Torches of Iniquity by Kurt Luchs
A nasty rumor is easier to get started than my old pickup. When I realized the engine wasn’t even going to turn over, I gave up and walked the half-mile to the coffee shop, where a heated discussion was already underway among the usual suspects. As it so often did these days, it focused on our small town’s newest residents, Jim and Mary Nickerson.
“I tell you it isn’t natural,” said Tom.
“What isn’t?” I said.
“The strange lights in their living room window every morning,” he said.
“That’s no crime,” I said, “unless they’re signaling to enemy planes or something like that.”
Lauri chimed in. “What about last fall, when we burned our annual Wicker Man and they took no part?” she said.
“The right to opt out is a basic American freedom,” I said.
“But it doesn’t exactly make them good citizens either, does it?” said Mark.
“It doesn’t make them anything,” I said.
“That’s right,” said Joey, “they’re nothing to us, nothing at all.”
“That isn’t what I meant, Joey,” I said, but she wasn’t listening.
“I’ve seen some things,” she said.
“What things?” I said.
“Like all the weird packages that are delivered to their door,” she said.
“Yeah, I’ve seen them too,” said Meg.
I was mentally preparing a withering retort but then Jay said, “I heard something when I walked the dog past their house the other day.” Our little circle paused expectantly, wondering what fresh iniquity we were about to learn of. “I heard them saying the alphabet backwards, without being stopped first by a state trooper,” he said.
Somehow, that did it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
“We’ve got to burn them out, there’s no other way,” somebody said, I didn’t see who. Frank the coffee shop owner pulled out a box of torches, lit them one by one, and solemnly handed them to each member of the group. I refused to carry one, but marched alongside them as they left the coffee shop and headed to the Nickerson’s place with murder in their eyes.
Mary Nickerson answered the door wearing only a grass skirt and a necklace of flowers. Her breasts were bare, and let me tell you they improved the mood of the group considerably. We let out a collective sigh.
Mary smiled and said, “Oh, how wonderful! You’ve brought more torches! Our new shipment of tiki torches hasn’t arrived yet, so this is perfect timing.”
I said, “Are you holding a tiki party at this hour of the morning?”
“This is how we start every day,” Mary said, “in honor of our island home. Jim and I both come from the same tiny Hawaiian isle. But please, it’s cold out there, come on in and join the party.”
We stepped inside. There was a warm fire burning in the fireplace and a couple of tiki torches flickering. A Gabby Pahinui album was playing. Jim Nickerson came over and shook our hands. He too wore only a grass skirt and a flower necklace, but his naked breasts didn’t cause nearly as much excitement. Mary brought out a bottle of Bailey’s and poured a healthy slug into each of our coffee cups.
“Is this one of your quaint island customs?” said Joey.
“Not really,” Mary said, “but it ought to be, don’t you think?” We all nodded in agreement and began to remove the clothing from our torsos..
Kurt Luchs (kurtluchs.com) has poems published or forthcoming in Plume Poetry Journal, The American Journal of Poetry, and The Bitter Oleander. He won the 2019 Atlanta Review International Poetry Contest, and has written humor for the New Yorker, the Onion and McSweeney’s Internet Tendency. His books include a humor collection, It’s Funny Until Someone Loses an Eye (Then It’s Really Funny), and a poetry chapbook, One of These Things Is Not Like the Other. His first full-length poetry collection, Falling in the Direction of Up, is forthcoming from Sagging Meniscus Press.