Skip to content

Foray Into Fiction: The Factory Window

The Hallowe'en discussion was about haunted places around the City. I mentioned one, the old McCormick factory. The people around the table looked at me, and at each other. I told the story.

The McCormick factory, as it is still known, sits vacant and dark 100 years after it was constructed in 1914. The Company was first owned by the McCormick family, then was sold in 1937 during the "Great Depression" to George Weston Limited that continued on with the business successfully for 50 years. After, the Company was sold to Culinar, and 7 years later was sold to Beta Brands. Then Beta Brands went into Court ordered receivership after 9 years, and the factory closed, left abandoned.

Frank McCormick was the youngest of the three brothers who bought the Company from their late father's estate in 1907 after working with their father, Thomas, for many years. They would construct the now century old then state of the art factory. When the Company was sold to Weston in 1937, Frank stayed with the Company. He bought shares, holdings, and interests, in the Company, and he would be President of the Company until his death in 1965. He was the last surviving McCormick to be with the Company.

The arson that occurred at the vacant factory in 2012 was the first time I heard something was strange about the old McCormick factory. After the fire, contained to the 1950s built warehouse section, was extinguished, firefighters were told someone was seen in the 1914 part of the factory in one of the upper windows. A search of the factory found no one. Then I started hearing more stories of a figure in the upper window of the vacant factory.

When people who had seen this figure contacted me, I was somewhat dismissive. There were people in the factory who had broken in. Anyone could have been in there and happen to be looking out one of the windows. No, this was not what it was. They didn't know or care anything about the McCormick factory. It was abandoned, and it was an eye sore many told me they thought. Each person told me the same story.

Walking along the sidewalk in front of the McCormick factory at night, the person would have a strange feeling, and then the urge to look at the building. When they did turn their head to look, they always looked directly at the same window, and instantly into the face of a figure in the window staring back. The figure would vanish in a instant as soon as the person looked away. The figure is seen in an upper window in the tower portion of the factory that faces the street from the front. From questioning the witnesses, I determined the window is a window of the old guest waiting room, and later possibly the Board Room, or senior level offices of the factory. The figure is described in all accounts as being an average size man, in his mid 40s, short dark hair, dressed in a dark suit and a striped tie.

Curious to find out what these people had seen, I gathered some old photographs of groups of people. All were company photos, but only two were from McCormicks. I showed these photos to each person who witnesses the figure in the window, not revealing anything about my motive. When one certain photo was shown, each person always reacted to it. "That's him!"

The photo is a group McCormick's employees posed standing on the front steps of the factory in 1928. Pointing to a person in the middle of the back row, each person identified this man as the same person seen staring out the vacant factory window at night. The man in the photo they point to, wearing a dark suit and a striped tie, is Frank McCormick.

© Trevor Dailey 

Foray Into Fiction: Werewolves and Vampires

***SCENE***

[Werewolf in human form. To woman] Vampires have kind of levels. The ones on the top are like, well, kind of like the Count Dracula in the movies. The ones on the bottom, those are sorta like the ones on Buffy The Vampire Slayer. See, with Vamps, the ones on the top are the real ones, and the ones one the bottom, the people who get bit by the ones on the top, are just sorta minions. We don't like the ones on the bottom.

[Woman] Why?

[Werewolf] Long story. We allied ourselves with the Vamps because we had a common enemy at that time.

[Woman] Us?

[Werewolf] Yeah, you humans. Well, anyway, that alliance fell apart. Nobody knows why really anymore, it happened centuries ago. At least I don't know why. The point is, we started going after the Vamp minions to try to keep the Vamps on the top from taking over, the bad ones that is. You may thank me for that if you want to. The problem is you humans never stopped killing us or the Vamps, good or bad for either of us. So, we evolved to take human form, and try to hide among you. Of course, we aren't human, Werewolf or Vamp, so we go back to our true selfs whenever.

[Woman] Are there more like you?

[Werewolf] Werewolves? I haven't encountered another of my kind in a very long time. I can thank you for humans for that, I suppose. However, we can detect our kind in human form. We know our own kind. We also know the Vamps in human form. That's why you need me find this Vamp you are hunting, before it finds you. I don't need to tell you this one isn't one of the good Vamps.

***SCENE***

© Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: The Jar Lid

"Can you open this for me?" She held the jar in her hand, her arm outstretched to me.

"Sure," I said.

Gripping the jar in my left hand near my waist, I applied a hard twisting pressure to the jar lid with my right hand. The lid would not budge. Without consideration, I took the jar over to the kitchen sink, and I turned on the hot water.

As the water poured from the faucet, I placed the metal lid of the jar in the stream of the hot running water. A moment later, I removed the jar from the water, closed the tap, and twisted the jar lid. The lid came off with a "pop" sound. I handed her the open jar.

Her stare was with a look of annoyance. She snatched the jar from may hand with a pithy, "I could have done that."

"Why didn't you?" was my bemused reply.

"Because I asked you to open it for me," she said in a succinct way as she looked at me with some irritation in her face.

"Well," my voice frustrated "I opened it."

"No, you didn't open it," she shot back, "you put it under the hot water first."

"Hi, sweetie," I said as I leaned over the back of the couch, and I kissed her cheek.

"Hey, there," she replied with a bright smile before turning back to what she was reading, and I sat beside her.

"I understand it now," I said to her.

"Understand what?," she said not looking from the page she was reading.

"The jar, I understand the jar now," I said with my arm over her shoulders.

"What?" she said turning to look at me with a puzzled look.

"I have to run," I quickly said, kissing her lips, getting up from the couch, and making my way from the room.

She watched me with quizzical look, as she asked with a laugh, "What?"

"I'll see you later," I said as I was half way to the room's exit.

"Hey!" she said with loud laughing voice, "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Yep, and that's why you married me. I love you, too" I called back as I disappeared from the room.

Turning back to the page, she shook her head with a smile quietly saying "No, you're not crazy, you're pretty smart. That's why I married you, my love."

© Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: Spun, Measured, Cut.

***OPEN***

Morning. Man shown sitting on edge of bed wearing bed clothes. Small austere room. Man shown in despair. Reaches and opens nightstand drawer. Removes revolver. Breaks gun open. Retrieves single cartridge from drawer. Loads cartridge into gun. Closes gun. Holds empty palm face up, and with a sweeping motion, spins the cylinder down his palm and off his finger tips.

Nightstand shown. Rhyme, 'Solomon Grundy' is seen, but only title is clear. Calendar is seen, but date is not.

Man purposely places end of the barrel of revolver to rest against his temple. Pauses, closes eyes. Trigger is slowly squeeezed. Hammer slowly draws back. Pause. Hammer falls with a click sound. Opens eyes. Man showing no relief from despair, breaks open gun, removes cartridge, and replaces both gun and cartridge into drawer. Closes drawer. Stands up, and walks out of scene shot.

Full text of rhyme shown. Calender date shown as 'Friday'.

**CLOSE***

© Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: Kinky Beans

There were beans in a bowl on the kitchen counter top when she walked over.

"Whatcha making?", she asked as she took a bean from the bowl, and placed the single bean into her mouth.

"I'm not sure yet. Something with these beans. I'll likely mix 'em in with something" I replied, half ignoring her, as I still was thinking about what I was making. She removed another bean from the bowl, and placed it into her mouth.

"You like beans?," I asked rhetorically, noticing her obvious bean stealing.

"I like kinky beans," she said, taking her third bean from the bowl to eat, and then her hand returning for a fourth bean soon after.

"Those," I said, as I looked at her in a slightly stern manner, "are called kidney beans"

"Kinky beans," she said in a matter of fact response as another bean disappeared into her mouth.

"Kidney beans," I said correcting her.

"No," she said in a more correcting tone than mine, "Kinky beans," putting her emphasis on the word "kinky'.

I contemplated what she had said.

"Kidney beans," I spoke with a little more assertion, "they're called kidney beans because the bean resembles the shape of a kidney. I'm pretty sure that is why they are called kidney beans".

She held the bean she had just grabbed from the bowl up to my eyes, the ends of the bean pinched between the tips of her thumb and middle finger.

"These are called kinky beans because the bean has a kink in it." She traced the shape of the bean with the tip of her forefinger of her other hand.

"See? A kinky bean." The bean was gone with a toss into her mouth, and she turned and left the kitchen.

"Makes sense," I said quietly to myself examining one of the kinky beans from the bowl. A few moments later, I was stopped preparing our meal with the intrusion of a sudden thought:

"What does the word kink mean, anyway?".

This thought drove me to consult the dictionary definition of the word, kink:

a sharp twist or curve in something that is otherwise straight.

"Wait a minute," I thought then looking up the work, sharp:

(of a bend, angle, or turn) making a sudden change of direction.

Examining the bean closely, I was now convinced this was no so-called kinky bean! I waited for her to return to the kitchen for me to reveal the results of my investigation to her. As I was pretending I was preoccupied with the food preparation, she stood beside me gathering some items from the counter top.

"You know," I said confidently, "those aren't kinky beans."

"Aren't what?," was her reply, turning her head to look at me.

I repeated, "Those aren't kinky beans. A kink is a sharp twist or curve in something that is otherwise straight," impressing myself with my memorization, "and the word sharp means a sudden change of direction, like in a bend, angle or turn," I asserted.

I held a bean up to her eyes as she had done previously with me to demonstrate the lack of a kink in the shape of the bean. My desire to exult held back.

She stared expressionless at me before she broke out into a big open mouth smile with the sound of laughter, gave me a tight hug, a quick kiss to my lips, and then she walked away, her laughter still audible. My smug feeling disappeared as my illusion fell away.

I turned my attention to the bowl of beans.

"Kinky beans," I said to myself. I quietly laughed, shaking my head.

Turning to look at her, oblivious to me in the other room, a large smile grew on my face.

"You're the greatest," I said to her.

© Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: The Card Sharp

When I was in my early 20s, poker was the name of the game with my group of friends. My interest in playing poker led me to learning how to cheat at cards. There were a few books at the library that I read over and over. I learned to be a card-sharp. I tested my cheating skills out on family and friends. All the cheats worked flawlessly, and more importantly, without detection. I felt ready to take on the world.

My friend held a New Year's Eve party at his house each year. It was a place to meet old friends, and to make new friends. There were always a few poker games that would spring up around. We all played for fun, and I was about to have a lot of fun, as I sat down at a table and joined three other players for a friendly game of poker. No one at the table knew I could cheat. This was a perfect place to test my skills. To see if I had the skills to deceive these experienced players.

As we played, a small group of spectators gathered to watch. This was not unusual. What was out of the ordinary, for me, was there was a very attractive woman standing across from me watching the game. She was well dressed, with shiny hair, and beautiful eyes. She was alone at the party. She politely applauded at each hand won by each player, but she seemed to add a little extra when I won. I had been playing straight, but I wanted to know if she was in fact interested in me. I decided it was within my means to determine if she was indeed interested in me. I decided to start cheating.

A few hands went by until I felt the moment right to play crooked. I won. I looked up at her. My suspicions appeared correct. A few more hands were played, then I built up the pot, and I stole it all with a cheating winning hand. She was much more enthusiastic in her reaction to my winning the huge pot than to my winning before. After some observation of her, I decided to win the game entirely. I cleaned the other players out, and I pulled my pile of chips over to me with a smile, and with great delight from her. The crowd dispersed, on to the other games being played, the other players congratulated me on my playing with a shaking of my hand, and moved on. She sat down at the table.

Then she spoke to me. In a silky smooth, velvet like foreign accent that I could not quite place she asked me if I would help her learn to play cards better by having a few games with her. Without hesitation, I said yes. I felt like I was James Bond, and she looked and sounded like a 'Bond girl'. I pushed half of my chips over to her. We began.

As we played, and she won a few, but lost more. I didn't cheat. There was no reason to. That was until she hit a streak of luck. Beginner's luck. She started to win more often, and my stack of chips started to be whittled away. This wasn't good. I was supposed to be teaching her how to play, but she could clean me out! That would be far too embarrassing for me. The teacher losing to the student is something I could not have. I would cheat, win all her chips, and then reveal to her I had cheated. I would then teach her how to cheat. That would really impress her! I waited for the right moment.

My cheating hand came into play. She beat it. She won. Surprised, I thought it must be more of her luck. No matter, another turn came soon enough. I lost again! Something wasn't right. This had never happened before. What was I doing wrong? My attention soon became completely involved in trying to beat her hand with my cheating. I cheated more and more often. I lost each and every time I played a cheating hand! What was going on here? This made no sense. There was no way she could beat my cheats. No way! Those cheats worked every time! My cheats were bulletproof. They worked! It wasn't long before every hand I played was loaded. She crushed every one I played.

The game ended with my last chips being lost to her on yet another one of my dirty hands. In disbelief, I stared at my last played cards, bewildered, trying to understand what had happened. She leaned in close. I looked up, my eyes meeting hers. Her cherry lip gloss lips formed a slight whimsical smile. Her perfumed scent engulfed me. Without a trace of a foreign accent, she spoke these words to me:

"You like to cheat at cards, don't you?"

Smiling, she left the table, and disappeared.

© Trevor Dailey

Foray Into Fiction: Mr. Freeze

***SCENE OPENS***

This is, Fries.

Frays.

What?

It is pronounced Frays, not fries.

I apologize, Freeze.

[Quietly to himself] It's Frays. Victor Frays.

***NEXT SCENE***

Every test is coming up negative! Why can't they find what is wrong!

They don't know what it is, but at least they know what it isn't.

What it isn't; but that's not killing you!

***NEXT SCENE***

I could put you in the cryonics chamber. It would place you in suspended animation. You could sleep until the doctors find what is wrong. Until they find a cure. Nora, I won't let you die!

***NEXT SCENE***

[Tears. Touching outside of cryonics chamber containing Nora.] Sleep now, my love, sleep. I'll be back to wake you soon. I promise.

***NEXT SCENE***

[Frays walking home alone at night in winter snowfall.]

***NEXT SCENE***

[Winter. Camera panning from deliberately left open bedroom window with curtains blowing in the cold wind to a bed with a shivering Frays.]

***NEXT SCENE***

You had no right to put her in there in the first place!

You can't do that! You can't...

[Interrupts.] I can't do what?! You work for me! I tell you what you can and cannot do! You don't tell me! [Aside] Shut it off. Take it down and open it up. Get her out of there.

No! She'll die! You'll kill her! No! [Frays breaks away. Chamber crashes to ground in struggle. Frays is injured from his contact with the spilled contents of the damaged chamber. Frays flees]

***NEXT SCENE***

[Winter. Snowing. Close. Headstone. "Nora Frays". Strange gloved hand is shown placing flowers.]

***NEXT SCENE***

This is a device I was working on. Do you recognize it?

No.

Of course, I had to modify it to make it into what it is now. It's a weapon.

Listen, we can make a deal. I'll...

[Interrupts] A weapon that will instantly freeze solid anything I fire it at. Let me show you how well it works. See this flower? It was her favourite kind. [Flower is frozen solid with weapon] [Referring to frozen flower] It looks beautiful, doesn't it? [Referring to the weapon] It is also able to kill.

Listen to me. I'll give you anything you want, just....

[Interrupts] Nora! Give me Nora! Give me back my Nora! [Aims weapon]

No! Listen to me! Frays! Please! Frays!

It's Freeze. Victor Freeze.

***SCENE CLOSES***

© Trevor Dailey