’s swimsuit.

He turned away and put his fingertips on the window, the water only a scant fraction of an inch away—he could almost feel it. As the car moved slowly and cautiously through the deluge, it gave one the impression of traveling underwater in a tiny submarine. When the rain finally stopped, it was going to be a terrible disappointment.

Copyright 2026 by Allen Kopp

by allen0997

The Last of Reginald ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp

The Last of Reginald image 2

The Last of Reginald
~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp ~

Wexler Deal had been dead a long time. Since he died while still a child, his spirit-self would always be a child. Despite his naivete, he had experienced all the spirit world had to offer. He had traveled all over the world. He had been at the forefront of memorable hauntings. He had had sterling friends both male and female. Now he was lonely. Now he wanted a home.

He went back to the city of his birth, thinking that was as good a place as any to look for a home, but nothing looked the same. The hospital where he was born had been torn down and an office building stood in its place. The cemetery where he was buried was overgrown and unkempt, with a new highway built uncomfortably close. In the neighborhood where he had lived before he died, all the houses had been torn down and a shopping center built in their place.

Nothing was the same. There were no streetcars anymore. The little shops along Main Street were all gone. He didn’t see any horses anywhere, but there were lots of trucks. There were also lots of annoying people and much noise. He didn’t like the modern world.

“Just how long have you been dead, anyway?” he asked himself.

He sat in the park on a bench, watching living people go by and thinking how he didn’t belong and how he should find someplace else to go. If he was looking for happiness, he wouldn’t find it here.

He was watching a swan glide toward an island in the center of the lake when two people crossed his field of vision, a woman and a boy. The woman, smartly dressed, had soft-looking hair the color of straw. She was leading the boy by the hand. They stopped at the water fountain. The boy felt the fountain with both hands. She turned it on for him while he drank.

Wexler watched them as long as they were in the park and when they left he followed them.

They went home to a two-story brick house with a spacious yard. Wexler was fascinated by the boy who had to feel the water fountain with hands before he took a drink. He was a smart-looking boy just about Wexler’s age. He would make a good brother. The woman would make a good mother. He was sure of it.

The next day, he went back just as the boy and the woman were emerging from the house. He let them go ahead of him and then followed them.

This time they went to the library. The woman sat at a table and pulled a chair close to her for the boy to sit on. She began looking at newspapers. Whenever she went to the rack to get another newspaper, the boy sat quietly with his hands folded across his stomach and lowered his head. He closed his eyes as though he were asleep.

Wexler sat on the other side of the boy. Of course, the boy didn’t see him and didn’t know he was there. This gave Wexler a chance to look closely at the boy. Wexler saw how far the boy’s eyelashes extended from his eyes. His hair was exactly the same color as Wexler’s and, in fact, they looked enough alike to be brothers. The only difference was that Wexler had been dead for decades, but when he died he was about the same age that the boy was now, so, for all intents and purposes, they were the same age.

When they left the library, they stopped on the way home at a restaurant to eat lunch. They sat at a red-upholstered booth and ate tuna-salad sandwiches and drank malteds. Wexler sat beside the boy and watched him eat, mimicking him and imagining what it would be like to take food into his mouth and swallow it. He hadn’t eaten in decades, but he remembered what it was like.

Soon they were back home again. Instead of turning ar0und and walking away when the woman and the boy went inside, Wexler slipped inside with them. The woman closed the door, blissfully unaware that Wexler was there. Being a spirit certainly has its advantages.

The boy went upstairs, while the woman went into the kitchen. Wexler was going to go along with the boy to get better acquainted with him, but instead he wanted to spend some time exploring the house.

It was a big house. The rooms were splendidly furnished and there were a lot of them. These people must certainly have a lot of money, thought Wexler. I wouldn’t mind living in a place like this.

In a little while the woman went into the front room and laid down on the couch. Wexler watched her as she took off her shoes and made herself comfortable. She didn’t have to fix dinner or do any other work, Wexler was soon to discover, because she had a black maid named Ethel to do everything.

When dinner was ready, Ethel brought the food in from the kitchen and put it on the dining room table. The woman rose from the couch, and the boy came down from upstairs. They sat across from each other at the table. The woman put the food on the boy’s plate, and then on her own, and they began eating. Wexler hovered over the table and watched them as they ate. Finally he sat down beside the boy and listened to their conversation.

“Did you straighten your room?” the woman asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you hang up your clothes and put your underwear in the wash?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You’re not helpless, you know.”

“I never said I was.”

“Do you like the roast beef?

“Sure.”

After dinner, the boy went to his room and read a book that was little dots on a page. The woman watched TV while Wexler continued to explore the house, including the basement and attic.

At bedtime, the woman and the boy said their good nights, and the boy went into his room and changed into his pajamas. After he got into bed and was settling down to sleep, Wexler sat in a chair beside the bed and whistled an old tune.

“Who’s there?” the boy asked.

Wexler continued to whistle.

“I know there’s somebody there.”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“How long have you been following me?”

“Just for a couple of days.”

“I knew it! I could feel it!”

“Just between you and me.”

“What?”

“Is that woman your mother?”

“Of course not. She’s my guardian.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“She abandoned me when I was a baby.”

“Why did she do that?”

“Because I was born blind.”

“That’s terrible!”

“As you can see, I get along all right. Now, you’d better tell me who you are and what you want.”

“If I told you my name, it wouldn’t mean anything.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“My name is Wexler Deal.”

“That’s a funny name.”

“What’s yours?”

“Reginald Flinders.”

“I’d shake your hand, but I don’t have a hand.”

“Why not? Have you been in a terrible accident?”

“No, I…That’s a story for another time.”

“Why ‘for another time’?”

“I don’t think you’re ready for the truth about me right now.”

“Why not?”

“Just take my word for it.”

“All right. Now, tell me what you’re doing in my house.”

“I’ve been looking for a brother. When I saw you in the park, I thought you might be him.”

“That sounds suspicious. I think I should tell Grace the whole thing.”

“Who’s Grace?”

“She’s my guardian. She’ll want to know what you’re doing here. She’ll call the police.”

“No need for that.”

“I want to know how you got in without Grace or the maid seeing you.”

“Nobody sees me.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m not really there. Or here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been dead for a long time. I’m a spirit.”

“Yeah, that’s a good one!”

“It’s the absolute truth. The reason Grace and the maid didn’t see me is because I’m not really there. Nobody sees me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you believe me?”

“Of course I believe you.”

They talked for hours. They both realized how good it was to have somebody to talk to. Before the night was over, they both ended up asleep, side by side, in Reginald’s bed. In the morning they woke up and began talking again.

Reginald went to a school for the blind. In the morning some people came and picked him up and kept him at school all day, and in the afternoon they brought him back home again. When he wasn’t at school, he spent almost all his time with Wexler. They spoke on every subject imaginable. Reginald told him how he wondered about colors and what a cow looked like, or a chicken.

“One day you’ll see everything,” Wexler said.

“I don’t think so. I’ve always been this way.”

“I’d help you to see if I knew how.”

Another time, Reginald said, “Tell me what you look like. Describe yourself to me.”

“I don’t look like anything,” Wexler said. “I’m not here.”

“If you were here and I could see you, what would you look like?”

“When I had a body and a face, I looked just the way you look now.”

“I’ve never seen myself.”

“My hair is halfway between brown and blond. My nose is large but not too large.  My eyes are blue and very handsome. My mouth is in the usual place.”

Despite Wexler’s discomfort, he let Reginald “see” him with his hands: head, ears, eyes, forehead, nose, mouth, chin, neck. When he was finished, he put his arms down and said, “So, that’s what I look like!”

“We’re just like twins,” Wexler said with a laugh.

Time went by quickly. The weeks became months, and it was winter again. Still Wexler stayed by Reginald’s side, with Grace, the guardian, and Ethel, the maid, never knowing there was another person in the house.

Wexler began to think that helping Reginald see was the best thing he could do in the world. He wanted Reginald to see everything he himself had seen all over the world. Unforgettable things like an octopus, a tall mountain, a full moon, a tropical rain forest, a desert, a waterfall, a polar ice cap. The list goes on and on.

He knew a doctor, a man named Gottschalk, currently living in New York. Dr. Gottschalk was a ghoul, hundreds of years old. He wasn’t really alive but was kept alive by artificial means. Wexler had met him socially on several occasions and had sat in on some of his lectures at the University of Vienna.

Wexler flew to New York and called Dr. Gottschalk and made an appointment to see him later in the day. Dr. Gottschalk remembered Wexler fondly.

Dr. Gottschalk hadn’t changed a bit. He was still frightening-looking with his white skin, long face and big teeth, but he was receptive and, as always, willing to help.

“Reginald is my best friend,” Wexler said to Dr. Gottschalk. “He’s alive, not a spirit like me. The problem is he can’t see. He was born that way. I want him to see all the wonders in the world that I’ve seen. I want to show him these things, as a friend.”

“I think I have just the thing,” Dr. Gottschalk said.

He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a little bottle and handed it to Wexler.

“This should do the trick,” he said.

“What is it?” Wexler asked.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t know what I was talking about.”

“Okay.”

“Mix this in with a glass of water and have your little friend drink it before bedtime. Right before.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“In the morning, there’ll be a drastic change for the better.”

“Are you certain?”

“It’s never failed yet.”

Wexler tried to pay Dr. Gottschalk, but he wouldn’t accept any payment.

“I already have all the money in the world,” Dr. Gottschalk said. “I like helping my friends!”

“I can’t thank you enough!” Wexler said.

Wexler held onto the bottle for a few days. He didn’t want to administer it before the time was right. He waited until late Friday night. It was snowing out.

He waited until Reginald was snugly in bed. “I have something for you,” he said.

“What is it?”

“It’s something that will make you see.”

“What is it?”

“I have a doctor friend. His name is Dr. Gottschalk. He’s a ghoul, but that doesn’t matter.”

“A ghoul? I like it already!”

“It’s a little bottle of liquid. I’ll mix it in some water and then you’ll drink it.”

“What are we waiting for?”

“It’ll make you see everything, but there’s just one bad thing.”

“What could be bad about seeing everything?”

“Your life as Reginald will end.”

“What are you saying?”

“You’ll die and you’ll be a spirit like me.”

“Oh.”

“No more guardians and no more school for the blind.”

“Will you stay with me? I mean, while I die?”

“Sure, I will.”

“Will it hurt?”

“I don’t think so, but if it does, it will only be for a minute.”

Wexler gave Reginald the chance to postpone the drinking of the liquid for a few days—or indefinitely—but Reginald wanted to go ahead with it. More than anything in the world, he wanted to see with his own eyes.

Wexler went into the bathroom and drew a glass of cold water from the faucet. He set the glass on the sink and carefully poured the bottle of amber liquid into the water. He stirred it with his finger then and held it up to get a better look.

When he took the bottle back into the bedroom, Reginald was sitting on the side of the bed, waiting. He took the glass out of Wexler’s hand.

“Are you scared?” Wexler asked.

“No.”

“Do you want me to get into bed with you?”

“If you want to.”

Reginald drank the amber liquid in the glass and when he was finished, he handed the glass back into Wexler’s hand.

“I guess this is it,” he said.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Wexler said. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Copyright © 2026 by Allen Kopp

by allen0997