High Times

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

This is a story about getting high. Getting weed at a house on the hill is something that Jerry didn't know about. He surely got his mind blown when he met High Times.

Submitted: May 09, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 09, 2018



The time of the past is a time this man made a mistake. He drove down road 63 with two of his tires bald in the front. His one hand is on the wheel of the car, smoking the finest weed that is found best in the north as his mind wondered to the point that is beyond his concentration.

What was he forgot with this burning in front of him. He didn’t know. Neither did his mind that is burning with the weed that is running through his circulatory that is flowing into his nervous system. He kept the car upon the side of the road, eating the white line when something funny flowed into his mind that got him into a laughing fit.

“Ehh that is funny a-day.” He giddied as the bald tire ate the dirt up on the side of the road.

He corrected the car back to its asinine position as he continued to smoke. He garroted himself to the green haze as his eyes start to look like a man that is past the point of tiredness. He coursed himself to believe what his father believes when he tried to snuff that sound of bitchiness that is running through his mind like a rogue boulder. He gritted his teeth when he heard the ricochet the word, “junkie” in his acidic mind that is eating away.

Junkie, nothing but a damn junkie; that is all he will be and he will be nothing but that!

“Shut up, you old fog!” He peeled off that squeak in the bottom of his throat, puffing out the smoke that is filling up in his car now.

He laughed stupidly at the flow of the smoke that is around the car, taking his hand off the wheel of the car to play with the smoke with both of his hands.

The lights are clear in the distance but he was none aware as Kirby continued to play with the smoke, making shapes in the air that dispelled when he laughed like a loon behind the wheel of his own car. When it happened he knew he had to clean up the scent before the cops showed up. Then he slurred to sleep where he didn’t dream when he slept for more than two days as the sun blinded to rain and lighten up to sun again. Night enfolded over to day and day darkened into night when he woke up, forgetting the manslaughter of one Gere Childs that was alone one night fixing his flat.

That was a year ago as he drove a different car now with him smoking a roach in the accompanied silence of himself now. He drove down Copperhead Road now with his mind getting stupid again with the sound of the crickets out his rolled down window. His eyes started to give off that sleepy look as his mind started to think of laughable thoughts that is making him shudder laughter. He remembered Heather Walkins, all three hundred and sixty pound of her getting hurt at the deep end of the pool with her flab of water making a ripple the size of a rip current in the Pacific Ocean. Jerry Chiklis – who is the molester of life in this little adventure sat there in the colorful lawn chair, laughing to split sides with the onlookers glancing on at the horror in front of them while someone jumped in the pool after her.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Jerry? That stuff with messing with your head!” One of the boys said; looking at him in disgust before looking at the other boy that is in the pool, looking at the boy that is trying to get Heather topside again. This made Jerry laugh harder now with tears streaming down his face.

“You know I heard that someone made up some batch of weed around here by some botanist that hated the dopies. He perfected the greatest high that would make anyone desperate until they realize that the psychotropic effects will cause people to be paranoid to the point that that they will…” He crossed his index finger over his own neck.

“Bullshit and the horse you wrote in on.” Jerry made a serious face before laughing to split sides again.

“Help me, please?” The boy in the pool struggled with Heather’s lifeless body clutched in his skinny arms. Jerry laughed even harder until the lawn chair dropped on the tiled rock setters that are beneath him that serve a walkway. He thought he was going to die. He thought when he continued to drive, starting up his fits of laughter that sounded like a person on the last hinges of sanity. When he calmed himself, he met the end of the road with the stop sign next to the car. He turned on his turn signal and turned left towards some place that he had never been when he drove and drove as his mind started to feel droopy. Before he realized it, he met a pair of hard, metal rusted doors that are in front of the grille of his car. He scanned through the windshield when upon the metal doors are the shape of gothic imprints in them. One of them is the shape of a fire breathing dragon and another is the shape of a wolf that is upon his hind quarters, all cloaked in metallic silver when Jerry felt like sleeping upon the wheel of the car.

The motor kept idling when he dropped his forehead on the ring of the steering wheel. Not hearing the rustle of something come through the brushes when something leered inside the cab of his car. Something tickled the top of his ear when he jumped up, flinching at the face of the old man that is standing out beside his car with a red bandanna wrapped around his wrinkled head. The old man moved his hand back and smiled with a toothless grin.

“Got y’erself a fin’ Jim Beanie. Oh yeah, A fine Jim Beanie right here.” The old man rubbed his car rather graciously when Jerry started to feel a little uncomfortable inside the cab of his car.

“What k’nd of pennies do you have in yer wallet now?” The old man savored, rubbing his hands together when Jerry thought for a moment what he wanted when he slowly moved the cogs in his head in his mind. When he did, he dropped his hands in his pockets like a beggar all out of money. He found something there when he brought it out, fingering it in his hands when he realized it is a bag of hemp that was stashed there.

“Oh bitch. That’s not it.” Jerry blinked when he placed it back into his pocket, turning over on his other side to fetch something else in his pocket when he came out with three dimes, two quarters, three one dollar bills and no pennies.

“I’m sorry, old man; all out of copper.” Jerry shook his head. He wondered if he is so stoned that he is hallucinating all of this. His mind is gifted for that. His mind is always gifted to the pledge that he will someday wind up in the jailhouse with his wondering coming up with something of shame, of murder, and of blame.

Why was he thinking of this? He didn’t know when he fluttered his eyes to the man that is standing out of his car.

“Well, if you don’t have a dime then I can accommodate you otherwise.” The old man slurred, tipping his head into the cab of the car. The smell that came from the man is nothing of peppermints and blueberries. It is the smell of ragged mustiness and mold that is coming from his clothes, like the smell of a man that is homeless to the point that his feet are gangrene.

“You know who used to live here in this place beyond the doors? It was a man that liked to smoke the finest itch that was ever grown around here. He became a botanist and worked on the Jesus smoke for years up until his death. He made a lot of money before someone killed him on the side of the road for unknown reasons. What a shame.” The old man shook his head.

Jerry wondered why his voice is a little clearer now. He noticed that one of his teeth is back in his gums when he cocked his head. He heard the sound of the stereo playing through the moth eaten speakers when Jerry felt the high more than his share now. Man he had the munchies. He had the munchies something fierce.

“I have this ‘ere key though. It unlocks this ‘ere doors to all yer hearts desyre. Just park yer car out here and let the mind come towards the ick.” The old man shrugged, moving his head from the door opening with that eerie smile on his face. In this light, that smile made Jerry want to reverse the car out of there and run like a bat out of hell with his voice becoming a craze whimper.

He purchased his hand to the door and opened it, not realizing that he is sealing his fate in the process as he turned the car off, never to return to that rusted hunk of junk again.

He followed the old man with a hitch in his boot, stumbling towards the middle of the double doors as the old man shook the scraggy hair on the top of his head.

“Is the place still here?” Jerry asked the old man rather considerably, feeling one dime less in his pocket when the old man took it and dropped it into his pocket like payment for some carnival ride that is about to commence.

“Oh yeah,” The old man started to giggle when he hunkered down at the keyhole and thumbed the key into it. His face is expressed in casual taste for the events that are about to unfold. It is the face of pleasure and satisfaction.

“Some of the windows are broken out and the roof is starting to sag. It’s been sitting here for more than twenty nine years when a couple of people came here, thinking they are going to roam the roost.” The old man dropped his voice a little at the last course of his explanation.

“What a damn shame.” He mumbled as he unlocked the door and slowly opened the one to the left. The door opened in a rusty squeak.

“What was that?” Jerry spoke in a crude manner now. His face looks like the face of a stupid kid that never gets out too much. It is the face of someone who is going into the witch’s house with that stupid expression on his face.

“Oh nothing, don’t be afraid of the house. Them bones squeak but they are not ample to bite.” The old man grabbed the other door and screeched it open.

Jerry went into that place, little to know that the old man closed the door behind him to the estate of the late Charles Boris, the man who was once the best genius pot maker in town that made all the people around here pissed to high heels. He could have made the front of the Times magazine if he was grown in another time and in another place. He is a genius of the pot with one exception after he died. It was something he didn’t witness as Jerry stood in front of the house that held no memories but bones, silent bones that is weathered in nothing but darkness.

The house that stood on the high of the hill is shadowed in the night with the squeak of the front door swaying in the wind. The windows were smashed at a time when people looked into and out of those windows in greater times that held life. The roof was stronger a long time ago when Charles Boris had the flow of cash that came into the place, arriving to the upkeep as he continued to smoke that weed that made him feel better with the silent cancer that is growing in his body.

That didn’t kill Charles Boris. Something else did as Jerry looked at the lightning pole that is cocked on the top of the house with a little rooter vane stationed on top of that. The shingles came off the roof over the years and dropped to the ground, deepening into the dirt that is contaminating and corrosive to the ground that is dying, becoming polluted. The old man or Jerry didn’t care for it as the old man hitched up the cobble walk, turning on his flashlight and beaming at the walk that is ahead of him.

“How do you know about this?” Jerry considered asking the old man, biting his lower lip with grandeur of worry running about in his mind. The old man didn’t reply right away when he moaned at the hurt that is coming from his knee.

“I used to help Charles when he was still alive. I do like to help him sometimes. The other times though he had a hateful temper about him. Sometimes he would do things that I didn’t understand when I witnessed them.” The old man remembered this and remembered it well. He remembered the broken scratches upon the wall and the glass on the floor. He didn’t understand it when his mind went through all of it.

“What did you have him do?” Jerry asked the old man when the old man’s smile started to twitch. His contentment turned over into anger and remorse, flowing towards insanity as the old man continued to giggle some more.

Jerry didn’t hear of this as he thought of something else funny as well, staggering with the old man that is going further into the depth of the Boris’s estate. By the time they got to it is when the old man came to the greenhouse that is the only place that is still up-kept in the entire place that is so run down. The old house that stood next to them creaked and cracked as Jerry watched the wood on the side of the house swell and depressed, swell and depress as the old man flinched at the sound of the house that is creaking and braying next to them.

“What was that?” Jerry slurred, cupping his hand over his mouth when the old man raised his hand in the air.

“Nothing to b’ concerned about. Nothing t’all.” The old man unlocked the greenhouse and opened it when Jerry smelled the most beautiful thing that he had ever smelled in his life.

He smelled all his childhood dreams in the comfort of the greenhouse. He smelled the incense of cinnamon that whiffed around his bedroom when he was just a toddler. He smelled the cotton glow of his teddy bear and the light breeze of rose peddles that are growing outside his bedroom window. This blend of smell turned over to the smell of Ladybug Love when Jerry stumbled into the greenhouse some more as he turned to look at the many pots that are appointed on the benches. It was the smell of his first when he was just sixteen years old. That was the perfume that he wore when the old man casted the glow of the flashlight over the benches. The silver beamed over the light that the old man that is flashing.

“This h’ere is the wall’ist admire. Do you like it, my boy?” The old man raised his hands in the air when Jerry felt like drooling with crazy delight. He never saw so much weed in his life when he started to jump up and down on the balls of his feet.

“You got some papers. I know you do.” The old man smiled as he placed his hands together.

Do what I commanded you. Charles Boris spoke in the back of the old man’s mind. The old man smiled when Jerry went about the rows of weed that made his mind higher than ever before now. The old man smelled the stank coming off of him when he came up to the weed that is not the color of green but the color of orange. Jerry nestled one of the plants and took the leaf off, taking a razor from his pocket that is in an Altoid’s tin box to chunk up the weed on the bench when he rolled up the biggest bomber joint that he had ever seen in his life.

He placed the joint in his mouth and lit up, smoking the weed as his mind wondered to the point of everything getting all giddy. His eyes were getting redder by the induction as he turned to the old man that is standing there, cleaning his hands with a rag that was in his pocket. He snuffed the rag away and put it back in his pocket. There is something upon the old man’s face. It is the expression of craziness in his eyes. It is the expression of getting the upper hand of something.

“What are you looking at, fuck face?” Jerry stumbled with smoke coming out his mouth and nose, laughing like a loon that had seen the craziest thing ever happen in his life.

“You want a toke of this?” Jerry held it out before reeling it back weakly.

 “Psych!” Jerry spit saliva out of his mouth, holding his stomach as he continued to laugh.

 “You enjoy that little man. Wait until you can’t move anymore. That is the buzz that He will love real soon.” The old man smiled with something evil behind that face.

“The death of Charles Boris was not a death at all. He just yearn his consciousness to the house. That was all he did. His body is buried under the house.”

“What?” Jerry staggered a little, wiping something out of his eyes that are not there. He couldn’t feel his hands anymore when he shook his head, hearing voice in his head of people long since dead.

He couldn’t feel his feet anymore either when the old man continued to stand there, looking excited for what is about to happen.

Do what I commanded you! Charles Boris screamed in his mind when the old man smiled at the ceiling with that Stanley Kubrick look that is shown in his movies when a person is revealed to be losing his mind.

“Yes god. I do what is commanded you as well. I’ll smoke this when I’m done and pass out for a couple of days.” The old man smiled at the ceiling when Jerry started to boogie on the floor.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” He shook a phantom out of his head when he couldn’t feel his feet at all anymore. He stood a little more before he teetered a moment before he bounced off the wall, still holding the joint in his hand. Before he fell, he dropped the joint on the floor and he dropped on it as well. The floor felt like feathers as he passed out.

By the time he woke up, he heard the sound of the old man dragging him on the cobblestones as he whistled a tune that Jerry didn’t know about. Dawn is coming up, casting purple, oranges, and ochre in the veil light that is clearing it all away in a matter of minutes. The old man drug him by the ankles that are tied together by knotted rope when Jerry felt like his mouth is filled with cotton.

“Uhh?” Jerry moaned, looking around with his red eyes looking for something to get away from this old man. He sees the rocks in the grass, the garden spike that slowly crept past him, even the toad that is sitting there with a blank stare pointing back at him. Then he went back to the garden spike that he saw just a second ago. He reached for that at the last second and grabbed the spike that is in the crabgrass, kneeling up with his back hitting cobblestone that hurt like holy hell when he rose the spike upward towards the sky and brought it down with such force that it felt like paper going into the center of that old man’s hand.

The old man dropped the knot and screamed bloody murder as the blood flew out of his hand. He jumped up and down like a squirrel just reared up and bit him in the nut sack. Blood flew down his pants as he continued to scream when Jerry knelt down and started to cut the rope that is around his ankles. The old man rebounded when Jerry stopped cutting the rope, rearing up the stake that is in his hand when the old man bore down on him like an animal intended for the kill. The old man grabbed the stake when Jerry kneed him in the nuts as the old man cringed, dropping to the point of submission for a while when Jerry pushed him off himself. Jerry got up and started to hobble off out of the Boris estate when something broke open like and animal breaking out of the cage with its teeth barred.

When Jerry turned, he felt something dive into the center of his chest when something puddled over his shoes. It wasn’t his own piss but it was coming from him when he stood in the wake of one man that is dead at the threshold of the open door. The man had a chain in his hand when Jerry looked down, seeing something metallic jutting out of his chest when he glared at the dead man that is standing at the threshold of the door.

“Come here, old high wanderer. I have to get REALLY high off of that ass!” He strapped the stain and reared his shoulder back as Jerry jettisoned from the front of the estate doors to the threshold of Charles Boris’s house like being shot out of a cannon.

The smell that came from the dead man is atrocious, like the smell of dead deer that has been bloating in the hot sun for more than four days. His eyes are white with a white coat on his shoulders. Something is moving under that button up white shirt and Jerry didn’t want to know of this as the late Charles Boris smiled in death and disillusion.

“I’m going to smoke you and get my high!” Charles crooned laughed as Jerry in the last moments of his life is set deeper in the house that is high up on the hill.

The old man continued to bleed as he smiled at the deed that he had done.

You had done well, gardener. You will be rewarded for seven days in advance.

“Yes, sir;” The schizophrenic gardener smiled his applause. He went to work cleaning the wound upon his hand as the sun came up for a brand new day.

Later on, he grabbed the tow truck that is inside the estate and brought the car into the lot, stripping it for parts and syphoning the gas so he can use it for the wrecker in later times. The old man did it with ease as he continued on with the routine of the day.

© Copyright 2019 Adam Steele. All rights reserved.

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