D. A. Ratliff: Hiraeth

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! 

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Hiraeth

D. A. Ratliff

Hiraeth: A deep homesickness; an intense form of longing or nostalgia for a place long gone, or even an unaccountable homesickness for a place you have never visited.

Home.

My true home was over three thousand miles away, but the moment I stepped from the ferry’s gangplank onto the pier, an overwhelming sense of peace and calm enveloped me. It was nearing midnight, and despite the bustle of activity around the dock, I stood still, relishing the feeling that I belonged in this place. The emotions took me by surprise. Why did I come to this archipelago in the North Sea? I needed to find out.

I ordered an Uber ride before the ferry docked, and a car was waiting for me. The young driver graciously retrieved my bags from the luggage area, and we were soon on our way to Kirkwall, the main city on the isle of Orkney.

“Ms. Findlay, your first time on Orkney?” I smiled at the deep brogue, forcing me to listen closely. The Scots had a unique command of the English language.

“Yes, it is. I wanted to see the ancient sites.”

“Ah, you’ll not be disappointed. I’m Tamron Reid. I am going to university in Glasgow to study archaeology. This summer, I’m taking part in a survey of several sites by a team from Cambridge University. You should come to the sites and spend some time with us. I am sure Dr. Stuart would be happy to show you around. We are at the Ring of Brodgar most of the time.”

“I’d like that.”

He continued to tell me about their study sites until we reached the hotel. He helped me take my bags into the lobby and then, after asking permission, texted me his name and number. As he departed, I approached the front desk to check in.

A man with silver hair greeted me with a broad smile and then turned his gaze to the computer monitor. “Welcome to the Kirkwall Hotel. May I have your name? We’ll get you checked in and to your room.”

“Yes, the reservation is under Findlay—Isla Findlay.”

The desk clerk’s head snapped up. His eyes were wide as he stared at me. My skin prickled at his reaction. “Is there something wrong?”

He sucked in a breath while staring and stammered when answering. “No—everything is fine. I knew a wee lass named Isla many years ago. Your name just struck me.” He looked back at the monitor. “I see you plan on staying with us for at least two weeks?” I answered yes, and he continued. “Wonderful. May I see your passport and credit card?”

I handed him the documents. “It’s so nice to be where people know how to pronounce my name. Back home, I get ‘ell sa,’ not ‘eye la.’ Spend a lot of time explaining how to say it.”

The clerk swallowed. “It’s a lovely name.” He pressed a buzzer, and a young man appeared through a side door. “Denny will take you to your room. Since you’ll be with us for so long, I’ve given you a large room facing the harbor. I hope you’ll be comfortable. Enjoy your stay with us.”

Denny gathered my bags, and as we waited at the elevator, I glanced back at the clerk. He continued to stare at me as if he had seen a ghost. I shivered. Why would he have such a reaction to me and my name?

Once in the room, I slipped off my shoes, flopped on the bed, and Facetimed my best friend. Sabrina squealed when she answered.

“You made it.”

“Yes. Although, I’m going to take a plane back to London. The ferry ride from Aberdeen was great but a very long six hours.”

“I still don’t understand why you chose a Scottish island in the North Sea when you could be on the Riviera, Paris, or Rome. It can’t be warm.”

“After everything, Brin, I wanted to go somewhere quiet and untouristy. I told you before I left I had no idea why Orkney Island was so appealing to me. But the second I left the ferry, I felt comfortable. But what was weird was the hotel desk clerk looked at me like I was a ghost.”

“You’re pretty. Bet he was smitten.”

“No, he’s old enough to be my grandfather. Very strange.”

“Speaking of strange, Tim and I ran into Eric at dinner last night. He asked about you.”

“Oh, he did?”

“Yes, and I told him you were doing great and touring Europe. Maybe a bit of a white lie, but he doesn’t have to know.”

“What did he say?”

“Got that pissy look on his face and said, ‘guess she’s enjoying herself on my money,’ to which I replied, ‘you bet she is.’”

I laughed. “Brin, you’re the best.”

“Jerk thinks he can pull what he tried to on you and get away with it. No way.”

“Tired here. Got acclimated to the time zone by spending the last ten days in London. Going to take a shower and go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Ending the call, I did just that.

~~~

The sun came up at the far too early hour of four-ten a.m. I had forgotten to draw the drapes, and by five a.m., light flooded my room. I vaguely remember stumbling to the window, pulling the blinds, and flopping back onto the bed. The next time I woke, it was a little after eight.

I looked out the window overlooking the harbor for my first daylight view of Kirkwall. The sky was azure blue and dotted with white clouds, but dark clouds lay on the horizon. The small harbor was large enough for a few small cruise ships and was dotted with colorful tents announcing various cruise lines. It appeared that Orkney was more touristy than I thought.

Hunger pangs hit, and I dressed and headed to the hotel restaurant. I was not adventurous enough to try haggis or kippers, so I ordered eggs scrambled with veggies and vegetarian sausage. After breakfast, I decided to explore the historical old Norse town before thinking about venturing into the countryside. The air smelled briny and, despite the sunshine, was cool. I was thankful for the heavy sweater I had brought.

My hotel was built in the 1600s, and the town was founded in the early 11th century. As I began to walk along a narrow stone-paved street, a feeling that I belonged on Orkney hugged me like a second skin. Quaint was not an appropriate word for Kirkwall. With every curve and turn in the streets, another gift store, bakery, or restaurant appeared. I browsed in the stores and had a piece of Millionaire’s Shortbread.

What surprised me was the feeling people were staring at me. Kirkwood was a significant transportation hub. The residents had to be used to strangers milling about. Maybe it was me. I was in an unfamiliar place, unlike the Maryland suburbs of Washington, DC, where I lived. I was overreacting and shook it off.

My wanderings brought me to the most famous landmark in town, the St. Magnus Cathedral. The soaring structure, constructed of red and yellow sandstone that reflected their primary colors in the sunlight, was over eight hundred years old. I entered, and yet another wave of calm enveloped me.

Soaring pillars of sandstone brick supported the ceiling, and I admired the carved woodwork and stained glass as I walked around. While I embraced my faith, I was not a regular attendee, but I sat in the simple pews absorbing the peace and realized I had missed the sense of belonging.

I sat quietly, losing track of time, when I noticed an older woman rise from a pew in front of me to leave. She smiled as she approached, then stopped.

“Lassie, you have no idea how much you look like my old friend. It’s a pleasure to see that bonnie face again. Seeing you has made me happy.” She began to walk away.

“Ma’am, someone else told me the same thing. I looked like someone they knew. Who is it?”

“Ah, it was too long ago. It doesn’t matter now. Have a good day.”

The woman shuffled away, and I was too confused to press her. I had to find out why I was getting attention.

I left the cathedral and retraced my steps to a little bistro in the old section. Luckily, I got a table after a short wait and had lunch. I browsed through a bookstore nearby and, on the way back to the hotel, stopped to arrange for a rental car the following day. Tired, I took a nap, had a quick dinner at the hotel, and read a book about Orkney Island I got at the bookstore until I became sleepy. Tomorrow, I planned to explore the island.

~~~

The early summer sunrise had me awake and downstairs having breakfast by six a.m., then off to explore. I decided to visit the Ring of Brodgar first, as it was the most impressive site on the island. My biggest worry was driving on the left side of the road. The land was verdant green among rolling ridges. Sheep, cows, solar windmills, and cultivated fields shared the terrain with the occasional house and barn. Eventually, the road followed the seashore through the village of Finntown, filled with sandstone homes and a pub or two.

Ancient stone walls and numerous houses and farms lined the road out of Finntown. After turning onto the road leading to the Ring, I drove past a smaller display of the slab monoliths that dotted the area. At the approach to the bridge leading to the next island, a stone slab stood like a sentinel guarding the way.

The first site of the Ring of Brodgar took my breath away. A ring of stone slabs stood on a low knoll, some with angular tops and some broken. I pulled into the parking lot filled with cars and tour buses and crossed the road to the path leading to the stones.

The feeling of drifting back in time was overwhelming as I neared the stones. I never believed in reincarnation, yet I felt like I had lived here in another life. I was surprised that tourists could walk among the stones along the trench where they sat. I had walked only a short distance when I heard my name called.

“Ms. Findlay. Over here.” Tamron Reid was standing with a group of people and waving to me.

“Hello, Tamron, and please call me Isla.”

He grinned. “Sure. Let me introduce you to Dr. Stuart and the others.”

Dr. Caelan Stuart was my age, with a broad smile, warm green eyes, and a very slight brogue. After introductions, he offered to tell me about the ring.

“We call it the Ness of Brodgar as we look at the entire promontory, not just the Ring. Activity in this area goes back to 5000 BC, but the Ness dates to about 2900 BC. The stones you saw on your way here are far older. The Watchstone just before the bridge may be from a later period.” He touched a massive stone. “We believe the trench was dug about 2600 BC, but they may have erected the stones before or after that.”

“Do you know why they are here?”

Caelan shook his head. “Not really. We believe this was a gathering place, and generation after generation added or removed stones.”

“Like calling cards?”

“That’s possible. Are you interested in seeing what we are doing?”

“Yes, I am.”

That simple yes turned into several days. Nearing the end of my first week on the island, Caelan asked me if I would like to stay with the group for the rest of the summer as one of the students had become ill and left. If I had time, that is. I did not hesitate to say yes and extended my stay at the hotel for several weeks.

I was at peace more than I had been in my life. The only nagging worry was that some people in town still seemed to recognize me, yet no one would tell me why. I needed to know.

Three weeks into my ‘job’ as an archaeological assistant, Caelan asked me to dinner. It was no secret that we were becoming close. Whether more than friends was too early to tell, but dinner alone with him for a change was nice.

He took me to a cozy restaurant a few steps from the hotel. As we were looking over the menu, he laughed. “Not a five-star dining experience, but the food is great.” 

“No need for crystal and chandeliers. I love this place.”

“That is obvious, but why? You told me that you have no ties to Scotland. You were a biology major now teaching high school, so why here?”

“I don’t know. When I decided, I wanted a total change of scenery for a while. I told you I was divorced. I didn’t tell you that he rushed the divorce, not that it didn’t need to happen, but his attorney pushed my attorney to settle faster and offered a few concessions. A little background—we met in college, where he was a programming major. I had intended to go into medical research, so I took computer science as a minor to my biology degree.”

“Wise.”

“I thought so, but he wanted to start a computer business, designing apps for companies. We couldn’t do that with me in grad school, so I put school off and got a teaching certificate. You know how that goes—too many years passed. The company became successful, and I was still teaching and doing all of the company’s administrative work, accounting, and writing code. Then he met someone, a fellow teacher cohort of mine, and wanted a divorce. After the divorce was final, I learned that he sold his company and services to a larger group for several million dollars the next day.”

“Oh my, not a nice man.”

“No, so long story short, I sued. He settled rather quickly or would lose the deal—his buyers didn’t like being embroiled in domestic warfare. When I had the means to travel, I came across a story about Orkney and felt compelled to come.” I took a deep breath as I began to tremble. “I have felt at home since I stepped off the ferry as if I lived here before.”

Caelan smiled. “There is something magical about this place. No family?”

“A mother on her fourth marriage, this time to a casino owner in Vegas. I doubt she realizes I am gone.”

We spent the remainder of dinner talking about his childhood in Glasgow and education at Oxford and then Cambridge. He recanted fascinating tales about the digs he’d been on, and I became increasingly intrigued by the subject.

It was when we were finishing dessert that it happened. Diners at a table next to us rose to leave. An older man in his eighties had his back to me. As he turned and saw me, he began screaming, “She’s alive. But he killed her. I know he killed her.”

A woman with him grabbed his arm. “Dad, that’s not her. She’s far too young. Let’s go home.”

“No, it’s her.”

A man with them gently steered the older man, sobbing, out of the restaurant. The woman turned toward me. Her eyes were wide like many others who had looked at me that way. “I’m sorry. You resemble someone he loved very much. Sorry for the intrusion.” She turned and fled before I could stop her.

Caelan motioned to the server for the check. “Need to get you to the hotel.”

“Something is going on, Caelan. Why do these people think they know me?”

“I don’t know, but we need to find out.”

~~~

The next day I was agitated and couldn’t concentrate. Caelan sent me to town, saying he would stop by later. When I got to the hotel, I took a hot shower and a couple of ibuprofen tablets and fell asleep. A knocking on my door woke me up. I had no idea how long I’d slept as daylight streamed into my window. Summer in Orkney was daylight until ten p.m.

I opened the door to find the woman from the restaurant. My knees nearly buckled.

“May I come in, Ms. Findlay?” I nodded and stepped aside as she entered the room.

She sat in the chair. I sat on the edge of the bed. “Who are you, and why are you here?”

“What I was going to ask you.” She bit her lower lip. “The man with me last night is my father and perhaps your great uncle.”

I was shaking. “How, what—I don’t understand.”

“My name is Ainslie MacKay Hunter. My father’s sister’s name was Isla Mackay, and she married Lachlan Findlay, and they had a son Ewan. You are from the States, and Ewan Findlay worked as an engineer in the US about thirty years ago. To our knowledge, he never married while there, and he never had a child. You seem to be proof that he at least has a child.”

She pulled a photo out of her purse and handed it to me. The dark-haired woman in the photo could have been my twin. “How? Look, my mother never told me who my father was. She lied and faked a name on my birth certificate.”

“Yet she named you after my aunt. I do not believe in coincidences.”

“Why did he leave if he knew about me.”

“I don’t think he did. Ewan Findlay is not that kind of man. Let me explain why he left. My aunt, your grandmother, Isla, was murdered. Everyone loved her, but your grandfather had a horrid temper, and everyone was certain Lachlan killed her. Ewan came home to defend his father and to find out who killed her. Your grandfather had a sketchy alibi at best, but Ewan managed to convince the procurator fiscal not to charge him. After that, Ewan took his father to London, where I believe Ewan remains. I have not seen my cousin in years.”

“Can you help me find him?”

“I will try.”

Ainslie left, and I sank onto the bed sobbing, then my tears turned to anger. My mother knew why my father left, and she would never tell me. As always, I picked up my phone and got voice mail when I called her.

“Mom, I know who my father is, and I am livid you never told me and, likely, didn’t tell him. Yet you named me after his mother, even giving me his last name but telling me you made it up. How could you?”

As soon as I ended the call, waves of panic overtook me. I had to get away. It was beginning to rain. I grabbed a raincoat and my keys and took off. I drove as fast as I dared in the increasingly heavy rain and found myself at the Ring of Brodgar. I parked and ran toward the monuments before I sank beside one leaning against it for support. I sat there for what felt like hours, sobbing. I knew now I was home, but how.

A beam of light reached me through the darkness. My fear turned to relief as Caelan knelt before me and hugged me. “I was heading into town and thought that was you driving like a maniac. Took me forever to find a place to turn around. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He listened without comment while I told him what Ainslie said, then pulled me close. “We will find your father, I promise.”

I thought I couldn’t cry anymore, but tears once again spilled down my cold cheeks. “Is this why I came here? Because my father is from here.”

“After we talked about why you felt compelled to come, I remembered an old Welsh word that has its roots in Celtic lore. The word is hiraeth. It means homesickness creating an intense longing for a place, even if you have never been there or even known of it. I think that’s what you felt, a longing for Orkney because it is in your blood.”

“I remember a Native American friend, a Seminole, telling me that when he visited the Florida Everglades, he felt a peace come over him that he had never experienced before. A peace because he viewed the land through the eyes of his ancestors.”

He stood and pulled me up. “I think that is what you have done. Now, let’s get you back to the hotel.”

~~~

A week passed. Ainslie texted me she had done what she could and that all we could do was wait. I was looking at markings on one of the stones with Caelan when I heard someone call my name. I froze. I knew that voice even though I had never heard it before. Caelan smiled and nodded.

“Turn around, Isla.”

I turned, and a dark-haired man who looked much like me stood with his arms open.

I ran.

I was home.

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

Calliope Njo: In Search Of…

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! 

Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by maxwell-andre from Unsplash.

In Search Of…

Calliope Njo

The first of November came up all of a sudden. At least, it seemed like it to me. I gave the Scoddameyer Ranch the hay bales and pumpkins I used for decorating my front porch.

I thought the pumpkins would be OK because I didn’t use candles. I used glow worms and fireflies instead. Neither penetrated the flesh of the gourd nor made a home either. They seemed content to find a warm and safe place to be.

As for the hay bales, I needed something to put my pumpkins on. I didn’t know what to do with them afterward, so I asked around. That’s how they ended up at the Scoddameyer Ranch, and it seemed like the normal thing to do.

Mr. Scarecrow was torn apart and thrown away. None of it could’ve been saved or donated. I thought about making him real, but that would draw too much attention. There’s always next year.

It was a fun time seeing the young ones dressed up. So many different ideas.

After that came a time for the whole family to come together and feast. Some do have a family, while others may not have one. Instead, a group of friends celebrates in the same way. When one had neither, one was not so sure where to go. That was Wilfred and me.

I gathered the mail from the postal box and set them on the counter. I poured myself a Pinot Gris before sorting through them. As expected, most were of no consequence. Either selling me something I didn’t need or making me believe I did something wrong and only they could help. With a flick of my wrist, they turned to dust.

That left a reminder that living in this world wasn’t cheap. Among them was a letter from a stranger. I opened it up to satisfy my curiosity.

A family wanted to hire me to search for their lost daughter. It seems she had gone to see the Ring of Brodgar and disappeared. They hoped I would be able to find her or at least find out what happened to her.

They would pay for all the expenses, including airfare, transportation, food, and lodging, and provide me with anything I needed. However, they would not be willing to tell me what they knew. They wanted me to find out if the rumors they had heard were true.

I never told anyone here my true nature. For fear of being put away and examined under instruments, only scientists would be able to operate. I told people I worked as a private investigator. I even offered to show my license upon request.

“Excuse me, Mistress, but it is time for me to dine,” Wilfred said

I looked down at him. Still a big ball of grey fur. It was easier to show him as a cat rather than a dragon. “In a moment, Wilfred. I have to finish this letter.”

“Oh. Come now. We have lived in this world for at least five decades. Isn’t it time we return to ours?”

“You know better than to ask me that. I suggest you wait, or I will turn you into a lizard. The choice is yours.”

He meowed as he walked away.

I put the letter back in the envelope. I finished the wine as I thought about the request. I would need to research the area to find out if there was the possibility of anything magical. Someone may have opened a doorway and forgotten to close it. If that were the case, then it would be easy. If it was something else, then it might be something more difficult. I wouldn’t know until I got there.

They finished by letting me know they had booked a flight for me to leave here in two days. It was first class, of course. It seemed they had a reputation to protect.

I put the letter back in the envelope while I got Wilfred’s food out. It would give me the opportunity to stretch and wander around a bit. Get a breath of fresh air, as it were.

“Wilfred, your dinner has been served.”

He ran back to me and meowed before moving over to his food bowl. Gone in two seconds as usual. One might presume I never fed him if they saw this. “The food was adequate. I would prefer fresh salmon next time.”

“Wilfred, I have to leave for a while. Someone needs me to look for their missing daughter. She was supposed to have gone to Scotland and returned in a week’s time, but she never returned. I need you to stay here.”

“Very well. I don’t suppose… you could… this once…”

“No. I won’t return you to your dragon self. Not until you learn the value of life. You know that.”

“I had to ask. It wasn’t that bad.”

I stood up and walked to him. “Not that bad? Not that bad? It is because of you that we are here to begin with. Not a living creature was found in the two villages. A child’s favorite pet had disappeared, and started looking for it when you were found with it in your mouth. Not that bad, you say?”

“I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten all winter. I could always transform to my human self.”

“We tried that. You almost were found out after you had broken the glass door of a pet shop because you were hungry. You will stay in that form until you learn. That’s final.”

He left the front room to return to my bed. I needed to change the sheets anyway.

With him moping and messing on my bed, I went to the library to research the area a bit before I left. Once I got there, I heard all of them cry for my attention.

I found an older woman pushing a book cart around and placing books on the shelves. She might know where I could find the information I needed.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if you could tell me where I could find out anything about the Ring of Brodgar.”

She looked at me and smiled. “Oh. Well. I had never heard that name before. Would what you’re looking for be fiction or nonfiction?”

“Nonfiction. It’s a ring of stones in Scotland.”

“Oh my. That’s a problem. You see, we don’t have many books on foreign countries. Lucky if we have anything about America. Your best bet would be to go to the university and ask to use their European library. That’s not a guarantee, but they might let you.”

“All right. Thank you.” I left the library and did what she said. Lucky for me, everything was within walking distance.

Why was it the places of higher learning here seemed so… what was the word for it… well, they never appeared to be a university. A place for higher learning. They always seemed so inadequate.

I went into the front building, marked administration, and found a map. The place I needed was out the doors and to the left. I went there and the library the lady mentioned was open.

I heard the voices of the books whisper and the minds of the students concentrate on other things. Unless they were indeed studying the latest concoction for getting wasted, as they said.

I found the section about Scotland and went through each book. None of them had any information on what I was looking for. They had no idea what or who the ring was about to begin with. That meant I had a lot of work to do once I got there.

It came time for me to leave. They provided someone to transport me to the airport. It would’ve been easier for me to transport myself. However, that would’ve brought unnecessary attention to me. The airport was always so busy with a crowd of people.

Three hours before departure seemed too much, but with everything I had to go through, I realized the wisdom of this practice.

They provided me with a first-class seat. All by myself, no less. It was the perfect journey to an unfamiliar destination.

I arrived at the airport and went to the baggage claim area. I didn’t bring anything along, but I needed to see if they provided me with baggage without telling me.

I looked at every tag on every suitcase and they didn’t have my name or the name of my client. I went to the area and walked towards the exit when I saw a sign marked Esma. At least they spelled my name right.

The man holding it couldn’t have been more than sixteen. A mix between whiskers and pimples on his face provided the clues for me. Of course, there was always a chance I was wrong. Not often.

“Yes, I am Esma. You would be?” I smiled.

“Uh. Yeah.” He shrugged. “Oh, and uhm, Scott.” He shrugged again and put down the sign. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a key ring. “I’m supposed to take you there. And no, we’re not from here. Long story. Let’s just go.”

I raised my eyebrow at this young lad and followed him all the way to the car. It felt a bit cramped inside, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of my height or if it was indeed a small car.

We left the city and took various roads to arrive at the final destination. We got out of the car and walked the trail.

“Yeah, uhm, look, I’m supposed to drop you off. Someone else will be here later. I don’t know. Later.” He left. Not a very talkative young man.

I looked around at the stones around me. No visible markings, although they did have strange energy around them. It didn’t feel as if the energy came from this area. Maybe someone used these for a ritual or something else magical.

Since nobody was around, I took the opportunity and did some magic work. I put my hand on the one in front of me. “I, Wizardess Esma, am asking for you to speak to me. A young woman was here but had vanished without prior knowledge. Would you know anything?”

The stone opened its eyes. “We have witnessed something otherworldly. A dark force had taken a sun-colored woman from here. Destination unknown.” It closed its eyes.

It seemed that particular one was the only one willing to speak. The others never answered. Still nobody there, and with the sun still up, I conjured a mirror to reflect the prior incident.

It didn’t show anyone, but a mysterious doorway did open, and she walked through. It wasn’t revealed if she had any magical ability.

There was the old story of a person without the ability to cast spells who happened upon an old document. They may be able to cast a spell with the document and do so out loud. Something magical happened, and out of curiosity, they went on an adventure. Oftentimes, it was thought of as an excuse, but as many times it turned out to be true. Could she have happened upon a magical spell and not realized it?

Footfalls came in my direction. I turned to see who it was, and an older woman smiled at me. Her steps seemed rather forced. A hard enough step to make an impression on the grass. The narrowed eyes and thin lips were the other clues.

“Ms. Esma, you have been here long enough to take a look around. It is time to come home and make yourself useful.”

I tried every trick I could think of not to change her into something cold and slimy. “Ma’am, my name is Esma. If you are a member of the family that hired me, then you would know the reason why I am here. I am fifty-three years old. Not three.”

“You’ve got a mouth on you. If you want to stay here, be my guest. I don’t care. It does get rather cold here at night.”

Maybe I had better go to the house on my own since this woman may incite an incident. “I will find my own transportation. Thank you. I do have your address.”

“Suit yourself. Can’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

I watched her leave. I didn’t blame the daughter for leaving with a relative like that. I know I would be miserable.

Back to the matter at hand, I could sense where the doorway was. Other than that, there was nothing I could find that would indicate any force beyond normal. I had a feeling it was back to that old story.

There was one way to find out, though. There was a golden key. Such a thing could open any magical door. However, it would open one door and then would vanish. The only way to keep it from doing so was to be sure it understood it had a purpose. That required a lot of magic and would require me not to use any of my powers until I could replenish them.

The sun was about to set, and that meant I had to leave. Nobody was around still and that gave me the opportunity to transport myself there. While, of course, hoping nobody was around to see me reappear.

An uneventful trip to the residence, as it should be, and I walked up to the house and knocked on their door. A lot of shouting going on. I tried again, and this time, rang the doorbell as well.

“Oh. It’s you. Welcome. Welcome.” A man waved me inside. He closed the door behind me. “We have some food ready to be served. You do eat meat. Yes?”

“That sounds delicious.”

“Excellent. Excellent. Go ahead and get yourself cleaned up. Come back here, and we can sit down and talk. Oh, what would you like to drink?”

“Some coffee would be fine. Thank you.”

“Splendid. It’s down the hall. Second door on the left.”

I nodded and proceeded where he told me to go. I closed and locked the door behind me. I looked at myself in the mirror and agreed I did look a little rough around the edges. What I got for traveling. Thoughts of me contacting Wilfred did go through my mind. However, in an effort not to draw attention, I opted not to do so. The less magic I used, the better. I had a feeling I would need it.

When all was done, I returned to the front room and followed the loud conversation. That led me to the kitchen. It seemed one was happier than the other about me being here. They needed answers and felt I was the only one to get those answers. While the other voiced that since the missing daughter was a full-grown adult, she could pay the consequences of whatever trouble she got herself into.

Oh, my black cauldron. Well, I was brought here to find her. Not to negotiate a quarrel.

“Oh. You’re done. Good. Go ahead and find a seat at the table. Sit anywhere. The food will be out in a bit. We have roasted goose with potatoes and some green vegetables. Your coffee will be out in a bit.”

“All right. I can help. I do know my way around a stove.”

“I’m sure you do. I have everything taken care of, though. We’ll be along in a bit.”

I nodded and made my way to the table. The arguing continued, and that would’ve been the reason for getting me out of the kitchen. It took a little bit, but the food was brought out, and everybody sat down around the table.

We held hands and lowered our heads as we gave thanks for our food. When that was done, everything was passed around until our plates were filled.

“So tell me, who paid for your education?”

“Please, excuse my wife. She must not have slept well,” he said through gritted teeth.

“My name is David McGee. This is my wife Donna and our son Scott.”

“Yo,” Scott said.

“My name is Esma. I was brought here to look for your daughter then. For ease of conversation, what is your daughter’s name?”

“Megan,” Donna said. “I named her.”

I nodded. “When the sun comes up, I will set out to go back to the Ring of Brodgar and continue with my search. It may be a while before you hear from me. Don’t panic. I will be back to tell you what I have found out. I cannot guarantee she will agree to come back here. What I can guarantee is bringing her to a location where all of you can meet to talk.”

David nodded, Donna laughed, and Scott shrugged.

“Why not just pick her up and bring her back here? We are paying you, after all.”

“Yes, I do realize that. However, I would guess she is an adult capable of making her own decisions. Therefore, I cannot and will not force her. It is up to her to decide what to do.”

“Fair enough,” David said. “Let me refill your cup.” He stood from the table.

We continued with the rest of the meal with only the noise of eating utensils. After the meal, it was as silent as during. It reminded me of those long dinners filled with foreign diplomats. Everybody had something to say, but not a word was muttered.

“Scott, why don’t you escort our guest to her room while your mother and I clean up? Huh?”

Scott smiled. “OK.”

I followed him down the hall. The last room on the left side was appointed as my bedroom, it seemed. A small bed with a side table and a drawer set.

“I’ll be right back,” Scott said. He came back a moment later. “I never gave you these.” He set down a box and left the room.

I closed the door and opened the mysterious present. I looked inside to find a lot of books. My guess would be Scott was appointed as their guardian.

There were seventeen-plus books in there, and all of them had something to say. Maybe the answer to everything lay in these pages. I had to read them all to find out more about this dilemma or was it circumstance. These labels wouldn’t mean anything until I got answers.

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

Anita Wu: Fragmented Dreams

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! 

Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by maxwell-andre from Unsplash.

Fragmented Dreams

Anita Wu

There were days when I didn’t want to wake up, when my mind paralyzed my body and I lay in the comfort of illusion, despite being on a mattress that felt too hard and a pillow too soft. I stared at the ceiling on those days, listening to the constant tick of the clock beside my bed, following the rise and fall of my chest. When I was lucky, I fell back into slumber, and I dreamed of not waking again.

Sometimes though, my body would feel pity for me, and it gave me the energy to bring my weary legs to the patio. I spent those days glued to the rocking chair, relishing in the motion of the back and forth. I listened to the wind, wondering if it would bring me whispers to remind me that I was not alone. My eyes often locked in one direction: to the little parting in the trees that, should someone venture off and follow the semblance of a hidden path, would bring them here. I had not seen anyone in five years. Perhaps the city’s renovation deterred people from exploring, or perhaps people simply stopped coming to this area.

On rare occasions, I allowed myself to think about the early days when I did not hide, when I knew the people in the city and when everyone waved at me. I often sought any reason to leave the house and speak to others, a smile always on my face. But of course: I was proud to represent the city, and they were proud to call me their own. Their best sorcerer.

Once upon a time.

But that time has passed.

People actively avoided me since, and I relieved them of the burden to see me every day. Reminiscing brought a frown to my face, so I steered my thoughts away — to the trees, the birds, the sun. If the stars were supposed to put on a show one night, I would even talk a walk.

See, it was not often someone stumbled to my lonely place. And rarer still were the days when I ventured through that dip between the trees myself.

My heart sometimes searched for company. Though, perhaps what I deserved: more frequently than not, I found no one.

When I was lucky, if I could be called so, I would find a wandering lost soul.

Like I did that one fateful day.

***

My muscles ached, and my joints hurt. They were not up for the walk that I put them through today. So when the pillars came into sight, my legs begged for respite and my hands yearned to feel the runes engraved along the stone.

I had not come here for a few months, for I could not gather the energy for the hike. Still, my body longed to give itself to the magic hidden beneath the stone. Three pillars lined up along a bare path despite grass and wildflowers growing in herds a mere meter in any direction. Life typically did not like to be near the stone, but the stone was home to me.

Broken, chipped, it barely stood upright. Almost as if it would collapse soon.

Like me.

As I approached, I noticed I was not alone today. A shadow stretched along the open path, and I spotted a small figure crouched beside my precious stone. My eyes widened as I realized someone may be meddling with the pillar.

The runes cannot fade.

I quickened my pace. “What are you doing?” I spoke as loud as my voice allowed me, strained from not having been used much. The figure jerked, then huddled into itself, as though trying to become small.

I heard the sniffles then, and I regretted the disdain in my already rough voice. It was a mere child — a little girl with silk black hair, well-paired blouse and trousers, and leather shoes. They were not the articles of clothing to wear while venturing into a forest with cliffs.

I stopped when I reached the first pillar, leaving a full pillar between us. I wanted to rush to the third one, to where the runes should be engraved, to ensure that the spell had not been broken. But I had not yet lost my sanity to the point that I would charge at a broken child. No, not when I knew how it felt to be broken.

“What’s troubling you, my child?” I offered.

“I’m sorry,” a sweet melody accented by her hoarse crying. She stood up, half the height of the broken pillar, reminding me of my ten-year-old when I took him here many, many years ago. Her eyes were puffed, her nose red, and the remnants of tears streaked her face. “I’ll leave now, sir.”

It had been a while since I was called sir.

“I do not own this place, and you are as free to let go of your worries as I am free to rest my tired legs. Why don’t you keep me company?”

There was something about the child. Someone who seemed so out of place amongst the trees, wearing their best clothes. She tugged at my heartstrings in a way my own children never did. The feeling in my chest felt familiar, warm, and so close to my heart like I should know this child before me.

She simply stood there a bit, holding my gaze, as if contemplating, as if she had nowhere else to go. The look in her eyes reminded me much of my own, empty, a darkness absorbing everything around it yet processing none of life. But I was approaching my end, and she had yet to live her life.

“Do you want to play a game, child?”

She gave me no response, but she sat back down.

“Two truths and a lie,” I offered as I took in the scenery beside us. “We are in a little hidden corner where few travelled. My children love me. And your parents love you.”

I was met with silence. That — I was used to.

No facts, all opinions.

I played this game often with my sons when they were children, when they were still here. It offered an easy, playful way into a difficult conversation, and it gave them the opportunity to steer away if they did not want to talk about it. She could easily argue that this cliff held a resting place for hikers, and its elevation made it a beautiful spot to view the vast trees below. In the right seasons, the leaves turned orange and red, and people came here in swarms. At night, we were so far away from the city that the stars twinkled, and meteors streaked the sky.

“My parents don’t love me,” a voice, small and quiet as if she wished it weren’t true. A whisper asking to be heard.

“I’m afraid my children don’t love me anymore, so your parents must love you,” I offered, as a matter of fact, “but why do you think so, child?”

There was more silence.

“Perhaps,” I offered, leaning into the hunch I felt upon seeing the girl, “they wished for something from you that you don’t wish for yourself?”

She smiled, but it was one of the sad ones: the ones that have been smart enough to deduce what the future held for them but too timid to do anything about it. “Something like that.”

She spun me a song then. Her voice sounded like the waterfalls of the hidden corners, the thundering scream as it crashed from above, yelling, complaining, provoking, but once it hit the rocks, once it let the fear, the anger, the sadness out, it stripped away the shell and left only a small, strong stream, beautiful and peaceful, as it flowed away, bare and raw and free. Her voice sang melodies filled with emotion, with humanity.

With runes.

Magic.

A song I knew from someone whom I had been trying to meet again.

***

The pillars were mine.

They were the broken attempts at regaining what was lost, and they were the proof of the price to pay.

The books said it. The teachers said it. History said it. One cannot revive the dead. But the books never spoke of all the things I accomplished, the runes I developed. The teachers never believed that limits could be crossed successfully. And history never had me yet.

I knew I would be able to accomplish the unspeakable.

But I was desperate. And that caused me to rush, caused me to use runes that would cost the life of the wildflowers, the life of my sons, and ultimately, my own life.

Three pillars. For three attempts.

Three costly wishes to see my wife again.

***

I had not awoken to the smell of tea in years. The scent brought back memories of happier times, when I rolled out of bed with the moans of someone hoping for five more minutes of sleep, when I would be greeted with a kiss from my sun, when I knew that I would be tired but happy by the end of the day.

I turned my head in bed to see the girl making her way into my room. I noticed the resemblance: the way her hips moved when she walked, her preference for her left hand, the shininess of her black hair, the curve of her lips.

I would not look at her eyes as they didn’t hold the stars she had before.

Still, I smiled. She was here with me now. I could not utter the words that sat within my heart, but my heart ached at finding her those three days ago. I don’t remember how she followed me home, or how I found my way back. I don’t remember if I managed to leave the bed after that day, if my breaths hurt as much as they always did, or worse, if my muscles hurt like metal clawing at them, or worse, if my head pounded like the incessant crash of a waterfall, or worse. I don’t remember if she seemed to blink out of existence or if I simply fell victim to my slumbers.

I was only aware of this moment here.

I merely watched her, watched as she danced in her movements, pouring the tea into the cup, fanning the steam away, watched as she hummed the songs that only she knew, for she pulled words from air.

I couldn’t tell if she seemed to be fading or if my eyes were just touched with tears.

But my eyelids grew weary, and I heard her say as she always did, in that sweet, soft voice of hers, “Go to sleep, go to dream, and may your dreams always come true.”

Please visit Anita on her blog: https://soreispeaks.wordpress.com

D. A. Ratliff: Publish or Perish

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! 

Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by maxwell-andre from Unsplash.

Publish or Perish

A Detective Elijah Boone Mystery 

D. A. Ratliff

Dr. Mortimer Lane was about as dead as anyone could be. He was as dead as someone with daggers plunged into his left eye, heart, and lower abdomen, which was pretty dead.

I turned toward the campus police officer who was first on the scene. “Who found him,” I said, squinting at his name badge, “Officer Devers?”

“His administrative assistant, Iliana Perez.” He gestured toward a young woman standing in the corridor. “She arrived about eight-thirty this morning and knocked on his door. When he didn’t answer, she thought it surprising because his car was in the parking lot. She walked in and found him.”

I heard a grunt and turned to see my partner, Hank Guidry, enter, followed by medical examiner Julia Marrow and two CSU technicians. Despite being a homicide detective, my partner Hank always displayed a visceral reaction to dead bodies, one of disgust. His response to this body was no different. His nose wrinkled, his upper lip curled upward, and his eyes narrowed. I never needed to look at him to know his expression.

“Good heavens, Eli, a bit of overkill, don’t you think?”

Marrow laughed. “Somebody wanted him good and dead.” She flicked her hand. “Tight quarters here, gentlemen. Could you give us some room?”

I nodded my head toward the door, and Hank followed me. I was about to talk to the secretary when a tall, thin man in an impeccably tailored suit entered the outer office. He strode our way, a look of exasperation on his face.

“What is going on here? Campus police called me and said someone found a body in Dr. Lane’s office. I demand to talk to the officer in charge.”

I silently muttered to myself, “I hate this job,” and then spoke. “I am Detective Lieutenant Elijah Boone of the New Orleans Police Department. My partner, Detective Sergeant Hank Guidry. Let’s start with who are you?” His eyes turned to daggers as I suspected he was offended that I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t.

“I am Dr. James Adair Delong, Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. Is the dead man Dr. Lane?”

“We are waiting for the ME to confirm identity, but his admin identified the body as Mortimer Lane.”

Dr. Delong sucked in his chest. “Great. He’s the Archaeology and Anthropology Department Chair. I don’t need this now, but it saves a lot of paperwork.”

I bit my tongue but couldn’t resist one little snark. “I doubt he’s happy about this either. When was the last time you spoke with or saw Dr. Lane?”

“I spoke with him by phone on Thursday. I was off campus from Friday through Sunday for a wedding.”

“What did you talk to Lane about?”

“I called him to discuss an issue with a student who was making a complaint about his work.”

“Friendly conversation?”

“A business conversation, and no, any conversation with Dr. Lane was hardly friendly.”

“Why was that?”

“He was a tedious, pompous man. Brilliant in his field but, in my opinion, had been slacking in his responsibilities. He has not published in a very long time, and the Regents are unhappy. You know the rule, publish or perish. Now, I must inform the president about this—matter. You may reach me in my office if you have further questions.”

Hank whistled low as the dean walked away. “I guess they take that publish or perish thing seriously around here. I think the good dean personally knows all about tedious and pompous.”

I chuckled. “Indeed, they do, and he certainly didn’t seem to like our victim.”

I spotted Iliana Perez in the hallway talking to a group of people. Word travels fast in halls of academia. I walked to the door and called her into the office.

“When did you last see Dr. Lane?”

“Friday afternoon, about four-thirty. He said he’d be working late and I could go home. He wouldn’t need me.”

“Did you go home and stay there all night?”

“Yes, I didn’t go out again until Saturday afternoon to the grocery.”

“What happened when you arrived on Monday morning?”

“I spotted his car in the faculty lot this morning as I turned into the parking structure and thought he was already at work.”

“Was he having any issues with a colleague or a student?”

Perez hesitated. “Dr. Lane argued with a lot of people. He wasn’t known for his patience.”

“Can you…” 

Shouting from the hallway interrupted, and Perez stepped into the doorway. Hank pushed her aside as we followed her into the hall, where two campus officers were restraining a young man.

“Is he dead? Tell me he’s dead.”

“I’ll talk to you as soon as you calm down.” He swallowed hard and nodded. I motioned for the officers to let him go.

“Name?”

“William Hawke.”

“Why are you here?”

I just wanted to see for myself if he was dead.”

“Why is that?”

Hawke’s upper lip curled, and I thought flames might erupt from his eyes. “Because he stole my discovery and planned on publishing it as his own. Tell me who killed Lane. I want to give him a medal.”

Marrow came to the door. “Eli, have a prelim for you.”

I nodded. “Hank, get this guy’s info and find out where he’s been all weekend.”

The CSU techs were busy collecting evidence as I entered. “So, what’ve we got besides the obvious?”

“Victim is Mortimer Lane, age fifty-eight, according to his driver’s license. Body is out of rigor, and considering the ambient temp and condition of the body, I would say he’s been dead since Friday night, roughly between seven and ten. Not sure I can get it any closer. “She pointed to the daggers, now in separate evidence bags.” The murder weapons are from a collection of daggers. Two are still on display.”

I walked over to a polished wooden box hanging on the wall. There were brackets for displaying five knives, but only two daggers remained.

“Killed with his own knives. Any idea which stab killed him?”

The ME pointed to blood that had seeped into the victim’s clothing around the stab wounds, the cloth now dried and stiff. “I think he was stabbed in the abdomen first, the heart next, and what likely killed him instantly. The stab in the eye looks like rage to me.”

“Yeah, that it does. Wrapping up here?” She nodded. “Good.” I looked at one of the CSU techs. “Get more techs here. I want everything on his desk logged as evidence.”

I looked over my shoulder at Hank. “Get me a search warrant for this office, any research labs, his home, and his car. Tell the judge I want the warrants now.”

~~~

I stopped by NOPD headquarters to check in with Captain Lourdes, head of Major Crimes. I like this man. He hates the bureaucracy we have to deal with and finds a way to deal with it in stride.

I sat down. “No need to tell me. Tenured college professor, department chair, next thing you will tell me is that there’s going to be a movie about his life. I imagine the mayor is in a tizzy.”

Lourdes laughed. “Not the mayor, but the university president is in a tizzy. He wants this solved now. Any leads?”

“Maybe. Lane wasn’t well liked. Pretty certain the dean of his college would have gleefully strangled him, but he has an alibi. There’s a disgruntled post-doctorate claiming Lane stole his research, but that’s it so far. Have search warrants for the obvious places and the Crime Scene Unit at all sites. We have uniforms doing door to doors where possible. Hank is interviewing people at the college. I requested the surveillance tapes.”

“That’s a start.”

I chuckled. “You’re never satisfied, Captain.”

“That’s what they pay me for.”

~~~

Warrant in hand, Hank and I went to Lane’s house accompanied by a CSU team. Hank called the alarm company to disarm the alarm. We found a keychain with two door keys on Lane’s office desk, and I tried one. It opened with the second key. Ordering the others to wait, I slipped on booties and gloves and walked into the house alone.

The professor lived in an older upscale neighborhood. The house was clean and sparse, except for bookcases of artifacts that covered numerous walls in several rooms. His office was tidy and also full of artifacts and books. I shuffled through the papers and journals on his desk, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. That didn’t mean much. I was no archaeologist, and what I looked at was gibberish.

As I flipped through a journal, Hawke’s claim that Lane had stolen his discovery echoed in my head. I needed to find out exactly what that meant. The NOPD had a forensic anthropologist on retainer, and I decided to call her to either shed some light on what all this paperwork meant or put us in touch with someone who could.

On the second floor, Lane’s bedroom was as spartan as the first floor but also crammed with books, many stacked on the nightstand. The other doors in the hall were open except for one. I tried the doorknob, locked. I tried the second door key, and it worked.

A second office had photographs of a stark rustic site with stone monoliths rising from the ground tacked on the walls. I picked up a notebook with William Hawke’s name on the cover. Lane had hidden Hawke’s research in a locked room. Motive? I intended to find out.

~~~

The following afternoon, Hank and I updated Captain Lourdes on what we knew. Hank went first.

“We’ve interviewed Lane’s colleagues, students, and staff. No one liked him but most respected his knowledge. Have the squad running down alibis, but we have quite a few we can’t corroborate.” He paused, looking at his pad. “Three people—two students and a professor—seem to hate Lane the most. William Hawke, who claims Lane stole his work. Jessica Wilson, who Lane turned down for a post-doctoral position, and Dr. Jeremiah Constantine, a professor in Lane’s department. None of them have alibis that we can prove. Hawke said he was at the library, but no record of him coming in or out. Constantine said, and I quote, ‘I hate the son of a bitch. I wish I’d killed him. Fitting the daggers that killed him were the ones he always bragged about.’”

Lourdes stopped him. “What do we know about those daggers?”

I answered. “I asked Dr. Frazier, the archeologist we have reviewing Hawke’s research. He said they were medieval Rondel daggers. I learned from Lane’s secretary that the British Museum gave him the set for all the work he had done for them.”

Lourdes nodded. “So, we have three suspects. Any guesses?”

“My bet is on Hawke. His anger is palpable.” I shrugged. “We don’t have enough to put any of them at the scene. There’s been a glitch in the security software, and we haven’t gotten the security footage from the university. A forensics IT guy’s there helping retrieve the video. We had a uniform canvass the area surrounding his residence and the entire building where his office is. No one saw anything.”

“Autopsy results, forensics, trace, anything?” The captain glared at me in frustration. “We need some answers. So far, no screaming from the university or the mayor, but that’s coming.”

“Cause of death, stab wound to the heart, the other wounds from rage, as for trace, zilch. Fingerprints don’t help, either. Too many people in and out of his office. No print we found didn’t have a reason to be there.”

“Nothing on the daggers?”

“Only Lane’s fingerprints. His assistant said he loved to take them out of the case and show them off.”

Lourdes nodded. “Keep me informed.”

~~~

Dr. Cameron Frazier was working in an interrogation room. It was late afternoon when he called me to come down. I grabbed Hank to join us.

Frazier sat at the table, photos and notes spread about him. We sat opposite him. “What do you have, Doctor?”

He turned his laptop toward us, displaying an image of the upright stones. “This is an area in Scotland called Orkney Island, an archipelago just north of the Scottish mainland. It’s known for the remarkable number of ancient sites on the islands. This site is the Ring of Brodgar, a neolithic site and one of the few henges in a complete circle. These stones date back as far as 2500 BC, but the site’s exact age has been elusive. Data from an expedition in the early 2000s to determine its age remains inconclusive.”

I pointed to Hawke’s journal. “So, what did Hawke or Lane find?” 

“No structures have ever been found inside the large ditch built to hold the stones. One reason we can’t determine the exact age.” He picked up the journal. “Two years ago, the British Museum funded an expedition to Orkney to search for structures. Dr. Lane, an expert on these ancient sites, was tapped to lead the expedition. Dr. Hawke was his assistant. They added several students and spent the last two summers on Orkney. From the data, it appears that Hawke followed an idea of his own and began to search the terrain by comparing site elevations taken over the years. Lane’s approach was to use ground sensing radar to look for structures.” He paused. “It’s a big area, Detective, and searching using radar is tedious. It appears to me that Hawke’s method worked. He targeted certain spots by considering how the land settles over structures or open areas. He found a structure, and that’s where it gets dicey.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lane amended his journal. He scribbled notes in the margins and inserted them into his final notes after he’d completed his report. It’s easy to see where and when he amended the text. Hawke’s claim that Lane took credit for his work appears valid.”

Hank whistled as Dr. Frazier continued. “Now, understand, Lane was in charge of the expedition. The entire team shares in the discovery, but the main credit goes to the person who made the find. I can see here that Dr. Lane changed all indications to show that the terrain observations were his and his alone.”

“So, Hawke is right.”

“Yes, in my opinion, this discovery should rightly go to Dr. Hawke. And, Detective Boone, while I’m associated with a different university, Lane’s reputation is well known. This isn’t the first time someone accused Dr. Lane of coercing his students or colleagues to allow him credit for their discoveries. He offered doctorate study and teaching positions in exchange for his accolades.”

We finished with Dr. Frazier and caught the captain up with the findings. It was nearly six, and Hank and I hadn’t eaten all day. After checking in with the forensic IT tech working on the security cams, we headed to Mama Leone’s for dinner.

Something about Mama Leone’s warm atmosphere settled my soul. Mama hugged us, gave us my favorite table, and told us not to order. She had a special dish for us. We chatted with Uncle Matteo as we waited and were not disappointed. Mama brought two steaming plates of Gnocchi con Gorgonzola, Noci, e Pere.

Hank stared at his plate. “It smells delicious, but what is it?”

Uncle Matteo rose and slapped Hank on the back. “It’s gnocchi with gorgonzola cheese, pears, and walnuts. Buon appetito.”

One taste, and Hank didn’t speak until he’d consumed half of his food. “I gotta think Hawke’s our killer. Young dude like that finds a big discovery that will make his career. He had to be livid.”

“I agree, but remember what the dean said. He was calling to discuss a student with a complaint. If Delong thought he had something on Lane, he’d jump at the chance to remove him. So that takes the wind out of Hawke’s immediate wrath.”

“True. So, where does that leave us?”

“Nowhere unless we get lucky.”

~~~

We got lucky. As we left the restaurant, the forensic tech called. He had retrieved the video. We met him at headquarters.

“Took some doing, but we figured out the problem. There are cameras on all sides of the building, but no entry except the front entrance at any time. The other doors are fire doors and only open out. I checked those cameras, and no one came out during your requested time frame.”

The tech clicked on start, and we sat quietly, watching people come and go from the building. Around the six-p.m. timestamp, traffic slowed, and I had the tech speed up the vid a bit, stopping only when a figure appeared. At six-forty-seven p.m., William Hawke showed up.

Hank scooted closer. “That’s Hawke for sure. He said he was at the library.”

As Hawke walked up the steps, a woman wearing a hoodie ran up behind him and grabbed his arm. He jerked his arm away, spoke with her briefly, and then left. The woman stood for a moment before she hurried into the building. We couldn’t see her face.

“Hank, bring William Hawke in.”

~~~

Forty minutes later, a ticked-off Hawke sat fuming in an interrogation room. As Hank and I walked in, he jumped up, but the officer guarding him pushed him into the chair.

“What the hell am I here for? I told you I didn’t kill Lane.”

I sat down across from him and laid my tablet on the table. Hank leaned against the wall behind me. I formally opened the interrogation—date, time, and those present. Then I asked one question.

“Why did you lie to us?”

“I didn’t lie to you.”

“Yes, you did. You told us you were at the library. We checked. You weren’t—you were here.” I turned the tablet toward him, and the image clearly showed him at the scene.

“That’s you entering the archaeology building at six-forty-five p.m. It also shows you leaving at eight-seventeen p.m. Plenty of time for you to kill Dr. Lane.”

“Oh man, I didn’t lie. I didn’t think about the name. The library is what we call the resource room. Past students donated books about archaeology and anthropology and created a collection. I was in there looking for some information on other stone structures around the world. I didn’t think you would assume it was the main library.”

“I’m going to ask you again. Did you kill Dr. Lane?”

“No, I didn’t.” His eyes tracked to the still image on the screen. “Man, why don’t you ask her? She’s always following me, trying to get me to have coffee with her. She said she could prove Dr. Lane stole my work, but I didn’t believe her. He’d never share anything with her. I told her to go away and not bother me again, and I walked off.”

“Who is that woman, Dr. Hawke?”

“You can’t tell? That’s Iliana Perez.”

~~~

Hank once again brought a suspect into the station, and we repeated the interrogation process. Iliana Perez sat in front of us, hands clenched and shaking.

I didn’t mince words. “Ms. Perez, we know you lied to us. You returned to the department on Friday night. We have you on the security cam entering the building at approximately six-forty-seven p.m. and leaving thirty-four minutes later. Enough time to kill Dr. Lane.” I pushed a printed still from the video across the table toward her.

“That’s not me.” Her voice was on the verge of panic.

“Yes, it is. We have a positive ID. That is you, and you killed Dr. Lane. It will go easier for you if you tell us the truth.”

Tears spilled from her eyes. “I didn’t mean to, but he was so vile. I knew he took William’s research for himself. I saw his paper before he added all the lies. I tried to tell William, but he didn’t believe me. I wanted William to like me as much as I liked him. I went to Dr. Lane to beg him not to do this to him.”

“Tell us what happened.”

“He laughed at me. Told me I was nothing. He said I know you have a crush on William, foolish girl. He’ll never like a girl like you. Not smart enough to get into graduate school. That William was his assistant, so the results belonged to him. He pushed me, and I fell toward the cabinet. I spotted those daggers that I dusted every week, and I grabbed one, spun around, and stuck it in his belly. He lurched toward me, saying he’d kill me, so I grabbed another and stuck it in his chest.” She was gasping for breath through sobs. “He fell on the floor, not moving, but I wasn’t satisfied. His eyes were still open. So, I grabbed another dagger.” Her sobs turned to laughter. “The dean was pushing him to publish or perish. I stabbed him in the eye. Now, he perished, and William gets the credit.”

~~~

It was past seven p.m. before we wrapped up the paperwork. Hank and I were tired, hungry, and about to leave when Captain Lourdes caught up with us.

“Great job. You two didn’t want to join Major Crimes, but you’ve been an asset.”

“Thanks, Captain.” Hank nearly choked up.

“Eli, what’s that restaurant you love so much?”

“Mama Leone’s.”

“Don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Let me buy you guys dinner.”

As we walked to the SUV, I smiled. Mama was just what we needed. 

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

Kenneth Lawson: The Lights

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 Lights

Kenneth Lawson

The winds swept across the open fields, at times slightly changing directions. The dark green moss surrounding the pillars that dotted the landscape squished somewhat under my feet as I shivered in the wind. “What in the world am I doing here?” I muttered to myself as I paced around the tall pillars that initially seemed to stick up randomly from the ground. The question was less about the Moors than about this place.

Though here for many years, the constant wind and cold continued to bother me. The longer I was here, the more I realized there was a pattern to the weather, which surprised me. My home was in a warmer climate, where weather extremes were nonexistent. Assigned to this godforsaken place had been but another nail in my professional coffin. At this rate, my personal coffin too, and that made me bitter.

***

A phone call from the station in the middle of the night had brought me out of my nice warm house into the early morning cold. Something was going on at the old landmark pillars, and I drew the short stick. Even though I am the sheriff, dispatch informed me that everyone else was on a call. I drove across the rugged roads through the Moors to reach the mysterious landmarks. Villagers had reported strange lights in the area, which was probably nothing, which was why no one else wanted to go.

Whatever the villagers had seen overnight was gone, and I returned to the warmth of my Land Rover. There was something comforting about the slam of the steel door against a steel frame—strong and substantial. Much stronger than I felt. I shivered and cranked the heat as high as it would go. I opened the thermos left in the front seat early that morning, needing caffeine, but the coffee in the thermos was lukewarm and undrinkable. I cracked open the door, dumped the remaining coffee, and shut the door quickly to keep out the wind.

The drive to the village was tedious. What passed for roads out here were little more than ruts and paths, and the early morning dampness and moisture made them slippery. Fortunately, the old Land Rover was up to the task. Twenty tedious minutes of navigating the road away from the Moors brought me to the main road leading into the village. Once I got onto a decent road, it took no time to get there.

***

The Bears Claw Pub had just opened for the day. The fire in the hearth was inviting, and I sat at a table near the roaring fire to thaw. Lucy, a plump middle-aged lady with black hair in a loose bun, came over with a coffee cup without asking. Lucy had been one of the few bright spots in the age-old town that still believed in ghosts and goblins. They would probably burn me at the nearest stake if they knew my true identity and origins.

I thanked her and held the warm cup in my hands while I tried to figure out exactly what I’d seen last night. The steam from the cup of liquid life wafted to my nose. The smell of coffee helped bring me back to life and warmed up my cold, tired bones.

While I was too late to see what the villagers saw on the horizon, I did see something, and a nagging thought fluttered in my mind, but I didn’t allow the thought to form.

Lucy returned and sat across from me, leaning forward, her ample bosoms resting comfortably on the table, shielded by her hands which held a large cup of coffee. She grinned almost childlike and finely burst out.

“Well?” She sipped her coffee, waiting, eyes wide open, for my answer.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see anything.” That was not strictly true. I didn’t see anything, but I sure felt something was different. I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“You didn’t see anything?”

“No. By the time I arrived, whatever it was, was gone.” I sipped my coffee as an excuse not to say anything more.

Lucy sat upright and swore under her breath. I didn’t blame her as I’d done some swearing this night too.

“Want breakfast?” She changed the subject like last night hadn’t happened. I nodded in the affirmative. She smiled. “Eggs, toast?”

“Biscuits if you got them.”

She nodded, rose, and disappeared into the kitchen. Lucy had always been friendlier than necessary. In some ways too friendly, and I suspected a small fire burning for me under all that plump exterior. I never did anything about it, although the thought had crossed my mind a few times.

I sipped my coffee, now cool enough to drink. I had seen something out among the old carved stone pillars, but I wasn’t sure what. I couldn’t even tell myself what I’d seen, much less the likes of Lucy. She was a fixture of the old village. Her family had run The Bear Claw Pub since the beginning of time. No one remembered when it had opened. It had always been here. The more I thought about it, Lucy herself had always been here. She was always fun to be around, joking with the customers and childlike in her wonderment of all things unexplained.

When Lucy returned with my breakfast and a pot of coffee, my coffee was half gone. She slid the plate to me and again sat across from me.

“Tell me more,” she prompted as she poured more coffee for me and refilled her mug.

I busied myself rearranging the food on my plate and munching on biscuits for a few minutes because I was hungrier than I thought and, well, as a stall.

“Not anything to tell. I drove out where you all had seen the lights, and nothing was there. Except for freezing wind and darkness.” I shoved eggs into my mouth so I wouldn’t have to talk anymore.

“There was something there!” Lucy insisted.

“Whatever you saw, it was gone when I got there.”

In between bites, I elaborated on the weather and the pitiful excuses of roads in the area, none of which interested Lucy. Finishing the last morsel of scrambled eggs and a third biscuit, I pushed my empty plate toward her.

“Look, Lucy, I don’t know what to tell you or anyone else. I know you all saw something. I don’t doubt it for a second, but whatever you saw was long gone by the time I got there. Everything looked the same as the last time I was there.”

She nodded as if to say okay, but I knew she didn’t believe me. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I believed myself either, but I wasn’t going to say that.

“Thanks for breakfast, Lucy.” I stood and laid some money on the table in front of her. She glanced at it and collected it.

“That’s too much.” She tried to hand me back some of the money.

I waved her off. “Keep it. Put it toward next time.”

Once outside the old pub, I took some deep breaths and let the freezing air work its way into my lungs. The fire had been nice for about five minutes and then became too hot. I knew the cold would be nice for about two minutes, but by the time the cold was too cold, I was inside my Land Rover. I cranked the heat again after I started it.

I’d been to the Moors before and spent many hours exploring the mysterious ring of stone pillars. I knew exactly how many pillars there were and how far apart they were, even photographed them from the air. But last night was different as if another presence was there. 

I drove to my small cottage on the far side of town, where I showered, and then headed to the station to write the official report of my visit to the Moors. Official? I didn’t even have an unofficial report. 

***

My report was short and vague—only a half-page long. I stated what happened from when I got the call until I left the Moors and what I’d seen there, which wasn’t much. At least not that I could explain to myself or anyone else.

It was a slow day, as it always was in this sleepy town, so I decided to return to the Moors. I filled a thermos with coffee, rummaged through the station refrigerator, and made a couple of sandwiches. I stopped at the local petrol station and filled the tank. As I was paying for the petrol and some snacks, I noticed the old man behind the counter looked like he’d been awake all night. 

“You see the lights last night?” I asked while paying for the petrol.

He nodded yes and counted my change.

“Yeah, what time?”

He looked up from counting and seemed to look past me toward the Moors in the distance. “Can’t say exactly, but it was late. I know that.”

“You remember anything else?”

 “I’d seen them before, but never this bright or as long. They seemed to stay for a spell.”

“You’ve seen them before. When?”

“I don’t know, a few times over the last few years. Usually, they don’t last, flash on and off. But last night…” his voice trailed off.

I finished for him. “They stayed on a long time.” He nodded yes, and I asked, “Who else saw them?”

“I don’t know, probably everybody awake. They were pretty bright.”

I thanked him and headed for the Rover.

***

The drive to the Moors was just as bad in the daylight as last night in the dark. The only difference was that I could see to avoid some of the worst potholes and ruts in what passed as a path on the outer regions of the land.

I quickly found the same place I’d been to last night and parked in the same tire tracks. The fog had started to lift some by the time I got there. The stone pillars looked just as lost and forlorn as they had last night, and the ground was still as soggy and damp as it had been last night. My footprints still showed in a few places. Shivering in the ever-shifting winds, I wandered around the site again.

In the dead of night, with only my headlights and a torch to look around, I couldn’t see much. Even in the daylight and with the ever-present cloud cover, it wasn’t easy to get my bearings.

I couldn’t find an obvious source for the lights seen from the village miles away. My phone barely had any signal out here, but I could pull up text flooded with pictures of the lights. The photos were pretty much useless. 

Pulling my binoculars from the back of the Rover, I stood where I could make out the village through the fog that hung over the area as a blanket to keep the sun from warming up the region. It had been foggy last night as well.

Scanning the horizon, I found the church or, rather, the steeple of the old church. I steadied the binoculars by resting my arms on the hood of the Rover and could barely make out tiny shapes moving in the fog. A glance at my watch told me it was time for the morning confessional. Many villagers would undoubtedly be in church to confess what they’d seen last night to the priest.

Villagers saw lights coming from here. What could make lights bright enough to cut through the thick fog and be seen a few miles away? There was nothing here that hadn’t been here all along—just the tall stone pillars with strange markings on them. The markings had been copied long ago and studied. They resembled Gaelic letters or, perhaps, another dead language.

The ground was too soft to hold any heavy equipment without at least leaving a deep imprint or mark. So, nothing was brought In, and there were no other footprints than my own from last night.

But I had seen something. The mist diffused my headlights and torch in the foggy darkness, so I couldn’t be sure what I had seen. Yet, I knew something had been here with me last night. I vaguely remember movement in the distance, just out of reach of the headlights.

I worked my way out from the flat area surrounding the pillars into the grassier land that was the fields that made up most of the ridge. Looking towards the village with my binoculars, I saw no more than I had before. I turned to head back to the Rover when I caught movement up by the pillars. Something was up there.

My heart pounded as I ran on the damp uneven ground, but I made it back to the pillars as fast as possible. Panting from the exertion and excitement, I caught my breath as I approached the clearing.

He was leaning against the front fender of the Rover, hands in his pockets and a hat pulled down low over his face to keep the wind off.

“It’s about time.”

Between breaths, I managed to speak. “You could have called. I thought we only used the lights to scare the people on this planet.”

“Yes, but then I wouldn’t have all the fun of watching them.” He nodded towards the town across the valley. “I used the cover of the lights to drop in, but you didn’t see me before I got pulled away. The lights were stronger because they kept trying to pull me out, and I kept moving out of the beam’s reach.”

“What do you want?” I leaned against the fender next to him, panting.

“My, my, you’re out of shape. You are getting too soft on Earth,” he observed. I glared back at him. “I didn’t dare call. You know how they like to scare people.”

I nodded yes. “Yes, I knew they used the lights to keep people from coming here, as this is the easiest place to beam on and off the planet. I never realized they were using the ancient pillars for their amusement.”

He laughed. “Had you fooled too.” He became serious. “I just got word there’s another attack coming. This one is a doozy. Going to kill many people.” 

“You can’t stop it?”

He shook his head no. “Too many variants and impossible to track until it hits.”

“Then whatever is going to attack is already here?”

“That it is. Give me your arm.”

I held out my arm, and he slid my sleeve up and pressed the steel injector against my upper arm. “That should protect you, and it won’t appear on their test.”

“What about you?” I rolled my sleeve back down.

“I’m leaving. I got a new assignment.”

“So, you’re just going to leave me on this planet alone?”

“You won’t be by yourself, and someone will check in. We need you to catalog the attack. Good luck.”

 A flash of light blinded me for a minute, and my friend was gone.

***

I spent the next two years recording the effects of Covid and reporting the results to my home planet. As observers of Earth, we were not allowed to interfere. A pity, as many died, for my friend was right. This one was a doozy.

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

—————

Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by maxwell-andre from Unsplash.

WRITE THE STORY! NOVEMBER 2022 PROMPT

Welcome to Write the Story!

The ghost and goblins, witches, and wizards are back in the attic but not before they gave us a fun October. Not only did we have great stories from the WTS October 2022 prompt, but also amazing stories from the WU! Witching Hour Collection. From scary to funny to downright terrorizing, the WU! members gave us great stories to read. Thanks to all who shared their writing with us and to all of you who read their work!

Click Here for the WU! Witching Hour Collection

On to the November 2022 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! November 2022 Prompt

Images are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by maxwell-andre from Unsplash.

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.

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