November 1988 The Bronco's Voice Page 3
Revenge of the Bronsters
by Stephen Ward
The roar of the tractor
and crash of the fallen oak
were still echoing over the
Fayetteville State campus
when something stirred in
the hollow trunk of the
tree. Small eyes glowered,
tiny nostrils flared. The
creature scurried for safety
in the myriad of under
ground tunnels which ran
in every direction from the
spot that had been the
huge oak's base. The rat
tled Bronster, its eyes
smarting from the sudden
infusion of light, sneezed
and shook splinters from
its body. Its mouth agape
with horror, the litde crea
ture watched as the tractor
crawled away, disappear
ing behind a mound of
freshly heaved dirt.
Then, chattering through
clenched jaws, the little
monster turned and disap
peared into one of the tun
nels.
For centuries, the
Bronsters had lived in
peace. When the universi
ty had been built above
their homes, they had been
content to co-exist. They
roamed their tunnels,
using the big oak tree as
their lone exit to the out
side world; a world they
only visited on nights so
dark there was not enough
light to hurt their sensitive
eyes. In fact, they had
come to appreciate the
learning facilities of the
school. Many of the young
Bronsters had been carried
into the Butler Building
office of Dr. Valenti dur
ing the dead of night to be
introduced to the reading
of the great classics.
But tragedy had struck
on the occasion that they
had boldly ventured into
Room 325 and attempted
to view the monitors. The
Bronsters nearest the
screen had been blinded
by the brightness of the
screen.
As the frightened
Bronster, about the size of
a Coke can, hurried
through the tunnel, an idea
was being formulated in
its peanut-sized brain. A
few minutes later, the
large assembly room of
the Bronster family was
filled in answer to an
urgent thump - thump-
thumping.
* Jf: *
Two girls were busily
unloading their car in the
parking lot of Hood Hall
when a rustUng sound in
the nearby shrubbery
c
The Flesh and Soul Motel
by Stephen T. Ward
In this heart
of darkness
below the marble
marquee
in this single room,
my soul is boarding-
a prisoner in this
icy chamber
forever!
Pounding, slamming,
screaming soul,
with the universe
around me,
I cannot escape,
but He
in this rotting core
with the worms
approaching.
Must I die?
Will I survive,
a soul digested
and squeezed
through the intestines
of worms?
Slamming my soul
against the cardiac muscle,
I discover I can make the cold
blood pump
through my desert highways.
Dead
but
alive,
I claw at the lining
of my casket
til the cold
blood bleeds
from my fingertips.
Pounding and pounding,
Dead Body, lift these
Frankenstein hands
and tear this heart
from its boney shrine.
Mouth, rip the sutures
from your lips and puncture
this heart with your gold-robbed
te«th.
FFFFRRREEEEEEE. YESSSSS!
My soul is free
until it crashes
into the bronze casket.
AGAIN! Again, I am confined.
Must a thousand years
pass before the rust
devours the bronze
and sets me free?
Oh, how I cry tears
of embalming fluid.
The only song to sing
is the musk of
growing hair and nails.
Oh, how I cry,
with the stars
and worlds revolving
around me and waiting
for me to explore.
At night, I hear the moans
of my brothers. My only
comfort is knowing, I am
not alone.
And I wonder
if it was the Devil
who invented the casket.
Poetry
Corner
The Creator
by Arnell Anderson
The sky fades, the sun sets
Life turns to night.
The sun rises.
Life turns to morning.
Lush green forest in the Spring.
Dense brown forest in the Fall.
Splat! Splat! I hear the rain
Snowflakes, cold winters
Heat waves, hot summers
High tides and low tides
Beautiful dogwoods blooming
He watches over the earth
God is almighty.
Autumn
by Arnell Anderson
A cool breeze
Blue jays singing
Trees shedding
Squirrels nesded in trees
Orange, yellow pumpkins
Children gathering
harvests
Before the frost.
caught their attention.
"What was that?" one
girl asked.
The leaves were still.
"A cat, maybe?"
They returned to their
task, unaware of the
clumps of leaves and
branches that moved
across the lawn toward the
dorm.
Moments later, the girls
were finished and went
inside the dorm. They
were not alone. A stream
of small visitors, almost
invisible in the darkness,
scurried down the stairs
into the basement.
The lights went out.
Girls screamed.
One of the coeds stood
in front of the washer
where she had been gath
ering her clothes and came
eyeball to eyeball with
something in the bundle.
The girl and the
Bronster screamed in uni
son. Dropping the bundle,
she kicked it and the
invader into the dryer and
slammed the door shut.
The result was chaotic.
The girl kept scream
ing. And the drum of the
dryer spun like a wheel on
a hamster cage.
A drunk little Bronster
flopped out of the opening
dryer door. He staggered
across the floor.
Still screaming, the girl
turned to run. Her flight
was stopped in mid-stride
when she saw the move
ment on the stairs.
Creatures! Hundreds of
little monsters were flow
ing up the steps. She
couldn't make out an indi
vidual shape, just a mass
of moving ugly. The
grunts and groans coming
from the horde added to
her feeling of impending
disaster. The gnashing
teeth and unintelligible
rasping were too much to
allow someone of right
mind and self-preservation
to linger. Her inate curios
ity was drowned in a pool
of fear.
She did two things: she
raised the intensity of her
scream and made a new
door out of the window.
The Bronsters were too
quick, though. Several
Bronsters pounced on the
girl as she sailed into the
air. Bronsters clung to the
braids of her hair.
Bronsters. Bronsters
everywhere.
By this time, the girls
of Hood Hall were all into
screaming, trying to outdo
each other's intensity and
creativity. The little
Bronsters were egging
them on, joining the eerie
chorus. The cries were so
loud that Professor
Whaley leapt from his bed
and sprained his wrist try
ing to turn the light on. In
another nearby home, the
commotion made Dr.
Anthony toss and turn
and use ungrammatical
English in his sleep. Dr.
McDonald thought he was
in the Heart of Darkness,
and cried, "My ivory!
Save my ivory!"
The arrival of security
guards helped settle the
chaos. The guards tried to
make sense of the scene.
They could find little with
the flashlights. The girls
were too incoherent to be
of help. Cries of "Turn on
the lights!" and
"Monsters! Monsters!"
made no sense to the men.
Finally, one of the
security guards found the
circuit breaker in the base
ment and hit the power
switch, flooding the dorm
with...
light...
and silence.
Coeds were caught in
every position conceiv
able. Some were standing
with their hands clutching
their hair. Others were
holding objects such as
brooms in defensive
poses. Still others, perhaps
the more prudent, were
hiding under beds. All had
a look of disbelief on their
faces.
The security guards lis
tened. Looked. Scratched
their heads in bewilder
ment. And left.
* * *
The Bronsters gathered
in their tunnels behind the
Butler Building. Without
the oak which had served
so many of their needs,
including entrance, exit,
gathering place, food,
shelter and comfort, they
were at a loss. The meet
ing was called to order.
Plans were made for the
next attack.
* ♦ +
Morning. The talk of
campus was the Hood
Hall incident. Even the
girls who had been victim
ized weren't sure what
they had seen. Beside the
clothes washer was a hint,
scrawled in a pile of
spilled detergent:
BRONSTER WAS
HERE!
However, no one was
sure if it was for real or if
one of the coeds was
pulling a prank.
* * *
There were two strange
occurrences that morning.
First, Mrs. Chavis found
strange little teeth marks
on a piece of birthday
cake left on her desk.
Mice?
And something had
gnawed several papers by
Dr. Friedman’s books she
had placed in a cardboard
box in he. office.
But this was only the
beginning.