­It’s alive! It’s alive! It’s allliiivvve!              

What? That was my best Gene Wilder impersonation; you know, the scene from “Young Frankenstein”? Did you see the movie? You don’t like my rendition? Damn, everyone’s a critic. What was wrong with it?

     Oh‚ I am sorry, hard to talk with that duct tape across your mouth, isn’t it. Let me just peel that off, well, maybe I’d better not.

    If I take off this tape, there’s just going to be a lot of screaming, shouting, cursing. We’ll get absolutely nothing accomplished and I have way too much to do today; you know, people to see, places to go, yada, yada, yada.

     Also, there are heavy storms moving into the area today and I want to get back to Long Island before they hit.

    Anyway, glad to see you’re up and about. Well, up anyway, can’t be about when strapped to a chair with duct tape, can you?

    I have to admit, for a minute there, I thought I might have killed you or at least done some serious damage. I mean, damn‚ you’ve been out for‚ wow, at least 48 hours. I tell you, the thought I may have done you in, well, that would be just more than I could bear.

    I’m sorry, was that a sarcastic tone in my voice? Sarcastic or sardonic? I can never tell those two apart. I bet you can though, can’t you? I understand you know a little bit about everything. The perfect Renaissance man, aren’t you?

    You still look a bit groggy. No wonder; I gave you enough horse sedative to, well, to drug a horse. One of the benefits of dating a veterinarian — unlimited supply of horse sedatives.

    Let me see if I can help perk you up a bit. Damn, that kinda stung! I have a tingling sensation in my fingers. Looks like you may have some finger marks on your cheek for a while too. You still seem to be a bit out of it, weak-eyed is what we’d call it back home.

    What was that? I am sorry, hard to understand you through the tape. Can you say again? “Thank you sir, may I have another?” Was that what you said? Sure, no problem.

    Okay! That seemed to do the trick. You look all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed now, boy, matching imprints on both cheeks too.

    Now, let’s get down to business, shall we? As I said, lots to do, so little time.

    I know you have lots of questions, right? So where do we start? I know, why don’t I just run through humanity’s standard F.A.Q.s, you know, who, what, when, where, why, how, the basic stuff, is that okay? What? I can’t make out a damn thing you’re saying. I’ll just take it as a yes.

    Let’s see. Shall we do them in alphabetical order? No. Let‚’s try to put them in some type of logical order. Let’s start with “who.”

    Well, we know who I am right? I am your wife’s ex-husband and you, you’re the sorry S.O.B. who stole her away from me three years ago.

    Not to mention, my house, my kids, pretty much everything I owned. “If he had a dog, I would have taken that too.” Remember saying that? You’re a funny man. Let’s see who has the last laugh, shall we?

    So what’s next? I know, how about “how”? Do you remember that white van parked beside you in your office parking lot Friday night? Probably not. I jumped out the side just as you unlocked your door, hit you from behind. Never saw it coming did you? I used my Louisville Slugger. No, not a real one, I got this miniature when I was a kid, looks just like a real bat, about 18 inches long. Packs a punch, doesn’t it.

    I threw your wobbly ass in the back seat of your car, shot you up with the horsey drug, tucked you in with a blankie and you slept all the way here.

    Thank God for EZ Pass. No tollbooth operators, no questions, smooth sailing. All I have left to do is dispose of your vehicle. After I leave you today, I am going to drop your car off at Newark Airport.

    So, next? I know, “what.” Well, let’s wait on that one, okay? I’d like to hold that one to the last. Lots of information in “what” and it will make for a big finish.

    How about “where”? I am sure you want to know where you are right now, right? I thought as much. Okay then, we are currently guests of the great state of Pennsylvania. Just over the New York border in a little town, and I kid you not, a little town by the name of Stalker. Yeah, Stalker, sometimes you just can’t make this stuff up, can you?

    After you and my ex-wife bought me out of the home I lived in for over 12 years, I took my windfall profit and bought this nice little six-acre farm. It has a lovely old farmhouse, three barns, and my own pond stocked with fish. I wish I had time to show you around, but you know, pressed for time.

    And now, we get to “when.” When did this all begin? About six months ago. I finally had enough, enough of you being just the perfect stepdad, the perfect husband, Mr. Volunteer of the year, charity worker extraordinaire. You were just getting so terribly fricking annoying. So, I started to plan your retirement. When they find your car at the airport, I hope they’ll think you boarded a plane to Bora Bora to live the good life. I am sure Jennifer will spend a few weeks trying her best to figure out what went wrong, crying through the night, but she will recover. She is a strong woman. The kids will eventually get over the loss of super stepdad and move on. Believe me, the world will still revolve, even without you.

    So, now we come back to “what.” Actually, “what” has multiple levels.

    What am I going to do to you? Not to worry; I’m not going to hurt you. Not physically anyway. I actually hope you live to a ripe old age.

    What exactly are we doing here today? It’s a kidnapping I guess you call it, an extreme and unusual one at that.

    What is this place we’re sitting in right now? Well, believe it or not, it’s a bomb shelter. Yeah, a real-life, ’50s-style, bend over and kiss your ass goodbye, bomb shelter. I found it about a year ago. I don’t think the real estate agent even knew it was here.

     I just happened to find the hatch in some tall grass I was mowing. Cool, huh? I remodeled the whole thing, made sure it was structurally and mechanically sound.

    I stocked it with about a year’s worth of those military food packs, MREs they’re called. Did you know that stands for Meals Ready to Eat? Yeah, you probably did. You can get them from the Army-Navy surplus store. I also installed all the modern comforts of home: microwave, refrigerator, TV, no phone or Internet though. There’s a bathroom, hot and cold running water, really just about everything you would need to live comfortably. A veritable home away from home, don’t you think? I really do hope you like it.

    What is the future going to hold? For me, I am going to climb up that ladder, through the hatch and get on with my life. The hatch has a lock, but it’s on the inside. I have a big rock; sucker must weigh a ton, hanging by a chain over the hatch right now. I’m going to lower it over the hatch. It will look so natural no one will ever suspect that you are living “la vida loca” just 20 feet below. By the way, there is no way you can push it off. I’m going to pretend I don’t have the slightest idea what happened to you. I know someone is going to ask.

    Don’t worry; I will be back from time to time. See that door over there in the wall? That’s a drop box. I will be back every few weeks to drop stuff down to you. You know, fresh fruit, milk, some newspapers, magazines, make sure you are still alive, things like that.

    And for you, I’m sure your first priority will be to get out of that chair. You have about three or four layers of duct tape holding your arms to the chair. It should take you no more than an hour or two to wiggle free, but don’t worry, you have plenty of time. This is going to be your home for a while, probably more than a while, probably until one of us is dead. If you go first, then this will be your grave. I’ll just cement the hatch over and let the grass grow tall once more.

    If I go first, I’ll make sure they find you. I have a letter right here in my pocket that has all the information they will need. As soon as I get back home, I will drop it in the mail to my lawyer with instructions that it be opened at the time of my death.

    This thing is basically soundproof, so you can scream, and I know you will, until the cows come home.

    And now, last but not least, “why.” It’s simple, you took everything from me, everything I loved and worked so hard for, and now, I am taking everything from you. Pretty cut and dry, right?

    Well, time for me to go, any questions? Didn’t think so. Well, so long, amigo.

    What the . . . what the hell was that? Holy Mother of God! I think that damn chain broke!

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    E.R. Pridgen, a former Hampton Bays resident now living in Nassau County, learned about storytelling as a North Carolina country boy. He has been previously published in The Star, and is at work on a novel.