Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark tells the best campfire tales without pulling punches

Four kids decide to combat evil after evil decides to kill them in this adaptation of the beloved and befeared children's book series.

When you get right down to it, the only way any of us will be remembered is by stories. Stories our families tell, stories that get written in the newspaper, stories that are whispered over campfires. In one way or another, you become the example for others to follow. When Stella, Chuck, and Auggie take their new friend Ramon to the Bellows mansion on Halloween, all they know about Sara Bellows is that she could tell a hell of a story and killed multiple children. By the time the film is over, only Stella (Zoe Margaret Colletti) is truly capable of telling their story along with the truth behind Sara Bellows. Director André Øvredal crushes the hell out of this adaptation of the children's classic series, using the flair he showed in Troll Hunter with the grounded simplicity of The Autopsy of Jane Doe. The stories told throughout feel as though they come from the books as told around campfires. Stephen Gammel's classic images compound the telling just as they did in the story, making a corpse looking for a toe as horrifying as any challenged unleashed in the Saw movies. Made for teens, this adaptation does not hold back showing psychological and physical consequences of tangling with a demonic entity. The most horrific section did not have a monster or creature on the prowl but a poor girl in a bathroom not wanting the boil on her face to ruin her big night on the stage. Her screams and those of her brother (played wonderfully by Austin Zajur, the awkward teen equivalent to Finn Wolfhard's tween joker in It: Chapter One) still echo off the tile of my mind. On top of all the horror, there are good messages in here of social acceptance, duty, and racial equality that are threaded with calm deliberation. That's more than I ask for my silly horror, especially when done this well.

For those of you questioning if studios are capable of making good horror for the younger set, get out there and see this movie now.

The Autopsy of Jane Doe

Starring Emile Hirsch, Brian Cox, Olwen Kelly, Michael McElhatton, Ophelia Lovibond

Crawl (2019) is a hell of a good time

Crawl

Starring Kaya Scodelario, Barry Pepper

A daughter goes looking for her dad in a hurricane and finds a whole mess of alligators. Who knew this might be the best horror of the year?

Director Alexandre Aja became prominent with psychological horror thrillers like High Tension and self aware monster flicks like Piranha 3D. In Crawl, he flexes both those muscles to create a great little monster movie that's better than it needs to be. Haley (Kaya Scodelario) leaves her swimming practice in a hurricane to go look for her father (Barry Pepper). She finds him trapped under the house, hunted by several alligators. As the basement begins to flood, Haley and her dad battle the gator menace while watching looters and rescue workers get taken out by the way over the top pissed off reptiles. The story bounces back and forth between a tight thriller with a countdown clock (it's a big ass hurricane coming bringing all the water) and a grisly visceral violent ballet. Bites matter when they need to, showing off blood and breaking bones. Then when Haley needs to swim or her dad needs to fight back, all injuries are put aside. Make no mistake, getting bitten by a ten foot gator in this movie means a lot until it doesn't, and that's okay. Horror movies are made on less. For the most part, I believed that these characters would fight back with everything they had. That belief carried me much farther than my actual knowledge of how alligators and hurricanes behave. As Haley fights the alligators, she elicited several "fuck yeahs" and fist pumps from the audience I saw it with. She's strong, badass, and yet vulnerable enough to think that maybe she won't make it out okay. There's enough character failures here for any semblance of triumph to be great.

A no-duh double feature with last year's Hurricane Heist, Crawl creates enough atmosphere and self awareness to make its runtime fly by.

The Hurricane Heist

Starring Toby Kebbell, Maggie Grace, Ryan Kwanten, Ralph Ineson, Melissa Bolona

Piranha 3D

Starring Elisabeth Shue, Ving Rhames, Adam Scott, Richard Dreyfuss, Jerry O'Connell

Mary Poppins Returns with flash and cheek reaching for the original magic

The magical nanny Mary Poppins comes back to the Banks family after a few decades to sing songs, teach lessons about being a kid, and kick some nostalgic tires.

Thinking back on the original Mary Poppins, beyond the ear-worm songs, brings to mind a fresh faced 29 year old Julie Andrews as a kind yet stern nanny to some neglected kids. They needed a nanny, and she delivered. In the 2018 version, it seems Mary Poppins (Emily Blunt) has returned to those kids who are all grown up to help them remember to be kids. Jane (Emily Mortimer) and Michael (Ben Whishaw) have followed in their parents footsteps as an activist and a banker. Tragedy has followed them, however, as their parents seem to have gone off to a farm in the sky, and Michael's wife and mother of his children has died. Alone and about to lose the family home, the Banks family needs some help. Mary Poppins literally rides in on nostalgia, an old kite from the first film bringing her to earth. From there, the nanny and lamplighter Jack (Lin-Manuel Miranda) jump and dance and sing to bring some joy and peace to the Banks family. For the most part the journey is delightful, as is Colin Firth as the greedy bank manager trying to steal the family home. The musical numbers are a throwback to music videos of the 1980s with lots of bright colors and smooth dancing. While watching, I hoped that they would lean in a bit more with the plot as a true musical, but for the most part they are spectacle. One in particular, a bawdy cabaret number "A Cover is Not the Book" had me thinking a creepy thought, "well, this one is for the moms and dads out there." Overall, the tone of the film scratches the nostalgic itch while, like most other sequeled properties, misses what made the original special. Mary Poppins (who I realized while writing this can only be referenced by her full name) is more cheeky and clever, not talking down to the modern audience with spoonfuls of sugar. Emily Blunt is the standout star of the film, the focus of every scene she's in with magnetizing effortlessness. For the most part, the film updates the original, yet at times does not feel like its own thing. It could be compared to rebuilding a classic car with newer materials, something about the plastic and flashy curves cannot reproduce what heavy steel and solid lines create.

A fun family film with flashy musical numbers, this film curses itself with the original's shadow.

Mary Poppins Returns

Starring Emily Blunt, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Ben Whishaw, Emily Mortimer, Julie Walters

That Night by Chevy Stevens lacks a compelling mystery but succeeds with great drama

Typical cool ass nineties girl Toni rocked flannel and loved her boyfriend Ryan. Then her sister was killed, and they were arrested.

Told in three timelines, Toni's story follows the events leading up to "that night," Toni adjusting to prison life, and after Toni is released fifteen years later. As a teenager, Toni had to deal with her overbearing mother and a former friend turned enemy. Navigating through the minefield of high school proved tough but doable as Toni plans to move away with Ryan. Then the murder of her sister throws her into prison. Plagued by the truth, that she did not kill her sister, Toni's prison stint goes well after a few years. She makes friends and forms a kind of family inside, the kind of family she did not have outside. While not as fleshed out as her mother's disapproving nature, the book shows what a kind and loving parental figure can bring to a shiftless life. Then Toni gets out of prison and moves back to her hometown amid the stares and whispers. The structure of telling three parts of Toni's life at once, interweaving the mystery and Toni's characterization is very well done even if some parts (like the earlier parental example) are underdeveloped. The whole is a journey of a woman from unsure and listless young girl to confident woman. The mystery of who killed Toni's sister is an afterthought for the most part, informing Toni's journey rather than being a central throughline. Toni's teenage self navigating a mother who does not understand her, her time in prison, and her ability to reclaim her place in society despite the beliefs thrust upon a convicted felon give this story a bulkier narrative than an average whodunit. 

For those wanting a more straightforward mystery, look elsewhere. Otherwise dive in to this well told crime drama.

That Night: A Novel

By Chevy Stevens

One of Us is Lying Review: Most of them should have been interesting

A kid dies in detention with four other kids. They become suspects in his murder because he was a giant dick.

Karen M. McManus's book about death and bullying starts off the Breakfast Club but ends near Lifetime movie territory.  Bronwyn (Brain), Simon (Dead Guy), Nate (Criminal), Cooper (Jock), and Addy (Princess) are all sent to detention. They claim to have been framed, the phones in their bags not theirs. Maybe not Nate because he deals drugs and stuff and has multiple phones. Also Simon who takes a drink of dosed water and dies from a nut allergy. Seems somebody hated him enough to know his fatal weakness. After the police begin to suspect the crew, each student and their friends and families have their secrets freed. Addy and Cooper each belong to the popular crowd that Simon despised when they rejected him. Bronwyn and her friend once messed up Simon's chance at joining a premier school event. Nate just sells drugs. Each of them has other secrets on top of the ones listed, making them all pretty good suspects if beholden to the character traits those secrets give them. Well rounded but at times rather boring. As the tension grows, the brain and the criminal grow closer. She lets go of her more tight-assed ways, as does the princess, while the guys grow more sensitive and reliable. Cooper's life gets the most readjustment as the story goes on, leaning on heavy tropes of sexual awareness better told in But I'm a Cheerleader. The princess Addy becomes more of a self-assured badass after realizing her asshole boyfriend doesn't have to be her asshole boyfriend. Things come to a head as each kid confronts their fears. One of Us is Lying answers the question "What if Agatha Christie had written the Breakfast Club" that no one was asking. 

Too bad a lot of the pat storytelling of teen drama overshadows a lot of interesting character development.

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One of Us Is Lying

By Karen M. McManus

Buy on Amazon

Hobbs and Shaw: Run Fast and Furious from this big dumb bag of boredom

The CIA needs the best to catch a killer virus and in the Fast and the Furious universe I guess that means Hobbs and Shaw.

A fancy virus is stolen by the good guys from the bad guys with surviving member Hattie (Kirby) on the run and infected. The CIA gets together two crazy guys who know how to get jobs done, giant muscle man all about family Hobbs (Johnson) and wiry tough man all about family Shaw (Statham). The two of them track down Hattie in London and proceed to tear that town apart with impressive stunt work and a never-ending, monotonous, skull-emptying amount of insults right out of Wrestlemania. We find out Hattie and Shaw are brother and sister, fulfilling one family requirement. Then the actual wrestling starts with the three bad asses on the run to Samoa where they fulfill Hobbs family requirement, telling a moving story about a family of former criminals running a global custom car enterprise. More action! More stunts! More insults until they decide to stop insulting each other. From the beginning where he introduces himself as "the bad guy," augmented "Black Superman" Brixton (Elba) chases Hattie to get back the virus so his company can use it to go Thanos and kill the weak people in the world. Things go boom, cars go vroom, a helicopter goes zoom. Throughout the movie, impressive stunts are running the show to the detriment of all else. The story is dull and unmotivated, Idris Elba is wasted, and even the family elements come off as pat and unnecessary. Halfway through I found myself paying more attention to all the useless timers the movie presents. The virus will break down and kill the world in 48 hours? Plane trips from London to Russia to Samoa go supersonic so the virus goes unleashed. How long does it take for the sun to rise in Samoa? About five minutes from full dark to hard shadows, something that normally takes over an hour everywhere else. The point being, I should not have even noticed if the movie was doing its job. Director David Leitch had some impressive showings with John Wick and Atomic Blonde but Hobbs and Shaw does not work.

Hobbs and Shaw isn't a bad film, but it makes the biggest mistake of being boring while thinking it is more clever than it is.

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Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs & Shaw

Starring Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson, Jason Statham, Idris Elba, Vanessa Kirby, Eiza Gonzalez

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019)

Tarantino starts out Once Upon a Time in Hollywood on the set of Bounty Law. Rick Fucking Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his stuntman Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt) are being interviewed in black and white, the audience seeing Dalton's insincerity and Booth's rye sense of humor. Booth carries Dalton's load, we are told, and it sets the tone for the color film coming.

The rest of the run time tells a story that goes three ways. We see Dalton after Bounty Law has been cancelled. His career isn't the best: he's playing the bad guys in various television shows. In comes a hot studio producer telling him to go east where the Italians are making westerns. Booth sticks by his side while having his own adventures.

Booth is a bit of a character. A capable man. Pragmatic. He loves his dog. He does not take any more shit than necessary. He can hold his own in a fight with Bruce Lee and fix a tv antennae. We see Booth care for Dalton and get mixed up with some girls who might be a little dangerous.

Speaking of girls, Sharon Tate (Margot Robie) is our last point of view. She's newish in town with a couple of movies under her belt. Her new husband is a hot shit director and her house is gated. One of her most significant scenes shows her going to the theater where her movie is playing and be delighted by the audience laughing.

Watching Dalton, Booth, and Tate wander themselves around this story, Hollywood comes to the forefront. Sounds cliche, another story where a place is a character, but Tarantino fills in the story in four dimensions. Hollywood looks the part, all the right music comes out of the stereos. It feels like it should, and that might be the best lie of them all. The way things should be ain't always the way they are. That's how movies go, though, huh? Whole point of them is to present a lie, a facsimile of the truth, and tell everyone how things are. Think of all the things movies have made you believe: Moscow is always cold, cars explode when shot, the pyramids don't have a KFC beside them. Tarantino uses the fake and the real to carve out a story made of pure wish fulfilment.

Spoilers beyond: go watch it. ⭐⭐⭐⭐

How many wishes get granted in this little fabel? That's the why of starting out "Once upon a time…" right? Otherwise name the movie "Hollywood Shit-fits" and get on with your life. But this story has a few wishes granted, the big one coming at the end, one of Tarantino's big wishes. Tarantino uses the myth-making, wish-granting of Hollywood to make sure that Sharon Tate lives just as he did when he killed Hitler in Inglourious Basterds. By undoing the Tate murders, Tarantino's world exists with the sixties continuing past their expiration date. Tarantino's inner creative world is dependent on evil being stupid and punished in the most creative way possible.

Let's go back to Rick Fucking Dalton. As the story tracks, Dalton had a pretty good life until his show was cancelled. He keeps on, paying Cliff, and doing parts on television shows. Then comes along a fairy godmother in the form of Shwarz (Pacino) with a deal: Travel to Italy and be in a few movies and a star will be born. It's a chance, one that may not pay off, but a chance at a better and more creative life. Throughout most of the movie, we see Dalton in this limbo. Everyone around him tells him how good he is, from the eccentric director to his young co-star. We see him flip out when he can't remember lines; we understand that he cares about his craft and not become jaded and cynical. In the end, the gets a new career, wife, and relationship with Cliff, being invited up to the house of the young star and director he pined for early in the movie. Dalton's story is one of privileges much like many fairy tale subjects, the story of how a talented person got everything they ever dreamed.

To juxtapose Dalton we have Cliff Booth. If Dalton is Cinderella or Snow White, someone in the stardom who allows good things to happen and success blossom from who they are, then Cliff is Hansel and Gretel or Little Red Riding Hood, a confident pragmatic creature on a path they will not be deviated from. Cliff works hard as a stuntman. You can see that with the many, many scars all over his body. He also has a bit of a moral code, one that does not allow him to listen to Bruce Lee shoot his mouth off or have a hippie cut his tire. Both of those examples prove Booth is not a man to be messed with as well as showing our own wish fulfillment as humans. Few people can say that beating up on Bruce Lee would be low on their list of capabilities as well as standing up to the Manson family if they were to attack your car.

Speaking of the Manson family, of course they are foiled at the end. The suspense leading up to the horror ending is masterful, but the fairy tale setting will not allow them to succeed. As monsters in stories are defeated, so must these stupid cultists. In the real world, the idiots of the Manson clan made their way around the gates and killed Sharon Tate. Tarantino has them connect their insane notions of race wars with television, jumping dozens of years ahead of Tipper Gore, and instead go after Rick Fucking Dalton. Unfortunately for them, Cliff Booth and his dog are making some food and proceed to destroy the stupid cultists. Sure, Dalton ends the violence with a flamethrower, but Booth had it all in hand.

The mix of truth and fiction creates a world Tarantino wants to live in. It creates a world where all the best songs are always on the radio, a world where good performers get the roles they deserve, and a world where strong men defeat bad people. This world is covered in orange and lime green and it thumps along on the muffler sound of a classic car. It creates Hollywood, the lie we all want to believe in. Otherwise why even write about it?

Spider-Man: Far From Home Makes the Villain Matter

Halfway through Spider-Man: Far From Home I turned to the person next to me and said, "I think this movie just shifted into high gear." In response, her boyfriend leaned over and said, "Stop talking to my girlfriend during the movie." After that I kept my comments about how better the effects and villain get once the whole story is laid out.

     After the effects of Thanos's Snap and Unsnappening in the Avengers films, Peter Parker (Tom Holland) just wants to have a nice European vacation. He's gonna see some sights. Take some pictures. Tell MJ (Zendaya) how he feels about her. Too bad for them, Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) and Mysterio (Jake Gyllenhaal) need his help to beat some elemental apocalypse creatures with some leftover Tony Stark tech.

     With Spider-Man: Homecoming, Jon Watts proved he could weave a good story around kids and superheroics. Having already proved he can deal with menacing figures going against children in the not-too-talked about Cop Car, he almost cookie cut the menace from Kevin Bacon in that film onto Michael Keaton's Vulture. Here he ziggs a bit, implying the gravitas in Mysterio while undercutting it with a twist that comics readers will see coming but is thrilling anyway. When Mysterio proves himself to not be the gracious mentor but a scheming actor, Gyllenhaal gets to stretch villainous side, not pure evil like he showed in Nightcrawler but the laughing menace Tom Cruise showed in Magnolia. He's a showman with a dark side and that resonates far more than dark and cackling.

     When Mysterio shows his true colors, the movie really comes alive. Until that second act reveal, most of the action and effects seemed lackluster. Possible big budget fatigue, but the giant water monster and the backpack wearing Peter Parker in a carnival mask looked cartoonish. Then Mysterio's effects to disorient and play with Parker's senses turn the effects budget up to eleven, providing sequences that rival Doctor Strange's multiverse and Ant-Man's microverse effects for "man I wish I was in college and on drugs right now" effect. The amazing hallucination effects fall apart once you think about how we are shown dozens of people work to make the other effects possible but handwaving plots is Marvel's true superpower.

     Unfortunately, all Marvel's bad traits are on display here as well. As cool as the hallucination sequence is, it and all the other fight scenes are chopped to hell. No matter how much money the John Wick franchise makes proving good action have to be seen, Marvel still cuts too quick and too often to get a good feel about how particular fights are going. Nowhere is this more clear than the ending battle on the London Bridge with Spider-Man going against a bunch of drones. It's mostly dull with misdirection and confusing more than it is thrilling.

     Walking out of the theater dodging that guy and his girlfriend, I have to say I enjoyed the movie overall. A fun movie containing enough pathos to move us through the end of Phase 4 of this big weird money-making experiment. Mysterio himself also hints at bigger and better things, being an effective villain not in his over schemes in this film, but the secrets he lets out after his defeat. Whereas the Vulture kept Parker's secret identity, Mysterio let that secret fly and the implications are fascinating to think about.

Check it out before it leaves theaters

The Dead Don't Die (2019)

A case can be made for the zombie art house film. Slow paced, shot with a deft hand, full of esoteric dialog delivered by deadpan performers, Jim Jarmish's The Dead Don't Die checks many boxes for the art house crowd while giving into the violent mass appeal. Prone to the odd tangent, the film is a mixed bag of unexpected and traditional.

     Officers Cliff (Bill Murray) and Ronnie (Adam Driver) start off their day by meeting up with Tom Waits in the woods. So banal is there existence that when the singer turned hobo fires off a shot at them, they just shrug and let the man off with a warning. Driving back to town, they begin listening to the radio talking about polar fracking and comment on how the days are lasting longer than usual.

     A song comes on the radio that Ronnie likes, The Dead Don't Die by Sturgill Simpson. Cliff asks what it is. Ronnie says, well, it's the theme song.

     So begins the slow death of a small town and the story of a few officers trying to keep their shit together long enough to maybe live. The self awareness of the story is off-putting yet charming. The aw shucks humor mixes with the violence to create an hour and forty-five minute tale that might have something to say if it ever got around to saying it.

     Our officers tour the town. There's another officer, Mindy (Chloë Sevigny) guarding the body of the soon to be risen zombie cameoed by Carol Kane. Steve Buscemi and Danny Glover play an asshole racist farmer and a nice old black man about town who are given little to do but say some lines before the zombie horde pulls them into the ranks. One could go along with calling them caricatures if they were playing any type of characters.

     Strangers make their way to the motel driven in a classic car by Selena Gomez. They are warned about the zombies. Close your doors and lock your windows and all that. In what could be an avant garde act, they are killed off screen, much like Josh Brolin in No Country For Old Men but without the impact. The strangers are given a scene in a convenience store and another at the motel and then death. Their only contribution other than the random futility of life seems to be a stab at the commercialism and to re-introduce the theme song after Gomez purchases a Sturgill Simpson CD.

     I guess that leads us to the zombies. Most zombie movies are commentaries on the world that created them. George Romero's slow zombies are ravenous killers based on our own prejudices and consumerist ideals. The fast runners of 28 Days Later exemplify the ability of modern life to overwhelm and consume the individual. Jarmish's zombies eat and destroy sure enough but when they are not they chant the desires of their simple lives. Dead kids stumble around candy ailes chanting brand names. It's enough to make me wonder if the metaphor of the walking dead has been played out.

     Well aware I have not mentioned Tilda Swinton's Scottish Samuri Funeral Director, I simply do not know how. What well of ideas this creature came from I will never know. She's a delight and steals the movie from her first scene painting corpses to her last… well, even I won't spoil that. It really has to be seen. It's fucking nuts.

     In the final scenes, Cliff snaps at Ronnie after the younger man utters his catchphrase: this is all going to end badly. Where does he get this phrase? It's somewhat of a callback to Ronnie listening to the Sturgill Simpson song, but overall it is a comment on the state of the world. It's all ending badly and the movie The Dead Don't Die is no different.

Shaft (1971/2019)

Doing forty-five in a 2012 Toyota down the street ain't as impressive as ninety in a '71 Chevelle, but my date and I made it to the library. On an average night, we would be bowling. Once you get me out the library door I tend to stay gone. Tonight the library had a movie and free food, so we decided on a show.

    We watched the original Shaft and then went to the theater for the newest film in the series. I'll get to the movies and what I thought of them. First we had to find a seat.

    The library offered popcorn and a drink for the movie. As my date and I are wont to do, we brought our own drinks. For the theater, we break out the tall boys. In the library we went respectful, my date bringing her flask. I got the popcorn and she got the drinks and freshened them up for us.

    Our library pulls out all the stops for movie nights. The finest non-reclining plastic chairs. Bags of popcorn that not only crunch in your mouth but in your hand. A screen so big it would take a family size cereal box to block the projection.

    Speaking of the projection, you never saw such lush grays. Because we are a municipal building, a light must stay on to spotlight the exit. If you sit in the right place, you get to feel like Moses talking to the Lord.

    Talking about the Lord, you will feel the booming quality of those stereo computer speakers. Sit close enough and you might hear the earth move.

    So we settle and relax near the back. The lights are flicked off. The room has filled up some. A small child held up his hands, but his shadow puppets suck.

    Right off people started talking. Not telling Richard Roundtree's Shaft what he should do or who he should throw out a window, but just talking. The guy in front of us was going over his taxes on his cell phone.

    "Excuse me, please be quiet," my date said.

    The guy doing his taxes turned around and gave me a sweaty eyeball. I gave him one back. He turned back around and kept talking.

    "'Scuse me, shut the fuck up," my date said.

    The guy turned back to us again. I shrugged and nodded. He said, "Why don't you shut-"

    That's about as far as he got. I like my drinks strong, my clothes comfortable, and my women fiery. She hit the dude with her open palm, a nice slap that was felt back up his family tree. He dropped his phone. People clapped.

    The rest of the movie went by in silence. Richard Roundtree took no shit and Issaac Hayes bopped along with a nice little funk. After we drove off to the multiplex to see the newest Shaft. We had a less eventful time although on the way we finished a joint to color the experience. Turns out we needed it.

     The best way to think about the new Shaft is to compare it to the old Shaft. If anyone out there mentions the middle Shaft from twenty years ago, well, maybe go talk to your mom. She might care.

    So how is the 2019 Shaft different or the same from the 1971 version? Well, I guess depending on who you are, the new one is more offensive. There's all kinds of issues in here to mess around with: sexism, homophobia, attitudes of blackness, manliness, cultural issues, and just bad plotting to name a few.

    In the 1971 Shaft, Richard Roundtree is the sex machine private detective and all around bad mother shut-your-mouth. He is approached by a local mobster whose daughter has been kidnapped by a rival mob guy. Shaft kills many dudes with bullets and windows and sleeps with two women, proving the sex machine and bad mother shut-your-mouth parts.

    In the 2019 version, Jessie T. Usher is a guy who is the son of the guy who is the son of Shaft. The second guy is Samuel L. Jackson and Shaft is still Richard Roundtree. All three men seem to be having a blast but are neither sex machines nor bad mother shut-your-mouths. Wait, no, that's not all correct. They should shut their mouths.

    Where the original stuck to a fairly flat noire plot that ranged around New York City and Harlem creating a world, the new version seems to jump from place to place because things have to happen. Usher's JJ (who should be John Shaft III, right?) creates most of the plot. The younger Shaft's friend dies and to solve the case, he goes to his dad (Jackson) who eventually goes to his granddad (Roundtree). The whole thing ties together with an old case of Jackson's.

    Most of the dialog is Jackson telling Usher to be more of a straight black man and Usher saying "nuh-uh." To back up that Jackson's approach is correct, the movie over and over shows Usher shooting and fighting to impress his love interest (Alexandra Shipp). The love interest swoons at these "manly" actions while berating Jackson for his outdated attitudes.

    Unlike the original, the 2019 movie has no idea what its message wants to be. A comedy? An update to the crime drama? A reason for people to hang out and talk shit to each other? A reason for people to say "the original is better, watch that" because, well, it is and more social conscious.

    If you must see a Shaft, check out the original from the library.

Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon (2006)

She had big hair, big makeup, and read Goodnight Moon like a pro. I sat back and watched Miss Sweet Tater enthrall two dozen kids for an hour while a bunch of idiots outside yelled about Jesus. As if Jesus didn't wear a robe.

    All month we pushed the Drag Queen Story Time. We got a thousand or so calls from the public. The split between patrons wishing us good luck and those calling for our eternal damnation cut right down the middle. It's best not to speculate on such things, but let's just say the retirement home flashed up on the caller ID more than once.

    The day of the event, William Ratcliff came into the library's back door. He looked like a plumber because he was a plumber. Still had on his overalls and carried a big heavy bag. Rather than carry around pipes and toilet rings, that big heavy bag contained Miss Sweet Tater.

    Miss Sweet Tater came from Ratcliff's aunt, a woman with an appetite for life and pecan pie. Little Billy would sit in his Aunt Bea's kitchen and eat that pie and listen while she told him stories of her dancing in New Orleans. A dozen years later, Ratcliff created Miss Sweet Tater and danced on those same New Orleans stages and floats, one time going up on the main stage at the Saenger with the Dixie Chicks to sing God Bless America. Aunt Bea had passed, but Miss Sweet Tater said she had been with him nonetheless.

    After that long afternoon worrying about a violent response to a man wearing a dress, Miss Sweet Tater and I decided to take in a movie. We had time to kill while the crowd dispersed. I pulled up the Shudder app and scrolled through. We chose Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon.

    Humor and horror are linked by the visceral reactions they produce. Humor creates a laugh, horror a cringe. Shifting from a laugh to a cringe takes a deft hand that few have. Behind the Mask rides the line pretty close and succeeds way more than it fails.

    In the spirit of the Blair Witch, three grad students get in over their handheld heads. They have been contacted by Leslie Vernon, a spree killer, who wants to document his first assault on a group of horny and drunken teens. The majority of the flick follows Leslie as he lays out how he's setting up his Final Girl, how he's picked the legend to fuel his mythology, and how he's gonna hack and slash when the time comes.

    For the most part, the movie is a funny deconstruction of slasher movies, almost in the spirit of Scream. Other movie franchises get called out and named. At times it plods along, fueled by the likeable Leslie Vernon and the gullible grad students. When the time comes, however, Leslie puts his scythe where his mouth is and delivers.

    More fun than fright, Behind the Mask is clever and deserves to be checked out.

Booksmart (2019)

The other night, my friend Cornbread was on an internet call, looking at each other from two thousand miles away. Very spooky if you think about it, just ghosts in each other's machines. Then Cornbread goes all glitchy saying, "You believe in ghosts?"

    You can talk to about such topics with a certain type of friend. This type of friend does not have the name of a demon tattooed on them. This type of friend does not own two or more crystals they believe have any kind of powers. This type of friend does not have a sword nearby.

    If you are talking ghosts and goblins with a friend holding a sword in one hand, a glowing crystal in the other, and has the name JERRY tattooed on his or her bicep, find a new friend.

    So I told Cornbread no, I did not believe in ghosts. What did he think? He told me to hold on a minute and got himself another beer, cracking open the cold can and saying, "I saw a man exhale a mighty big cloud of vapor and walk into the dark."

    I asked a few questions. What kind of vapor? What kind of dark? Do ghosts exhale? I have not been a resident of the South in several years and while not sure, I doubted they had changed the rules on breathing ghosts.

    Turns out, they have not changed southern ghost rules. They just got hipsters that vape. I encouraged Cornbread to try it out before his two pack a day habit of Camel Wides catches up to him.

    So the film Booksmart had me tricked. I went in looking for an edgy comedy like the ones I was raised on. The ones where one or more Corey had adventures in high school.

    The plot follows Amy and Molly, two smart as shit kids going to better places after high school who find out so are all the assholes they look down upon. The slutty girl, the theater kid, the stoner guys, all the archetypes of school are going off to Ivy League or equivalent. Amy and Molly face the fact that while everyone else was partying and studying, they were just studying. Stunned by this revelation, Amy and Molly plot to go to the crazy high school party and have one last fun night. Along the way they meet a serial killer, confront their crushes, and learn that all they really needed was to be less up their own asses.

    The plot is clever in its simplicity. As Amy and Molly get to know the kids they dismissed, they learn the kids are three dimensional people. The direction of Olivia Wilde and the script pivots with nimble dexterity around Amy and Molly's point of view. From the beginning to the end the audience goes through the same emotional growth as the girls seeing their peers as more than they first appeared. Add in amazing shots such as the pool scene (which could have been a Radiohead music video from the 90s) and the following oner shot that ends in silent screaming, and the film amazed me even more.

    Like the best John Hughes movie, Booksmart leaves the audience thinking the characters are going to be okay. Maybe it leaves them one too many times, the ending drawn out far too long, but I wish all these kids well. That's not too bad.

    Special awards go to Billie Lourd who has the best "having sex in a graveyard" story in recent memory.

    The library says check it out.

Tap Tap Tap

The Director checked the basement and the books. The animals were in their cages. Nothing has been disturbed. Whatever had happened, it had not come for his basement collection. He had felt something enter the library. He had suspicions Brenda had something to do with whatever it was.

    The back stairs echoed under his feet. He placed them with deliberation. Most people thought if you stomped around you made people aware of your presence. It's true, but stomping around causes first annoyance and then dismissal. You become someone else's problem. Reorganized in the collective unconscious as unthreatening.

    Moving with quick tapping steps caused others to view you as important. They pay attention. They become aware. The Director took the steps one at a time, tap tap tap of his shoes, pushing off a step before the foot fell to increase the sound of his arrival. His normal steps would have pushed off after the shoe landed causing little to no noise at all. If Chris was at his post at the reference desk on the second floor, he would know The Director was on his way.

    But Chris was not ready for anything.

    "Brenda okay?" Chris said.

    The Diretor took his time. "She's headed home. Not feeling well I think."

    "That's good."

    "Is Freddy up here?"

    "Sure. I think he had a cart over around the cook books."

    "Thanks."

    "Everything okay?"

    The Director resisted the urge to hit the weak bastard. Chris had done his part. The first part anyway. If he could, The Director would pity the reference librarian. "Fine. Just making sure the circulation desk has coverage tonight."

    Chris said something as The Director walked away. He found the boy shelving books. A grass stain covered the back of the boy's sweater. Freddy winced as he reached up to place a book on the shelf.

    "Freddy."

    The boy turned. "Hey. Sir."

    "I heard you did okay during the chant."

    The boy grinned. "I think so."

    "Good. I might have something else for you to do."

    "Anything. Whatever you need, sir."

    "Thank you. I need you to talk to Brenda."

    "Is she ready?"

    "Not about the journey. She's not ready. But I want to know more about her. Talk to her about the library and her health."

    "Her health?"

    "Yes. I am worried about her. If she begins to have troubles at her job, you and I will not have time to do our good work," The Director said.

    "Yeah. That makes sense."

    "Then you will talk to her. See what she knows. Find out what happened this afternoon. She had an episode. I'm sure you've heard."

    "Saw her leave. Yes, sir," Freddy said.

    The Director turned to go but paused. "And Freddy?"

    "Yes, sir?"

    "Because she left, I need you to be on the circ desk. Kiera leaves at six, so finish up that cart and work it until close."

    "Yes, sir," Freddy said.

    "Good. That's my boy." The Director continued on past Chris at the reference desk. A clear thought danced in The Director's mind about Chris overhearing the conversation. The Director dismissed the thought as he dismissed the man. Neither mattered.

To Be Continued…

A Brightness in the Void

A flash. A brightness in the void. All around the library came the sound of tinnitus. A constant whine as if an explosion had rocked the building. As if the glass should fall in, the plaster should crack on the walls, as if the dust should be shaken from the top of the shelves to dance in the afternoon sun.

    I was aware of myself again. I had a sense of me. A brief moment in time as the library adjusted, but building around me solidified. I was awoken by a sound no one else seemed to have heard.

    Save one.

    Brenda screamed. She had been at the circulation desk. Kiera had been talking to a parent about readers for her child to prepare for kindergarten. Chris had been at the reference desk upstairs helping an old man with his password. The Director had been in his office, reviewing the budget for the next month. All of them made their way to the reference desk as Brenda let out one giant scream followed by short breaths.

    The Director reached her first. He came to Brenda and put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" he said.

    Brenda glanced at his hand. He removed it. She took a step back as Kiera walked from children's.

    "What happened?" Kiera said.

    "Something," The Director said.

    "Nothing," Brenda said. She wrung her hands and swallowed bile. "I'm okay."

    Chris walked down the steps. The patron he had been helping followed. Chris surveyed the scene. The Director nodded to him. Chris nodded back and turned around. "Let's go work on that password some more, Mr. Clark."

    "Are you okay?" The Director said to Brenda.

    "Just a start. My imagination," Brenda said.

    I felt her lie. I felt everything in the library affected by the flash. It centered around Brenda. A nuclear fallout glow around her radiating in a gentle wave. Inside her, where she grasped her shirt, was a hole that held flat dark.

    I checked The Director and Kiera. The Director maintained the steady hum of life I felt from everyone in the library. A steady thump of a heartbeat. The in and out wheeze of breath. Gurgling and sloshing and dividing and using energy life. In The Director it felt off, though. As if a single flute player in an orchestra had fallen off the beat just enough for a well trained ear to hear. I expected The Director's body, my body, to feel wrong, either by his nature or by my own assumptions. On his hand where he had touched Brenda's shoulder was a bit of the glow. A small shine on the palmed fingers he rubbed against his pant leg. An unconscious movement.

    "If you're sure," Kiera said. She glanced at The Director for confirmation.

    The Director said, "When Freddy arrives, why don't you go home for the day?"

    "I could do that," Brenda said.

    "Only if you feel like it."

    "That might be okay." Brenda's hand circled her chest around that blank spot. It was smaller now, filling in little by little. Right after the flash it had been the size of a baseball. Now it was golf ball sized. The glow was fading as well, the brightness of it a dull shine across the library. I heard Brenda thinking, "It's gone." Clear words, not intention or base emotion besides a deep sadness from her. Whatever had happened, it had started with something in Brenda she knew about.

    "What's gone?" I said and startled myself with my own words. My incorporeal form had become my default. I scanned the building and saw no reactions to my words.

    Then something said, "Me."

To Be Continued…

Lots of Packing

The Director opened the old crate. He removed the straw. Too much, maybe, but the monks were thorough. He pulled out the three books and lay them side by side on the table.

    The covers absorbed the fluorescent light. The leather felt warm. The Director could imagine the animal that provided the leather screaming as the hide had been removed. He wondered if it had a name. Did the monks give names to the creatures they cared for? Or did they take them from their mothers and age them until the time for binding came?

    An idle thought.

    Each book had a golden wax seal. One for the snake. One for the rabbit. One blank, the surface almost reflective.

    Brenda walked into the back room of the library. She held a stack of books in her arms. The Director wheeled a cart over to her. He saw her flinch away. No matter. He would not touch her until he had to. "Here. Let me help," he said. He took half the books from her. He arranged them on the cart, nonfiction on one side and fiction on the other.

    "Thanks," Brenda said. "New books?"

    "Yes. Some reference books," The Director said.

    "Want me to catalog them?"

    "No. But thank you. I'll take care of them myself."

    "Lots of packing. Kiera would say they overdid it. The environment, you know."

   "I assume so. But you can never be too careful. They are handmade volumes."

   "Genealogy?"

    The Director flinched at the word. "What?"

    "Are they for genealogy?"

    "No. Just reference."

    Brenda gazed at him, those big doe eyes studying. The Director thought he saw something else there. Not her watching, but listening. What was the dumpy circulation librarian listening to? What went on in her head besides echoes? Did she scream in there? The lack of thought must be deafening. He could stop all that. Later. Maybe he would make his own books.

    He said, "How is it out there?"

    "Fine. Kids are out of school. Freddy's running late, but I have it," she said.

    "Okay. We want to have a good day, right?" Keep her off balance and away from the books. He did not like the way she watched them, listening.

    "I have it," she said.

    "Good. Thank you, Brenda. You do such a good job." Sometimes all people needed to be pacified was to be told they were doing a good job.

    She smiled a tight little smile, said thanks, and went back through the door. The Director watched her go. He gathered the three new editions to the library. Walking down the back stairs, he used his key to enter the library basement. He flicked the switch on the wall and the lights came on with a slight hum.

    In one corner, a small cage glowed. The computer servers sat humming in there. Wires ran from the cage and up into the ceiling and walls. A long electrical box was fixed to the wall next to the cage. Along the walls of the large room, half the size of the library, lived the books in storage. Extra copies of best sellers, valuable books of local authors, and others forgotten and covered in dust.

    The Director passed the equipment and the bags of salt and sand bags. He walked the three new books to the back corner. There he lay them on the floor at each point of a large triangle painted in red. The paint glowed under the stark fluorescent lights.

    Three cages sat along the back wall. In one lay a snake, curled and watching. In another was a rabbit, huddled far away from the snake in a corner. He fed them and cleaned their cages. Once the third cage was occupied and the time was right, he could begin. He had not named these animals. Once he began, names would not matter. Hell would fall.

To Be Continued…

Imagine a Dragon

One of the members told Freddy he had done well. That made all the difference. The meeting had been a success, another round of chanting. Freddy had lead them, the words of the old tongue falling from his mouth in nervous clumps. When others said the words, a rhythm was created, a musical dance that caused the group to sway. Some said the words like a speech, loud and clear, causing the group to stand and cheer and become a unit of like-minded beasts intent on a single goal. Others whispered the words, the group leaning in to hear and drifted like a child hearing a bedtime story. When Freddy finished, everyone had given a light clap.

    Still, he had done a good job. He had been told so.

    Freddy walked to the library. His afternoon shift started soon. The day became cloudy as he walked. One long white cloud with a bulbous end stretched across the sky below the gray overcast. Freddy imagined a dragon following him. He thought also of going home for his rain jacket, but he did not smell rain in the air. At most, he could make it home a little wet.

    He passed the old C Store on his way. A gas station built a dozen years ago by the Porter family. The same gas station his dad had been seen visiting the night he left. Freddy had never wondered if there was an A or B Store. He did not like to think about the place.

    "Hey, Fred," Jake Porter said.

    "Hey," Freddy said and kept walking.

    "Stop for a bit," the boy said. He was eighteen and had graduated a year ahead of Freddy, but he always seemed younger. Jake hung around the C Store even when he did not have to work a shift.

    Jake said, "Ain't seen you around much."

    "Been busy. Working," Freddy said. He slowed.

    "That's cool. Listen, I got something you might like. Better than that old stuff."

    "I ain't doing that no more."

    "It's the shit. Not like that old stuff. You'll never believe where I got it."

    Freddy did not say.

    "Wanna guess?"

    "I'm late for work."

    "Then you know. Heh. I bet you do. Why you ain't been buying from me."

    "I ain't doing that no more."

    "Yeah. Okay, baby. I know you."

    "Don't call me that," Freddy said. All the good will he had from the meeting leached from him. He stopped. Reminders did that to you. Put you back in old places with old memories and stop you cold. All it took was a word to break your resolve and reclaim a part of your heart.

    "Okay, baby. Don't get mad. I'm just offering you some primo-"

    Freddy hit Jake with a wild punch. Right in the chest. It staggered the other boy with a small smack and a deep echo. Freddy's knuckles throbbed.

    "You dick." Jake threw a punch of his own. His landed in Freddy's stomach, up and under his ribs. The breath wheezed out and up and acid filled his mouth. Freddy had to lean forward, right into a punch to the jaw.

    "You fucking dick," Jake said. Freddy fell to his knees. He felt a kick in his back and fell forward. His face landed in the grass but his hands scraped on the sidewalk. Another kick and he stopped moving. A glob of spit landed on his face.

    "Just wanted to share," Jake said.

    The grass felt cool under his face. The concrete of the sidewalk was cooling as the clouds filled the sky. Freddy rolled onto his back. The cloud dragon had broken up. Freddy lay there waiting to get his breath back.

To Be Continued…

Sticks and Graveyard Dirt

The box buzzed and the gate opened slow and steady. Kiera drove the library van forward. The familiar drive rocks crunched under the tires. In her mind she knew she could turn around at any time. She was not the little girl that had first come to the King House twenty years before, but Kiera always came back.

    The compound stood empty once again. Kiera parked the van by the Big House and got out. Around the back of the van she picked out the supplies she needed. Glitter, glue, burlap squares, and twine. Sticks gathered from the grounds of the branch library. Dirt from the library graveyard. Everything needed for her craft project.

    The door opened slow. Ms. Davis's eye showed in the crack. "Kiera," the elderly woman said. Long ago a much younger Ms. Davis had also said her name. Ms. Davis did not smile then either.

    "Ms. Davis. I'm here for the craft time."

    "Are you alone?"

    "You should have let me see the children."

    The door opened wide. "You know how they are with strangers."

    "He was my boss."

    "Still. Strangers upset the little ones." Ms. Davis slumped now. Once a towering figure, her back arched and bent. A small cane held her up, gripped by one veiny hand. The black dress fell straight, giving away no curves or semblance of the body underneath. Ms. Davis had bent but not broken. Not yet.

    "Set up on the tables. I will send them out," Ms. Davis said and stepped back. The door closed with a thump.

    The day had a gentle wind that blew the tall trees into a gentle sway. The picnic tables, three of them, sat in the sun. Kiera set supplies out for eighteen children. Six to a table. She expected less. Kiera kept busy, hearing the doors of the small buildings around the Big House open and close. Behind her, small feet shuffled through dead leaves.

    "Miss Kiera?"

    Kiera finished placing the last of the supplies and faced the children. Six of them all dressed in the King House uniform of white t-shirts and denim plants. They were set apart by their jackets, complexions, and hair. The girl who had spoken stood front and center. Her wild and curly hair blew in the wind, hiding and accenting her face and big brown eyes.

    "Hi, Maisey. Want to make something fun?" Kiera said.

    The children surged forward. They wrapped around her. Keira said hello to each of them, touching the tops of their heads and laughing as they swarmed around her. She asked them questions. How was the cold? Is the food better? What's your favorite book now? All the questions children talk about with friends. Kiera took each child in turn, all of them gathered around one table. No new children at least, but at least one missing.

    "What's all this?" Maisy said.

    "I thought we could make something special. Where's Patrick?" Kiera said.

    Maisy shrugged. "He went away."

    Kiera let that go. Kids came and went here in all sorts of ways. She would stop that. She explained to the children what they would be making. She held up an example, but said theirs did not have to look exactly like that as long as it stuck to the basic shapes. For the next hour Kiera taught the children how to tie the sticks with the twine. How to bind the graveyard dirt with a little hair or spit and wrap it up in burlap.She went over how to hoop and lash the twine into shapes to hold the whole thing together. Little fingers worked, and Kiera encouraged them. They smiled a few times.

    Far later, looking back at this hour, she remembered the ones who smiled.

    At the end of the hour a sharp bell rang out. All the backs at the table went straight, even Kiera. She told them to go on. She could finish. They had done enough. Then she watched them walk back to the small buildings surrounding the Big House. Kiera resisted the urge to tell them to run, get in the van. She resisted yelling to them not to worry. It would be over soon.

    The hard work was done for them. She gathered each sculpture with their small bags. Bound hoops and string and sticks. With care she packed them away and got in the library van and left King House. With luck and a lot of hope, she would only come back to face Ms. Davis once more.

To Be Continued…

A Silver Sheen

Chris sat at the reference desk and read the synopsis of his favorite show. The Yellow Tiger had gone up against some pretty bad dudes last night. Chris did not watch the show. He had gone right to sleep.

    In his mind, he thought over Amy's proposal. More money for the library. New computers for the lab or some of those reference books The Director wanted. The Friends of the Library might go along with his suggests. The Director had some ideas, he said. No, not quite. The Director had said, I'll tell you, my boy, I have big ideas for the reference collection.

    When the Director said that… Only one person had ever called Chris "my boy," and it was not the Director. The Director. When had Chris started thinking of Elliot Harker as the Director? An okay librarian, got the job because his mom was librarian back in the day, that's what people said. The last library director had been garbage, though, and at least the Director listened to you even if he did not always…

    There it was again. The Director.

    Chris shook his head. He wiped his hands on his face. Did all the motions of what people did in movies when they were thinking too hard. The Yellow Tiger could wait. HE lcosed the browser and stood up. Stretched. Noon at the library and the sleepy town had not yet woken up to come do research. The second floor was empty. Chris did a slow spin, bouncing his eyes over the genealogy room where he had killed his father. Out of mind, the past is dead. He took a walk. Around the stacks, hands in pockets. Back straight. Nobody on the second floor to help. He took the stairs down, the front stairs to the circulation and children's area. To the computer lab. He had not taken the back stairs, the emergency stairs that also lead to the work room since… Best not think about it.

    Brenda stood at the window. A few people flipped through magazines. All dozen computers were full, people clicking and hunting and pecking. A mother with a stroller sat at the small table in children's. Kiera was gone, either to the park or on outreach. Chris stood by Brenda at the window and looked out at the bright Mississippi day, already seventy degrees despite the cold wind blowing leaves.

    Brenda said, "I saw Amy yesterday. What did y'all talk about?"

    "Funding. Her company wants to donate to the library. To the Friends," Chris said.

    "That all?"

    "Yeah."

    "She talked to Elliot about that at lunch a while back. The Director has been dealing with it some, I hear."

    "He mentioned reference books."

    "Would they get used?"

    Chris said, "Depends. Always need more updated tax and legal stuff. Medical. Some tech books."

    "That's what he wants?"

    "We didn't talk about it much."

    Brenda faced him. Chris found her eyes haunted with dark circles.The lines on her face stood out and her hair, always a tangle of frizzy brown, seemed more like a nest. She said, "I might have you order me something."

    "What kind of something?"

    "Dragons."

    His mind slipped into reference mode. Open questions, let her talk. "What kind of dragons?"

    "Like, how you let one out." Brenda was biting her lip, the skin turning white.

    "What do you need it for?"

    "Let out a dragon in me."

    "We speaking in metaphors?"

    Brenda went back to the sunny day with no answer.

    "Are you okay?" he said.

    "I just think something bad's coming. And there's something in me that can help."

    "A dragon." When she did not answer, he said, "Maybe I can look up someone to talk to. A professional. The state insurance is-"

    She spun and with force stepped close. Her normal brown eyes took on a silver sheen. Wild and fierce. A trick of the sun, Chris thought.

    "I don't need help. This whole world needs help and in me I can give it. Brenda broke away, stamping back to the circulation desk. Chris and the magazine readers and the mother in children's watched her go.

    The computer lab people kept on clicking.

To Be Continued…

Here to Help

"I need books on nuclear power," the lady said. She wore a garbage bag around her waist like a skirt over jeans. On her head was a grocery bag, a paper one cut out like a medieval helmet with the face exposed. The old Winn-Dixie logo with the red check mark was a faded pink. Brenda had not seen that logo in years.

   Brenda said, "I can do a little search for you. See what we have. If you need more research, you might want to talk to our reference librarian upstairs."

    "Can't do stairs. They fail too much," the woman said.

    "We have an elevator."

    The woman made a face and waved her hand. "Too many bugs in those. Get in the gears."

    "Let's do that search." Brenda typed 'nuclear power' into the library's website and got thirty-seven hits. She spun the screen to face the woman.

    The lady took a step back, her garbage bag skirt rustling. She turned the Winn-Dixie Helmet around. On the back, a window had been cut out and covered with cellophane. Words above the woman's eyes read "Be Gone Electrons."

    Brenda swallowed. "We've got a few books on nuclear energy. Science books. Some in the political section talk about law and such. What kind of information do you need?"

    "Where are they?" the woman said, her voice vibrating the cellophane of her Winn-Dixie helmet. Brenda named her Dixie.

    "Upstairs."

    "Bugs."

    "I can get them for you."

   Dixie leaned in close and said, "Then you would have the bugs."

    "I can take the stairs."

    "Can't risk it."

    "There's some in the children's section."

    "Show me."

    Brenda walked Dixie over to the juvenile nonfiction. The patron turned her bag around to show the helmet style again as she looked over the books. She picked one titled "Ernie and the Reactor" about a prairie dog learning about how nuclear energy works to power cities. By the end, Ernie the prairie dog seemed satisfied.

    "He's not dying," Dixie said.

    "Children's books tend not to," Brenda said. She kept a few steps away, both so she could see the circulation desk and to stay away from the lady. She saw Amy come down the stairs and waved. Amy stopped for a second, gave a small shake of her hand, and hurried out. Dixie said that book would do.

    "Okay," Brenda said. She checked Dixie out, her real name Cecilia Banks. Ms. Banks had a clean record, no overdues or fines, and kept a distance from the desk as Brenda scanned the book.

    "I'll return it clean," Ms. Banks said and left.

    "What a nut," the silver dragon in Brenda's heart said, but Brenda scolded it not to judge the more addled mortals around them.

    She was here to help.

Full Discretion

Chris watched the young man, seeing himself a long time ago. He had wandered in a library in south California, a little building in  seaside community and applied for a job. The woman took a look at him and smiled. At the time he had just left his father's church. He still wore his hair long, and it was a warm chestnut without the pepper of gray. "Do you know much about libraries?" the kind woman had said. He had told her he knew some, enough he thought he could help out. Her name had been Yvonne. She had saved him. Chris stood and walked to the stacks. "Can I help?" he said.

    Freddy startled, dropping the books in his hand.Up close, the young man had the air of prey. Jumpy, wild, open to running. His eyes were red and rimmed dark, his hands with a small tremor.

    "You okay?" Chris said, bending to retrieve the books.

    Freddy bent as well, gathering the books. "I'm fine." His face settled back to talking mode. A small pretend smile. "Not sleeping much. Maybe getting a cold."

    Chris did not think so but didn't say. Everyone was entitled to secrets. "That's rough. I think I've got some cough drops or something in my desk."

    "No, no. I'm okay. Fine. Just tired. I'll get something after work."

    "If you need to go home, we can handle. I'm not that bad at shelving," Chris said. He tried a smile.

    The page nodded and gave a soft thanks. He pushed up the sleeves of his sweater. Chris saw the tattoo on the boy's arm and dropped the books he held. They both went for the floor again.

    "Freddy, where did you get that?"

    "They were just returns."

    "No, not the books." Chris grabbed Freddy's arm and said, "Not the books, you fucking moron. The tatoo." His vision tunneled, and he felt sick. As sick as Freddy looked. From the corner of his eye, he saw a patron at the reference desk.

    "Don't you go anywhere," he said and let the boy go.

    Chris walked to the desk. He has seen the woman before, seen her with Brenda and the Director. Tall blonde, good figure with good clothes. Money came off her in an aura. She wore it with the same comfort others may where a favorite team jersey. He had seen the same look on many women in that small California library.

    "You're Chris, right? The reference librarian?" she said.

    "Yeah. Can I help you?" Chris's voice shook. He forced himself to concentrate on the woman and calm down. Put up the public service front.

    The woman gave no indication she was affected. "I'm Amy Berry." She held out a hand.

    "Brenda's sister," Chris said and gave her hand a small shake.

    "Yes. But I'm here with my company. The Director said I might talk to you about some opportunities?"

    "What kind?"

    "We're looking into making donations. Here. Support local communities. I thought, well, librarians already do that. As you said, my sister does. So why not support them?"

    "That's nice. What kind of donations? I'm sure the Director told you about our vendors. Most donations go through the Friends."

    "Yes. I've been told you're the liaison to the Friends of the Library. I was wondering more about them."

    "Not a lot to tell. They do a few book sales a year, with the normal sale going on downstairs. Older items, discards, and book donations. Most of the money goes to fund summer reading programs and after school activities. Snacks. Kiera mostly handles those transactions. I sit in on their quarterly meetings as a representative of the library." Chris flashed to other meetings, darker meetings, with members wearing tattoos and chanting in unfamiliar tongues. He thought about Freddy again, wondering what the boy had gotten himself into.

    Amy smiled. Chris had seen that tight smile. It said things were quaint, slow moving. Money moves faster where she's from.

    She said, "Do they take donations?"

    "They do. Plus membership fees that get you access to the meetings and the annual dinner. Some coupons around town. But they get full discretion on how that money is spent. In the charter. We can suggest things, but as an independent nonprofit they can do with it as they wish. Far as I know, whatever money they get can be used for anything they deem worthy of benefiting the library. Can't be earmarked."

    Amy frowned. "I see."

    "But they usually take our advice."

    "And when do they meet next?"

    Chris circled the reference desk. On it lay a monthly calendar, spread out wide. He put a finger on the last week of the month. "End of March. Last Saturday."

    "Who can attend the meetings again?"

    "Any member. Lunch is served."

    The woman smiled and reached into a pocket, pulling out a small folding wallet. "How much does a membership cost?"

To Be Continued…