Jack's Muse by James Rumpel

A writer stumbles upon dark secrets from the past that awaken a sinister force within him.

James Rumpel is a retired high school math teacher who has greatly enjoyed spending some of his free time turning a few of the odd ideas circling his brain into stories. He lives in Wisconsin with his wonderful wife, Mary.

Photo by Art Lasovsky on Unsplash

You can read "Jack's Muse" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Other work by James Rumpel
Site 23
Lucky
The Blue Murders


Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:09):
Welcome to the kit K Podcast, where the eerie, the mysterious,
and the spine chilling come alive and stories that linger
long after the last word is spoken. I'm your host
Linda Gould, and tonight I'm reading Jack's Muse by James Rumple.
It's a story about a young student who's a writer

(00:30):
and he's adjusting to a new apartment. Well, that new
environment proves to be great for his writing, but he
also ends up with an unexpected roommate. James Rumple is
a retired high school math teacher who has greatly enjoyed
spending some of his free time turning a few of
the odd ideas circling his brain into stories. He lives

(00:53):
in Wisconsin with his what he says, wonderful wife Mary.
So now, dim lights, settle in and prepare yourself for
Jack's Muse by James Rumple and Joy. Jack followed his
new landlady up the stairs. The only way to the

(01:15):
top floor apartment is by the outside stairs, and I'm
way too old to shovel the snow off them in
the winter. That's going to have to be your responsibility, missus.
Ackley wasn't exaggerating about her age. She was deathly thin
and frail looking. Her skin hung loosely from every exposed

(01:38):
part of her body except for her face. There it
scrunched together, forming wrinkles and lines that ran in every
possible direction, like a road map for a major city
designed by a deranged civil engineer. Jack had already decided
that he was going to use missus Ackley as the
model for a zombie in his next horror story. Rent's

(02:01):
due the first of every month, and you can just
slide the check under my door, continued the old woman.
I don't put up with any loud music or parties.
I've had kids kicked out and arrested before, and i'll
do it again. That won't be a problem, ma'am, replied Jack.
Acley's attitude and tough rules did not deter his desire

(02:23):
to take the apartment. He wasn't looking to get out
of the dorms in order to be a party animal.
He looked forward to the peace and quiet of having
his own place. Well, you seem like a nice enough boy,
said Missus Acklely. You said you're a sophomore at the college. Yes, ma'am,
I'm an English major with an emphasis on creative writing,

(02:45):
so I like things quiet. That's nice. We had an
English major rent that place about twenty years ago. My
husband was still alive back then. I can't remember her name, though, Well,
if it was twenty years ago, I'm pretty sure I
don't know her, said Jack with a shrug. I suppose not.

(03:07):
The old woman handed Jack a key. Just make sure
you don't make too much noise when you move your
stuff in. Jack sat at the makeshift desk in the
middle of his study slash living room slash bedroom. His
laptop was on an old card table. The legs of
the table sat at odd angles, none of them truly

(03:29):
perpendicular to the floor, partly due to the poor condition
of the table, and partly because the floor was nowhere
close to being level. The weight of Jack's computer and
notebooks would have been too much for the rickety table
if it wasn't for the four cement blocks stacked beneath
it for support. Leaning back in his second hand desk chair,

(03:49):
Jack took a deep breath and glanced at his phone.
It was already twenty minutes past midnight. It seemed like
he had just sat down to work on his story,
but it was four hours since he started. He scrolled
back to the beginning and read his handiwork. By the
time he was halfway through the story, a large smile

(04:12):
was forcing its way onto his lips. This was good.
If this story didn't impress doctor Haroldson his creative writing
to Professor, nothing would. He couldn't wait to show it
to his critique group at tomorrow's meeting. They were gonna
love it. Jen Nelson was the last of the other

(04:35):
three members of the critique group to finish reading Jack's story.
When she looked up from her laptop, Jack immediately blurted out,
so what do you think? Rve Patel was the first
to reply, I really liked it. I mean it's really good,
definitely better than anything he wrote last semester. Jen nodded,

(04:59):
I agree. You don't usually go into as much detail
in your descriptions. It worked really well. Jack grinned, thank you.
This one just came together nicely. Mark Ducklow, the final
member of the group and Jack's only true friend, chimed in,
I like how you tied everything together at the end.

(05:22):
How did you think to have the little boy be
the one who found the key? To be honest? Said Jack, humbly.
The story just sort of wrote itself. Once I got
on a roll, everything just came to me. Do you
think Doc Haroldson will like it? He should, replied RVE.

(05:44):
After a brief pause, she added, but that doesn't mean
he will. We all know how tough he is. Yeah,
added Mark, I don't think he's liked anything in the
twenty five years he's been a professor. I know he
hasn't liked anything I've written. I was lucky to get
a sea last term. Sometimes I like to take his

(06:05):
prized penance stick it up his ass. RV grinned. Now
there's the usual eloquence we've come to expect from you.
Jack broke into a wide, toothy grin. People always said
he had an infectious smile, though he hadn't had much
opportunity to show it lately. Jen looked around as if
expecting Professor Haroldson to jump out from behind the bookshelf.

(06:28):
Once her unnecessary concern was abated, she spoke in a
loud whisper. I heard he got into some kind of
trouble when he was younger, and that he's been extra
hard on students ever since. Well, that might explain why
he is the way he is, said r V. Mark laughed.
Now I think he's just a dick. A week later,

(06:55):
Jack sat in doctor Arnold Haroldson's office, secretly agreeing with
my assessment. The professor may have at one time been
a handsome man, but now in his mid fifties, his
appearance was going through some sort of reverse metamorphosis. With
his receding hairline and expanding waistline, Doctor Haroldson was beginning
to look more like a larva than a butterfly. While

(07:19):
this is your best work yet, mister Tomlin, It's still
not great. It has some potential, and I think with
a lot of editing, you could get too worthy of
an A. But as it is right now, the best
I can give you is a B minus. While he spoke,
Haroldson picked up a golden pen that was sitting on
a mahogany display stand and began twirling it between his fingers,

(07:42):
much like a drummer playing with his drumsticks. So can
I do a rewrite? If you give me a little
direction as to what you're looking for, I think I
can make improvements. The professor spun his pen around a
couple more times, and then returned it to its usual
resting place. No, I think you should concentrate your efforts

(08:02):
on the next assignment. I've seen your work for two
classes now, and I'm quite certain you are going to
struggle with writing a romance. Your time will be better
spent trying to come up with something that is, at
the very least not garbage. Jack wanted to ask why
the professor hated him. Instead, he simply stood up and

(08:25):
thanked doctor Haroldson for his time. It only took Jack
a day to compose his story for the romance assignment.
The words came so easily that he wondered if he
might inadvertently be plagiarizing a story that he had read previously. However,
the grammar software he used did not find any previously
published stories that came close to matching his tale. Unable

(08:46):
to wait for the next critique group get together, he
emailed the story to Jen and RV. The girls would
be able to tell him if his writing was as
good as he thought it was, and within twenty minutes
he got a call from RV. Did you actually write this,
she asked? Yeah, replied Jack, a little hurt by his
classmate's lack of faith. I sat down and just started

(09:10):
typing out my idea, and this is what I ended
up with. I'm sorry, apologized Arvey. I didn't mean to
insult you. It's really good. I was just a little
surprised at how well you were able to portray the
heroine's feelings. Most guys couldn't pull that off. You must

(09:32):
have found your muse. Thanks, I think, said Jack. When
Jen emailed him back a couple hours later, her sentiments
were almost the same as Arvey's, although she also commented
on Jack's style of jumping from one character's thoughts to
another in rapid succession. She said she hadn't read anything
like that before, but she liked the effect. See said

(09:59):
professor had Harldton a scowl on his face. Jack stared
at his teacher, indignant. May I ask why this is
a very good story? Too good, replied Haroldton, returning Jack's stare,
He grabbed his golden pen and pointed it accusingly at Jack.

(10:22):
I don't think you wrote this. I can't prove it yet,
but I'm going to do a little research. There's something
familiar about this piece. I think I've read something very
much like it before. I can't give you an f
without proof. But until I am convinced that you didn't
steal this, you're getting a c That's unfair. I wrote

(10:44):
this by myself. I would never copy someone else's work.
Jack did not attempt to hide his anger. Haroldson let
out a long sigh. Prove to me that you can
come up with something as unique and well written on
the humor assigned? Maybe I'll reconsider. Jack stood in his

(11:08):
bathroom looking at the open linen cabinet. What had he
come in here for? He was so furious at Haroldson
that he wasn't even thinking straight. It was only after
another thirty seconds that he realized he was holding all
three of his bath towels. Why had he taken them
off the shelf. When he reached up to return the
towels to their normal storage place, he noticed something off

(11:31):
about the back wall of the cabinet. One of the
boards was crooked like a slightly ajar door. The cabinet,
like almost everything in the apartment, was old and decrepit,
but Jack had never noticed this board before. He set
the towels aside and removed the piece of wood. To
his surprise, there was a small alcove behind the cabinet.

(11:56):
He reached inside and pulled out a small wooden box.
Inside he found about a dozen pieces of paper. A
quick inspection showed them to be mostly letters addressed to
someone named Maggie Lennox. Returning to his desk, Jack began
reading the letters. The first couple were from Maggie's parents,

(12:16):
talking about the family news or asking her how school
was going. The third, however, was much more interesting. Maggie,
I greatly enjoyed helping you with your assignment last night.
You are incredibly talented. I think with some extra help
you can be an amazing writer. You could be the

(12:39):
next great storyteller. See me after class tomorrow and we
can set up a time to get together and work
on your next story. Professor Haroldson. Jack set the paper aside,
his heart beating against the wall of his chest. Who
is Maggie Lennox? He found another correspondence from Professor Haroldson. Maggie,

(13:03):
I hope I'm not being too forward, but I have
to come out and say what I think. We both know.
We have something more than a teacher student relationship. We
are soulmates. What started as a genuine appreciation for your
writing talent has blossomed into something much more personal and undeniable. Please,

(13:25):
if you feel the same way, meet me in my
office tomorrow night at ten. I will have something special
waiting for you, Arnie. The next couple of letters were unrelated,
but the one after that was once again from Professor Haroldson. Maggie,
we have to talk about last night. Do not say
anything to anyone about what happened until we have had

(13:48):
a chance to talk. Professor Haroldson. Jack dug through the
rest of the pilot until he found one last letter,
Miss Lennox. After your refusal, you leave me no choice.
I will be going to the dean and telling him
about how you tried to seduce me to get a
better grade. Don't even think about attempting to come forward

(14:08):
with any other version of what happened. No one will
believe your word against mine. I am a respected university
faculty member. You are nothing more than a desperate student.
I will give you one last chance to prove that
you are not going to say anything. Please come visit me.
Maybe we can put this ugly situation behind us. Professor

(14:28):
Haroldson search as he may, Jack found nothing more. It
took nearly ten minutes for missus Ackerley to open the door.
I said, you could just slide your checks under the door,
she said, before Jack could speak. No, it's not that,

(14:49):
said Jack. I have a question for you. No, I'm
not going to replace the carpet. No, no, listen. Who
is Mackie Lennox? Did she live in the third floor apartment?
The elderly woman paused, looking straight through Jack. Eventually, she

(15:09):
tilted her head to one side and said, I think
she was the girl that hung herself. Someone killed themselves
in my apartment. It was twenty years ago. Well what happened?
Why did she do it again? The old woman paused,
deep in thought. I don't think they ever figured out why.

(15:34):
If I remember correctly, there wasn't a note or anything.
Mark paged through the letters. He set them down and
let out a long whistle, then asked Jack, is this
all real? Yeah, answered Jack. I even went to the

(15:55):
library and found the report of the death from the
local paper. He set a photocopied picture in front of Mark.
The photo that had run in the paper appeared to
be Maggie's senior picture from her high school yearbook. She
was pretty, but far from stunning. She had dark hair,
probably brunette, but it was hard to tell from the
black and white picture. Most of her face was obscured

(16:17):
by the oversized, wide rimmed glasses she wore. One thing
that was not covered by her glasses was her mouth.
The edges of her lips were turned up slightly in
a smile. Wow, what are you gonna do? You probably
should go to the dean or the police. I know
I should, replied Jack. But will that do anything besides

(16:41):
make Haroldson hate me even more? I mean, I'm sure
there's a statute of limitations or something. Plus nothing in
the letters ever says that Haroldson did anything well. Not
in so many words, but it's pretty obvious. I don't know.
I don't know. No, going public with this could make

(17:02):
things tough on me. I think I'm gonna wait until
my next review with him. He said he would reconsider
my grade if I did well on the humor story.
I don't know, said Mark, shaking his head. Maybe everything
will work out and I won't have to do anything
with the letters. You're forgetting one important thing, Mark said,

(17:24):
Haroldson's a dick. He opened a small refrigerator and pulled
out a count of beer. He paused for a second,
looking at the bottom shelf. Why do you have a
hammer in your refrigerator, he finally asked. Jack shook his head.
I don't know. I'm so worked up about this Haroldson
thing that I've been absent mindedly leaving stuff all over

(17:45):
the place. I think you misunderstood the assignment, announced doctor
Haroldson as he said Jack's most recent story aside. You
were asked to write humorous Rose. There's nothing funny in
this piece. It's dark humor, pleaded Jack. You have to

(18:07):
look past the deaths and focus on the underlying irony.
I don't know, mister Tomlin, I don't think you have
what it takes to be a writer. Maybe you should
reconsider your emphasis, or maybe even your major. The world
needs teachers or greeting card composers just as badly as
it needs authors. Jack started to reply to his professor's assault,

(18:31):
but the words didn't come to him. The only sound
he made was a quick snort as he reached into
his pocket and pulled out a small stack of papers
and threw them on Haroldson's desk. The professor grabbed the
top note and looked at it. He froze, his face
flashing from one emotion to another. Confusion was quickly replaced

(18:55):
with shock. Sadness followed, only to be usurped by anger. Finally,
the kaleidoscope of expressions stopped on stoic emptiness. When he spoke,
his words were measured and passionless. Where'd you get these?
Does it matter? Replied Jack? Those are just copies I

(19:16):
have the originals. If I take those to the Dean,
you could be in a lot of trouble. You're not
going to do that, said Haroldson, the color returning to
his face. There's nothing in these letters that incriminates me
in any way. Everything that happened back then is just
the way I said in the letters. That girl tried

(19:37):
to seduce me, nothing more. I'm not so sure that
every one would believe that, said Jack, surprised at his
own bravado. You might have gotten away with that kind
of defense twenty years ago, but not in this day
and age. Professor Haroldson didn't move for nearly a minute. Eventually,

(19:57):
he grabbed the gold pen from his desk and pointed
it at Jack. When he spoke, his air of authority returned.
Here's what's going to happen. You are going to finish
the semester. You have one more story to write, the
horror assignment. After that, you will get a B plus
for the class. You will never take another of my offerings.

(20:20):
You will give me the original letters and never speak
to anyone about them. Do we have a deal? Jack
wanted to tell Haroldson to go to hell. It was
too late. The professor had to pay for what he
had done to Maggie. It would be the right thing
to do, even though it would be difficult. But we

(20:41):
have a deal, is all he said. Jack sat down
to write the story for his final assignment. Once he
was finished, he would turn it in and never have
to worry about Haroldson ever again. He opened his laptop
and was about to be typing when he noticed something

(21:01):
out of the corner of his eye. When and why
had he put a butcher knife on his desk. He
had to finish this whole, ugly affair before he went
completely mad. Jack looked at his computer screen, confused and disoriented.
He remembered sitting down to begin the rough draft sometime

(21:24):
around mid afternoon. Now it was completely dark. The ghostly
glow coming from his computer monitor was the only light
in the room. He began reading the story in front
of him. It was a tale of hate and revenge.
Despair dripped from every sentence, and anger from every word.
When he got to the final section, he found himself

(21:47):
nearly gagging at the graphic description of the murder. How
could he have ever written something this pornographically violent? This
couldn't be his work. He grabbed the mouse scrolled upward
to capture the entire text. As he reached for the
delete button, he froze. Why were there deep crimson spots

(22:11):
on his keyboard. Jack stood up, pushing himself away from
the table. As he did so, something fell to the ground,
shimmering in the glow of his laptop screen. He looked
down and staggered back slightly. Lying at his feet was
the knife he had found on his desk when he
began writing the story. Even in the dim light, Jack

(22:34):
could tell the blade was stained with blood. He stood
and walked slowly, as if in a trance, to his bathroom.
He opened the linen cabinet door and removed three towels
from the middle shelf. Pushing aside the board that covered
the hidden alcove, Jack grabbed the wooden box hidden within.

(22:56):
He opened the box and gaped at the contents. Sitting
on top of a small pile of papers was a
gold pin, broken and covered with blood. After a moment,
he quietly closed the box and returned it to its
hiding place, a sly, toothless smile on his face. I

(23:25):
love that revenge took time, but he got his come
upance eventually. I especially enjoyed this story because I've been
listening to some podcasts recently about the hashtag me too movement,
Harvey Weinstein, and the backlash to the movement to hold
men accountable for sexual assaults. And there are definitely stories

(23:45):
of women that make up tales to get revenge or
to get what they want. I so get that, but
that's how it's usually portrayed as being so one sided, right,
And I have no doubt that the opposite also happens,
that men threaten women because they are powerless and they
won't be believed. Besides, this story is about a writer,
and wouldn't we all love to have a muse who

(24:08):
makes writing painless. I can't tell you how often I've
sat with a story and just labored over some scene
or some dialogue, so it was really enjoyable in every way.
Thank you, James. I've actually read other stories by James
Rumple on the kaiton Kai, so I'll post links to
them in the episode description if you'd like to check
out more. The kaiiton Kai has so many interesting stories

(24:32):
from every genre, so please subscribe to the podcast and
check out the substack to see comments by authors about
their inspiration. I also post art that I like any
kind of art on the various social media and you
can find the links to them there as well, so
pick your poison follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky,

(24:53):
or substack. It's all in the episode description. Thank you
so much for listening today. I'll see you next week
with another girl, great story