I will be watching tonight...
and
Monday, March 28, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
The Satanic Seed: by Jack Frasure
My grandfather wrote a novel before I was born...probably before my mother was born. He was the driving force in my love for reading and writing. I have never read the book but have a black hardcover hand-typed copy of it. I sincerely doubt an electronic version even exists. I've been thinking about that book alot. I thought it would be great to get the book typed in electronic form and be able to share some of it with you.
So here's Chapter 1 of The Satanic Seed by Jack Frasure.
Forthwith the Devil did appear,
For name him, and he's always near.
-Matthew Prior, Hans Carvel
The humid air of the late July evening uncomfortably encompasses Charles Edward Sizemore when he emerged from the air conditioned Morgan Office building. Pausing outside the plate glass entrance, located center of the long, rectangular building, he us unconsciously aware of the bright headlights on Interstate 89 that were speeding by the high wire fence which enclosed the office building and small parking area. Then be sensed mild discomfort beneath his tailored, three peice suit and hurried the short distance to his car.
Seated in a familiar position behind the steering wheel of the only car in the parking lot, he quickly turned the ignition key. The Buick's finely-tuned engine immediately commenced running. After setting the air condition unit to its highest position and turning on the headlights, he steered the large car toward the exit gate. As the Buick moved toward the entrance to I-89, he caught sight of the slight movement at his office window.
Charles Sizemore expertly maneuvered his Buick Riviera onto I-89, and after he had safely merged the large car with the southbound traffic, he leaned back relaxed and placid. His calm composure is remarkable under the circumstances, because Charles Sizemore's drive home tonight, unlike the numerous trips before, is most significantly different, in that this night he is set out on a pre-planned and pre-determind mission of death.
Charles Sizemore has driving this particular route form the Morgan Office Building to the Morgan Mansion for fifteen years, and for the past six years, he has driven this route as the President of Morgan Iron and Steel Works and Chairman of the Board of Morgan Enterprises; a multi-million dollar corporation that he will exclusively control provided his diabolical plan concludes successfully. Therefore, if everthing develops as he ahs planned, he'll become the most influential and wealthiest man in Morgan County; a twenty-year dream of his that an only beome reality through the death of his wife.
When his car's headlights brightened the terrain alongside I-89, and the familiar landmards revealed his present location relative to the Morgan Mansion, he mentally calculated: seven miles from now, say twenty-fvie minutes, five inutes to break the north-gate lock, that should put me at the mansion at--he looked at the dash clock--ten-ten. Damn--he swore silently--since Nancy is suppose to callat ten-fifteen, that doesn't leave but five minutes. Just five mintues to enter the house and ki...
He shook his head to clear his mind. He did not want to dwell on this unpleasant aspect of this plan. However, his mind would not be diverted, and as the gruesome thought of his impending act loomed before him, a sadness suddenly engulfed his senses.
Pangs of consciene--he wondered. No, hell no--he quickly declared to himself. A conscience--his mind spat out distastfully--is ridiculous. A conscience is nothing but a Goddamned crutch that's used by weak-willed people who are afraid to reach out and take what life rightfully owes them. Anyway, this is no time for me to be contemplating as to whether or not I have any compassion for Martha after all these years. Besides--he resolved--I've waited too logn for this day and nothing is going to cause me to turn back now, especially any damned self-righteous notions. With this firmly decided, he, once again, set back relaxed and tranquil.
Charles Sizemore has studiously practiced the sound wmind in a sound body aphorism, and he has kept his six foot, one-seventy physique in top physical condition through a daily plan of vigorous exercises and a strict diet. His health-wise conviction, however, have always been a constant irritant to his wife, since his wife is a chronic and compulsive eater, and her excessive indulgene of high calorie nutriments invariably has kept her short frame in a noticeable state of obesity.
His deeply bronzed, handsomely featured face is voicd of age-lines customarily attibuted to forty year old men, and his smooth golden complexion is derived from weekend outings aboard his yacht; recurrent weekend excursions that his wife seldom participates in for she harbors a deep-seated dislike and ominous fear of deep water; a phenomenon not uncommon to non-swimmers. Martha Morgan Sizemore's self-imposed absence from her husband's weekend pleasure cruises on Fox Lake ecstatically pleases him, since this arrangement affords him the perfect opportunity to successfully practices his infidelic ventures. However, Charles Sizemore thinks upon his infidelity not as a betrayal of his wedding vows, but believes it is more of a necessary diversion from what he truly considers to be an abominable dispassionate situation at home; an unequivocal plight which was substantially propogated from a loveless marriage; loveless soley on his part, however for his wife loves him incesantly. Martha Morgan Sizemore has loved her husband since they were seniors at Morganville High.
Charles Sizemore's mind became purposely alerted when he saw the large, square sign that his car's headlights now clearly illuminated in the distance. The metal sign--which informed motorist that Morganville is located five miles east of I-89--set atop two iron poles. Charles Sizemore dilligantly scanned the bushy terrain beneath and slightly behind the large sign, and his impeccable vision immediately detected the object of his intense scrutiny: a Morgan County Police car. Since Charles Sizemore was a member of the Morganville Chamber of Commerce and Town Board Member, he knew this was the location of the county designated speed trap that was in operation nightly between nine and eleven, seven days a week.
Stay right there, Old Buddy, for forty-five minutes and everything will be perfect--he mentally spoke to the deputy whom he believed was in the patrol car. Only three quarters of an hour, and it will be all over--he thought as the sign and the paptrol car disappeared in the darkness behind him.
Suddenly, he panicked. and his calm compsure turned to instant alarm as he realized that this part of his plan would have to be left to chance. He grew more apprehensive as he thought of the many reasons the patrol car could be elsewhere in three quarters of an hour from then. And since the very success or failure of his plan hinged on the blatant fact that the patrol car must be where it now set in the next forty-five mintues, he began to entertain doubts--for the first time since his plan's inception four months ago--as to the actual possibitly of murdering his wife without becoming a suspect in the crime. Moments later, however, his highly intellectual mind adopted a realistic attitude toward this contigency, and perceiving gthe uselessness of his anxieties, he mentally shrugged and told himself that he'd simply have to leave that part of his plan to chance and hope for the best.
Well, that all I can do--he decided as he reached over and flipped on the radio. He heard the last few bars of a country western ballad before the disc jocky over-voiced the end of the song with: "I'll be right back folks, after the news." Seconds later a smooth, bassy voice said, "Good evening. This is Bill Donaldson with news on the national local scene. President Carter signed into law a bill..."
Charles Sizemore half attendively listened to the national news items. He had poured over two prominent newspapers earlier that day and the national news items were old information. He did not lend an attentive ear, however, to the local story which the newsman began relating.
"...was officially sworn into office this morning by Morganville's mayor, Rufus P. Long. The swearing-in ceremony constituted a landmark event in Morgan County: this is the first black man who has ever held election in the county's history. The mayor, in a preceremonial speech, adamently promised his full and complete cooperation to the new sheriff. The mayor then urged the citizens of Morgan County to follow in his firm commitment of unselfishly aiding the new sherif in his future duties as sheriff of Morgan County. The mayor further stated that the color of the new sheriff's skin would neither impede nor diminish the fine record of the Morgan County Police Department. A record, the mayor took the time to point out, of unrefutable integrity and high standards second to none." There was a brief silence, then the newsman spoke in a more personalized tone: "All you avid sports fans out there will be interested to learn that the new sheriff of Morgan County is the same John Powers who played football for Miami, and anyone who has spent a Sunday afternoon in front of a television set watching pro-football will undoutedly remember this yound athlete's prowess on the field. The brilliant skill he continually demonstrated on the gridiron eventually exalted the name of John Matthews Powers to the revered height of superstar. Ironically, his football career began in the same county and the same town that his new career is about to begin: it was Morganville High that he racked up a record of gained yardage that remains unbroken today. In his second year at Morganville High, he was voted the best running back in the state's high school poll. And in his third year at Notre Dame, he was awarded the most coverted of all football awards: the Heisman trophy. Then last year a freak knee injury forced this young athlete's early retirement. But in only two years as a pro, he broke all existing records before he was forced to quit football: a collossal disappointment to this young man undoutedly--a great loss to the game itself. This is Bill Donaldson saying good news and good ni..."
Well, Mr. John Matthew Powers, football hero--he thought as he flipped off the radio--it looks as if you and I will be meeting in the very near future. In an official capacity of course--he clowned to himself. I can actually joke about it now--he thought, and he was vainly pleased with himself.
Steady as a rock--he said boastfully to himself as he extended his right arm. I'm on my way home to kill Martha, and I'm as calm and cool as if I was going to one of Dulcy's boring parties. Poor Dulcy--he thought pitilessly--if not for your party tonight, my plan could not succed. ironic, isn't it, Dulcy? You're Martha's best friend and now figure to be the major factor in her demise. Martha's demise. Martha's demise. Very poetic--he though with grim amusement.
Charles Sizemore, feeling smugly impressed with his ability to treat his impending evil deed with frivolous indifference, sat back prompously serene, and placidly composed, his mind suddenly dispatched his thoughts back in time; back to his and Martha Morgan Sizemore's first meaningful encounter; back twenty years. He could almost hear the boistorous chatter in the capacious room.
My first thought was...capacious? I even looked it up. It means roomy or spacious. Stay tuned for Chapter 2!
So here's Chapter 1 of The Satanic Seed by Jack Frasure.
Forthwith the Devil did appear,
For name him, and he's always near.
-Matthew Prior, Hans Carvel
The humid air of the late July evening uncomfortably encompasses Charles Edward Sizemore when he emerged from the air conditioned Morgan Office building. Pausing outside the plate glass entrance, located center of the long, rectangular building, he us unconsciously aware of the bright headlights on Interstate 89 that were speeding by the high wire fence which enclosed the office building and small parking area. Then be sensed mild discomfort beneath his tailored, three peice suit and hurried the short distance to his car.
Seated in a familiar position behind the steering wheel of the only car in the parking lot, he quickly turned the ignition key. The Buick's finely-tuned engine immediately commenced running. After setting the air condition unit to its highest position and turning on the headlights, he steered the large car toward the exit gate. As the Buick moved toward the entrance to I-89, he caught sight of the slight movement at his office window.
Charles Sizemore expertly maneuvered his Buick Riviera onto I-89, and after he had safely merged the large car with the southbound traffic, he leaned back relaxed and placid. His calm composure is remarkable under the circumstances, because Charles Sizemore's drive home tonight, unlike the numerous trips before, is most significantly different, in that this night he is set out on a pre-planned and pre-determind mission of death.
Charles Sizemore has driving this particular route form the Morgan Office Building to the Morgan Mansion for fifteen years, and for the past six years, he has driven this route as the President of Morgan Iron and Steel Works and Chairman of the Board of Morgan Enterprises; a multi-million dollar corporation that he will exclusively control provided his diabolical plan concludes successfully. Therefore, if everthing develops as he ahs planned, he'll become the most influential and wealthiest man in Morgan County; a twenty-year dream of his that an only beome reality through the death of his wife.
When his car's headlights brightened the terrain alongside I-89, and the familiar landmards revealed his present location relative to the Morgan Mansion, he mentally calculated: seven miles from now, say twenty-fvie minutes, five inutes to break the north-gate lock, that should put me at the mansion at--he looked at the dash clock--ten-ten. Damn--he swore silently--since Nancy is suppose to callat ten-fifteen, that doesn't leave but five minutes. Just five mintues to enter the house and ki...
He shook his head to clear his mind. He did not want to dwell on this unpleasant aspect of this plan. However, his mind would not be diverted, and as the gruesome thought of his impending act loomed before him, a sadness suddenly engulfed his senses.
Pangs of consciene--he wondered. No, hell no--he quickly declared to himself. A conscience--his mind spat out distastfully--is ridiculous. A conscience is nothing but a Goddamned crutch that's used by weak-willed people who are afraid to reach out and take what life rightfully owes them. Anyway, this is no time for me to be contemplating as to whether or not I have any compassion for Martha after all these years. Besides--he resolved--I've waited too logn for this day and nothing is going to cause me to turn back now, especially any damned self-righteous notions. With this firmly decided, he, once again, set back relaxed and tranquil.
Charles Sizemore has studiously practiced the sound wmind in a sound body aphorism, and he has kept his six foot, one-seventy physique in top physical condition through a daily plan of vigorous exercises and a strict diet. His health-wise conviction, however, have always been a constant irritant to his wife, since his wife is a chronic and compulsive eater, and her excessive indulgene of high calorie nutriments invariably has kept her short frame in a noticeable state of obesity.
His deeply bronzed, handsomely featured face is voicd of age-lines customarily attibuted to forty year old men, and his smooth golden complexion is derived from weekend outings aboard his yacht; recurrent weekend excursions that his wife seldom participates in for she harbors a deep-seated dislike and ominous fear of deep water; a phenomenon not uncommon to non-swimmers. Martha Morgan Sizemore's self-imposed absence from her husband's weekend pleasure cruises on Fox Lake ecstatically pleases him, since this arrangement affords him the perfect opportunity to successfully practices his infidelic ventures. However, Charles Sizemore thinks upon his infidelity not as a betrayal of his wedding vows, but believes it is more of a necessary diversion from what he truly considers to be an abominable dispassionate situation at home; an unequivocal plight which was substantially propogated from a loveless marriage; loveless soley on his part, however for his wife loves him incesantly. Martha Morgan Sizemore has loved her husband since they were seniors at Morganville High.
Charles Sizemore's mind became purposely alerted when he saw the large, square sign that his car's headlights now clearly illuminated in the distance. The metal sign--which informed motorist that Morganville is located five miles east of I-89--set atop two iron poles. Charles Sizemore dilligantly scanned the bushy terrain beneath and slightly behind the large sign, and his impeccable vision immediately detected the object of his intense scrutiny: a Morgan County Police car. Since Charles Sizemore was a member of the Morganville Chamber of Commerce and Town Board Member, he knew this was the location of the county designated speed trap that was in operation nightly between nine and eleven, seven days a week.
Stay right there, Old Buddy, for forty-five minutes and everything will be perfect--he mentally spoke to the deputy whom he believed was in the patrol car. Only three quarters of an hour, and it will be all over--he thought as the sign and the paptrol car disappeared in the darkness behind him.
Suddenly, he panicked. and his calm compsure turned to instant alarm as he realized that this part of his plan would have to be left to chance. He grew more apprehensive as he thought of the many reasons the patrol car could be elsewhere in three quarters of an hour from then. And since the very success or failure of his plan hinged on the blatant fact that the patrol car must be where it now set in the next forty-five mintues, he began to entertain doubts--for the first time since his plan's inception four months ago--as to the actual possibitly of murdering his wife without becoming a suspect in the crime. Moments later, however, his highly intellectual mind adopted a realistic attitude toward this contigency, and perceiving gthe uselessness of his anxieties, he mentally shrugged and told himself that he'd simply have to leave that part of his plan to chance and hope for the best.
Well, that all I can do--he decided as he reached over and flipped on the radio. He heard the last few bars of a country western ballad before the disc jocky over-voiced the end of the song with: "I'll be right back folks, after the news." Seconds later a smooth, bassy voice said, "Good evening. This is Bill Donaldson with news on the national local scene. President Carter signed into law a bill..."
Charles Sizemore half attendively listened to the national news items. He had poured over two prominent newspapers earlier that day and the national news items were old information. He did not lend an attentive ear, however, to the local story which the newsman began relating.
"...was officially sworn into office this morning by Morganville's mayor, Rufus P. Long. The swearing-in ceremony constituted a landmark event in Morgan County: this is the first black man who has ever held election in the county's history. The mayor, in a preceremonial speech, adamently promised his full and complete cooperation to the new sheriff. The mayor then urged the citizens of Morgan County to follow in his firm commitment of unselfishly aiding the new sherif in his future duties as sheriff of Morgan County. The mayor further stated that the color of the new sheriff's skin would neither impede nor diminish the fine record of the Morgan County Police Department. A record, the mayor took the time to point out, of unrefutable integrity and high standards second to none." There was a brief silence, then the newsman spoke in a more personalized tone: "All you avid sports fans out there will be interested to learn that the new sheriff of Morgan County is the same John Powers who played football for Miami, and anyone who has spent a Sunday afternoon in front of a television set watching pro-football will undoutedly remember this yound athlete's prowess on the field. The brilliant skill he continually demonstrated on the gridiron eventually exalted the name of John Matthews Powers to the revered height of superstar. Ironically, his football career began in the same county and the same town that his new career is about to begin: it was Morganville High that he racked up a record of gained yardage that remains unbroken today. In his second year at Morganville High, he was voted the best running back in the state's high school poll. And in his third year at Notre Dame, he was awarded the most coverted of all football awards: the Heisman trophy. Then last year a freak knee injury forced this young athlete's early retirement. But in only two years as a pro, he broke all existing records before he was forced to quit football: a collossal disappointment to this young man undoutedly--a great loss to the game itself. This is Bill Donaldson saying good news and good ni..."
Well, Mr. John Matthew Powers, football hero--he thought as he flipped off the radio--it looks as if you and I will be meeting in the very near future. In an official capacity of course--he clowned to himself. I can actually joke about it now--he thought, and he was vainly pleased with himself.
Steady as a rock--he said boastfully to himself as he extended his right arm. I'm on my way home to kill Martha, and I'm as calm and cool as if I was going to one of Dulcy's boring parties. Poor Dulcy--he thought pitilessly--if not for your party tonight, my plan could not succed. ironic, isn't it, Dulcy? You're Martha's best friend and now figure to be the major factor in her demise. Martha's demise. Martha's demise. Very poetic--he though with grim amusement.
Charles Sizemore, feeling smugly impressed with his ability to treat his impending evil deed with frivolous indifference, sat back prompously serene, and placidly composed, his mind suddenly dispatched his thoughts back in time; back to his and Martha Morgan Sizemore's first meaningful encounter; back twenty years. He could almost hear the boistorous chatter in the capacious room.
My first thought was...capacious? I even looked it up. It means roomy or spacious. Stay tuned for Chapter 2!
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Look @ Me Now
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