George Davis

“Nelson Haskell's Dilemma” by George Davis

Nelson Haskell’s Dilemma—George Davis   Barry Keene, Nelson Haskell’s oldest friend asked, “You wanna do something fun, Nelson?”   “What’d you have in mind?”   “This would be a good day to rob a bank.” Nelson laughed. Barry was serious. “We can do this, Nelson. I’ve plotted this thing in my mind for two years. With you, or without you. I am going to rob the First Nation Bank of Bickford, Maine.”   “Barry, are you serious?”   “Never been more serious in my life. I’m tired of working day in and...

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“A Prisoner's Secret” by George Davis

A Prisoner’s Secret—George Davis   My profession takes me all over the country. I am an evangelist supported by love offerings. This story begins one dark, stormy night, sound familiar? I was coming home from Waldoboro, Maine where I held a series of meetings in the Open Door Church on Route 1. As I drove down that famous route, I saw, in the distance, a human figure, a shape I could not determine. As I drew nearer I could see it was a tall man, thumb up, clothes dripping wet. I guess I felt sorry for him.    “Get in...

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“Good Luck Maudy Hersham” by George Davis

Good Luck Maudy Hersham—George Davis   Has it been forty years since I played second violin in the Bickford Community Orchestra? Maudy Hersham thought. She noted she hadn’t played her violin in that many years. Oh, it was, looking backward to that pleasurable time, so silly. The argument over who would be the first chair in the string section. Maudy was a contender, but Harry Noble was the conductor’s nephew. Maudy figured she didn’t stand a chance even though she was twice the player her opponent was, or would ever be.  &...

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“I See Through A Glass Darkly” by George Davis

Submitted to Contest #105

I See Through A Glass Darkly—George Davis   This bizarre tale began three years ago. It was the strangest occurrence one might experience. I could see through another person’s eyes. No longer was I, Alfred Middleton the bright, witty man I’d known for the last forty years. I became a new person.    Pardon me for blowing my own horn. I say all this to help you understand what has happened to me. I was a teacher at Bickford High School for fifteen years, graduating from the University of Maine, magna cum laude. A fir...

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“Bad Blood” by George Davis

Submitted to Contest #104

Bad Blood—George Davis   Lulu Belle Dow and I have been going together for two years. Our relationship could be, what some call, incendiary. We have ups and downs; mostly downs. I admit, most of the time I am at fault. I am, as was my father, and grandfather before him, a home-body.  Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Courtney Halverson, of the Long Island Halversons. I am the sixth generation of this, shall we say, elite family. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I was born with a gold spoon...

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“Sepia Sanctum” by George Davis

Submitted to Contest #103

Sepia Sanctum—George Davis   Rummaging through the attic in my old Victorian home, I came across a tired-old box filled with someone’s memories. They weren’t my remembrances. The box was here when I bought the house a year ago. I don’t like it up here. It is dusty with a myriad of spider’s webs woven from ceiling to the floor. However, today I decided to check and see if the attic held any priceless antiques. What I found beside grime and numerous displays of spidery gossamer was this dilapidated carton. Under its tattered lid, I b...

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“A Gentle Giant” by George Davis

Submitted to Contest #102

In Gratia Amicus Meus—George Davis   He lived in our neighborhood, for as long as I can remember. For some reason, he liked me. Often when I was out playing, he would stand behind the chain link fence, standing erect and still. He never was much for conversation. Many times I approached him, talked to him without his not commenting, just staring at me with a slight grin. His long white, stained beard seemed to blow in the wake of his utterances, on the occasions, he spoke to me.    Most of the neighbors avoided any...

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“Mirror Mirror On The Wall” by George Davis

Submitted to Contest #101

Mirror Mirror On The Wall—George Davis   Has it been two weeks or two months since I have stared into my bathroom mirror? It happened several weeks ago. A Sunday morning, feeling sick, or what is known as a hangover had me staggering into my bathroom where immediately my stomach released all I had eaten in the last two weeks, or so it seemed.   I remember lifting my head and staring into the mirror. I was shocked at what stared back at me. It was the face of pure evil. It was a demon, red-eyed, fire-breathing soul from ...

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“Out To Lunch” by George Davis

Submitted to Contest #100

Out To Lunch—George Davis   Now let me see. I thought the roast had to go in at five-thirty to be ready for seven when Helen gets here. She is coming from her home twenty minutes away in Cumberland Falls just over the Sagamore River bridge.    I’ve got the table all set. All I will have to do is transfer the food from the kitchen to the dining room, light the candles, and pour the wine.    This has to be the best meal I’ve ever cooked. Understand, I am not a cook. I am the manager of Bickford Savings...

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“Blissful Summer” by George Davis

Submitted to Contest #99

Blissful Summer—George Davis   It was the same summer I met Charlotte Haines. Charlotte was here vacationing for the summer with her maternal grandparents, Ivory and Lucille McGregor.    As far as I was concerned, Charlotte Haines was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. Understand, I did not date during high school. I spent all my time studying to become a good, no great, physician. Not one female classmate appealed to my senses. I was too busy being an egghead.    I stood on my front porch that over...

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“The Long Road To Nowhere” by George Davis

Submitted to Contest #98

The Long Road To Nowhere—George Davis  The old saying: ‘You can never go home’ is not a cliche. It is the truth. I should know. I was exiled from my hometown by reason of misappropriation.    Let me start at the beginning. My name is Damien Barlow. I am…was the town manager of the small rural community of Bickford, Maine, a town thirty miles northwest of its largest city, Portland.   I was born in Bickford; I went through the school system, graduating a year early at the age of seventeen. I never thought of m...

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“Hank Sampson's Wager” by George Davis

Submitted to Contest #98

Hank Sampson’s Wager—George Davis   Hank Sampson has been going to the racetrack two or three nights a week for the last seven years and, as he says, ‘I break even’   Hank can ill-afford to spend the money on the ponies. He goes, he says, ‘to make extra money to buy a house. He’s rented from Olive Pearson for the last forty-one years. Hank has never missed paying his rent on time until now.   “I’m sorry, Olive. I’ll get the money to you by…the end of the week.”    “Hank, you need to stop your ga...

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“The Fair Of Fear” by George Davis

Submitted to Contest #98

The Fair Of Fear—George Davis   I fell asleep in my dark-brown recliner. I guess I was tired, though I do not know from what. It was Saturday, and since I didn’t have to go to work. I watched TV most of the day. Something that is not conducive to good physical health.    I did mow the lawn before I settled down with the television programs. It was late afternoon; the sun was still moving across the azure blue sky overshadowed by a few white, misty clouds floating lazily in the atmosphere.    I hadn’t b...

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“Come Back Little Sheila” by George Davis

Submitted to Contest #97

Come Back Little Sheila—George Davis   I am staring out my bedroom window, as I have done every night since someone kidnapped my little Sheila. She was only six years old, a small, tow-headed bundle of joy, my joy.  It all started seven years ago tonight. My wife and I were sleeping down the hall from our little girl. My wife, I’m surprised didn’t hear anything. She is a very light sleeper. I, on the other hand, could sleep through a raging hurricane. Well, the next morning, my wife got up and was her custom, checked on our ...

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“Seymour Doolittle's Visitor” by George Davis

Submitted to Contest #96

Seymour Dolittle’s Visitor—George Davis   When my wife and I bought Marconi Manor, a Victorian home in need of much repair, we renamed it, Dolittle’s Estate. The deed says: Seymour and Dorothy Dolittle owners of said property, located at 115 Main Street, Cumberland Falls, Maine, etc.   It was while we were in the throes of remodeling our new home. I was summoned by a workman to join him in our guest room at the top of the stairs. “Mr. Dolittle,” he said, “there’s something in this room that scares me. Do you sense it?” ...

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