Treehouse

online magazine for short, good writing

Category: Genres

Brief Encounter: McGovern’s Motors

by Treehouse Editors

David S. Osgood

The vehicles returned to the dealership in furious fashion; some were even on fire when they reached the service entrance. Peter watched, horrified, as irate customers he had shook hands with days before were exiting cars and SUVs and minivans with the intent of ruining him. He had given each of them his word that these were the best of the fleet, that McGovern’s was the most reputable dealership in the county, and that he would never sell anything he wouldn’t drive off the lot himself. He visually ransacked the sales floor; it was barren. The angry mob descended upon him with crumpled bills of sale and eyes so wide they could swallow the earth.

He had to think fast. Mr. McGovern was probably in Belize by now, starting up a car dealership with a fleet of new lemons disguised as mangoes. Seeing as Peter was recently appointed General Manager, he was the fall guy. The crowd would need answers. They will demand their money back. They will kick and fight and have his head. His accountability training screamed at him in glorious irony.

He came outside with his hands up. The tumultuous sea of new car owners, surrounded by faulty steel and glass, rose to a quiet which halted the wind.

“Everyone, please listen closely. You all have been the result of a test group. You will be handsomely rewarded for your participation. Our control group is happily driving around in McGovern’s best-made vehicles, while you, unfortunately, were chosen to test the limits of customer satisfaction. It’s cruel, I know, but you will gain in monumental recompense. If you will please follow me into the showroom, slowly and without pushing, I will set each of you up with a new car of your choice and a big fat check for your troubles. You did it, brave souls, you survived and you have won!”

Some balked and guffawed. Others ran quietly to the showroom doors and shuffled in against the windows. After some coaxing, every disgruntled customer sardined into the shiny showroom with the expertly waxed floors to await payout. Peter closed the door behind the last rejecter and locked it tight. He mouthed “I’m sorry” to them and ran frantically to his vehicle. He jumped in, locked the doors, and put the keys in the ignition.

The car wouldn’t start. It was a McGovern.


David S. Osgood is a short story writer. He resides in Holly Springs, North Carolina, where rural and suburban collide among crepe myrtles. David has a Bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing from the University of Southern California and a Master’s from Babson College.

Brief Encounter: Keeping Mum

by Treehouse Editors

Karan Parrack

The summer my husband and I moved to the Texas Hill Country and bought
a house on two sloping, rocky acres west of Austin, we had just added to our
family an astonishingly large yellow lab puppy named Mason. Unfortunately, the acreage was not fenced. While Mason bounded and romped across the spacious land, chasing but never quite catching the rabbits and deer that roamed freely, we had to tether him to a stake in the side yard whenever we left the house. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it worked for the time.

By mid-October, the weather turned to more fall-like temperatures and the Hill Country became absolutely gorgeous. Our house had a fantastic wooden front porch with five steps leading up to it. I pictured how beautiful my country home would look with colorful pots of mums arranged artfully on the steps, much like some picture out of Southern Living. I bought multiple pots and placed them along the front steps. However, the neighbors had warned me about the futility of planting any flowers due to the large deer population. They ate almost anything that bloomed, that year in particular due to a severe drought. It dawned on me that I could use Mason, by now a strapping, lanky ten-month old, to scare away any deer that dared to approach the flowers. I planned to move his tether to the shady area at the base of the porch, and if any deer came near, Mason’s exuberant barking and jumping would scare them away. The next morning, with total confidence, I left Mason by the porch while I went to work.

Late in the afternoon I arrived back home. As I drove up the winding driveway, I peered past the trees to enjoy the beauty of fall flowers lining my front steps. To my dismay, I couldn’t make out any spots of color. Running to the front porch, I discovered that Mason, the guard dog, had proceeded to eat and destroy the flowers himself! Slobbery pots indented with teeth marks lay fallen in the dirt, and the flowers themselves had been shaken and shredded. A few limp bits of greenery remained littered around the steps, and as for Mason, his nose was crusted with dirt. I sank down on a step and shared a good laugh with Mason, clueless and contented, over how my plan had backfired.


Karan Parrack is a native Texan who has taught high school English and English as a Second Language for more than 30 years.

The Way of Neighbors

by Treehouse Editors

Linda Conroy

With rain from empty sky, fall came fast, unexpected, even after all this time. Strange to be dark again at seven, then at six, time to tuck in, close the curtains, cushion coming doubt. Harsh division day from night, in from out, splits liveliness from sleep, unless, as is the threat, the good game changer, snow. It will be a brighter place here then, pulling us outside with shovels, brooms and salt, bringing neighbors, dogs and children out, and Mary next door with her red coat says, wait, after we have dug and swept, I have some apple cider, let’s make punch. Macs and boots stack in her hall. The kitchen fills and long-told stories creep from dusty shelves. Remember when Clement broke his leg the day the barn came down, and Silas married Sarah in three feet of snow. The minister was booked, so Silas said we had to go ahead and others stamped their feet and dug a path. Good thing we only had to come from here, someone said.


Linda Conroy is a retired social worker who likes to observe the simplicity and complexity of the human connections which inform and foreshadow the art of writing poetry. Her poems have appeared recently or are forthcoming in Third Wednesday, Shot Glass, The Penwood Review, Washington 129, The Poeming Pigeon, Clover – A Literary Rag, and Raven Chronicles.

Denial

by Treehouse Editors

Finola McDonald

the last time
I went into town
there were bodies in the convenience store

strangled with garlands
of their own
misfortune.

I knelt beside them,
thanked them as I plucked
rubies
from their eye sockets

           and continued on
to the milk aisle.


Finola McDonald is a Bronx native and coffee enthusiast with a thing for writing. She is currently completing her undergraduate studies at SUNY Purchase in Westchester, NY.

KIT

by Treehouse Editors

D. Marquel

              She always did
              like
              seeing him
hang

on

her

ellipses –

              on a leash
long enough
to leave
              the illusion of freedom.

              When he whistled
her way,
              she faded away,
melting,

and
bleeding
              indiscernibly
              into color.

              She had an appetite,
              apparently,
              for the semi-sweet,
              and after all,

              grains of salt
              and sugar ​do
              feel the same
at 3 am.

              Word is,
              she still gets a rush
              at imaginary glances –

              at the chance to drag him
              all the way to the edge,
expectant,
unsheathed
              stalactites
              salivating,
smeared
              in burnt cork,

              and would,
              too,
              if not for the tugging
              at her own choke chain
              designed to keep her
in tow.


D. Marquel was born and raised in Los Angeles, CA. His work has been featured in Chaleur Magazine (July 2018), San Diego Writers, Ink: A Year in Ink Anthology (Vol. 11), City Works Journal (Vols. 23 and 25), and by So Say We All’s VAMP reading series. You can find his work-in-progress at www.instagram.com/d.marquel. He currently resides in San Diego, CA.

 

The Congregation

by Treehouse Editors

Bailey Bridgewater

Untitled-1


Bailey Bridgewater’s work has appeared in Crack the Spine, The Molotov Cocktail, The Eunoia Review, Nanoism, SubTerranean, As You Were, and Fiction on the Web.

Wapiti

by Treehouse Editors

Darren Higgins

She wore her antlers to bed
and raked them against the headboard.

Bloody strips of velvet
coiled on the pillows and sheets.

What did I know of her hunger
to change, or mine? So much is better

left to the dark. The sounds she made.
The things she did.


Darren Higgins is a writer, editor, and artist living in Waterbury Center, Vermont. A graduate of the Vermont College of Fine Arts, Darren has contributed essays, interviews, and commentaries to Numero Cinq, Jacket2, and Vermont Public Radio. His poems and stories have appeared in The Iowa Review, La Fovea, Quick Fiction, RAZED, Cosmonauts Avenue, and elsewhere.