Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

A New Beginning

John-Sebastian Moore

The rake feels heavier than she thought it would feel when she picks it up to look at it. She scans the old barn, trying to figure out where its rightful place is. The rust on the metal handle starts to cut into her hands a bit, and she reminds herself to wear gloves before coming back into the barn. She looks down at her dog, a kind of mix between a golden retriever and a husky, and says out loud to her.

“I wonder how long it has been since this was used. ” She turns the rake over. Gweneviere, however, is not paying any attention to her. She has found a smell that is significantly more fascinating and is investigating. 

Her ears perk up when she hears her name being called from outside the barn by the twins. Gweneviere looks over at her as if she were going to ask for permission to run out to them, but doesn’t wait for any, instead turns and runs out of the barn.

She looks around and thinks William may be right. This could be turned into a nice studio. It would need a lot of work and time, but unfortunately, time is the one thing she has an abundance of right now. A new beginning is what William said to her. He asked her to go and take the twins for the day and look at the place. He urged her to keep an open mind. She tried to tell him it was too cliché to move out of the city and into the country for a fresh start. She argued with him that it was too far away from the city, and told him she was having serious trepidations about starting the twins in a new school. But William assured her that, under the current circumstances, this was the right move. He reminded her that this could be the new beginning they required and a chance to put everything behind them. She still holds serious doubts about all of this but cannot shake the feeling that William may be right. She lets out a heavy groan and decides that the right thing to do is just give in to William. She starts to allow herself to imagine the different ways she can transform this place when she hears the twins run into the barn, and out of instinct, she yells over at them.

“Do not touch anything.”

“Mom!!! Gweneviere jumped in the pond.” they both scream together!

She sighs, “How wet is she? We need to dry her off before she gets back in the car”.

She lays the rake back down, brushes her hands off on her jeans, and examines them to make sure there are no cuts. She looks over to the twins and tells them, “Let’s go dry her off and head home. We need to tell your father to go ahead and make an offer”.

Following the twins out of the barn, the bright sun blinds her as she puts her hand over her eyes and scans for Gweneviere. She looks over the property, and her eyes come to focus on the main house. A stereotypical old white farmhouse that she already knows will need a lot of work. Again, she is reminded of just how much time she will actually have now.

However, she is sure that William will give her a wide latitude on any decisions that will make the new place feel like home. She already overheard the twins discuss how great it will finally be to have their own rooms.

“Mom, Gweneviere is gone!” The twins are standing in front of her, yelling at her. “Mom!!! Where is she? “

“It is ok, sweetheart, she never wanders far,” and she starts to call Gweneviere’s name.

“Come on, girl!” She whistles for the dog to come back to them. She heads down to the pond, and in the distance, down a path leading into a grove of trees, she hears the dog barking at something.

“She is down here!!” The twins yell and go running down the path.

“Hold on, girls. Wait for me!” She calls after them, then decides to check her phone and sees that she has no signal. She whispers, dammit, as she tucks her phone into the back of her jeans and heads down the path.

“Will you please wait for your mother!!” she yells after them. 

Gweneviere’s bark is getting louder as she winds down the path. She finally reaches where the dog is, and Gweneviere sprints up to her and tucks herself between her legs, and keeps barking down the path. She keeps looking around for the twins but does not see them. Sighing, she whispers to herself how these two are a real handful and that they need to learn to listen.

She again starts to call out for them while also trying to calm Gweneviere down. However, Gweneviere keeps barking down the path, and the twins are not answering her. She feels herself getting angry at both the dog and her twins. She finally snaps at the dog, and Gweneviere cowers and stops barking. Feeling guilty about Gweneviere, she reaches down and rubs her behind her ears.

“I’m sorry, girl, I’m just frustrated”. She says to Gweneviere as she kneels and pets her. “Now, where do you think those twins ran off to!!?” She asks her as she looks around the forest. She grabs her phone out of her back pocket, looks at the time, and sees that she again has no service and sticks it back in her jeans and stands up. 

“Come on, girl, maybe they doubled back,” and starts to make her way back up the path. But Gweneviere does not follow her. She keeps looking down the path and whining.

She stops and looks back at the dog.“Come on, girl!! Let’s go!” But Gweneviere just looks at her and doesn’t budge.

“What is it, girl?” She says to her as she walks back to where the dog is. Gweneviere is staring down the path, and as soon as she gets to her, Gweneviere takes off at full speed.

“Wait, Gweneviere !! Where are you going!?, Goddammit!”

The bright sun is now being shaded by the trees the further the path goes down, and without the heat from the sun, she is starting to feel a cool chill. She hears their dog in the distance barking again. She keeps calling out for the twins as she tries to hurry and catch up with her dog.

Finally, she reaches Gweneviere and stops in her tracks. She is now standing about a dozen yards away from an old abandoned church. The church is standing, almost in one piece, but it looks like it could fall down at any given minute.

She hears the twins playing inside the church. She curses to herself and thinks she is going to kill them.

“Josephine and Gabriel McDaniel, get your ass out here right this minute!! “. She yells at them from outside the church. The church door opens, and out walks a man, clean-shaven, with khaki pants and a blue button-down shirt.

“Who are you?” She yells, panicking and looking around. She grabs her phone, “I’m calling 911.”

“There is no service out here. Your girls are fine. We are in the middle of worship service. Please come join us.”

“What are you talking about? Worship service?!!! Get my girls out here right now!!”

“Please, Erin, come join us.”

“How do you know my name?! Who are you?!! What is going on? I need to see my girls right now!!!” She is starting to feel her face getting flushed.

“You can see them, come inside and join us, please, Erin,” and he holds out his hand to her.

“Absolutely fucking not!! You go get my girls right now and bring them to me!!”

Erin is in full panic mode. She looks around the forest for anything she feels she can use as a weapon. She wishes she had that rake right about now. She is trying to calculate how long it will take her to get back to her car and find a signal and how quickly she can get back here. How does this person know her name?

She calls out again, using a more affectionate tone. “Joey!! Gabby!! Please come outside. It is time to go now. We have to get home “. 

She pleads with them as the man just stares at her. She starts to feel her throat tighten. “Please

girls, we have to leave like right now,” and can hear the desperation in her voice.

After no response from her girls, she is furious and stares at the man, warning him. “Get my girls out here right now, or I am going to have you arrested. Do you understand me?! Like right now, or I’m heading back and bringing the police with me!”

She looks around and realizes that Gweneviere is gone and curses. When she looks back at the church, she sees that the man is gone, and the church door is closed. She runs up to the door and tries to open it, but it won’t open. 

“Fuck, fuck!!” She whispers to herself. She goes around to the side of the church and hears what may be music coming out of the broken windows, but they are too far above her head for her to see in. She hopes there is a back door and runs to the rear of the church. She sees a door when she gets to the back and is about ready to walk up to it when she hears Gweneviere come running up to her with that blue rake in her mouth.

“Holy crap, girl, how did you get that? You are such a good girl.” She rubs her head.

She takes the rake and walks up to the back door. The door is unbelievably open. She peeks through, and after her eyes adjust to the dark, she notices there are steps on the right that look like they lead down to what she can only think of is a cellar. The steps on the left go up, and she hears what, again, she thinks is music coming from up there. She grips the rake harder and starts to walk up to the music.

She creeps up the stairs and starts to make out singing and a piano playing. She thinks to herself, what in the world is going on here? There is a door at the top of the stairs, and she prays to herself that it is open. She reaches out to turn the handle and lets out a huge sigh of relief. She tightens her grip on the rake, takes a deep breath, and makes her way through. The music is loud now; she is standing in a hallway that she believes must be behind the altar. She takes a guess and figures she will go left. She holds the rake in front of her and makes her way ahead as the music gets louder. She reaches the side of the altar and peers out into the church.

She sees her girls standing in the front pew, looking at the altar and singing. There are families in pews behind her twins singing too. She looks to her right and sees the man in the blue shirt standing at the pulpit, looking up at the ceiling, his eyes closed, and his hands held high. She is trying to get the girls; attention without getting noticed by the man in blue, but they are not taking their eyes off him. She finally says to hell with it and sprints to the girls.

“Gabby, Joey. Let’s go right now!” she screams at them as she runs up to them, but they will not look away from the pulpit. She looks around, and no one seems to notice that she is standing there with a rake in her hands, screaming at her kids. She hears Gweneviere up at the altar, barking at the man in blue, who is just standing there with his hands still in the air. Gweneviere keeps getting closer to the man as she keeps barking. She finally hears the man in blue cry out in pain, and she sees that Gweneviere is backing away from the man. All of a sudden, her girls are staring at her.

“Mom, what is going on?”

“Come on, let’s go” she drops the rake and grabs Gabby and Joey. She runs with both of them down the aisle and towards the front door. She notices that other families are staring at each other with confused looks, but she doesn’t care. She whistles for Gweneviere as she runs and hears her coming up behind them until she passes them and leads the way. They don’t stop running until they get to their car, and she crams all of them in the back and tears off. She keeps checking her phone until she gets a signal.

“William, stop talking, just stop. You need to get the police out to the property right now. You need to get out here and call the realtor and tell them under no circumstances are we buying this home. Meet me at the general store.

“It’s ok. It’s ok. We are fine now!“ Erin can barely catch her breath. “It’s ok!” Hoping she sounds convincing enough to her twins that they are indeed ok!

*** 

She is keeping an eye on the twins and Gweneviere in the back seat as she talks to the Sheriff and William. “What do you mean you can’t find the path? It’s right by the pond!”

“We looked everywhere, but it is getting dark.” The sheriff is explaining to Erin.

“No, no, no.” Erin protests, “We need to find the church. There is this man, and there are more families.”

“Mrs. McDaniel, there is no record of any church on that property or a church on any adjacent property in this county!”

“Well, it was an old church!”

“No, you don’t understand. We looked at all records going back hundreds of years. No church around here exists.”

“That is impossible. I’m not crazy!” Erin exclaims, looking at both the sheriff and her husband.

“Erin, sweetheart, the twins do not remember any church at all either,” William says to her as he reaches out to her.

“I’m not crazy, William! I know what I saw!” Looking at the twins, she says quietly to herself, “I know what I saw.”

She hears Gweneviere barking in the car, and she turns and stares at an old blue ford pickup truck passing them on the road. Her eyes catch a glimpse of what she thinks is a rake sticking out of the back of the truck. She squints in the darkness at the driver, and she gasps

She turns to William and the sheriff and screams, “That is him, there, in the truck. That is the man I was referring to!!”

“Where?!!” They both say together.

“There!!” She turns back and points toward the road, but the truck is gone. “What the hell!!, Where did it go? It was right here. The man was looking right at me!”

“I have not seen any car coming down this road for a while.” The sheriff says to both of them as Erin catches him looking over at her husband.

“It was right there!” She looks back at her car, and Gweneviere is not barking anymore. The twins are just staring at her. She looks back at both her husband and the Sheriff and says to both of them. “I’m not crazy. I’m coming back tomorrow without the twins, and I expect you to be here Sheriff, and we are going to find this church!! I am not crazy!!”

Erin gets in the car with the twins, and Gweneviere hops in the front seat. Erin reaches over and pets Gweneviere behind her ears. “You believe me, don’t you, girl?”

Gweneviere barks.

Please visit John-Sebastian on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/johnsebastian.moore

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Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by Alexei from Pixabay.

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

The Sample

 Lisa Criss Griffin

I have absolutely hated going to the doctor since I was a small child. My first introduction to needles occurred at a small town health department after I stepped on a large, rusty nail while innocently playing outside with a small blue rake. The nurse took me from my mother, leaving her waiting on a wooden bench in the green, institutional cement block hallway with my toddler brother. Neither the doctor nor the nurse told me what was coming. That jaded old battle ax of a nurse was not gentle as she stabbed me from behind and jettisoned the tetanus serum into my bare, unsuspecting gluteus maximus. I screamed, yanked up my undies, ran out of the cubicle and careened down the hall toward the door. My distrust of medical personnel was firmly solidified at the early age of five.

When I was around ten years old, our pediatrician, his nurse, and my mother…who was summoned from the waiting room, became involved in a frantic chase down the clinic’s hallways, which dead-ended in the pediatrician’s personal office. The three of them pursued me around the room and his desk several times. I ducked and turned, crawling under and scrambling over the fancy desk several times to avoid capture. Huffing and muttering, the trio finally succeeded in pinning me onto the tabletop of the doctor’s desk as I attempted yet another vault over it to avoid their clutches. There was no reasoning with me after my experience with the awful tetanus shot at the health department. Tears ran down my red, blotchy face as I vehemently voiced my protests. While I was struggling, the nurse quickly rammed the hated needle into my thigh and forced the burning liquid into my trembling flesh.

I shrieked, rolled off the table, and backed into a corner, my eyes shooting daggers at the doctor, the nurse, and my poor mother, who was enormously mortified by the whole ordeal. She unceremoniously grabbed my arm and dragged me back into the waiting room. My younger brother, who was also unknowingly scheduled for shots that day, looked up at us with his innocent baby blue eyes, baffled by the unfolding drama. A toy dropped from his small hand as he was also towed out of the doctor’s office by our mother, completely unaware I had just saved him from the nefarious needles awaiting his arrival. Based on these experiences, I have always found it completely ironic that I chose a career as a Registered Nurse.

I carefully settled the jar holding the sample into my purse before I backed out of the driveway on my way to my doctor’s office for a checkup. Dr. Xavier was an excellent family physician, but more importantly, I trusted him. He was honest, competent, and a genuinely good person. He had won my trust over the years…especially through the pandemic. He and his staff knew of my extreme aversion to needles and were gentle with me when the rare occasion requiring a shot reared its ugly head. His phlebotomist was quite skilled, although I usually avoided watching as she slowly slid that sharp, hollow needle under my skin and through the vulnerable wall of my vein.

I had done these very same things for decades as a nurse, but I was always careful to tell my patients what I was doing and be as gentle as possible. I’d also collected many different types of specimens over the years and seen many things that, unfortunately, I’ll never be able to unsee. At least I developed a fairly robust sense of humor about these things during my nursing career. “A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: But a broken spirit drieth the bones.” Proverbs 17:22 KJV. Laughter is healing! Laughter is fun. Laughter…is survival.

I was quickly ushered back beyond the revered, forbidden door leading to the exam rooms by Dr. Xavier’s friendly receptionist. I set my purse and coat on a nearby stool as Cassie weighed me. A bit of the bright white plastic lid was visible from the top of my purse. I was enormously glad to be able to relieve my arm of the burden of carrying the jar secreted within my bag. The handbag felt like it weighed fifteen pounds with that thing stuffed inside of it. Truth be told, the men in my family avoid having to explore the dark, deep recesses of my pocketbook like the plague. Sometimes I do too. They would have been completely aghast if they had looked in my purse today. Cassie failed to notice the mysterious white lid as she ushered me into examination room 2.

“They will be with you shortly, sweetie.”

“Thank you, Cassie.”

I sat down and placed my coat and purse on the adjacent chair. Gently pulling the jar with the white lid from the depths of my purse, I perused it before carefully placing it on the little table the medical staff used for taking notes.

The light coming through the small slit of a window in the exam room illuminated the contents of the clear glass jar. Brown blobs of the sample rose above the red-tinged, slightly gelatinous liquid, a little like a convoluted island with most of the seamount residing underneath the fluid. A very small white ring surrounding the base of the brown island reminded me of frozen breakers on an unseen beach. Lordy, if people didn’t actually know what they were observing, the gross factor would be off the scale!  I stifled an audible giggle.

The exam room door burst open, announcing the arrival of my unsuspecting nurse. I couldn’t help but smile behind my required surgical mask as she set her chart on the little table holding the jar. I enjoyed myself a little too much as her eyes widened in response to seeing the contents of the unmarked quart container. Her nose crinkled. I imagined it was a stoic sniff for information from behind her mask. I tried not to allow the laughter to tumble from my eyes as she picked up the jar for a better look. A hidden, involuntary grin spread across my face. The red tinge of the jiggling liquid gleamed ominously in the sunlight from the window. She set the jar down and looked at me for answers, both horror and confusion revealed in her gaze.

I looked up at her with as much innocence as I could muster as she applied a blood pressure cuff to my arm and slid a pulse ox on my finger.

“Soooo, what are you here for today, Ms. Jacobs?”

“Just a regular checkup.”

I could see her growing concern about how to address the elephant in the room as she shot a quick glance at the large, potentially noxious jar on the table. She finally took the bait as she read my temperature.

“What is in the jar, Ms. Jacobs? You did bring this in for the doctor to see?”

“Oh yes! Dr. Xavier and I had a conversation about this very thing during my last visit. I almost forgot to bring him a sample today.” 

I knew it was a vague and mysterious answer. I could see the wheels turning gingerly in her head. Did she really want to know? She knew what it might be…what it looked like, but why a quart jar of it?! She maintained a professional air as she rifled through the chart containing my medical history for an answer. Unable to find anything that might explain the contents of the jar, she looked up, meeting my eyes. She was dying to know what was in the jar, yet almost didn’t want to know.

“What…is…it?”

I leaned in towards her, ready to take her into my confidence. I kept my expression serious…as serious as I possibly could before I gave her the answer to her question in a conspiratorial whisper.

“It is…a jar…of…canned venison.”

I watched the comprehension slowly dawn in her eyes. She and I burst out laughing, the sound of our gaiety bouncing off the walls, rolling out and down the hallways of the small clinic. I had to wipe my eyes from laughing so hard.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I hadn’t intended to prank anybody. But when I put it on the table…well you see what it looks like! We nurses have a naughty, slightly twisted sense of humor…as you well know.”

My comment set off another round of laughter in the exam room. My nurse picked up the jar, still giggling.

“Listen, do you mind if I take this around the corner to the nurses’ station and prank Jennifer? She is always pranking us, and it would be so much fun to show her “the specimen” the lady in exam room 2 just brought in!”

“Sure. Just be sure you tell her what is really in that jar before I leave the clinic, so she doesn’t think the patient in exam room 2 is a freakin weirdo!!”

She promised, still giggling as she left the room. A few moments later, my nurse returned the jar, her eyes dancing with glee. She gave me a big thumbs-up before closing the door. I played the initial scene of discovery over in my mind for entertainment as I waited for Dr. Xavier. I found myself giggling out loud. Suddenly, from around the corner, I heard Dr. Xavier release a humongous belly laugh that could only have come from the reveal of the actual contents of the quart jar. I composed myself, pretty sure I would be next on his list of patients to see.

The quart jar sat on the small desktop, no longer the formidable foe of unsuspecting medical professionals. I impulsively grabbed it and held it in my lap, hoping to extend the surprise…if possible. I had gone down the rabbit hole of nursing humor and had not yet found my way out.

Dr. Xavier entered my room, an inscrutable expression on his face, yet professional to the core. He glanced at the small desktop before pinning me with his eyes. I decided to make my final move with little fanfare.

“Hi, Dr. Xavier. I…uh…I brought you a sample of what we talked about during my last visit.”

I suspected he most likely didn’t recall that conversation since he was a popular, busy physician who saw a lot of patients. His eyes were riveted on the white top of the jar I was holding.

“Here, let me show you….”

Raising the nefarious jar up to where he could see the questionable contents through the glass, I quickly unscrewed the white plastic lid. To his credit, he didn’t flinch. Reasonably sure he was already onto me, I removed the white cap and thrust the clear glass jar closer to him.

“What…is it?” he asked, mildly curious as he peered down at the jar. The metal canning cap solidly sealed on top of the jar clearly read “Venison, 2022”. I suspected he couldn’t see the small letters.

“It is the can of venison I promised to bring you the last time I was here.”

He smiled, thanked me, and finished his exam. On his way out of the room, he held up his venison to get a better look at it, a hint of a smile playing across his lips.

“Does it need to be refrigerated?”

It was then I knew I had gotten him too. He grew up in the country where canning is a way of life. He knew about canning.

“Oh no. It is solidly sealed. It is quite shelf stable.”

 “Ummm hmmm. Well, my wife will know how to cook it. Thank you very much, Ms. Jacobs. See you next time!”

He smiled at me with a twinkle in his eye and a quick wink before he left the exam room chuckling. At last, my visit here was complete. This appointment turned out to be the most fun I have ever had as a patient in a doctor’s office. I’m still giggling over successfully pranking my nurse, my favorite doctor and his staff. Laughter is like a good medicine. Laughter is fun.

I am supposed to return to Dr. Xavier’s office for a lab draw soon. That means…a sharp, hollow metal needle will be slowly sliding underneath my skin and piercing the wall of one of my vulnerable veins. Ohhh no! Let the games begin.

***

Copyright © 2023 Lisa Criss Griffin All rights reserved

Author’s Note: The names in this slightly fictitious story have been changed to protect the hilarious people who still live among us.

 Please visit Lisa on Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/authorlisacrissgriffin

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Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by Alexei from Pixabay.

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

The Mysterious Aunt Glennis

Calliope Njo 

New Year’s Eve, and about all I could think of was that school would start again on Tuesday. Couldn’t we go for another week and start on Monday? Couldn’t we? Maybe a huge snowstorm would happen and keep us from going. Right? It could happen.

I turned on my computer and looked at the weather. As my luck had it, no such thing was going to happen. They forecast no snowstorm until the end of next week. Bummer.

I went to the kitchen to grab a snack. We had a bunch of cookies left over. A gingerbread man later, I went to get the mail.

Mom sat at the table writing something, and Dad was out somewhere. I asked, and he told me he would return in a bit. If I said that, he would lecture me about knowing actions taken to accomplish the immediate goal. Whatever.

Bill for Mom. Bill for Dad. Late letter from Aunt Angela, as usual. Local bank trying to entice people to come to their bank. Something from an Aunt Glennis. I didn’t even know we had an Aunt Glennis and opened it out of curiosity. Mom and Dad always told me not to, but this was different.

It was to Dad. I put it back, but I wanted to know who this Aunt Glennis was. I kept reading. The start of it was about something that happened over twenty years ago. The bits and pieces that were there didn’t add up to much. I kept reading, hoping to find out more.

An Uncle Otis died over the holidays. She said she spent every moment at the hospital until the doctors told her there was nothing that could be done. His heart was beating, and his lungs were providing oxygen, but that was about it. They pulled the plug.

“What are you doing?” Dad asked.

I turned my head. Oh shit, he caught me. “Sorry. I didn’t know who this woman was and was hoping to find out.” I put the letter back in the envelope and held it out to him.

He looked at mom. “I wondered when it would happen. Let’s talk in the office, so we don’t disturb her.”

“Too late.” Mom stood, stretched, and yawned.

He looked at Mom. “Aunt Glennis was a woman who had it all. Money. House. Car. Personal assistant. Everything. Except for love and the ability to hear. Everything made her angry. I married a woman in the computer industry, and she didn’t like it. She said, ‘A genuine woman would be a lady. She would know how to pamper herself and know that her actual weapon was lipstick. Not the latest in an industry bent on destruction.’ I learned ASL because of her. I never talked to her after that. We didn’t exactly get along, to begin with, so it wasn’t much of a loss. There was too much we didn’t agree on.”

I didn’t know what to say after that. I stood there and looked at him. He didn’t cry or anything. Not even whimpering. I guessed you couldn’t since there wasn’t any love between them. “I didn’t finish the letter. There’s four pages in total. Did you want to read it?”

He blew out a breath and took the letter. He walked into his office and closed the door.

I kept watch as I hoped he would come out and say something. “Hey, let’s go get some wood.” Or “Hey, why don’t we go for a little walk in the snow?” He didn’t come out. I went to the door and hoped to overhear something. What I heard was a long string of cuss words, which was unusual. He never cussed that I knew of. I didn’t know he knew such words.

I left him alone and wondered if he was going to be OK.

“Hey, this calls for some hot cocoa. Why don’t you make marshmallows? When you’re done, we’ll get the cocoa started.”

I took out Grandma’s recipe and made them. Not too difficult for me because I’ve done them a few times. I couldn’t remember the recipe, though.

With that done, Mom made the cocoa. One or two in each cup, and we sat down. Mom knocked on Dad’s door but came back without him. She shrugged and sat down to enjoy the treat.

I kept watch over his cup as I wondered if it was possible to float it over to him. I laughed as I imagined him running and screaming away from the haunted cup. Oh well. Maybe when he calms down, he’ll let us know.

Mom took his cup and put it in the fridge. Not that it wasn’t already cold, but it would be even colder when it came out. A little later, Dad came out, took it out of the fridge, and chugged it down.

I realized it would be like drinking rich chocolate milk, but eww. Cold cocoa with cold marshmallows wasn’t meant to be. I’m surprised he didn’t choke.

He worked his mouth a little before he stopped. He looked at the cup before putting it in the sink.

“Guys. I know. It’s too late. I was thinking of going to Aunt Glennis’ house to find out about all of this. According to the address, it’s about a twenty-minute drive from here. That means Bridget would have to leave earlier than usual to get to school. I gotta find out what all of this means. I emailed Mom and Dad, and I haven’t heard back yet. Maybe tomorrow.” He turned on the water, then turned it off before leaving the kitchen.

I did not know where he went. I only knew where he wasn’t, and that was here. Tuesday started school again. I hated it, but it gave me an escape. The more I thought about this situation, the more confused I got. Should I stay and try to make things better? Should I pretend everything is hunky-dory?

“Oh, Bridge.” Mom hugged me. “We have things to do. You have school. I have an important client that needs to be tended to. M’Kay?” She kissed my head.

I nodded, went to my room, took out my tablet, and emailed Briar. I needed to talk to somebody, and she was it. After that, I found a game to occupy my time, solitaire. I had to be the only teen on this planet to play solitaire without being tortured.

After the fifth round, Briar emailed me back and told me they were just parents—they had their own dramas. A pretty general statement. On the other hand, she and I weren’t close. We talked but never got down deep into any subject.

Dinner time came and went. The highlight was Dad telling us he planned to go there tomorrow. So, we better pack up for at least a week. Uh-huh. OK. I could deal with this. I hoped.

I woke up late and ran out of the house. I did the running shuffle to school to get there on time. There were patches of ice here and there, and I didn’t wanna break anything.

I loved being on vacation but hated getting back. It was always resetting the rhythm, which took forever to do when it started again. I closed my eyes, inhaled all the way, and exhaled before opening them again.

Somehow, the school seemed cleaner with the snow on the ground. When it melted, though, it went back to its dirty self. In the meantime, I had class to attend.

I got my English and American History papers back and scored full points on both. The rest of my classes had nothing. We had the end-of-semester tests, and we got our scores. I studied and crammed until the very last minute. I expected to get a high score, and I did. Other than that, not a damned thing happened—so pretty typical boring day. The highlight was when the lights went out. The science teacher took advantage and talked about light. It was kind of fun.

After I got home, my suitcase was by the door. I didn’t even pack last night, so someone did that for me. I only hoped they packed my underwear. It would be bad if that were missed, along with my tampons.

As soon as I came home, Dad grabbed the bags and put them in the car. He looked at me and opened the door. I assumed he wanted me to get in, so I got in the car.

Mom came out with her laptop bag and another bag over her shoulder. “It’s work. You take me away from my office. This is what you get. That client that needed tending to wants to know if it’s possible to have a central computer that runs the entire building like in the movies. In my partner’s infinite wisdom, told the client, of course, it is. We’ve been working on it. We have not been doing any such thing. You wanna guess who’s the one stuck with setting up a concept report?” She blew out a breath and secured her seatbelt.

I guessed at that point the question about how the day went was sorta kinda redundant. I sat there and wondered if maybe I could drive to school. It would be easier.

“To the one who packed for me, sorry. I kinda sorta put it off because I sorta kinda woke up late. And thank you.”

I saw Dad look at me with a smile in the rearview mirror.

I recognized the route the further along we went. It was known as Sheethton. A place where it was thought that the town started. The mysterious part was the tales of an underground city and a plethora of tunnels that were supposed to house a race of people with abnormal abilities. Those who could talk to and conjure up phantoms. The ability to open doorways to other worlds. Conjure animals only heard of in fairytales. The list went on. Sometimes people went down there, but they found nothing substantial. Nothing that proved that such a thing happened.

I wondered if Otis had anything to do with it. Generations passed, and they thought some people to be descendants. According to Dad, Aunt Glennis was impossible. Otis must’ve changed that. Only he knew, and he wouldn’t be answering questions.

We stopped in front of the Towers—an apartment complex built to look like a castle. The rent was a gazillion dollars a month, but I guessed she could afford it.

“All right. Everybody. We’re here. I’m not much on the behavior of a man versus a woman. You do what you have to do. Aunt Glennis is deaf and can speech read all right. However, that doesn’t mean she’ll at least try.”

“Oh. Kay.” I grabbed my backpack.

“Are you sure about this, Quinn?” Mom asked.

Dad shook his head. “No.” He unlocked the doors, and we exited the car. We followed him up the steps, and he rang the doorbell.

“Yes?”

“I’m a relative of Glennis Pusset. My wife and daughter are with me and wish to enter.”

Pusset? Sounded like a potato. It took forever before something dinged.

Dad opened the door and held it for us both to enter. I waited to see where to go next. There was a hallway to the left, right, and straight ahead. We went to the right.

An elevator door opened, and we stepped inside. As soon as we did, the door closed and went straight up. I assumed it was one of elevators that had one floor to stop at. The problem was there were no buttons on either side. Hmm. Maybe that guy by the door pushed a button.

We got off and went straight down the hallway. Dad rang the doorbell, and a woman answered the door. Knee-length navy blue suit with a white blouse and the tightest bun I ever saw. Not even Mrs. Norris had a bun that tight. Holy shit. Who was this woman?

Dad said something with his hands.

The woman closed the door. She came a minute or two later with a rake in her hand. She held it out in front of Dad. When Dad didn’t take it, she kept shoving it in his face. When he did take it, she said something with her hands and slammed the door.

I heard of little old ladies that were mean or too old to care. This woman, though… I couldn’t find a word to describe it. I thought I knew them all. Rude or nasty somehow didn’t cover it.

It looked like a standard rake to me. They painted the teeth a nice bright blue. Most of it was rusted, though. The handle looked smooth and shiny. Other than that, nothing to it. What did you expect us to do with it?

Dad stood there and looked at it. I think he was thinking the same thing. He shrugged, and we followed him out of the building.

“I thought things would be different,” Dad said as he started the car. “I should’ve known better. We’re going back home so I can find out more about this special rake and Uncle Otis.”

I had a feeling it was going to be a long time before we found any answers. With any luck, that snowstorm would show up tomorrow.

All of us were in the car with Dad’s hand on the key. I’m sure if there were one of those old clocks that ticked, it would have made itself known. I started to wonder how long Dad could keep his hand on the key.

He exited the car and waited. Mom and I got out of the car, and the car beeped when he pushed the button. “I have always apologized or tried to explain myself. Why do I have to always do that? No more. We are going up there to demand answers. I don’t care if she’s old. She should’ve thought of that before she wrote that letter.” He hit the roof of the car before he ran up the steps.

I shrugged my shoulders and followed him. He knocked on the door, and we waited. It took a good long while before an old man answered. “She wants to know if you came to apologize?”

Dad laughed. “She’s apologizing.” He handed the letter out to her.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“She’ll know. She should anyway since she’s the one who wrote why we are here.”

“She is a mature woman with many things to do. Something like this would be too menial for her to remember.”

“I don’t know who you are or what role you play in her life. You could be Uncle Otis, for all I know. I don’t care. Tell her I’m not buying the I’m an old woman explanation. She knows where I live if she wants to contact me.”

He closed the door. I thought we would be leaving after that, but Dad stayed.

“If you two want to leave. I completely understand. I will bear no grudge. Honest to God.” He crossed his chest. “I’m just wondering what’s going to happen next.”

“Dad. Come on. I’m kinda wondering what’s going to happen now myself.”

“Eh. That report can wait. This is family.”

He turned around and gave us both a hug. The door opened, and it was Aunt Glennis this time.

I didn’t know anything about sign language. Yeah, it took me a couple of minutes before I remembered what ASL stood for. Anyway, it looked like Dad was angry based on what I knew about body language.

It wasn’t literal punches, but something that looked like it, and his face was tight. That always told me I needed to give Dad a bit before confronting him again. I guess Aunt Glennis didn’t learn that lesson. She kept going at it.

Her body language was about the same, which meant both were angry. I moved to stand on the other side of Mom, so I didn’t get elbowed. About as soon as it started, it finished, and the door slammed shut with Dad making fists.

I tugged on Mom’s finger to get her attention. I motioned for us to get going. Mom nodded, and we both left.

It might not have been what should’ve happened, but what else were we going to do? Mom had the keys so that we could wait in the car. I sat back in the seat and watched the door. Whoever that old man was, he better not beat up Dad. He’ll have to deal with me.

The door opened, and out Dad came. I didn’t see any bruises on his face when he looked up. His jaw was still tight, though. He punched the dashboard and screamed.

It was at these moments I wished I still had Mr. Teddy. Not for me but to give to Dad. Mom turned around and put her hand on his shoulder. He fell back against the seat and kept crying.

“Shh. It’s OK, Honey. I’ll drive.” She patted his shoulder.

He looked up at her and nodded before he opened the door. They got out at the same time and switched sides.

I didn’t know Mom knew the area. I only guessed that because it wasn’t the same route we took to get there. It seemed to take a little longer to get home.

I wanted to know what happened, but I knew Dad. He would tell us if he felt we needed to know. Meanwhile, I had to wait. I hated waiting.

With it being a weekday, which meant I missed school. I could always tell them I was sick. Not hard since this pandemic things started.

Dad cleared his throat. “I know this is Wednesday, and that means Bridget missed school. I’ll talk to them in the morning. Let me say thank you. I love you both.” He smiled.

“You’re welcome,” Mom said. “Let me get some food cooking, and we’ll conquer tomorrow.” Mom opened the fridge and took out some food.

I sat at the table and realized something. I could learn ASL and then maybe understand that whole interaction. There will always be a need for an interpreter, after all. I wished I took good notes.

Please visit Calliope on her blog: https://calliopenjosstories.home.blog/

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Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by Alexei from Pixabay.

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

The Garden Gnome

D. A. Ratliff

Miriam Granville Ashley tapped the steering wheel, revealing her frustration in the slow cadence of her fingertips.

“Why is she always late?”

A scoff from Nellie-Kate Carlton, sitting in the backseat, met her question. “Eleanor has never had a sense of time. She only worries about sunrise and sunset.”

“it’s a quarter to ten. If she doesn’t hurry, we’ll be late—again.”

A minute passed in silence before the front door opened, and Eleanor Morton rushed down the steps, opened the car door, and slid in, chattering away.

“Sorry, I was talking to Marvin about the new camellia bed. I had him dig up some older rose bushes I took cuttings from to propagate. Now I have to decide how I want to decorate the flower bed. What do you think? The bed is under the oaks in the back corner lot. A statue? A small fountain?”

“Good morning, Eleanor. How are you?”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “All right. I know I get worked up about my garden. Did I tell you I am having an addition put on the greenhouse?”

Nellie-Kate leaned forward. “Yes, you did at lunch on Wednesday.”

They continued to chat about flowers, their favorite subject, until they arrived at Hopewell Gardens, parked, and made their way to the Doll House for the Garden Club’s monthly botanical lecture.

Nellie-Kate stopped to look at a floral bed along the path. “Honestly, how do they get these begonias so full? I pinch mine back all the time, and they still get leggy.”

Miriam let out an exasperated sigh. “Nellie-Kate, you are not sixty yet. Why do you wear those old-lady shoes?”

Looking down at her sensible low-heeled pumps, Nellie uttered her own exasperated sigh. “What is wrong with my shoes? They’re comfortable.”

“Oh, my…. I am taking you to Augusta this weekend to get some shoes that belong to the twenty-first century.”

Eleanor tugged at Nettie-Kate’s sleeve. “Come on, you two. We’re going to be late.”

Her friends exchanged amused looks and followed Eleanor.

By twelve-thirty, the trio was sitting at a sidewalk table at their favorite downtown restaurant. Nellie-Kate waved her pimento cheese sandwich in the air. “You know, we’ve been members of the Garden Club since we were in college and went to meetings with our moms when we were little. When did these women get so highfalutin?”

Miriam smirked and shook her head. “You mean Cilla Ward?”

“Yes, her. She thinks she’s so important. And her hanger-on friend, Zelda Robertson, is not much better. That woman is so overdramatic and over-gushes about everything. “

“I hear Cilla’s husband made his money in some stock deal that the Feds investigated for months before they cleared him of wrongdoing.” Eleanor leaned back in her chair with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Bless her heart. I’m sure she didn’t have any knowledge of that.”

“Well, ladies, he was cleared, and we don’t gossip, remember?”

Eleanor scrunched her nose. “You always were the proper one, not letting us have fun.”

“Someone has to keep you two out of trouble.”

Nellie-Kate wrinkled her now at Miriam. “Did you hear Janet Barker’s garden was vandalized? The hooligans sprayed black paint all over her gazebo, broke pots, trampled her herb garden, and chopped up that azalea hedge outside the screen porch.”

“I heard about it last night from Blake when he and Hayden came for dinner. Lauren and Samantha were at a cotillion event.”

“Surely you are not going to make debutante out of Sam?”

“No, Eleanor, but it is a wonderful opportunity for her to learn manners and dancing. Sam is fine with that, but she wants no part of the ball.”

“Eleanor, you know Sam as well as I do. She would never do such an outdated thing.” Nellie-Kate turned toward Miriam. “Did Blake have any idea who is trashing all these gardens?”

“No. Only one house had security cameras, and they saw a figure, but it stayed out of camera range, and they never got a good look. Janet’s garden makes nine vandalized in the last month.”

“Any suspects? A disgruntled horticulturist?”

“Blake says they have questioned all the garden and lawn services in the area but have no leads.” Miriam picked up her phone. ”It’s almost one o’clock. I need to get home. The air conditioning repairman is coming at two. I was lucky to get him on a Friday afternoon. I’ll have enough time to run you two home, then get home and change.”

“I need to go as well. Jessie Lynn is coming to pick me up at four, and we are going to Augusta for Shane’s birthday.” She motioned for the server to bring the check. “Lunch is on me.”

Saturday morning was overcast, with rain expected in the afternoon. Miriam was up at her usual hour of six a.m., had breakfast, showered, and headed to the stables to see if her daughter was already in the barn.

It was late January, and the temperature would be seventy degrees today, but the rain would usher in a cold front. She mentally checked off a list of what plants she might want to bring in and what to cover as she walked to the barn.

Her daughter was already tending to the stabled horses. “Morning, Mom. How was your dinner last night.”

Warmth flushed Miriam’s cheeks, and she stammered a bit, causing her daughter to laugh. “I swear, Poppy, I am fixin’ to whip you. You’re not too old. I’ll have you know. I had a nice evening with Alex, and he left around eleven-thirty.”

“Good. I like him. Wanna help me with that little bay? She is feisty.”

“Sure.” Miriam paused, “I like him too.” 

She had thrown a clean blanket over the bay while her daughter filled the feed trough when her phone rang. It was Eleanor. “Hi, how was the party?”

“Miriam, please come.” 

“What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

“No. The police are here. It’s Marvin. I found him in the greenhouse this morning. He’s dead. Murdered.”

~~~

Miriam pulled up to the wrought iron gate across Eleanor’s driveway. An Aiken police officer stationed at the entrance gate approached her.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I can’t allow anyone inside.”

“Officer, Mrs. Morton is my closest friend, and she called me to come to be with her.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but….”

“Officer, is Detective Ashley here?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“He’s my son. Let him know I am here.”

A brief radio call and the officer waved her in. Her pulse, already fast, began a staccato beat as the police cars, an ambulance, and the coroners’ van came into view. She parked away from the official vehicles and walked up to the officer standing on the porch, identifying herself and asking for her son.

Blake came to the door. “Mom?”

“Eleanor called me to come. May I see her?”

“Sure, I’ve taken her initial statement, so it’s fine. Come with me.”

Miriam never entered Eleanor’s house without a sense of awe. The antebellum design was breathtaking, as was the sweeping staircase in the foyer, centered in the structure and open to the second floor. The rooms led off the u-shaped walkways surrounding the staircase, the walls between the doors covered in art. Blake led her to the small study at the back of the house, where she found Eleanor, still in her robe, sitting on a brocade settee, staring out the window.

She rose, rushing to Miriam. “Oh, it was awful. There was blood everywhere, and that poor man was lying dead in the greenhouse’s doorway.”

“How did you find him?”

“I came downstairs for coffee around six-thirty and noticed Marvin’s truck next to the back gate. I wasn’t expecting him to be here, so I slipped on my gardening shoes and walked out to see why he was here this morning.”  Eleanor’s hand pressed against her mouth. “He was lying in the doorway, his shirt and the cobblestone path soaked in dark dried blood. Lying beside him was that old rusty blue cultivating rake covered in blood.” She began to sob, and Miriam slipped her arms around her friend.

“How horrifying for you.”

She straightened up. “Blake told me there was damage in the garden. I hadn’t noticed.”  

“Let me make you a cup of coffee. You call your children while I’m gone.”

Miriam went to the kitchen, started the coffee, and stepped onto the screened porch. Spotting her son, she called him over.

“Do you know what happened?”

Blake gave her a knowing grin. “Mom, I can’t tell you.”

“Blake Lamont Ashley, this is one of my two best friends in the world, and she has had a shock. Besides, we all knew Marvin and his family. Now tell me, what happened here?”

“Okay, I will tell you my theory. This is not official, understand?”

“Yes, now tell me.”

“We believe Marvin died yesterday, early evening, from being struck in the chest with a garden rake.”

“Yes, that old cultivating rake.”

“Yes. My theory is Marvin was still here after dark, as the greenhouse light was on. With the damage to the flower beds and statues, the vandal must have snuck into the yard to trash Eleanor’s garden and was surprised by Marvin and killed him.”

“How tragic. He likely stayed to tend to the seedlings, and it cost him his life.”

“Looks that way, Mom. Listen, the coroner is about to remove the body, so keep Eleanor away from the windows. They will be transporting the body to the front drive.”

“Who is going to tell his family?”

“The chief has been a friend of the family forever. He’s doing the notification. Tell Ms. Eleanor that I would like to have her tour the yard with me in a bit to determine the damage done.”

Miriam returned to the study with the coffee and a few slices of coffee cake she found. Eleanor was on the phone but ended the call.

“My daughter is on her way to Columbia and wanted to turn around, but I told her you were here, and I was fine. “

Miriam handed her a piece of cake. “Eat this and drink your coffee. I’m going to call Nellie-Kate and let her know what is happening. And after you finish your coffee, you should dress. Blake wants you to tour the garden damage with him.”

An hour passed before Blake came in and asked Eleanor to come with him. When Miriam stood to join them, he shook his head. “Mom, you need to wait here.”

“I’ll do no such thing. I’m smart enough not to touch anything, and I need to be with Eleanor for support.”

“Blake, please, I want your mother with me.”

The damage was bad but not as extensive as Miriam had feared. Yet, it was bad enough. The vandal ripped several of the new camellia plants out of the ground. A statue in one corner lay broken on the ground. Throughout the yard, there was damage to potted plants, flower beds, and shrubs. Eleanor was on the verge of tears but remained composed.

A forensics tech followed them, taking photos as another wrote down the damage. As they approached the greenhouse, Eleanor became more nervous. A numbered yellow evidence marker stood next to the blood-soaked cobblestones.

Blake offered his hand to her. “Ms. Eleanor, if you can take a quick look inside and let me know what is damaged, I’d appreciate it. Let me help you step inside.”

She nodded and navigated over the bloody area. “Goodness gracious, that fool damaged my rose cuttings and several orchids, and look at my vegetable seedlings, all knocked off the bench. Who would do such an awful thing?” As she started to step out, she pointed to a corner of the bench. “Where did that hideous thing come from?”

Miriam and Blake peered into the greenhouse to see a garden gnome sitting in the corner. Blake turned to her. “That isn’t yours?”

“Sweet heavens, no. I abhor those ugly things. Marvin would never bring something like that into the garden.”

“This isn’t your gnome, Ms. Eleanor?”

“No, it is not.”

“Then it might be evidence.”

“I’ve seen enough. I’m going inside.”

As Eleanor disappeared into the house, Miriam asked, “Blake, can I take Eleanor to lunch? Nellie-Kate has asked us to her house.”

“Yes, it will be a while before we finish here. Is there anywhere she can stay tonight? Might be better just….”

“Just in case the killer comes back?”

“I think it would be wise.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

~~~

“Don’t be silly, Eleanor. You will stay here with me. Gray is gone for four more days, and the house will be quiet without dear hubby underfoot.”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”  Eleanor propped her feet on an ottoman as Nellie-Kate’s Maine Coon cat, Atticus, jumped in her lap.

“See, Atticus is insisting you stay.”

Miriam smiled. “Atticus will not take no for an answer, and your daughter won’t be home until tomorrow, so you should stay here.”

Eleanor looked toward the window, staring at Nellie-Kate’s garden. “Seeing Marvin’s daughter was so hard. She lost her mother two years ago and now her father.” She turned her gaze to her friends. “Very kind of you both to order food to be delivered to the family.” 

“It’s the least we could do. Now, let’s trust Blake to find Marvin’s killer.”

~~~

After church, the three friends stood on the steps discussing where to have lunch when Cilla Ward and her friend Zelda Truman joined them.

“Eleanor, my dear, I was so sorry to hear about your gardener—murdered right under your nose. How terribly frightening that must have been.”

Miriam noticed Eleanor stiffen, but the smile never left her face. “Thank you so much, Cilla.”

“Oh, ladies, I do hope this will not keep you from the upcoming Spring Garden Tour. Zelda and I are in charge of the gala afterward, where the garden club awards the best spring garden prize. Zelda has the most wonderful vendors coming, not to mention the trophies.”

Zelda smiled, and Miriam thought she had never seen so many white teeth displayed in such a phony smile. The woman was even more vacuous when she spoke.

“Ladies, I’ve had so much fun finding special things to sell in the vendors’ hall. My garage is full of the best gardening goodies.”  Miriam shuddered. Nothing worse than a phony except a phony Southern woman who gave real Southern women a bad name.

Nellie-Kate interrupted. “I’m certain it will be fun. Now, ladies, excuse us. We have plans.”

Once in the car, Nellie-Kate blew out a deep breath. “Those two are insufferable. Bless her hear, Zelda’s nothing but a phony.”

Miriam, sitting in the back seat, leaned forward. “Have either of you seen the list of the gardens participating in the tour this year?”

“No, I didn’t sign up this year. Gray and I plan on being at his folks in Florida that week. It’s their sixtieth wedding anniversary.”

Eleanor shook her head. “I sent my application in. I suppose I need to withdraw it. My garden is not in shape now, and it wouldn’t seem right with Marvin’s—Marvin’s death.”

Nellie-Kate looked at Miriam via the rearview mirror. “I can see those wheels spinning. What are you thinking?”

“What if someone is trying to eliminate the competition by vandalizing the gardens likely to win?”

“You think that’s possible?”

Eleanor grabbed her phone from her purse. “Lottie Price is handling the applications. She’ll have a list.”

By the time they arrived at the restaurant, Lottie had emailed the participants list. After they ordered, Eleanor read the names aloud. “I recognize some names from the news reports.’ She looked wide-eyed at Miriam. “Goodness gracious, could you be right?”

“Right enough. I need to call Blake and tell him.”

Miriam spoke to her son for a few minutes, and when she hung up, she tapped her finger on her lips. “Well, I wasn’t expecting what Blake just asked. He wanted to know if we knew anyone fond of garden gnomes.”

Eleanor scoffed. “A five-year-old, maybe. Have you seen some of those things? They make one that looks like it is tinkling on a tree, like a dog. Disgusting.”

“You weren’t the only one to have a gnome left in the garden. Blake said he spoke to the other victims, who said that after the police left, they had found gnomes hidden in the yard.”

“Mine wasn’t hidden.”

“No, probably because Marvin surprised whoever was there.”

Nellie-Kate shrugged. “I don’t understand why whoever killed him didn’t see that the light was on in the greenhouse?”

“I put the grow lights above the seedings on the side of the greenhouse facing the alley. Might not have realized the overhead light was on.”

Miriam bit her lower lip. “I think the killer was in the greenhouse, trashing it when Marvin walked in. Startled, the killer grabbed the rake, stuck him, and fled, leaving the gnome there.”

“But who, Mariam?” Eleanor threw up her hands. “Who would want to trash gardens and leave those ugly gnomes? Much less kill Marvin. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Not to us, but it did to someone.”

~~~

Monday morning, Miriam sat at the breakfast table, staring at her garden as her daughter walked in. “Mom, penny for your thoughts.”

Miriam laughed and turned around. “I’m sure my thoughts are worth a penny. Just worried about Eleanor. After Clarence died, Marvin was the only person she saw every day. She doesn’t have Tillie in, but three times a week now. Said she didn’t make a mess as Clarence did.”

Poppy snickered. “Knowing Ms. Eleanor, she’s still paying her full-time.”

“That she is. She has her daughter and grandkids, and Shane’s a good man.”

“She is lucky to have such a great son-in-law.”

“But being lonely is tough. I worry about you. If we weren’t living on the property, you’d be alone too.”

“There is a significant difference between Eleanor’s loneliness and my being alone. I divorced your father and, by then, didn’t love him. Clarence was, and, I think, will always be, Eleanor’s only true love. Marvin was good company for her, and they shared a passion for gardening. This is another blow to her.”

“At least she has you and Nellie-Kate.” Poppy poured a cup of coffee and sat down. “By the way, we were cleaning out that storage building behind the barn, looking for that big yolk to hang about the boarding barn door, and I didn’t realize how many wrought iron gates and pieces we had. I thought you might want to take a look at them. Some might be great for your garden here and around the main house. There are pieces to an iron gazebo there. Since you renovated this house and turned the main house into a B&B and events hall, if the gazebo is in decent shape, it would make a great wedding or photo backdrop.”

“Good idea. Let’s check it out.”

“It wasn’t until later in the day that Miriam had a thought and an idea. She called Blake and then Nellie-Kate and Eleanor to tell them she had a plan.

~~~

“This is foolish. Do you think it will work?”

“Don’t be such a downer, Nellie-Kate. It’s worth checking out.”

Eleanor huffed. “You can’t possibly think that idiot child could pull this off?”

“We will find out. Now be quiet while I call her.”

Miriam punched in the number and waited for Zelda Wade to answer. She took a deep breath and started talking.

“Zelda, Miriam Ashley here. After you mentioned all the goodies you have for the vendor hall, I was wondering if you would be interested in some antique pieces I have that would be good as garden display pieces that I would be happy to donate to the club.” …. “I’m in town now. Can I bring it by to show you?”… “Great, be there in ten minutes.”

Miriam smiled. “She bought the bait.”

Zelda lived in a gated townhouse community not far from Nellie-Kate’s house on Whiskey Road. As best they knew, she was unmarried, moving into town when Cilla and her husband arrived and had no means of support, although the gossip was she fleeced a former husband of a lot of money.

Parking on the driveway, they got out, and Zelda came out to meet them. As they had rehearsed, Nellie-Kate spoke first. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind, but we are on our way to dinner, and we were hoping to see all the wonderful things you have for the gala.”

A broad and toothy grin spread across Zelda’s face. “I’d love to show you. Let me go open the garage door.”

Miriam and Nellie-Kate lifted the gate from the SUV and leaned it up against the car as the door rose. Inside the garage were boxes stacked everywhere. “Come on in, ladies. I can’t wait to show you.” She opened a few boxes, and they ooh and awed over the collection of planters, pillows, and stained glass. Miriam was about to lead Zelda outside, distracting her, when Zelda’s phone rang, and she stepped back into the house.

“Hurry, start looking. They have to be here.”

The three women scurried about peeking into boxes. Nellie-Kate searched in the rear of the garage and, reaching for a box, caught her heel, tripped, and fell into the pile.

“Nellie-Kate, I told you about those shoes.”

“Oh wow… they’re here. Look.” Nellie-Kate held up a gnome. “It’s just like the one at Eleanor’s.”

A door slammed.” You little snoops.”

They all turned toward Zelda. Miriam took a step forward. “You, you killed Marvin.”

“Hah. Yes, he got in the way. I didn’t intend on it, but he caught me, and that rake was right there. Stupid man.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Well, Cilla’s paying me a lot to ensure she wins the best garden award. So, I had to protect my interest.”

“She knows you killed Marvin?” Eleanor took a step toward Zelda as well.

Zelda laughed. “Cilla could care less about a two-bit small-town gardener. Now, what to do about you three? Really wish it didn’t come to this, but I suspect you are going to have a tragic accident. I’m thinking over an embankment and into the Savannah River.” She moved toward the garage door switch when a ceramic garden gnome flew through the air and hit her in the back. She whirled. Her face twisted in rage.

“You witch…”

The next few seconds were a blur as more gnomes flew, some hitting the wall or glancing off Zelda’s body. Miriam noticed flashing lights as she heard cars screeching to a halt, just as a gnome found its mark, hitting Zelda in the chin. She dropped to the garage floor.

Blake and two officers rushed into the garage. “Mom, ladies, you okay?”

All three nodded. “Blake, she killed Marvin. She admitted it.”

Nellie-Kate added. “And that wicked Cilla Ward paid her to trash the gardens, and she knows Zelda killed Marvin.”

“You followed up on what I told you this morning?”

“Yes, your hunch was correct. Zelda had ordered two cases of gnomes identical to the ones found at the other crime scenes. We just got the search warrant so we could get in here. You took a risk, Mom, don’t do that again.”

 ~~~

After Marvin’s funeral, the three friends sat on Eleanor’s screened porch drinking gin and tonics. Eleanor sighed as she looked at the garden. “A lot of work to do, but I found someone to help.

“That’s great.” Miriam paused. “Blake told me they got a full confession from Zelda, who turned on Cilla and her husband. They moved here to hide out from investigations elsewhere but couldn’t stop dabbling in their old ways.”

Nellie-Kate smiled. “At least we found Marvin’s killer.”

Miriam shook her head. “Blake told me not to meddle in investigating anymore. But I just heard a rumor that shenanigans are going on at County Bank. Maybe we should see what we can find out?”

When her friends nodded in agreement, Miriam smiled. “Here’s to meddling.”

Authors Note: This foray into the cozy mystery genre is the first for me, and I chose to set the story in my hometown of Aiken, South Carolina. A quaint town known for polo and horse shows, beautiful gardens, and the best bar-b-que found anywhere. I got a bit carried away, so this is a bit longer than Write the Story works should be, but I hope you enjoyed this trio of Southern Sleuths. Thanks for reading!

Please visit Deborah on her blog: https://daratliffauthor.wordpress.com

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Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by Alexei from Pixabay.

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Closing In

Lynn Miclea

Her mouth open in shock, Brenda stared at the TV. Another murder in the local community. How could that be happening in the sweet town of Hollis Springs where she had lived all her life?

She heard the news anchor now saying they finally confirmed the murder weapon — a blue rake. Shaking her head, she turned off the TV. She didn’t want to hear any more.

What was happening? Multiple murders? In her own community? She shuddered. Too many people were getting killed there lately. How could there be a serial killer in their laid-back town? A bit jittery, she scurried around the house checking all the doors and windows. All closed and locked. Good. A bit more relaxed, she returned to the kitchen to finish making dinner.

She jumped as the door to a back room suddenly slammed. Looking up, she watched her husband enter the room. “Ken, is everything okay? I heard the door slam.”

Her husband scowled. “Bruce just gets on my nerves sometimes. He’s annoying the crap out of me.” He waved his hands dismissively. “It’s okay, I’m letting it go. I’ll just stay away from him from now on.” He stared off into the distance, then brought his gaze back to Brenda. “Hey, what’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

“I made hamburgers. I thought—”

“What? You know I—” Ken suddenly stopped talking, his face showing rage, the raven tattoo on his neck pulsing. Then his features softened. “I’m sorry. Hamburgers are fine. Is it almost ready? I’m really hungry.”

Brenda hesitated. She hated when he got like this, and he seemed to be getting angry more often lately. But it looked like he was letting it go this time, and she relaxed. But she also sensed that a good amount of anger still simmered underneath the surface with him. She would have to be careful not to set him off again.

“Yes, it will be ready in just a few minutes.” She watched him for a few minutes. She knew she had to tread lightly for a while.

Neither of them said much during dinner, and Brenda was glad when it was over. As she washed the dishes, she wondered what was bothering him so much the past few weeks. He was definitely more tense and anxious lately, and she had no idea why.

***

Her friend Judy, from up the street, called the next afternoon. “I can’t believe how many people have been killed,” Judy said. “These murders are really disturbing.”

“I know. It’s really unnerving.” Brenda kept her voice low. “It’s been making me feel scared and more jumpy. And I think maybe that’s what’s happening with Ken, too. He’s been tense lately and hasn’t said much, but he’s been complaining about Bruce again. Sweet Bruce, can you believe it? Maybe the murders are getting to everyone.”

There was a catch in Judy’s voice. “Hey, did you hear the news this morning? Bruce was killed yesterday.”

“What?” Brenda gripped the phone tighter.

“He’s the latest victim. Hacked to death with that blue rake.”

“That can’t be …” Her voice trailed off as a tremor of fear ran up her spine.

After hanging up, Brenda remembered she needed to bring a new box of tissues into the house, and she ran out to the garage to get one. On her way back, she noticed a blue rake leaning against the garage wall. Did Ken always have a blue rake? Goosebumps rose on her arms. He must have had that a while. She was sure it was a common rake and there were many blue rakes around. It was just a coincidence.

She went inside, placed the box of tissues on the counter, and turned on the TV. Discussion of the murders blared from the screen, and now the news anchor disclosed that the rake used in the murders had a distinguishing mark on it — a red gouge on the handle. Brenda felt relieved. She did not remember seeing any red mark on the one in the garage yesterday. Fear was definitely getting the best of her, and she needed to relax.

As she started toward her office to pay a few bills, the warning about the red gouge on the rake played at the edges of her mind. She had to be sure to put herself at ease. She ran back to the garage and looked where she had seen the blue rake the day before. It had been moved. Where was it? Looking around, she finally noticed it stuck in a corner, now covered with an old towel. Was it being deliberately hidden? Her hand shaking, she slowly lifted the towel and peered at the blue rake. She gasped as she saw a large red gouge near the top of the handle staring back at her. She swallowed hard.

Hearing the door leading back to the house creak open, she jumped and quickly pulled the towel back down and turned around.

Ken stood there, staring at her. “What are you doing?”

“I … I … I’m getting tissues. We needed another box.” Brenda quickly moved to the side wall of the garage and picked up another box of tissues. “See? I needed this.” She wiggled the box of tissues and headed back to the doorway. Had he noticed her looking at the rake? She wasn’t sure.

She shivered as Ken’s eyes intently peered at her as she walked back into the house. Could he possibly be … No, no way. Her imagination must be running wild.

Ken did not say another word, but the underlying tension was palpable. Something was definitely wrong, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was or what to do. She decided to be careful and keep a bigger distance from him for a while.

She knew he got angry a lot, but she could not believe he would be capable of murder. He was her husband. He was a kind and loving man, charming with all their friends. Well, he used to be. He had become more withdrawn lately. And yes, he got angry, but didn’t everyone?

The news was still blaring from the TV. They were now announcing another murder. The blue rake. The red gouge near the handle. Asking if anyone had information …

Ken turned off the TV. “We don’t need to hear more of this.” He seemed agitated.

Brenda quickly nodded. “I agree, it’s enough, and it’s disturbing. I don’t want to hear more.”

Ken stormed out of the room as the phone rang.

Brenda picked it up and heard Judy’s frantic voice. “Brenda, did you hear the latest? My next-door neighbor was just killed.” She seemed to choke on her words. “Can I meet you outside? Right now? Please?”

“Yes, of course.” Concerned at the desperation in her friend’s voice, Brenda ran outside and looked up the street to see Judy running toward her.

When Judy got closer, Brenda saw the fear in her friend’s face. “Judy, what is it?”

“Someone may have seen the murderer, and the news people are now putting out a description.” Her voice trembled. “Someone who resembles your husband was seen in the area around the time of the murder. It could be a coincidence, I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you to watch your back.”

A shiver of fear ran up Brenda’s spine. “Judy, I need to tell you something. Please don’t think I’m crazy.” She hesitated. Should she even say this? “I found a blue rake in the garage. It has a red gouge near the handle, just like they said on the news. I … I …”

Judy’s eyes widened. “Do you want to stay with me?”

“No, no, I can’t arouse suspicion in him, and I don’t want to get him angry. I just don’t know what to do. But it can’t be him. I can’t believe he could possibly do any of that.”

Judy nodded. “I’m going to call 911 and leave an anonymous tip. Let the cops investigate. If nothing else, it will put our minds at ease. I just want to keep you safe, and you should not have to make the call. Leave it to me. You stay out of it.”

Brenda nodded. “This is insane …” Her voice came out as a strangled whisper.

“Go back inside. Act normal. If you feel in danger, come stay with me. Okay? Promise?”

Brenda chewed on her lower lip and then slowly nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. Then she turned and ran back toward her house.

She carefully opened the front door and slipped inside.

Ken stormed at her. “Where were you?”

“I just stepped outside to say hi to Judy. Why? What’s wrong?”

Ken glared at her. “I don’t want you talking to anyone.”

Brenda shivered. “What?”

“You heard me.” Something shifted in his eyes. They looked darker. Piercing. Intense. Hateful. What was happening with him? Her eyes took in the raven tattoo on his neck, a tattoo that she used to love and that now looked frightening.

She took a step back and tried to push down the fear that was mounting. He took a menacing step toward her, and a sickening sense of dread washed over her. She tried to shake it off, but it persisted.

Ken then turned away and went to a back room, but her fear and unease remained.

Brenda kept her distance from him the rest of the day, and they did not say another word.

***

The following afternoon, the tension was still thick in the air. Brenda’s mouth was dry. Was she in danger? Had Judy called 911 the day before? Would they take her call seriously? She had no idea. They must have many tips to sift through anyway, so it would take time, if they responded to it at all.

She slowly walked into the kitchen, her throat clenched with fear. What should she do? She was afraid to stay and she was afraid to leave. At least for now, she had to pretend things were normal. She took out plates and began getting ready for lunch. Maybe if she kept calm, things would be okay.

Ken entered the kitchen and stood there watching her, a strange look on his face. He no longer looked like the husband she knew.

Her hands shaking, she grabbed a few pieces of silverware and placed them on the kitchen table. As she turned back toward him, she noticed he was holding something behind his back. What was that? A flash of a blue handle showed over his shoulder. The rake!

“Ken …”

His face contorted with rage and then quickly transformed into an intense, profound focus that she had never seen before. His eyes were daggers of ice. Her insides turned to jelly and she stood frozen in place, too terrified to move.

His right arm lifted the rake and he charged at her.

Terror took over, and she raced to the front door and flung it open. As she stepped forward, he grabbed her, his fingers digging into her upper arm.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he bellowed.

A strangled shriek came out of her, and she twisted and flew through the door, gasping for air.

Running down the front walk, she tripped and lost her balance. Powerful hands grabbed her from behind.

“NOOOO,” she screamed.

He suddenly let go and she stumbled forward.

As she glanced toward the street, she saw six uniformed policemen slowly inching toward them, weapons held steady and unwaveringly in front of them.

“Drop it!” one of the officers shouted at Ken.

Brenda heard the rake clatter to the walkway behind her as she ran toward one of the cops. Breathing hard, she stood weakly next to the officer, trying to catch her breath.

The cop peered into her face. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, unable to say anything.

“Do you know him?”

“He’s … my husband.”

As she heard one of the officers placing handcuffs on her husband and then reading him his rights, the cop in front of her spoke to her softly. “There was a detail in the suspect’s description that we withheld from the public.” He gestured toward her husband, who was now being placed into one of the patrol vehicles. “A raven tattoo on the suspect’s neck. It matches the one your husband has.”

Brenda bent forward, sobbing, her eyes closed. “No …”

The cop waited for a few moments. “You are lucky to still be alive.”

“I … I …”

“Can I ask you a few questions and get more information?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Her mind whirled. Ken was no longer the man she had married. What had happened to him? Whatever it was, she was glad she was still alive and he was no longer a threat. She would need to thank Judy for calling the cops. Without that call … She shuddered. “Let’s go inside,” she said softly.

She knew life would never be the same again. But she was grateful that the murders had finally ended.

And she was safe.

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Copyright © 2023 Lynn Miclea. All Rights Reserved.

Please visit Lynn’s blog and follow her at – https://lynnpuff.wordpress.com
Please also visit Lynn’s website for more information on her books – https://www.lynnmiclea.com
And please visit her Amazon author page at – https://www.amazon.com/Lynn-Miclea/e/B00SIA8AW4

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Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by Alexei from Pixabay.

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Almost Perfect

Cheryl Ann Guido 

Please note: This story contains mention of domestic violence.

You thought you could get away with it, so smug and sure of yourself as you hollowed out that tiny space beneath the fireplace.

For years you abused me both mentally and physically. You called me worthless, not fit to be a wife, not fit to be your wife. Yet you refused to let me go. Each time I tried to leave, somehow, you found me and dragged me back to that house of hell.

Of course, living in the sticks on a farm with no neighbors for miles pretty much guaranteed that I couldn’t get far even if I did manage to escape. Having no employees to work the farm kept you in complete control of me. I had no friends or anyone else to talk to, no one to rescue me from your cruelty.

The farm did not produce much. How could it with only you to till the soil? Each harvest yielded just enough of the crop of the season to buy necessary items. A few chickens provided us with fresh eggs, and a small herd of pigs and steer kept us supplied with more than enough meat. You also had a horse but who knows why since you hardly ever rode him. On the rare occasions when other items were needed, you went into town alone. By the time our relationship ended, with one exception, I had not talked to another human being in almost five years.

When I first met you, I felt great admiration of your ambitions, and when we married, I looked forward to aiding you in your lofty goals. Before long, however, it became clear that you did not want any input or help from me.

Besides providing a modest income, the farm served as a place of solitude and quiet where you could hone your skills as a writer. Each night, after chores were finished, you closed yourself up in the little office adjacent to our bedroom. At first, my heart burst with pride being married to such a prolific author. Your first three books, all murder mysteries, hit number one and became best sellers mere days after publication. Your talent in creating seemingly unsolvable cases propelled you to celebrity status, yet you never seemed to enjoy any of your newfound popularity. Instead, you remained isolated here on the farm like a hermit in a cave.

As the first year blended into the second, I became restless and suffered the maddening loneliness of someone cut off from the world. When I asked to drive into town, you snapped at me, saying my place was here so I would be available when you needed me. To you, I was merely a servant, my sole existence to service your whims and needs on demand.

Shortly after our third year together began, I decided to leave you and our miserable life together. Emboldened by my new found bravery, I called for a taxi. When the cab arrived, I grabbed the two suitcases filled with the only belongings I had and walked out the front door. As I descended the steps, a shot rang out, shattering the glass of the taxi’s passenger-side back window. The driver, being no fool, high-tailed it out of there, leaving me in a cloud of dirty dust with my fingers still wrapped around the handles of my bags. I turned, and there you were pointing the barrel of the shotgun right between my eyes. Your voice, so irritatingly steady and calm, told me to go back into the house. Terrified and shaken, I lumbered past you and once again entered that prison you called our home.

My next attempt at escape came a year later when we received a rare home delivery. You had ordered new fencing for the pig pen from a neighboring state. While you were occupied helping the driver unload, I snuck into the truck and wedged myself between the dashboard and the floor. When the driver got back in, I pleaded with him to not give me away and to let me have a ride. I didn’t care where. I just wanted to get far away from you. He shook his head no and said, “Lady, I don’t want no trouble. You gotta get out now.” I opened the door and looked directly into your eyes. At that time, the full impact of that old saying, ‘if looks could kill,’ hit me like a ton of bricks. I tried to hop down, but you yanked me by my hair. The delivery guy acted like he hadn’t seen a thing, closed the door, and drove away. You pulled me up the steps and slammed my body against the wall of the house. In excruciating pain, my knees buckled and I slid down to the floor, where you took advantage of my helpless position and kicked me hard in the ribs. Still not satisfied, you pulled me to my feet and punched me in the eye. “Don’t you ever try a stunt like that again, or I’ll kill you.” I should have believed you. I should have but I didn’t.

My last attempt at freedom happened one cold December night five years into our marriage. After you drank yourself into a stupor and passed out, I ran to the barn. My intention was to get on that old horse and ride. I had no destination other than somewhere because anywhere had to be better than that torture chamber of a farm. I had no idea how to saddle that beast so I just climbed onto his back and grabbed a handful of mane. Before I could say giddy-up, there you were, standing in the open doorway scowling, breathing hard and fast. I’ll never forget the dull thud of the barn door closing, filling me with a sense of finality as it cut off my hopes and dreams of a better life. You picked up a rake that had been leaning against the wall. Visions of you using that same rake to muck out the horse shit flooded my mind.

They say that animals can sense impending danger. Well, true or not, that nag got spooked. He reared up, both front hooves flailing in the air, and down I tumbled. You watched and waited a moment with wide eyes and dilated pupils. Afraid for my life, I screamed and begged you not to hurt me. You ignored my pleas, saying nothing. I guess that for you, the third time was the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak, because you then came at me, swinging that rusty rake. I slid backwards on the floor and managed to crawl inside a huge mound of loose hay. I don’t know why I did that. Maybe I felt like that little kid who pulls the covers over her head to safely hide from the bogeyman. This hiding spot, however, provided no safety from my personal bogeyman.

Patiently waiting, you focused on that pile of hay until you saw it shift with the movement of my body. Grunting, you swung the rake, prongs down, savoring the sound of my voice screeching in agony as the sharp tips penetrated my back. I flipped over, and you hit me again, this time leaving long lines of bloody gullies from my breasts to my navel. The hay no longer covered my quivering form, and my blood-soaked body emerged, totally exposed and vulnerable.

My arms wrapped around my midsection in an attempt to stop the rush of blood oozing from my wounds, but you were not finished. You lifted that garden tool over your head then smashed it into my chest, burying the prongs all the way up to the crossbar. Your makeshift weapon had found its intended mark as it penetrated my heart and my world went black.

Afterwards, you spent the entire next day removing bricks from the floor of our big fireplace. You dug a deep hole, shoved my body inside then sealed everything back up. To ensure that you would not be blamed for my death, you contacted the Sheriff and reported me missing. When the authorities arrived, you explained that you had found the bloody rake and hay when you went to investigate the sound of your horse neighing incessantly while he kicked the sides of his stall. You then related that as you approached the barn, you saw a man run out and disappear into the woods behind our home. When one of the deputies asked if you thought he had anything to do with my disappearance, you said, “All I know is I saw a stranger run from my barn. When I went inside, I found what looked like a crime scene. It was then that I realized I hadn’t seen my wife for several hours.”

They searched for days trying to find me dead or alive. The FBI tested the blood on the rake and found that it matched my blood type. At that point, my case went from missing to possible homicide. Lucky for you, DNA testing hadn’t been invented yet.

A month went by with no trace of either me or the mysterious stranger. It became clear that chances of finding me were slim or none. As a result, my case was eventually designated as unsolved and all of the evidence they had discovered, including that rake, ended up in an evidence locker.

You went on with your life without me. It was as if I had never existed. You even wrote another perfect murder mystery loosely based on the events of that fateful evening. Years went by, over forty to be exact. Now an old man, you no longer were able to work the farm. You sold it to some big developer. As soon as the sale became final, you moved to Canada intending to live out your golden years far away from the scene of my demise.

 During excavation of the land, the workers discovered my bones while demolishing the old farmhouse. That put in motion an interesting chain of events. Local law enforcement reopened my cold case. The rake, along with a shard of bloody clothing that had been unearthed along with my body, yielded DNA, your DNA and your fingerprints. Nobody else had touched that evidence. What were you thinking when you sold to that housing developer? Didn’t you realize the land would be dug up and the soil shifted? Maybe, in your sadistic twisted mind, you thought they wouldn’t be able to identify my body or if they did, they still would not be able to connect my murder to you. Well, whatever it was, you thought wrong, dead wrong. Pardon my pun. Subsequently, you found yourself on a plane back home from Canada. Too bad for you that Canada has an extradition agreement with the U.S.

A smart prosecutor theorized that there had never been a stranger and that you had killed me, then buried me in a place you thought I would never be discovered. He cited specific chapters of your book that paralleled the real-life events of the night I disappeared. After a sensational trial that made national headlines due to your fame as such a respected and revered mystery writer, you were found guilty of First Degree Murder, sentenced to the ultimate punishment and sent to the state penitentiary to await your execution date. Even after ten years of appeals, your legal team was unable to have your death sentence commuted to life in prison.

         So here we are. You strapped down and ready for the lethal injection that is so final with my ghostly presence standing right beside you. They say a spirit remains earthbound if they have unfinished business. I’ve been waiting for half a century to finish my business. I needed justice. I demanded retribution for a life of torture and a heinous death. Looking at your helpless and pathetic form lying on the gurney, I can honestly say I’ve found both. I am ready to cross over. You will cross over too. I would say, “See you in Hell,” but I’m pretty sure only one of us will end up there. Silly, sad little man. You should have known that there is no such thing as the perfect murder.

Please visit Cheryl on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cherylannguidoauthor

Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by Alexei from Pixabay.

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

The Once Remembered Rake

Kenneth Lawson

“You remember that old rake?”

“Yeah, I sure do.” He nodded yes as they sorted all the stuff in the garage.

 “You tried to hit me over the head with it.”

“I did not!”

June grinned as the memory of their first fall and raking leaves out in front of their new house came back to her. She leaned partially against the garage doorframe and on the blue rake.

Jake saw her and dropped the box he’d just picked up. He walked over, put his arms around her, and hugged and kissed her neck lightly.

“Hey, it’s okay, hun. We both knew this was coming.” June sighed and placed her hand over his, letting the old blue rake fall against the wall.

“Yeah, I know, but…” she paused, “we’ve been here for so long.”

“I know, thirty years, but, as I do, you know it’s time to let go.”

“It’s never time to let go.”

Jake nodded yes silently, but in his heart, he knew they had to give up the old place. It was far more than either of them could take care of anymore, and he felt like it was time for a change, but this wasn’t the change he had in mind.

They returned to the task at hand, clearing out the garage for the moving men to use when they started to move their belongings into storage.

The back shelf boxes reminded him they’d had a good life here—old Christmas tree decorations, board games not played in ages, and boxes and boxes of old papers. He didn’t dare peek into any of them, knowing that it would upset June to see them again. So, he carefully labeled them and marked them for the movers to put into storage.

The grandkids would get a kick out of the old games. Grandkids—now that was a thought. The idea that their kids now had kids made him feel even older and more useless. He knew he wasn’t useless, but that didn’t stop the feeling from occurring now and again.

The last few years were hard on June, and it was just too much to take care of her and keep himself going these days. Their older son would move into the house as they needed more space than their other children.

And now that was the big question. They’d always been together, and the idea of not seeing her every night tore at him. But he knew, even if she didn’t anymore, that she needed care he could never give her. The decision to place her in a nursing home was difficult. He would live with his son and family. Part of him knew it was for the best of both of them, but, dammit, he thought he could take care of her. He couldn’t.

~~~

Several weeks later, Jake and June’s lives evolved once more. June was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and he moved her into a nursing home specializing in working with Alzheimer’s patients. Jake settled comfortably into his middle son’s spare bedroom and quickly remembered what it was to live with a teenager.

Every day he visited the home to see June. Some days her face lit up as she remembered him, and they could talk for hours about the kids and their life together. But it became harder and harder for him to go every day as the days she knew him became fewer and fewer.

Jake and his children consulted with the doctors, who told them her memory was almost gone. June lived in her own world, and they doubted that she recognized herself. Soon he stopped going as often as there was no point. She didn’t know him, and it only shattered his heart to see her like this.

~~~

It was late spring, Jake continued living at his son’s house, and things had gone much smoother than he’d expected. He and his grandson grew to be friends. He took him fishing and hunting or spinning the vinyl records he gave him, to the chagrin of his family. His grandson liked Miles Davis as much as he did.

Jake had to admit that he was doing okay until he thought of June. Then he couldn’t stand himself. It wasn’t fair that he had a good life, but she lay in a bed, not remembering her life. The last time he’d seen her, he didn’t recognize the small, frail body on the bed. He could barely look at her. He left the building crying and had never been back.

Molly Kane was an old friend of theirs and June’s best friend. Now a widow, Molly had visited June over the last several months, and they’d gone together numerous times. June didn’t recognize either of them.

After visiting, they often stopped at a small cafe near the nursing home to drink coffee and reminisce about their glory days. Soon he found himself spending time with Molly. It occurred to him one day that he had feelings for her but put them aside. He was too old. Too old to have feelings for anyone, and what about June? Then his alter ego spoke up. I’m old, not dead, and as for June, I’ll always love her and miss her, but Molly is here and now, and she understands me. Right now, I need that. He convinced himself and never looked back.

After June slipped into the next world, Jake and Molly grieved for the woman they both loved. Both realized that they were alive and loved and needed each other. After a mourning period, Jake and Molly moved in together and happily lived the remainder of their lives.

But Jake always knew the day would come when he joined June, his true love, in the next world. 

Please visit Kenneth on his website: http://kennethlawson.weebly.com

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Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by Alexei from Pixabay.

Welcome to Write the Story!

The majestic ruins of the Ring of Brodgar inspired great stories in November. December finds us with a snowy prompt to spur your muse. Thanks to all who shared their writing with us and to all of you who read their work!

On to the January 2023  prompt!

A reminder: WU! created this project with two goals: providing a writing exercise and promoting our author sites to increase reader traffic. We ask that you please include a link to the Writers Unite! blog when you post your story elsewhere. By doing so, you are also helping promote your fellow members and Writers Unite! We encourage all of you to share each other’s stories to help all of us grow. Thanks!

Write the Story! January 2022 Prompt

Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by Alexei from Pixabay.

Here’s the plan:

• You write a story of 3000 words or less (minimum 500 words) or a poem (Minimum 50 words) based on and referring to the image provided and post it on the author site you wish to promote. Don’t forget to give your story a title. (Note: You do not have to have a website/blog/FB author page to participate, your FB profile or WordPress link is fine.)
• Please edit these stories. We will do minor editing, but WU! reserves the right to reject publishing the story if poorly written.
• The story must have a title and author name and must include the link to the site you wish to promote.
• Send the story and link to the site via Facebook Messenger to Deborah Ratliff or email to writersunite16@gmail.com. Put “Write the Story” in the first line of the message.
• Please submit your story by the 25th day of the month.

WU! will post your story on our blog and share it across our platforms— FB, Twitter, Instagram, etc. The story will also be available in the archives on the WU! blog, along with the other WTS entries.

We ask that you share the link to the WU! blog so that your followers can also read your fellow writers’ works.

The idea is to generate increased traffic for all. It may take some time, but it will happen if you participate. The other perk of this exercise is that you will also have a blog publishing credit for your writing.

Please visit Writers Unite! Facebook and join us at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/145324212487752/