November 2008
Something to Do With Sebastian by Douglas Lind
A Rainy Night of Density with a Reckless Neurotic by Richey Piiparinen
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The Polka-Dot Suit
by Michael A. Kechula
Michael A. Kechula is a retired technical writer. Switching to fiction in 2003, his works have won first prize in six writing contests and honorable mention in two others. His stories have appeared in 62 print and online magazines and anthologies in Australia, Canada, England, and the US. He's written seven books of flash fiction tales and a self-study book that teaches beginners how to write flash fiction. He's former Flash Fiction Editor of Apollo's Lyre eZine, Senior Editor of Nimue's Grotto eZine, and Submissions Editor of the Coffee Cramp, a print magazine.
"The Polka-Dot Suit" was previously published by "Wicked Karnival Magazine", March 2005.
That sonovobitch, Grant Garson, called and threatened me. “I’ll slit your throat if you don’t stay away from Victoria Benson, you two bit garbage collector!”
Yeah sure. Big, tough guy. Just because he was running for mayor, he thought I’d tremble. Wait until he finds out Victoria is gonna ditch him for me.
A few nights after Garson’s election, Victoria met me in the boathouse for a night of mad love. “This is the last time, Rupert. I’ve made a decision. Grant’s on his way up. He’ll probably run for Congress. It’s at least two years before you’ll get promoted to garbage truck driver. You have to agree, it makes more sense to be the wife of a man on his way up.”
I don’t know how I controlled the horrendous homicidal rage that flooded my body, soul, psyche.
They were to marry on Valentine’s Day. I killed her the week before. Grabbed her in the dark at the mall parking lot. Drove out to the quarry, doused her with gasoline, and lit a match. Then I scooped up the ashes, tucked them inside expensive gift-wrap, inserted a card to explain the contents, and mailed the package to the mayor.
I chuckled over my fabulous daydream about him in a fancy tuxedo, standing in front of a preacher who asked if he’d take Victoria Benson as his wedded wife. Garson raised to eyelevel the urn he’d carried into the chapel, and said, “I do.” When the preacher said, “you may kiss the bride,” Garson smooched the urn containing Victoria’s ashes.
Garson telephoned me. “I’ll slit your throat, if you come to the funeral.”
Screw him. I made preparations to attend. Found a black suit for five bucks in a thrift store. Went to Wal-Mart and bought some material with iridescent polka-dots. Paid a woman to cut the cloth into patches and sew them all over the suit. With a razor, I slashed the suit to make it look tattered. Rolled it up and put it between my box spring and mattress to get it suitably wrinkled. It looked magnificent!
What a wonderful day for a funeral. Folks gathered at the Haven of Infinite Rest. Resplendent in my polka-dot suit, I headed for the entrance. Victoria’s mom and dad walked by without noticing. The mayor did the same. I wondered why he wore a fancy tuxedo and carried an urn.
Once inside, I saw hundreds of glowing candles and white bunting, everywhere. Everybody smiled. Somebody played a bouncy version of “Here Comes the Bride.” Garson hop scotched down the aisle toward the funeral director, carrying the urn overhead.
“Friends, we are gathered together to join our Mayor and Victoria Benson in holy matrimony. Is there a reason why this should not come to pass?”
“Where’s the bride?” I hollered.
“Right here,” Garson said, pointing to the urn.
“But she’s just a pile of dust.”
“Watch,” he said. Putting the urn on the floor, he pulled out a flute, and played an Irish jig. A white veiled snake popped its head from the urn, and jerked rhythmically. The whole congregation joined in.
Garson stopped playing and yelled, “Ladies and Gentlemen. I regret to inform you that Victoria and I have decided to call our wedding off.” Pointing at me he added, “She wishes to marry Rupert Roper.”
“I’m not marrying any damn snake,” I yelled. “It’s a ghost. The ghost of Victoria come back to haunt me. For killing her.”
Garson lunged toward me with his switchblade. Disarming him, I stabbed him a dozen times. Then I slashed the snake to smithereens.
They say I’m here for killing Victoria Benson and the Mayor during their wedding ceremony. Liars. I’m being kept here as the mayor’s political prisoner.
I spend my days playing with a small pail of dirt. It’s really Victoria’s ashes. She told me so.
After lights out, we make passionate love every night. I’ve proposed, and she’s agreed to marry me. The wedding is tomorrow.
I sure wish my polka dot suit was handy.
The Polka-Dot Suit is copyrighted 2007 by Michael A. Kechula and may not be reproduced under any circumstances without the author's permission.