Hurricane Kid

September 22, 1999

Home School Fiction: (Read Dave's Follow-up Story "Jim's Burger Barn")
(Read Family Fiction: "Deerfield")


“The death count has reached 27 as Hurricane Richard continues to storm through the south-western district.” calmly reported the weather man. The child turned up the television’s volume, clutching to Mojo, a stuffed monkey his parents had given him when he turned 3. He looked through the window at the rain being whipped around by the fierce winds. The lights dimmed and the TV screen went snowy, then faded as he heard the horrible crunch of a transmitter ripping free of the bolts that kept it to the ground at the nearby TV station. Why did Mom have to go to that dumb ol’ interview at a time like this? he thought to himself. And why did it have to be all the way up in New York? He walked over to the kitchen and turned on the battery powered radio. With his dad working in the town volunteer rescue service, he was all alone in the mid-sized house.

His town was made up of about 35 homes, a TV station, a school, 3 restaurants, and a fast-food burger joint. There was also some government run buildings, including the power generator and water treatment plant. As the radio gabbled on about damage reports in the nearby large cities, he watched the rain pound into the skinny and tall house that sat alone, across the street. He always caught bad vibes from that house. It gave off a spooky, haunted feeling, almost as if it wanted revenge on the people in his town. He looked down the street and saw his father, dressed in a fluorescent orange vest and white shirt with tight fitting jeans rounding off the outfit. He was running over to old Mrs. Harrison’s’ house, his tool belt and med-kit flapping around in the wind. “Why can’t he just come home and take care of me? the child thought. “I wonder if Mrs. Harrison is okay? I could sure go for one of those sugar cookies she always gives me when I come over.” he thought as he licked his lips. “I wonder how she always happens to have them ready whenever I come over? And where does she find the quantity of ingredients to make them all?” He walked over to the door, and slowly turned the knob. He ever so slightly opened the door a crack, and stuck his head out.

He watched as a passing car got stuck in the water backing up from the sewers. As the wind kicked up, it grabbed the door from his hands, flinging it as far open as it could, but a chain lock held it in place. That overwhelmed the child, so he quickly closed the door and sped over to the couch next to the window to watch from there. By the time he had grabbed Mojo, sat down, and looked outside, 3 men were pushing the small car out of the gigantic puddle of brown water, which each man was boot high in. He had always wondered why people would want such tiny cars.

The earlier thought of sugar cookies had made him hungry, so he walked over to the refrigerator. Inside was a bottle of cola, some onions, a dozen jumbo eggs, 3 tomatoes, a pack of raspberries, two ears of corn, and some milk. He automatically grabbed the cola, then decided to take one tomato. He walked over to the small stove and picked up the salt shaker on his way back to the couch with the view of the outside world. He put some salt on the tomato and took a bite while watching the wind fling raindrops at objects and people at immense speeds. He looked about 9 blocks down the street, where he could see the way out of proportion “Farm Burger with Cheese” swaying on top of the Burger Farm’s roof, the burger joint in his town where all the other school kids hung out at after class. He took another bite out of the salty tomato. He looked at the house 5 down from his, where his friend Sam lives. Every Tuesday, he and Sam would ride with Sam’s mom in their big van to pick up groceries from the larger town 14 minutes away. They had a market open on Tuesdays and Thursdays there, although he didn’t like it there very much because of the planty smell of the vegetable section. Although he did like it when the stockboy was watering the plants, because he and Sam could walk by the wave of mist coming from the garden hose handle, getting a cool, soaking breeze of moisture. Not that the current weather wasn’t wet enough for him. Outside, men with snowshovels were shoveling the giant puddle away from the center of the street.

“Hurricane Richard has gone from a category 3 hurricane, to a category 2, which brings relief to many cities enduring the harsh weather conditions.” Squawked the radio. That brought a smile to the child’s face. He thought that if the hurricane continues to dissipate, his father would be home soon. “When dad gets home, he will turn on the gas-powered fire place, and he’ll make us both some cocoa.” He thought. “Hope it disappears soon.” He again looked across the street at the spooky old house, this time paying more attention to the rattling doors and windows that lined the outside wall. With their sharp, triangular angles, each window and door looked like a mouth full of sharp teeth, waiting for you to walk by so it could gobble you up. He just looked at the house with glossed over eyes as he imagined his parents walking by the 2nd window on the right, then getting sucked in by the hungry house. He blinked his eyes slowly, trying to get the itchyness to go away. But as he did so, he could fell his eyes droop down, and had no control over his head as it sagged onto the pillowy cushion of the chair.

Soon his view was of pink, orange, yellow, and other bright hues, shifting around in a swirl. Then of a ballroom dance where woman in long, frilly dresses danced with men wearing tight, royal uniform, like the kind you see in so many Disney movies. They danced in great circles, all the while in-step with each other as the sun and moon rose and set, and the huge chandeliers suspended above their heads twirled and shone dim light on to the floor below. As that image faded away, he looked into his fathers grinning face. He rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up, noticing that it was very dark outside. “Hey slugger, thought you might like some cocoa.” said his father, holding out a mug of cocoa with a giant marshmallow floating on top of it. “Thanks Dad, I would” he said, smiling.

Copyright, 1999, All rights reserved


First Upload: September 1999
Last Update: April 22, 2001