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Authors: Gregg Hangebrauck
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would leave the quarter. I think the creature was trained to roam around the carnivals pilfering valuables like a mini Artful Dodger. The worse thing though, is that I was suspected as the one who was stealing when all along it was the frigging monkey. One night, my parents sat me down in a chair and asked me if I knew anything about Mrs. So-in-so’s necklace which has gone missing. I couldn’t believe that they thought I would steal the guest’s valuables like I was some kind of klepto. I told them it was the monkey, but by that time I was blaming everything on the little fur-ball and they weren’t buying any more what I was selling.”
The repugnant expression on Ben’s face as he described the monkey was clearly evident to the doctor. He asked another question: “When did your parents finally realize that you were telling them the truth about the monkey?”
“It didn’t suddenly happen like they had an epiphany, but rather it was more gradual as their doubts added up over time. My relationship with them was already strained after their mistrust in me with the accusations of stealing, and I tried to stay away as much as I could. I figured that sooner or later they would figure it all out; and they did, but by that time it was too late.”
Doctor Levine continued to make notes in his binder, and when Ben stopped talking, he paused a minute, and then asked; “Ben, how about a cup of coffee or tea?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Carved Monkeys ( 1968 )
en sat at his desk in his upstairs bedroom listening to the Beatles singing Fool on the Hill, and penciling away at a drawing he was doing of the Rat Fink rat riding on a motorcycle. He was adding a Nazi helmet to the rodent’s head with a swastika and in creature’s right hand an unusually large suicide shifter. Ben liked to draw. His extensive library of Cracked and Mad magazines had given him many a laugh as well as a keen interest in cartooning. He had hundreds of trading cards of the humorous Silly Cycles and Odd Rods, many of which remained unopened with the powder coated sticks of bubble gum still petrifying in their packages.
He didn’t often draw in the summer months, but since Mr. Regola the organ grinder had been occupying cabin six, bringing the old man meals was added to his list of chores. This meant that he had to stick around until his mom had prepared lunch, a time when he was normally free to be hanging around with Matt. Ben’s mom and dad had kind of adopted the old guy, both feeling that he could use some extra pounds. Ben didn’t mind carrying the food to cabin six for the monkey man, but he already had a real dislike for the fur-ball. There was something off about that monkey. It sat like a sentinel on the cabin roof, watching with a malicious look on it’s creepy little face.
“Ben, could you please come down and bring Mr. Regola his lunch? Afterward you may go out and play until dinner time.”
Ben didn’t like when his mother used the word play. It made him feel like a little kid. He resisted the urge to correct her vocabulary faux pas and made some finishing touches on his drawing. He was putting the hair on the Rat Fink’s muscular forearm.
“Ben, Mr. Regola’s lunch isn’t going to carry itself to cabin six.”
“I’m coming!”
Ben leaped down the stairs two and three steps at a time and ran into the kitchen. Bringing Sam’s lunch meant he had six hours of freedom, and when his mother made the call, he was more than motivated to beat his feet to the appointed task. When he reached the kitchen he noticed the contents of Mr. Regola’s plate. It contained a meat loaf sandwich, chips, pickle, and a huge slice of apple pie. He thought about the baloney sandwich and apple which graced his own lunch plate, and he had to ask the question.
“Wow Mom, the old guy gets the royal treatment and I get a baloney sandwich?”
“Now Ben, is that the way a Christian boy should think? Do you suggest that we should give our guest your
The repugnant expression on Ben’s face as he described the monkey was clearly evident to the doctor. He asked another question: “When did your parents finally realize that you were telling them the truth about the monkey?”
“It didn’t suddenly happen like they had an epiphany, but rather it was more gradual as their doubts added up over time. My relationship with them was already strained after their mistrust in me with the accusations of stealing, and I tried to stay away as much as I could. I figured that sooner or later they would figure it all out; and they did, but by that time it was too late.”
Doctor Levine continued to make notes in his binder, and when Ben stopped talking, he paused a minute, and then asked; “Ben, how about a cup of coffee or tea?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Carved Monkeys ( 1968 )
en sat at his desk in his upstairs bedroom listening to the Beatles singing Fool on the Hill, and penciling away at a drawing he was doing of the Rat Fink rat riding on a motorcycle. He was adding a Nazi helmet to the rodent’s head with a swastika and in creature’s right hand an unusually large suicide shifter. Ben liked to draw. His extensive library of Cracked and Mad magazines had given him many a laugh as well as a keen interest in cartooning. He had hundreds of trading cards of the humorous Silly Cycles and Odd Rods, many of which remained unopened with the powder coated sticks of bubble gum still petrifying in their packages.
He didn’t often draw in the summer months, but since Mr. Regola the organ grinder had been occupying cabin six, bringing the old man meals was added to his list of chores. This meant that he had to stick around until his mom had prepared lunch, a time when he was normally free to be hanging around with Matt. Ben’s mom and dad had kind of adopted the old guy, both feeling that he could use some extra pounds. Ben didn’t mind carrying the food to cabin six for the monkey man, but he already had a real dislike for the fur-ball. There was something off about that monkey. It sat like a sentinel on the cabin roof, watching with a malicious look on it’s creepy little face.
“Ben, could you please come down and bring Mr. Regola his lunch? Afterward you may go out and play until dinner time.”
Ben didn’t like when his mother used the word play. It made him feel like a little kid. He resisted the urge to correct her vocabulary faux pas and made some finishing touches on his drawing. He was putting the hair on the Rat Fink’s muscular forearm.
“Ben, Mr. Regola’s lunch isn’t going to carry itself to cabin six.”
“I’m coming!”
Ben leaped down the stairs two and three steps at a time and ran into the kitchen. Bringing Sam’s lunch meant he had six hours of freedom, and when his mother made the call, he was more than motivated to beat his feet to the appointed task. When he reached the kitchen he noticed the contents of Mr. Regola’s plate. It contained a meat loaf sandwich, chips, pickle, and a huge slice of apple pie. He thought about the baloney sandwich and apple which graced his own lunch plate, and he had to ask the question.
“Wow Mom, the old guy gets the royal treatment and I get a baloney sandwich?”
“Now Ben, is that the way a Christian boy should think? Do you suggest that we should give our guest your
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