The Tell-Tale Pump
Content Warning
bigotry, dysphoria, parental rejection, self-harm, underaged sex
by Christopher R Boltz
There was a small thud as Aileen’s other red low-heeled pump dropped on top of its mate. Edgar checked his watch, 11:30 PM. He shut the small trunk, and looked around his cramped shed. Edgar was a planner and he had planned this excellently, even if he did say so himself, which he wouldn’t. Aileen would have said that once, but not anymore.
Edgar dug the hole in the earthen floor of his shed Sunday night. And now it was Tuesday. Last night he carried out the empty trunk and placed it in the hole. Since efficiency was important, he filled in as much of the hole as he could so that once the trunk was packed, once Aileen was out of his life, it would be short work to restore his shed so that no one would ever know.
Aileen had told all of her friends at the bar that she was going away. She wouldn’t be missed there for a while. Edgar shut the trunk and started shoveling the dirt back on top. He was fairly certain that his neighbors in the cul-de-sac would suspect nothing. Aileen only left and arrived at Edgar’s house late at night. Once she had encountered Mrs. Next-Door-But-One- On-The-South-Side, but that conversation had been brief. Mrs. Next-Door asked Edgar about Aileen once but that was months ago.
He was a bit more concerned about the family on the east side. Edgar’s backyard, well really a side yard, held his shed, and his shed was right by the fence. Edgar liked to spend time in his shed tinkering and experimenting with his hobbies. He poked one eye through the curtain and saw Mr. East through the chain link fence. Edgar was sure he wasn’t there earlier. Mr. East was shirtless, swigging a beer and gently bopping his head to the music through his giant headphones. Edgar enjoyed the eye candy. Hairy dad-bods were his thing. Plus Mr. East seemed like a perfectly fine guy, once you allowed for the fact that he was a hetro construction worker from Alabama or something.
Edgar patted the dirt down. His watch said 12:30. He pulled the artificial grass rug across the recently turned earth and sat on his stool. That was it. Aileen was out of his life forever. Edgar was thrilled there was a full moon and a cloudless sky. Last summer he had installed a skylight in the shed and that was providing enough light that he didn’t need to use the electric lights. It was better that way. A fitting end to Aileen.
Edgar wasn’t sure how long he was lost in his thoughts when he heard the tick-tick-tick of a ten-speed bike slowing down and the crunch of someone quietly walking on the gravel. He chanced another look through the curtains. Mr. East was gone. Good. That meant that Poe, Mr. East’s only son, would get to keep his secret one more night. Edgar heard Poe’s text message alert coming through the kid’s open window.
Ka-Thump.
Edgar looked around. What was that sound? Maybe a ripe apple falling off a tree. Maybe it was just his imagination.
Edgar heard the click of the bike lock and looked out the window again. A teenage boy was clambering over Mr. East’s locked gate. Poe’s head poked out of his bedroom window and whispered “Clemm.” Edgar saw that Clemm, for that must have been the clamberer’s name, was removing his football jersey. The sweat glistened off Clemm’s chest. Poe reached through the window and kissed Clemm. Edgar had observed the sneakings in and sneakings out of Poe’s room for a few months. He had guessed at the story, but since they usually waited until they were both inside for any affection, he wasn’t previously certain.
Ka-Thump.
Ka-Thump.
What the hell was that? It certainly wasn’t a falling apple. Edgar carefully poked his nose out of the door. He saw nothing. He raced back to his window. Clemm had climbed in through Poe’s window. Mr. East still seemed to be gone from his bench. Edgar carefully stepped out of the shed. It didn’t look like anything was falling on the roof. Nothing seemed out of place. He stepped back into the shed. Maybe it was his nerves.
He worried about Poe. Poe seemed a nice kid: Played soccer, sold popcorn for the boy scouts. Nice kid. But when Mr. East found out what was going on… Parents can be so upset when their children challenge the parents’ expectations. Mr. East was a nice enough neighbor, but he had had a NASCAR bumper sticker on his car.
It was just two weeks ago that Edgar attempted to introduce his own mother to Aileen. Edgar planned it so well. At least, he thought he had. Edgar was a planner. He had plan A, and if things went wrong Plan B. He was worried about his mother meeting Aileen. Edgar had written out plans A through Q. Edgar was sure that was enough contingencies.
Edgar was wrong.
Edgar had planned his mother’s favorite food for luncheon. The house had been carefully vacuumed so there would be no cat hair. He even locked Raven, his cat, in the spare bedroom before his mother arrived. Edgar filled his mother’s glass with her favorite Amontillado port. It was old-fashioned even for his mother’s generation, but everything at lunch had been prepared to his mother’s exacting standards.
Edgar had extracted a promise from Aileen to be on her best behavior. Edgar understood that the sharp tongue, catty banter, and salty vocabulary which made Aileen so popular Lenore’s Tavern would be the very things that would upset his prim mother. Aileen was in a simple black dress with a white lace collar. Edgar’s mother should have loved that. The only concession made to Aileen’s true character were those red low-heeled pumps. Those pumps.
Ka-Thump.
Ka-Thump.
That sound was coming from inside the shed. No, that’s impossible. Edgar was tired. It was all in his mind. He should go into the house. Go to bed.
But something made him stay.
“Edgar what is the meaning of… of… of…” his mother cried. Aileen hadn’t said a word. All she had done was walk into the dining room where Edgar’s mother sat sipping her port alone.
There were a few seconds of silence.
And then…
Edgar’s mother released a flood of words. Some loud, some soft, some angry, some sad, some tinged with tears, and others with stone cold fury. Edgar was instructed to get rid of Aileen. Mother demanded to know if Edgar had introduced Aileen to anyone else. Aileen was unacceptable. Aileen was a disgrace. Aileen was an embarrassment. Neither Edgar nor Aileen spoke. And Mother went on. And on. No son of hers and a… a… No. Not possible. And Mother continued. It was not up for debate.
And Mother left. Her food untouched. Most of her port untouched. And Edgar knew that was the end. He didn’t have the strength to stand up to his mother, even for Aileen.
Ka Thump.
Ka Thump. Ka Thump.
That was inside the shed, no doubt about that. What the heck? Edgar moved the artificial grass rug. He felt the freshly turned earth. There was a vibration, a sound.
No, that was outside. Edgar peeked through the curtains. Mr. East was laying on the ground a few feet over from the bench staring at the sky. The sound came again. Not the thump, the other one. Mr. East sat up, removed his headphones, and pressed his illuminated touch screen.
“What’s up L.J.? Awful late isn’t it?” Mr. East said to the phone. “Yup, he arrived a few hours ago. He’s perfectly safe.” Edgar wondered what Mr. East was talking about. “In the hospital. No, I’ll tell him. Your mother?”
Ka Thump.
Ka Thump.
Mr. East walked in the back door. Edgar heard a knock through Poe’s open window.
Ka Thump. Ka Thump. Ka Thump.
Mr. East’s voice called through a door “Clemm?”
Edgar heard a sudden intake of air from two teenage boys. Looking through his window into the window next door he saw the bedroom door open. The light from the hall was almost blinding. “Clemm.”
“I’m sorry Dad, please…” Poe cried.
Ka Thump.
Ka Thump.
Ka Thump.
Ka Thump Ka Thump Ka Thump Ka Thump.
Mr. East may have been a construction worker, but he could have a kind note in his voice if he wanted. “It’s ok son. Well, it’s bad, but not this, it’s just. Clemm, your dad just called.”
“My Dad! You didn’t tell him? Please, sir, I’ll…”
Edgar could see Mr. East put a hand on Clemm’s shoulder. “Your Dad has known for months. Me too. We love you, both of you.”
Ka Thump
“But Clemm,” Mr. East continued, “Your grandma fell. It looks bad. Your Dad says she is in the hospital, and they are going there. They want you back home to go along. Do you want me to drive you?”
Ka Thump
“No,” Clemm croaked, “I’ve got my bike. My clothes”
“I’ll go,” Mr. East said. “Poe, come out to the back yard once you’re decent.” Mr. East turned to the door. “I’m guessing you need this.” There was a small rustle, and the door shut.
“Are you OK?” Poe asked.
“Did your dad just throw me my jockstrap?” Clemm asked. This is the first time Edgar heard his voice as anything above a whisper.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” Clemm said. “I guess I can use the front door?”
Ka Thump
Edgar’s mind was spinning. Young love next door. Mr. East reacted well. A parent could love.
Ka Thump
Edgar grabbed the spade.
Ka Thump
The dirt was cleared. The lid was opened.
Aileen’s clothes were out. Aileen’s wig was on the work bench. Edgar found the wig cap at the bottom of the trunk. The black dress with the lace collar? No. The gold lamé. Yes, it sparkles. Edgar fitted the wig cap over his messy hair.
“Dad, are you mad?” Poe’s voice floated through the window.
“No. I love you.” Mr. East said. “And Clemm’s a nice boy.”
“How long have you known?”
“Clemm’s dad saw you sneak into his house one night. We just want you boys safe. And figured you’d tell us when you were good and ready.”
Tap Tap.
Edgar slipped on the chest piece and pulled up the Spanx.
“Dad?”
“Shhhhhh… You’re loved. Your mom and I just want you to be happy.”
The lamé dress floated effortlessly over Edgar’s body. He zipped up the back.
Tap Tap
“But,” Mr. East said, “Now that the secret is out, I want Clemm using the front door. And to have dinner with your mother and I once in a while.”
Tap Tap
Edgar was sure he just saw those red pumps move on their own, but that’s impossible.
“And tomorrow,” Mr. East said, “I want you to wash the scuff marks off my gate.”
Edgar looked at the red pumps. “They don’t go with this dress,” he said.
A small squeak sounded as the cat door to the shed moved, and Raven hopped up on the work bench. The cat was quietly purring.
Edgar picked up the wig. Placed it on his head. Aileen looked back from the mirror. She was alive again. “You know, I’ll decide what shoes to wear,” Aileen told the cat, slipping into the darling, red pumps, “and these go with anything. Don’t they, Kitty?”
About the author and the piece
This story is what we call a “Market Killer.” It was solicited for an anthology called Fantasy is a Drag, and then the publisher cancelled the project. Christopher R Boltz mostly writes for and about theatre. He lives with a dog and four cats who have less fashion sense than Raven. He can be found at crboltz.bsky.social and www.setsandlights.com.
©2025 by Christopher R Boltz. All rights reserved. May not be used for A.I. training.