Paula Shablo: At The Cabin

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, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Please note: the images used are free-use images and do not require attribution.

At The Cabin

Paula Shablo

After the holidays, Gretchen had deliberately made herself a recluse. She had been working all year on a novel, researching and making notes, outlining and plotting, and she was ready to put it all together.

After having taken most of December and half of January off, due to family obligations related to holiday celebrations, she explained her plan for a big writing push, and asked for some alone time. Her family was grudgingly obliging, agreeing to schedule video chats on weekends for the foreseeable future.

For the first time in a decade, she was glad she was single.

“Mom, please don’t do this.”

Gretchen paused in her packing and sighed. Yes, she was single, but she still had to contend with the children.

“Mallory, stop it,” she said. “The cabin is perfectly safe.”

“Sure, in the summer!” Mallory wasn’t giving up without a fight, clearly.

“Dad made sure everything was safe for winter, too.” Gretchen folded a thick sweater and tucked it into the suitcase. “I have a big generator, in case of a power outage. I have a big backup generator in case an outage outlasts the fuel in the first one. And there’s a third generator, besides. The caretaker has already made sure they are all full of gasoline. I have the fireplace in the front room and a wood-burning stove in the kitchen. I have half a dozen heavy quilts. The freezer is full. The pantry is full. The grocery store delivers.”

“But it’s so far, Mom! And the cell service is awful!”

“There’s a landline, Mal. Just stop! I’m going.”

“You could just write from here. We’ll leave you alone.”

“I always write at the cabin.”

“Not in winter!”

“Mallory Grace, you’re driving me nuts! Go tell your brother you did your best, and leave me be! I’m a grown woman, for God’s sake. I can take care of myself.”

Mallory, frowning deeply, flopped down in an easy chair, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest. “Wish you’d taken the house in the settlement and let Dad keep the cabin,” she huffed.

Gretchen rolled her eyes. “Your father never used the cabin. He doesn’t like to fish; he doesn’t like fresh air; he doesn’t swim—”

“I thought the cabin was his inheritance.”

Gretchen shrugged. “He didn’t want to buy me out of my half of the house. I didn’t want the mortgage payments. He didn’t want the cabin. Since I’m the one who always used it, he offered it in place of the house options, and it’s paid for, so I took the deed with a big old smile.” She zipped the suitcase shut. “Least he could do for me, the ass. And you already know all this!”

Gretchen started loading the Suburban, and Mallory tagged along, still griping. “It’s just so far! You can’t blame us for being worried, Mom.”

“I don’t.” Gretchen grinned as she inspected the interior of the vehicle. Getting deliveries from UPS was an issue at the cabin, so she had stocked up on toilet paper, facial tissue and paper towels. She was certain she’d have plenty; she was only one person, after all.

She drew her daughter into a long embrace, got into the SUV, and rolled the window down for one last goodbye. “Don’t you dare forget to water my plants!” she said.

“I won’t, Mom.” Mallory kissed Koko, Gretchen’s black Chihuahua-and-whatever-else mixed breed, and passed her through the window. Koko jumped into the passenger seat and settled herself on her blanket, curling into a ball of unruly curls. “You take care of Mama, Koko!”

Koko gave a noncommittal “woof.” Gretchen and Mallory giggled.

“You call the minute you get there,” Mallory ordered.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The phone is on?”

“It’s on. Quit smothering me!”

“Turnabout’s fair play.” Mallory leaned in the window and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I love you. Be careful.”

***

It was cold. Gretchen wasn’t surprised, exactly, but the change between city and country in terms of temperature was always an…adjustment. She thanked her lucky stars for the caretaker; the snow had been cleared from the driveway and foot-path.

Inside, she found the place cozily warm. The caretaker’s wife had left her a prepared dinner on a plate in the refrigerator, and Gretchen popped it into the microwave to warm up while she brought in the last of her luggage and provisions.

Koko kept busy running back and forth, and as soon as Gretchen shut the front door, she squatted and peed on the welcome mat.

“Damn it, Koko!” Gretchen snatched up woman’s-best-friend and headed out the door with her, admonishing the pooch the whole time. Koko, undaunted, finished her business outside.

Gretchen put the mat outdoors to be dealt with later, and shut the door again.

They were in for the night, she hoped.

With everything finally inside, Gretchen doffed her winter gear and called Mallory and other family members to check in. No sense in getting anyone worried on her first day away.

After putting out food and water for Koko, she enjoyed her first meal in the cabin and went to bed early.

*** 

Mallory hung up the phone and announced to her family, “I don’t like it.”

Greg, her husband, rolled his eyes at her. “She’s a grown woman, Mal. She’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know what it’s like there in the middle of winter!”

“Neither do you.”

“Well, I’ve heard stories about the wind and snow blowing in off that lake.” Mallory didn’t appreciate being reminded that she didn’t exactly know what she was talking about.

“I’m sure your mother has heard the same stories and has a plan for dealing with it. She’s not foolish.”

Mallory sat down across the table from her husband and put her face in her hands. “I know I’m being nuts about this, Greg,” she admitted. “But I have such a bad feeling in my guts about it. I can’t explain it.”

Greg, no stranger to Mallory’s “gut feelings,” looked a bit alarmed. “What sort of bad, Mal? The ‘I’m worried because she’s old and alone’ bad, or the ‘I think she might really be in danger’ bad?”

“I don’t know!” Mallory shook her head vigorously, as if to clear cobwebs. “I’ve never been a good judge of that in the first place, and I haven’t ever felt like this about Mom.”

“So, call her once a day.”

“We all promised to call on the weekends only.”

“Well, that was a dumb thing to promise.”

“I know, right?”

“Talk to Grandpa and your brother. Either one of them would get away with calling whenever they want.”

Mallory giggled. “Especially Grandpa. Okay. I will.”

***

According to her father, there had been no snow in the city at all this week. At the cabin, there had been storms three days out of the seven she’d been here. The caretaker came by a couple of times to plow the driveway and shovel the path, so Gretchen had a clear shot to the main road if she needed to go anywhere.

She and Koko had established a loose routine of walks outdoors, and pacing indoors. For some reason, Gretchen was nervous as a feline on catnip. She had put up a big storyboard and it was plastered with post-it notes. The outline and the timeline were intact; the plot was plotted. All she had to do was sit down and start typing. But she couldn’t sit still.

Koko lay in front of the fireplace, chin on paws, and watched as Gretchen walked to and fro across the room. Once in a while she moaned piteously, as if expressing sympathy for her befuddled mistress.

Gretchen sighed. “Dad’s worried about me,” she told her furry friend. She sat down, stared at the screen of her old friend, word processor. “Hell, I’m getting worried about me, too.” She stood, paced to the kitchen, then back to the front door.

Koko’s head lifted. Her ears shot up. Was it time for a walk?

“Yeah, okay,” Gretchen agreed. She pulled her coat on. “Let’s try not to freeze this time, okay?”

Koko emitted a disdainful sneeze at the sight of her leash, but sat and obediently lifted her chin while Gretchen attached it to her collar. She wasn’t a particularly adventurous dog and rarely wandered, but there were critters out there that might want to make a tasty snack of the little dog, and Gretchen was taking no chances.

At the last minute, she grabbed her cell phone and stuffed it into the inside breast pocket of her parka. “Dumb,” she told Koto as they headed out the door. “Damn thing never works out here.”

Koko gave her a quizzical look.

If dogs could shrug…

Outdoors, Koko led Gretchen down the path, where she discovered a set of fresh rabbit tracks. It was a little off their usual route, but Gretchen didn’t see any harm in letting Koko have a little fun with a bunny hunt for a few minutes. They weren’t going to get lost, after all—they only had to follow their own footprints back to the path.

They zigged and zagged a bit, and the snow got deeper in spots that weren’t as sheltered from the trees. Gretchen was out of breath from breaking through the drifts. Koko, tiny thing that she was, walked on top of the surface, rarely sinking more than an inch or so. “Oh, to be skinny,” Gretchen sighed. “That’s enough, Koko. Time to go home.”

Koko tugged the leash a couple of times in mock protest, and then turned with her mistress to go back to the cabin. They had gone only a few steps back when a loud cracking noise sounded in the stillness and Gretchen found herself armpit-deep in a hole. “Auuughhh! What the hell?”

Really, it was one armpit—her right arm was free, simply because she had been holding onto Koko’s leash. Her other arm was trapped against her side. The hole was tight, and she couldn’t feel the bottom. 

Koko inched her way over to her, kissed her nose and whined. “Baby, I think you saved my life.” Gretchen carefully moved her arm, hand still gripping the leash, and pushed Koko away from her face. She wiggled her feet, just to confirm to herself that the bottom of the hole wasn’t within her reach. God only knew how deep it might be.

The lake was close by, and she was grateful that this hole wasn’t filled with water. She concluded that she was above the water level, and that was good—as far as it went. After all, she was still stuck in a hole.

Her phone was in her inside breast pocket, but it was out of reach in her present position. Left arm tightly caught between her side and the side of the hole; right arm outside; holding her in place and keeping her from falling any further. It would be easiest to grab the phone from that left side pocket with her right hand, but she was no fool. She wouldn’t risk losing the only anchor she had. Getting it with her left hand would have been a task under the best of circumstances, and now seemed impossible, but she was going to have to try.

First, she decided she’d better get her feet set somewhere, so she pushed her toes forward until she encountered the side of the hole, reflecting that it wouldn’t be quite so hard to do if she’d lose about twenty pounds. Of course, she might have slid right down the hole in spite of her arm if not for the added tummy…

“This is so stupid,” she whispered.

Koko whined. She pushed her little face against Gretchen’s cheek; her eyes were full of tears. Gretchen stroked her head. “It’s okay, girl, we’re going to get out of this mess.” She kicked forward with her right foot, tapping a shelf into the side of the hole that she could use to brace herself with. Carefully, she inched her left leg up as much as she could with a knee-bend and tapped a second shelf into place. “I’m building some steps.”

She was starting to shiver, and noted that her little dog was doing the same. She knew she had to hurry if they weren’t both going to freeze, but she also knew she was going to have to be very careful. Cautiously, she pushed with her feet, and decided she needed to dig her shelves deeper. It wouldn’t do for the soil to collapse under her weight—she could fall in deeper, even with an arm-hold outside the hole. She kicked lightly and rotated her feet. “I’m a drill, Koko,” she said, trying not to let her teeth chatter. Once that started, she didn’t think she’d be able to stop it.

The leash was looped around her wrist, and for now she intended to keep it that way. But if this went on too long, she would let go so Koko could get away.

Her feet drilled into soil slowly—the ground was frozen less solidly at this depth, but it was hard going. Every half inch or so gained, she carefully tested her weight against her foot-made “steps.” She was terrified that the dirt would break off under her feet.

There was no way to know how deep the hole was. How far would she plummet if she lost her tenuous grip?

Finally, she felt stable enough to start moving her left arm. She got her hand against her thigh and began wiggling it up to her waist. Using her thumb, she pushed the hem of her coat down so she wouldn’t end up with her hand underneath it and trapped. Ah! Here was the zipper. She walked her fingers up her belly, between her breasts and up to her neck, keeping her elbow pressed firmly to the side of the hole so she wouldn’t slip.

As she moved, it became increasingly clear that she wasn’t going to be able to get her hand inside her jacket to pull out her phone. She also didn’t have much hope of turning it on trying to press buttons through her heavy coat. She pushed her left foot into its makeshift step and slowly straightened her leg, lifting herself just a little higher and using her right elbow to leverage herself up. Her right foot was dangling again, and she bent her knee carefully and got it up higher than the left. Then she started the step-making process again.

When both feet were well-seated once more, she walked her left hand up her neck and face, millimeters at a time. Koko sat staring into her face, in an eye to eye posture they’d never been in before. Her eyes were anxious and hopeful, and Gretchen thought her own eyes probably looked the same.

She was really frightened about thrusting her arm up out of the hole. That elbow pressing against the side was oddly reassuring. She worked to push her feet deeper into the soil, praying for stability. She pushed up on her toes, which raised her only slightly. She pushed her right arm out as far as she could and brushed snow away from the turf.

Koko, in a surprisingly helpful move, lay down across her forearm, adding a little weight. “Good girl, baby!” Koko’s tail thumped.

Gretchen dug her fingers into the grass and dirt as deeply as she could manage. She sucked in a cleansing breath and blew it out. Koko let out an encouraging yip. Gretchen thrust her left arm up and out, and threw it wide to catch herself if she started to slide down into the hole.

Her steps held. Now, arms akimbo, she hung there by both armpits. She felt sweat slide down her forehead and blinked hard. How in heaven’s name could she have worked up a sweat in this freezing weather? “You know what, Koko? Bodies are weird.”

Koko watched anxiously, still lying across her arm. Gretchen tried to pull herself up, but she wasn’t quite up to the task. “Damn it. I’m so out of shape!”

She sighed. Time to make another step, she decided. This time, she drew her knee up higher, feeling a little more confident now that she had both arms to hold herself up. She still didn’t think she could get to her phone; if she expended too much energy on the effort and managed it, and then got no reception, she was sure she would be too worn out to do anything else.

“Not worth it,” she told her little dog. She would feel the creature’s trembling. It was much too cold for them to be out this long. Koko was a short-haired breed. She needed to hurry.

Kick; twist; push. Kick; twist; push. A couple more steps and she started pushing the ground with her elbows. She was making some progress, but the higher she got her feet, the harder the frozen soil became.

She started kicking backwards with her heels, working on foot-holds front and back for more leverage. Heel; toe. Grunt; groan. Push; pull. She used her elbows to dig in and pushed with her shoulders. Inch by inch, she got her upper torso out. She cursed the arthritis in her wrists—if not for that, she could do a literal push-up. “God!” Gretchen yelled in frustration.

She was able to reach her phone, finally.

No signal. She left the useless thing on after dialing 911, and tossed it on the ground, just within reach. It could connect—anything was possible.

She pushed the loop of the leash off her wrist. “Go home, Koko,” she said. “Run, baby. Find someplace warm.”

Instead, Koko moved close to her and pressed herself against Gretchen’s neck and chest. Gretchen pushed the little dog into the front of her coat. They were both shivering violently, and the teeth-chattering she’d been dreading began.

“Shit.”

She fanned her arms over the ground like she was making a snow angel. She decided to embrace the width of her hips—they were likely saving her this very minute. She leaned back a bit and pushed with her elbows and shoulders and toes. She wiggled—carefully. She kicked her toes into the soil as hard as she was able. “One…step…at…a…time,” she gasped.

Koko licked her neck and whined.

“Yeah, me, too.”

But she was really making progress now—finally. It took a few more minutes, but she finally pushed herself up and out. She rolled away from the hole, Koko leaping out of her coat and out of the way.

She lay panting in the snow, and then pushed herself up. With her first shaky step, she crushed her phone. “Screw it.” She picked up her dog and trudged back to the cabin.

Half an hour later, Gretchen and Koko sat in front of a roaring fire, still shivering. “We never speak of this,” she told her beloved pet. “Mallory would never let us out of the house again.”

***

By noon the next day, Gretchen was packed and ready to go. Koko jumped into the Suburban with unseemly enthusiasm.

When they arrived at the house, Gretchen called Mallory and told her she was home.

“You’re back? What happened?”

“What do you mean, what happened?” Gretchen gave Koko a guilty look and shook her head.

“I know you, Mom. The book can’t be done already!”

Greg called out: “She had a bad feeling, Ma!”

“Well, that’s just silly.”

“Is it? What happened, Mom?”

“Oh. Well,” Gretchen sighed dramatically, “you were right.”

“Wait—let me get this on tape,” Mallory cried. “What did you say?”

“You were right, Mal. Cabins are for summer.”

“Eek!” Mallory giggled. “You heard that, right, Greg? You’re on speaker, Mom.”

“Whatever. It’s not like you can’t be right once in a while, Mallory.” Gretchen rolled her eyes at the dog, and hoped the story of her early return would go no further.

She knew she could be dead right now, and Koko, too. But no one else needed to know it. She was fine.

Miracles happen every day.

Now if she could just finish the damn book.

Please visit Paula on her blog: https://paulashablo.com/

Cheryl Ann Guido: The Interrogation

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, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Please note: the images used are free-use images and do not require attribution.

The Interrogation

Cheryl Ann Guido

Sally Gibbons was dead. Even though her body had not yet been found, everyone who lived in the tiny town of Crested Butte, Colorado knew that her life had been extinguished — probably murdered by one of the two men in her life. On that day, a witness had observed Sally lock up the little ski apparel shop that she operated and co-owned with her husband Russell an hour earlier than usual. The witness, who owned the pizza shop next door, presumed that the reason for the early closure was due to the expected blizzard predicted to begin later that afternoon. Since Sally lived on a ranch over ten miles outside of town and had to travel along hilly and unpaved roads, it was not unusual for her to depart ahead of incoming snowy winter Colorado weather.

Sally’s shop, though not the main money maker for the family, was well known throughout the valley for its small, select line of quality goods. With a large customer base comprised of both residents and tourists, it thrived throughout the winter season even though it was often only open for a few hours a day.

Sally had never taken an interest in the family business, the almost 1000-acre Circle R cattle ranch where Russell and Roy spent their days running the day-to-day operations. In fact, Sally had been born and raised in Saddle Brook, New Jersey and had met her future husband and brother-in-law at NYU where the three of them had become inseparable during their college years. Always together, their friends had often speculated which brother Sally might choose to be her life partner. A materialistic girl by nature, no one was surprised when she announced her impending marriage to Russell, the elder brother during their last year in college. Russell was next in line to inherit the entire sprawling Colorado ranch that had been owned by his family for generations.

Roy on the other hand, having no interest in ranching, had been accepted into Columbia University Law School. However, it was not long before it became apparent that Roy would never practice law. After Russell and Sally married, he fell in with a fast crowd with whom he partied every night, drinking and doing recreational drugs when he should have been studying. Due to failing grades, he was forced to drop out after only one semester. Broke and depressed, he returned home to Colorado and worked on the ranch.

Upon Roy’s return, Russell had delegated him to common ranch work. Instead of negotiating deals, Roy found himself mucking out stalls and herding cattle on horseback. Roy had tried to speak to his father about taking a more dignified role in the family business, however the patriarch steadfastly refused, reminding Roy how he had chosen law school over ranching when given the choice years before. Raymond’s health had declined during the time his sons were away and when Russell returned, he had signed over the ownership of the ranch to his eldest son even though he was still alive. Defeated and bitter, Roy acquiesced simply because he had no other choice. But he was not happy about it. He was not happy at all.

Subsequently, the two brothers frequently argued. Roy constantly brought up his secondary status and how he felt that Russell was being favored by their father simply because Roy had chosen not to be a part of the ranch after college graduation. It did not matter that at the time, Roy was young and impetuous. It also did not matter that he had failed in his pursuit of a law degree. He felt that as Raymond’s only other child, he deserved half of the ranch and the business despite the fact that his father refused to give it to him.

Roy, who had secretly been in love with Sally, was also bitter about her marriage to Russell. Many times, he chastised himself for not being more aggressive in pursuit of her love. He never understood why she chose his brother during their college years when he had such big plans at that time. Russell was a good man, but also a simple one. A work horse, he was devoted to the ranch, and after marrying Sally and bringing her home, he spent little time with her whereas Roy thought that upon his graduation from law school, he would be in a position to give her anything she wanted.

Roy knew that Sally felt neglected and unhappy. Shortly after his arrival, Roy began to flirt with her, always complimenting her on her appearance, her cooking and her ability to run her own business successfully. Little by little, he wormed his way back into her heart and as their flirtations became more intense, they began an affair. At least once a week, he would meet her at her shop. Upon his arrival she would hang an out-to-lunch sign on the door while they made love in a back room.

But their affair was not without discord. Roy became obsessive about having Sally for his own. He began to badger her about filing for a divorce from Russell and leaving town with him. Beyond that, he did not have a plan but he felt confident that was not an issue. All he needed to do was to win her over with his charm. Eventually, Sally would leave with him willingly, or so he thought.

Their affair continued for months. Roy’s frequent presence at Sally’s store did not go unnoticed by the neighboring shopkeepers who gossiped among themselves and their friends about the sordid goings on happening behind Russell’s back. Sally and Roy on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the possibility that Russell would find out and exact some kind of revenge.

The affair lasted the winter until the fateful day that Sally disappeared. On that particular day, Sally and Roy had been observed having a heated argument in front of her store by the grocer across the street. Although he could see them clearly, their voices were muffled and he was unable to make out any of their conversation. Not wanting to appear to be eavesdropping, he stayed inside, figuring that whatever they were arguing about was none of his business. However, he could not pry his eyes away from the bickering couple and had observed Sally’s red-faced animation as her arms flailed while stomping her cowboy boots hard on the pavement. Roy had quietly stood across from her during her rant, leaning against his truck with his arms folded across his chest. The witness then observed Roy take a step forward while saying something that made Sally angry enough to slap him hard across the face. Roy then grabbed Sally by the arms and threw her down onto the ground. Immediately after, he jumped into his truck and sped away, leaving black rubber tire tracks in the street. The shopkeeper was about to go outside to help Sally when he saw her stand up, place her hands on her hips and scream, “you bastard, you’re gonna pay for that!” She then spun around, strode up the walkway to her shop’s entrance and slammed the door shut. Guessing that only Sally’s pride was hurt and nothing else, he went back to stocking his shelves. Shortly after, Sally emerged from her store and was seen locking up and leaving by the pizza shop owner. That was the last time Sally Gibbons was seen alive.

A two-week search along the route Sally drove to get to and from the Gibbons ranch turned up nothing. After a late winter storm dumped three feet of snow onto Crested Butte, the hunt for Sally was halted. Buck Waters, a veteran law officer who had held the position of Sheriff of Crested Butte for over twenty years, felt that either Sally had frozen to death and died somewhere along her route or had simply run away. Severely hampered by the deep snow, any further search became impossible and was postponed until the Spring thaw. Russell, who by that time had discovered Sally’s indiscretion, showed no interest in finding his cheating wife. Roy, after being forcibly removed from the Circle R, also had no desire to find Sally. He rented a room in town and took a job bartending at the Blue Diamond Saloon intending to leave Crested Butte permanently as soon as the weather warmed.

Three months later, rising Spring temperatures melted the snow blanketing the woods that backed up to the Circle R property. A ranch hand chasing after a stray calf that had wandered into the thicket stumbled across Sally’s car half hidden under a pile of wet leaves. When he opened the car door to check inside, Sally’s still frozen lifeless body fell over sideways across the seat. Her jeans were ripped in several places and dirt marks smudged her white blouse which was also missing the top two buttons. As a result, the shirt hung slightly askew baring one of her shoulders. Purple and red bruise marks circled her neck and both of her hands were balled up into tight fists. When the Gunnison County coroner arrived, he noticed petechia around her eyes which, combined with the bruises on her neck, led him to determine her cause of death to be strangulation before he even left the scene. Once he got her body on the table, he discovered that Sally was six weeks pregnant and officially ruled her death a homicide.

***

Buck Waters paced back and forth in front of the table that separated him from a seated Russell Gibbons. Russell watched, licking his lips nervously as the clicking of Buck’s boots made the only sound in the room. After another minute, Russell slammed his fist onto the metal table top.

“Dammit Buck, ain’t you gonna say somethin’, or are you just gonna keep walkin’ back and forth until you wear a hole into the damned floor?”

Russell’s question was met with an icy stare as Buck settled into the chair opposite the rancher. The sheriff leaned back a bit and raised one foot then the other, banging them loudly onto the table almost on top of Russell’s folded hands. Startled, Russell quickly raised both hands as he shifted his body in the seat. Without taking his eyes off of his detainee, Buck removed a short, fat stogie from his breast pocket and stuck it between his teeth. After retrieving a lighter from the same pocket, he lit the cigar, took a long pull, then blew the smoke in Russell’s direction. The rancher blinked as the acrid smoke stung his eyes.

Buck chuckled then grew serious. “How long have I known you, boy?”

Russell shrugged. “I dunno. Since I was a kid I guess.”

“And would you say I know you really well?”

“I suppose.”

Buck jumped out of his chair, placed both hands firmly on the table and lowered his face until it was just inches from Russell’s. “Damn right I know you really well. I was there the night you were born. I taught you how to rope a cow. You always called me Uncle Buck and in all those years I’ve never known you to be a violent person. What the hell were you thinking, murdering your wife?”

Russell’s eyes opened wide as he began to breathe in short, deep breaths. “You think I …? Lordy, I didn’t murder her.”

Buck’s eyes narrowed into thin slits. “The hell you didn’t! You found out she was having an affair with your brother, that she was pregnant and then you killed her, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Admit it. You couldn’t stand the idea of her shaming you and with your own brother too. So, you waylaid her on her way home then strangled her, drove her car into the woods and made a half assed attempt to hide it under some dead leaves. You must be stupid or something.”

“I didn’t kill her. I didn’t see her at all that day. I was up doing chores before she was even awake and she left before I came in for breakfast. Ask Tommy, my ranch hand. He was helping me shoe a horse out in the back barn.”

Buck grunted and sat back down in his seat. “I will. In the meantime, I want you to write down everything that you did that day from the time you got up until the time you went to bed.” He shoved a yellow legal pad and a ballpoint pen across the table. “Don’t leave anything out. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Russell winced as Buck’s chair legs scraped the tile floor. He watched the big lawman open the door. “I’m telling ya, Buck, twasn’t me.”

“Uh huh.”

“Buck!” But the sheriff had already left the room.

Waters entered a small observation alcove behind the interrogation room. Wearing a grim expression, Raymond Gibbons extended his hand and the two men shook. Gibbons then turned back to the glass window. “Buck you know damn well my boy didn’t do this murder.”

“Do I? He’s got a pretty good motive, Ray. He sure wouldn’t be the first man to murder a cheating wife.”

“Not my Russell. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. I’m telling you, he’s innocent.”

“Well Ray, that may be true. I’ll certainly check out his alibi. In the meantime, let’s see what your other son has to say.”

The elder Gibbons turned toward a glass window on the opposite side of the small room as the sheriff exited.

Roy Gibbons tapped his fingers on top of the smooth metal surface of the table. At the sound of the door opening, he stopped, cocked his head and grinned. “Evenin’ Sheriff. Beautiful day, ain’t it?”

Buck scowled. “Don’t get cocky with me, Roy Gibbons. You know damn well we aren’t here to discuss the weather.”

Roy nodded his head. “Yeah, I do. Go ahead Buck, ask me.”

“Alright, I’ll come straight to the point. Did you murder Sally?”

“Nope, and I’m really insulted that you’re even considering that possibility.”

“Really. So, the fact that you two had a fight in front of her place and that she hit you and you got mad and shoved her down onto the sidewalk should make me think that things between you both were just hunky dory, right?”

Roy snickered. “Yeah, well when you put it that way …”

Buck spun Roy around in his seat. “Don’t be a smart ass, boy. Murder is serious business. Your pregnant sister-in-law lover was strangled until she was dead and maybe you’re the one who did it.”

One corner of Roy’s mouth turned up into a sly grin as he arched his brows. “And maybe I’m not.”

Buck’s cheeks started to burn and turned beet red. “You really are a piece of work, Roy. You’re a cocky son-of-a-bitch. You’ve always been trouble and a real loser. The only thing you’ve got going for you is your name and even that isn’t doing anything for you anymore.”

Slamming his fist into his other hand, Roy jumped up, eyes full of hatred. Waters smirked.

“What are you gonna do, Roy, hit me? You want to add assault on a police officer to your murder charge?”

Roy ground his teeth as he slowly sank back down into his chair. “Look, Buck. I’m innocent. We had a fight. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.”

“You’re telling me that you didn’t follow her when she left, kill her and ditch her and her car in the woods?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m telling you. Now, I want a lawyer. I had enough law school to know that I need one at this point and I’m not saying another word until that happens.”

“Fine with me. Who do you want?”

“Gerard Tibbons.”

“Daddy’s guy, huh? Figures. Alright, just sit tight. I’ll go call him for you.”

When Waters returned to the observation alcove, he was met by a visibly angry Raymond Gibbons.

“I ain’t payin’ for no lawyer for that worthless piece of …”

“Now, now, Ray,” said Buck cutting him off, “that’s no way to talk about your own son.”

“He ain’t my son no more. He gave up that right when he decided to be a lawyer. Too bad that didn’t work out for him now isn’t it?”

Buck grunted. “Let me ask you something, Ray. Who do you think killed that girl?”

The old rancher took a step back. “Are you asking me to choose between my boys?”

“Oh, so now they’re both your boys?”

Ray ignored the comment. “That girl has been trouble since my sons met her. She was a gold diggin’ piece of trash. She knew exactly what she was doin’, pittin’ my sons against each other.”

“What makes you say that?”

“One night she got drunk and told me she wasn’t interested in either of them. But what she wanted was the Gibbons name and all that went with it. She even tried to seduce me. Don’t know why. Maybe she thought I’d change my will in her favor.”

“You didn’t like her much, huh?”

“I didn’t like her at all. She was trash, pure and simple.”

“And you wanted her gone, didn’t you?”

“Damn right I wanted her gone. That bitch was causin’ a war between my boys.”

“You told her that too, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I told her. She said she wasn’t goin’ nowhere. She laughed and said she was gonna have my money one way or the other.”

“Hey Ray, whatever happened to those horseshoe cufflinks you loved so much?”

“Huh?”

“I noticed you’re wearing gold studs. What happened to the horseshoe ones?”

“I—I lost one of them.”

“Yeah, I guess you did.” Buck reached into his trouser pocket. “And here it is. Want to know where I found it, Ray?” Stunned, Raymond Gibbons could not say a word. “I found this clutched in the hands of a dead woman, a dead woman named Sally Gibbons. She pulled it off your sleeve when you killed her. Too bad you didn’t do a better job getting rid of her body. Raymond Gibbons, you’re under arrest for the murder of Sally Gibbons. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney …”

{{~..~}}

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

Caroline Giammanco: Shelf Life

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, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Please note: the images used are free-use images and do not require attribution.

Shelf Life

Caroline Giammanco

Frankie stoked the coals and put another log on the fire. He was tired, and the grind of getting back to work caught up with him as heavy shadows began to paint the view from his cabin window. 

He’d returned from vacation a few weeks ago, and as he gazed into the distance he remembered the warmth of the Florida sun and the sound of waves crashing outside the beach house, his usual getaway spot. 

Still, as much as he’d enjoyed his yearly southern excursion, this was home. His hosts at the Florida bed and breakfast wouldn’t understand the draw, he doubted. Whistling wind, feet of snow, and sub-zero temperatures turned a lot of people off. 

Not Frankie, though. He came from pioneer stock. His family settled here generations ago, and they’d adapted well. The blue tones of the approaching evening on the snow-laden trees tonight were comforting and familiar. There’s nowhere else he’d want to live, and he’d had his share of world travels. No, vacations are nice, but there’s no place like home, as the saying goes. 

The teapot whistled, and Frankie turned from the view to get a cup and saucer out for his evening tea. The steam from the kettle swirled like a magical spirit ascending to heaven in a waltz of fluid motion. Frankie was mesmerized by little details like that. 

He smiled in spite of an aching lower back. 

Tonight I’m definitely using some ointment on it. I’m not so young anymore, and those boxes did a number on me this week. 

Like most of his friends and neighbors, he worked at the local factory. Work was steady, and the benefits were good. His bosses even gave him paid vacation time which accounted for his yearly trips to the beach. All he had to do was squeeze in an hour or so a day on work-related activities and he could write off his entire trip as a business expense. He couldn’t complain about his boss or the company. It was a respectable job, and nearly everyone in town worked there in one capacity or the other. 

Normally Frankie’s position wasn’t as physically taxing as it was this week and for the next few. The annual inventory and retooling took place at this time, and that meant all hands on deck. Everyone from the first-year rookie to the general manager rolled up sleeves and assisted in counting, packing, and cleaning. They all dreaded this difficult, but necessary, time. 

This downtime, of sorts, at work was nothing like the adventures Frankie had while traveling. Production would begin again in a month after new orders came in to prepare for next year’s rush. As boring as January was at work, Frankie and his friends accepted the fact it had to be done. The fun they’d had on their excursions made up for any tedium they faced on the job. 

Frankie returned to his comfortable chair as his gaze returned to the glistening scene before him. The scent of cinnamon lifted from his steaming cup of tea, and the frost on the windows mingled with the aroma to provide a poignant moment. Another twinge in his lower back made him wince, however, ruining the otherwise perfect instant. 

I can’t blame it all on work, unfortunately. My back hasn’t felt right since the trip home from vacation. That’s what I get for traveling coach. Next year, I’ll see about better travel arrangements. 

The fun he’d had was worth the current discomfort, though. He’d loved every minute of his time with this hosts and their children. 

Kids make you feel young again, and that’s good for the mind and soul. 

The fire crackled, and another hour dwindled by while the blue cast of the snow outside his window faded into a velvet black. The clock chimed, and he knew it was time to crawl under the quilts and go to sleep. 

His eyes grew heavy as he snuggled under the blanket. Yet, suddenly, he sat up in bed. 

I almost forgot my nightly journal entry! I’ll never write my memoir accurately if I don’t log the day’s events. 

Opening the drawer to his nightstand, Frankie retrieved his diary and favorite pen. The leather cover felt good in his hands, and his heart leapt at the working title he’d given it: Shelf Life. 

I’ve always loved a good turn of phrase, and I think this book has potential. After all, what other elf has revealed the inside story of life as an Elf on the Shelf? I’m sure I can get a publishing contract with one of the Big 5 with this one. 

He quickly scribbled down today’s entry, then yawned, turned out the light, and fell asleep with the satisfaction of knowing he was working on something big.

Visit Caroline on her blog: https://carolinegiammancowrites.home.blog/

Riham El-Ashry: Lost in The Blue Mountain

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, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

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Lost in The Blue Mountain 

Riham El-Ashry

The police reached the scene almost ten hours after the body was found. The previous night’s blizzard had caused electricity to go out and blocked all paths to the city. Though the mountains were covered in innocent white, a terrible death had muddled the peaceful village. 

A disturbed afternoon was unusual in the Blue Mountain Resort. A dead body was a terrifying incident that never occurred here before. Many people visited the place not only because of its picturesque village-like scenery, but also because it had been one of the safest and best guarded. 

“When have you discovered the body?” Detective Lawrence asked the manager of the resort.

“The guards,” he took a deep breath, fat on his body shook as he hurried towards the agent, “have received a call for help nearly at 4 pm yesterday.”

The cozy, luxurious office was a rich reflection of the glamor of the elegant resort buildings, except for a bed sheet that was wrapped around the body of Alice Cornell, curled on a sofa. 

The air was heavy, and the room got unexpectedly warm. For some moments, no sound was heard except for the faint tapping of the husband’s shaking legs. His head down and eyes staring at the expensive thick carpet. 

“We are fine,” Mr. Cornell’s voice quavered on. “We wanted to go skiing in the Blue Mountain, but…” 

“In our resort guidelines we don’t recommend any of the guests to ski in that area,” the manager stated hastily, looking directly at the mournful husband while taking glimpses at the detective. 

“Mr. Cornell,” Det. Lawrence, placing himself in the opposite chair, said, “had you any idea that a snowstorm was approaching?” 

Before Cornell could even recall an answer, a tall man in a sports outfit stepped forward to announce that the administration made sure to warn all residents about the coming storm through SMS. 

Det. Lawrence gazed at the man for a few seconds till the latter turned away. Silence soaked the place for a moment before the detective addressed Cornell again. “Will you please explain how you lost her?” 

“We skied together till we reached the top of that horrible steep. I didn’t know exactly where we were, there was no internet signal on my phone.” He looked up and continued. “My wife,” he took a quick glance at the pile of sheets heaped on the far sofa, “though was so excited about it, she was a poor skier, pushed herself down the steep slope. 

“She drafted downward very fast and didn’t hear my shouts to her to stop. Her precious body crashed into a great rock that stood out despite the thick snow. She flew in the air and landed with a tremendous thwack on the head. 

“The storm was getting fiercer that I couldn’t see clearly. The body rolled down for a long distance and into the clump of fir.” Cornell gasped with tears. 

Det. Lawrence, who was examining the body now carefully, raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t you tried to follow her or call for help, Mr. Cornell? Don’t you agree with me that it is weird that you turned your back to her and returned here?” 

“I didn’t. I came back to ask the resort rescue unit for help. But, unluckily, we reached the place after a whole hour.” 

“How did you get back?” 

“On a snowmobile, they gave it to us before we set off.” 

The tall man in the sports clothes checked one of the screens on a side desk and objected. “We decline any responsibility for this accident. Mrs. Cornell was a skillful skier and has won a prize in the skiing contest we had last year. 

“Mr. Lawrence, here are the photos that were taken for her and other participants and winners in that contest last year. Please, take a look at this event which was also shared simultaneously on social media at the time.” 

Mr. Cornell, standing beside his wife’s body, uncovered her face and burst into weeping. The man’s sobbing was heard across the room, and the manager patted his shoulder and volunteered to accompany him to another room. 

**********************************************

“I can’t see the point of this,” Alice exclaimed, “this whole winter trip is futile. You know our marriage is over. Years ago. It was a mistake to be patient and keep trying.”

“Is this what you think?” Bill ground his teeth. 

“Bill, it is over. Accept it. Look at this place you brought us to talk. It is like our life — cold and dead.”

Bill, staring down the frozen hill, giving his wife his back, scratched his forehead and said, “But we can sit together and release all the negative feelings, get everything healed and recover our relationship.” 

“You are always the same. Thinking only of yourself. You think because you are ‘a relationship consultant’ you can solve your own problems?” 

Alice’s tone must have been sarcastic enough because Bill turned abruptly, rushed towards her and grabbed her wrist. “That’s why you cheated on me, right?”

Alice’s eyes widened, and while he was pushing her, she took many steps back. 

“You thought I wouldn’t know. You wanted a divorce so you can be with him? Isn’t this the place you met him last year? The place where you faithfully betrayed me with another man?”

Bill’s last words were accompanied by a strong nudge on his wife’s shoulder. She looked around and tried to call for help, but he didn’t give her a chance. Another push and she fell off the cliff screaming and desperately trying to hold on to anything that her hands touched. 

**********************************************

Bill covered his face with his hands. A light knock on the door brought him back to his senses. 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Det. Lawrence stepped in. 

“What do you say? There isn’t any evidence on this nonsense claim.” 

“You mean yet,” Det. Lawrence smirked and raised his hand with a cell phone. 

“You forgot only one thing. You didn’t take her phone. You see, she hadn’t died at once. She made one last call.” 

“What.. What do you say?” Bill dipped his hands into his pockets as if searching for something. 

“You didn’t call the rescue unit. She did, and guess what her last words were. Could they be, ‘Help! He pushed me down the Blue Mountain’?” 

“This is no evidence,” he nervously shouted. 

As two officers entered the room, Det. Lawrence said, “We will see.”

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S.McC: Flurries

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, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Please note: the images used are free-use images and do not require attribution.

Flurries

S.McC

Small elongated footsteps imprinted into the deep snow led to a white furry creature. It tentatively twitched its nose as it looked up into the darkening sky. 

It hopped one more step before pausing, stunned as the sun returned with its blinding light. The snow hare rubbed its eyes with its tiny paws, its ears flattened against its back.

The ground beneath the hare trembled, and he covered his eyes with his ears, burying himself within the snow.

(It was beginning) The hare thought to himself, as he trembled upon the ground. His little heart racing, he shook with fright.

He peeked out between his ears and found the snow falling harshly all around him. Quickly he sat back upon his hind legs and peered all around him into the flurry. His sight was hindered by all the snow falling around him, but his ears swivelled trying to pick up the minute sounds. 

Sounds that would signal a time for him to hop away as fast as his powerful hind legs would carry him. His nose twitched and his right ear swivelled to the same spot over and over again. His heart thudded, and he closed his eyes against the snow trying to target where the great grey beast was coming from, its jaws salivating and its claws ready to pounce upon the small hare. 

The hare opened his eyes, his ears swivelled behind him, and he crouched. A low growl signalled his first hop, and away the small hare dashed into the flurry of snow. 

Around and around the great grey beast chased him. Snapping at his heels but never quite getting him. 

The trees around him blurred, white and green mingling together as he sped past, his heart thudding.

The snow eased the longer he ran. Until at last one final snowflake fell to the floor, and he came to a sudden stop, his mind going blank.

***

The large creature got up off of the snow-covered ground and shook himself. He yawned widely, his great white teeth glinting in the bright sunshine. 

His paws began walking him softly through the trees and the sky darkened all around him.

(Early start today.) The grey wolf thought to himself, the blizzard around him whitening his fur and making him squint through the trees.

He couldn’t see very well through the snow, but his nose smelt the small furry hare of his intentions. His stomach grumbled and saliva built up within his jaws at the thought of the creature that he was hunting. The creature that he would soon be chasing.

His paws never stopped moving forward, until finally, he reached the small clearing. He paused, taking in the hare’s scent, his body quivering in anticipation.

The hare was barely visible in the snow as it crouched down, its white fur trembling in front of him. He crouched and dug his paws into the soft snow, before leaping forwards.

Chasing the hare around and around the forest. Snow falling to the ground lightening with each step. Until finally it stopped altogether and the wolf’s vision dimmed going black, its jaws centimetres away from one of the hare’s back legs.

***

A hare quietly made his way into the clearing, his little nose twitching into the darkening sky.

(Haven’t I been here before?) The hare glanced all around him but saw nothing but peace.

The sky above was clear, no snow falling until suddenly darkness covered him but for a minute and flurries of snow fell all around him.

The hare sprinted around and around the forest, the wolf hot on his heels until the snow stopped its falling and blackness took him.

***

The wolf shook his head and growled low within his throat. He stretched and looked all around him, the sights of the forest familiar to his nose and paws.

Darkness shrouded his vision before the snow fell rapidly all around him. He crouched and ran until blackness took him.

***

Darkness shrouded them again, over and over they ran through the forest, flurries of snow pelting their soft coats.

Until one day the snow stopped falling and the wolf caught the hare. The hare squirmed within the wolf’s salivating jaws, trying desperately to free itself.

A scream could be heard all around them and the wolf dropped the hare, but blackness did not take them, instead they found that they were stuck in place. Unable to move even a single paw.

The hare had landed just out of the wolf’s reach and he could no longer chase it. He snapped at the hare in frustration.

(What’s happening?) The hare called out as he tried to squirm away.

(I do not know. This isn’t what is supposed to happen.)

(What are we to do, wolf?)

(Let us sleep then perhaps in the morning we will find ourselves right again.)

And so the two curled up where they were and slept under the snow, each confused by their predicament.

***

High above them, a child on the edge of adulthood had screamed. She had been peering into the snowglobe whilst the wolf and the hare had been running around on their track in the snow. She had nearly dropped the snowglobe when the wolf had caught the hare.

She ran up to her grandparents and showed them the snowglobe. Shaking it in front of them, causing the snow to fall wildly all around. She showed them the two creatures inside sleeping next to each other, being covered in snow.

“What is it, Ava?” the grandmother asked.

“Your snowglobe is not working anymore.”

“Oh, that old thing. I’m surprised it didn’t give up years ago.” The grandparent peered at the snowglobe. She took it gently from her granddaughter’s hands and shook it. 

Flurries of snow lifted and descended all around the wolf and the hare who were curled up next to each other. Covering their grey bodies in a fine dusting.

The grandmother looked all around at the globe before handing it back to her granddaughter. “This seems fine to me.”

“But grandma! The wolf and hare, they are not running!” 

“They have never run around, Ava. They have always just slept. It must have been your imagination.”

“Oh, I’m sure they did,” Ava solemnly said. Her shoulders slumped and her eyes welled as she peered at the globe.

“Come, Ava, let us grab some hot chocolate. All that snow falling has made me thirsty,” the grandmother said, taking her hand.

Ava instantly perked up and placed the snow globe onto the battered table in the sitting room and skipped into the kitchen. 

The grandmother clambered out of the chair groaning, before slowly following her into the kitchen.

The grandfather peered at the snowglobe, chuckling he whispered tapping the glass. “So you were at it again.”

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G. A. Short: Snow Hawk

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, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

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Snow Hawk 

G. A. Short 

Aleks stood in the middle of the icy crossroads. The road felt claustrophobic, the trees walling him in on each side. They rose high enough that the tops were not visible in this weather. He had been walking for hours and treading the wintry ground was tiresome. His leg muscles burned. She was close now though, he could feel it. The hackles on his neck and arms were up. His heart beat faster and his breathing became shallow. Fight or flight, the basic animal instinct. He certainly had not come this far to do the latter. 

Snowflakes whirled around him in a roaring maelstrom. Soon he could not see the roads anymore. Aleks knew there was one road directly behind him; being the way he had come and where remained his snowy footprints. There was another directly ahead; the way he needed to go. Aleks took a step forward but immediately froze. In his peripheral vision, a faint form appeared in the snow. It faded away as quickly as it had appeared. Had he not known she could be here, he would have missed it. His sword was already drawn and he held it up in front of him, both hands wrapped around its golden hilt. The sword’s power surged and he felt its heat in his hands. Aleks took a deep breath to steady his nerve, and to focus. He moved only his eyes, listening intently, hunting for another glimpse. If he was going to get past, the strike would have to be quick and true. The muscles in his arms were tensed, ready to explode with the power of the sword permeating through him. 

He took another step forward. Her blood-curdling scream ripped through the thick cold air. Aleks took another step forward. Once again, a silhouette formed off to his left, as if made from the snow itself. This time, it did not wane. She had come for him. He watched unmoving as she edged closer. Do not meet her gaze, Aleks thought to himself. 

She was very close now. He could hear her laboured dead breath, if he could call it that, he wondered if she even still breathed. 

Aleks let go of his restraint, unleashing the power within. Using all his strength, he swung the sword toward her, averting his eyes all the while. It felt to him that time slowed, almost to a stop. He watched the arc of the sword rotate around him, leaving a trail of light in its wake. All he heard was the hum of the steel and the tiny tinkle of every snowflake the sword sliced. The impact he expected did not come. The impact that did come hit him hard from behind. 

Aleks was sent sprawling forward onto the hard icy ground. His back had been shred open by her talon-like fingers, which had ripped through his toughened hide armor like razor blades. Aleks pushed himself up, winded and in agony. The wounds felt like they were on fire. He could tell they were deep, and he was going to lose a lot of blood, quickly. He did not have much time. He took a knee and held his sword up once more. He closed his eyes and focused on the sounds around him. There was a rush of wind howling as it moved against the swirling maelstrom. It swiftly circled around him. It paused, then rushed straight for him. He swung his sword once more, but with considerably less vigour than before. The pain from his back causing him to cry out. This time, there was contact. 

Aleks opened his eyes to see the blade passing through the ghostly apparition as it dissipated. The swirling snow stopped and then began to rise up back into the sky until there was no snow falling. Aleks caught a glimpse of the signpost once more, and the road he had intended to take. All at once, the snow came crashing down around him again, faster and heavier. Aleks covered his face, the snow had hardened into ice and stung his cheeks. Her shriek filled the air again. It seemed to be coming from all around. He took hold of his sword with both hands and held it above his head, point forward. A shadow appeared at his feet, Aleks looked down, it was getting bigger. She was attacking from above. He looked up and saw her, terror consumed him. She had skeletal arms stretched out, the long sharp talons protruding ahead of them. There were no distinctive features to her face, other than the mouth and eyes. The mouth was opened wide, revealing a dark void, the source of the deafening shriek. Long red hair bellowed behind her like flames as she descended upon him, like a hawk upon its prey. Her eyes were as white as the snow. Aleks had looked at her eyes. He knew at that moment that this was where his story ended, like the many others he had heard of, lost wanderers and unsuspecting travellers. This vision of death was the vision of his death. He would not take the road he intended, he would not fulfill his promise. A tear trickled down his cheek. 

In one last-ditch effort, Aleks turned the hilt of the sword and raised the point up, but it was too late. The momentum as she swooped down pinned him to the ground. Aleks felt the pop of his bones and ribs breaking, just like a hunted field mouse. His sword landed among the raised knotted roots of the conifer wall. Snow fell from the branches off the nearby trees, burying the sword for the rest of winter. Her talons were once again upon his skin. They burned as they sliced into his chest and navigated to his heart. Her heartless face was close to his now, watching as his soul slowly slipped away. The last thing Aleks saw were her eyes.

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Kenneth Lawson: The Cabin

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, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Please note: the images used are free-use images and do not require attribution.

The Cabin

Kenneth Lawson

I didn’t know which cold was worse, the stone-cold stillness of no air moving, or the bone-chilling shiver cold of a breeze blowing.

It needed not be much of a breeze to cut through the heavy winter jacket I was wearing. A sharp breeze came up between the trees as I approached the edge of the clearing. It made up my mind the breeze was worse. Much worse.

The tracks of a dozen or more winter animals greeted me when I reached the tree line. To my right, I saw the remains of a trail leading into the woods, but what was to my left got my full attention. The signpost with three old pine boards nailed to the top of it caught my attention first. Plowing the knee-deep snow, I got close enough to read the names hand-painted on the boards. They were difficult to make out, but I thought the top one said “Armrest” and the middle one said “Devon” or something like it. I couldn’t read the bottom one at all. The names weren’t familiar to me, and judging by rot on the post, the faded paint, and wind-worn edges of the boards, I figured that they had been here for more years than I’d been alive. I made a note of the names and the directions they pointed. 

Looking around, I spied the old log cabin. More knee-plowing through the deep snow allowed me to reach the cabin, which appeared to be as old as the signpost. Leaning against the old logs, I took a little shelter from the breeze that had picked up. The door placed on the side was protected from the wind, and the snowdrift was manageable. 

Pushing through, I got to the door. Leaning on the solid planks, I pushed as hard as I could. The door gave way easily, to my surprise. Slipping inside, I wasted no time in closing the door behind me.

Leaning against the door, I let my breathing slow down and felt my pulse start to steady. I closed my eyes and tried to fight the cold gnawing at my bones. Even in the heaviest snow pants and the boots, and several layers of sweaters and an extra coat under my outer winter coat, I remained chilled to the bone. Shivering, I managed to remove my gloves. My hands were cold and stiff despite being covered by thick wool and leather. I rubbed my hands together while I looked around the sparsely furnished cabin—the table near the fireplace was rickety and the chair was worn and wobbly. I sat down anyway. The sound of the wood protesting as I gently lowered my weight into it echoed in the small room. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Sleep came. 

 I hadn’t planned on falling asleep, but this was the first time I’d been out of the cold and wind in several days. Waking up sometime later, I realized I wasn’t cold. I was warm, almost hot. Looking around, I gasped, startled to see the gentle orange glow of a fire in the fireplace. Nothing else had changed since I drifted off to sleep, but the cabin was now brighter and warmer. The fire had been going for some time to warm up the old logs and take the winter chill off the small room. 

“Good Morning.” 

The cheerful voice came from out of my range of vision. Turning my head, I straightened up in the chair, which miraculously had not collapsed under my weight. As I sat upright, I realized for the first time my fingers and toes didn’t hurt anymore—now warm pink flesh came out of my jacket sleeves. 

Taking my eyes off the fire, I looked around more closely, taking stock of the cabin in the light of the roaring fire, logs popping as sparks flew. The walls were solid logs hewed together, packed with mud that had dried solidly like concrete. A long wall held several windows boarded up from the inside, and a bed sat along the short wall near the fireplace. The source of the voice came from the bed.

His long silver beard made it impossible to guess his age. The flicker of flames and shadows made his beard seem almost alive. He shifted around and sat upright, then rose from the bed. I could tell he was short and maybe fat. It was hard to tell how big he was with the heavy clothes he wore.

“Coffee?” the bearded man asked, and he reached for the pot that hung near the fireplace on a makeshift rack. All I could do was slightly nod yes.

 “Don’t get much company out here these days. Especially this time of year.” 

He handed me an old mug with a chipped rim and a cracked handle. I took it with both hands. The warmth of the coffee seeped through the mug into my fingers. 

The smell of fresh coffee helped to thaw the cobwebs in my brain and awaken the rest of my senses. 

I lightly blew over the top of the mug, watching the surface of the coffee ripple with the slight movement of air. I watched it for a second as I still had no idea what to say.

“Thank you,” were the only words that came out of my mouth. I didn’t remember saying them, but they reminded me of how my voice sounded. 

It had been that long since I’d seen another person, much less talked to them.I continued to use the cooling coffee as an excuse not to speak while I considered what to say.

He spoke first. “You’re welcome. It’s my pleasure. I haven’t had company here in reindeer’s years.”

I looked up at him sharply. “Reindeer years?”

“Oh, I forgot you’re not from around here. We use the term reindeer instead of donkey’s years. It’s a local thing.” 

I knew there was more to it than that. But I didn’t question it anymore. I got the point. The coffee had cooled down enough, so I took a sip.

“How is it? I haven’t made much in a long time.” He had a mug and sat again on the edge of the bed where he’d been sleeping.

Taking a second sip, I confirmed with a nodded yes, as it was good. Indeed, it was, but at the moment, I wasn’t sure if it was the coffee or the fact it was warm that I liked so much. At this point, it didn’t matter. As it cooled down, I drank more. 

Feeling the warmth of the liquid working its way down my throat into my stomach made me instantly feel warmer—and relaxed. We drank in silence. 

“Hungry?” 

Startled, I looked up from my mug. I suppose the look on my face told him I was indeed hungry. He rose and wandered over to the small cupboard that sat in the far corner of the room, out of my immediate view. Turning in my chair, I watched as he opened the cupboard and retrieved several boxes from the top shelf. Laying them on the table, he took a large knife from a drawer, cut open a box, and handed me a thick slice of bread.

I took it and bit off a corner. It was delicious. Chewing the thick, coarse bread, I realized I was beginning to feel less hungry. By the time I had half-eaten the slice, I was starting to feel full.

The old man returned to sit on the edge of the bed, shifting a bit and passing his mug back and forth between his hands. He glanced at me several times.

“Robert…” he spoke quietly. Then slipped off the bed and tossed a large log he retrieved from a pile next to the hearth onto the fire. We watched for a minute as it snapped and cracked as the fire sought new fuel. The room lit up more as the flames eagerly found their way around the bottom edges of the new wood.

I looked at him carefully in the bright light of the renewed fire. He did seem to look familiar—not familiar like a person I knew but like a picture that I’d seen. The long beard and an almost bald head that shined in the light of the fire seemed so familiar. It began to dawn on me that the clothes he was wearing were mostly red. 

NO. It can’t be. 

I must have said that out loud as he turned to face me.

“Yes, Robert. I am Santa Claus or St. Nick as some call me in other countries, and I am old—very old and tired. It’s time for me to pass the mantle of Santa Claus to a new generation.”

“But you’re not real. It’s a myth made up to explain to little kids where presents under the tree come from on Christmas morning.”

“Yes, in some counties, I’m not real. But in some places and the hearts of the world, I’m very real.” He sat on the edge of the bed. Watching him more closely, I could tell he was tired. 

“Robert, the year you were born, your parents had no money to buy presents for you, but they were happy. They had you. Do you remember your tenth Christmas?”

No one remembers their tenth Christmas. No one remembers that. Closing my eyes, I tried to remember that far back, but only fragments of scenes came back. Not enough to clearly remember anything. I shook my head.

“I didn’t expect you would. What’s the first Christmas you remember clearly?”

“I don’t know, maybe sixteen or seventeen, probably not even sure about that.”

 He nodded. “Okay, try this. Do you remember the year you got your first car?” 

I nodded. “Yes, it was a Christmas present from my folks.” Now that he mentioned it, I did remember it had been a surprise. I’d been saving for an entire year to get a car but never had quite enough. They had surprised me with the car I’d been saving to buy. They never would say how they managed it, only handed me the keys. To this day, I didn’t know how they had gotten it for me. I knew they barely had two bits to rub together.

“I’ve always wondered how they managed to get that car for me. They never would tell me.” I sat up in my chair and looked at him more closely. “They’re both passed now.” 

“Yes, yes they are.” 

 “So…?”

“Robert, they both did extra jobs at their factories. They worked extra hours and even did private work to get the money for your car. They knew how much you needed that car and how important it was to you and them. Because you had the car, you were able to help them.”

The next few years came back to me. It was true. I had been able to help them, take them places, and get the things they needed because I had the car. As they got sicker, I had done more. I realized I couldn’t have done any of it if I hadn’t had that old wreck of a car. The fire cracked loudly again, bringing me back to the present.

“Robert. It’s your time.”

“My time?” I stood up and walked around the small cabin, stretching my legs, trying to think of what to say next.

“Why me?”

“I don’t know. You were chosen as I was.”

“Chosen?” I stood in the middle of the room, looking at an old, tired man. I pulled my chair closer to him and sat facing him. Again, the chair protested at my additional weight, but I ignored it.

“Okay, say I believe in all this. How does it work?” Looking into his eyes, I leaned closer to him. That close, I could see the toll the years had taken.

He handed me a bag he retrieved from behind the bed. 

“Tonight, you come with me. I will show you how I make the world a slightly better place. This is my last year. I can’t do it anymore.”

He handed me the big red bag and stood, the familiar red coat and hat appearing from nowhere. As he put them on, his beard began to lengthen and thicken up. Santa nodded at me and pointed to the bag.

I stood up and opened the bag, which contained a suit exactly like the one he was wearing. 

“Go on, put it on,” he prodded.

Shrugging, I pulled the pants on over the clothes I was wearing. They stretched and formed themselves around my body. Pulling on the big red overcoat over my winter coat, I felt it mold itself around my body. He pointed to the hat. Putting it on, I felt it snug itself up tight around my head as the bottom seemed to extend down over my ears. It was then I noticed a small, cracked mirror in the corner. Seeing myself dressed as Santa Claus, I felt younger and more alive. 

The next few hours flew by. I was never cold or hot, and I saw the world in ways I’d never seen before. The next thing I knew, we were back at the cabin. The fire was still popping along merrily. 

Santa lay back down on the bed. As I took off my suit, I felt a tug at my heart. 

I knew he had done as much as he could. Snoring gave in to the quiet as I fed the fire and learned my way around the cabin.

Slowly I realized he wasn’t moving at all. I touched his cold face. No slow breathing, no twitching of his beard as he turned or tossed in his sleep. Santa Claus was gone.

But he wasn’t.

Every year for the rest of my life, I found myself back in the small cabin wearing a bright red suit that seemed to fit me better every time, and I felt younger every year.

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

Lynn Miclea: Cat and Mouse

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, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Please note: the images used are free-use images and do not require attribution.

Cat and Mouse

Lynn Miclea

Icy fingers of fear crept up my spine. I hated this. He was playing a death game with my daughter and I would do whatever I could to save her.

I hurried forward down the snowy path through the woods. A soft blanket of fresh snow covered everything, muting sounds, creating a sparkling, pristine, untouched setting. Except for the tiny footsteps that I anxiously followed in the snow.

Trudging forward down the path between the trees, I strained my eyes to see anything out of place in the woods around me. I had to find her. Her small footsteps were clearly visible in the snow and I kept moving, alert for any sound of threat or danger. My heart thudded in my chest as terror clutched at me. She had to be okay. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her.

I heard a branch crack some distance away, and goosebumps rose on my arms. Time was running out. I had to find her before they did, and I quickened my steps, my eyes focused on my daughter’s footprints and the surrounding snow-covered woods.

Her small footsteps abruptly ended by some brush on the side. Was she okay? I bit my lip and held my breath. Nervously, I quickly bent down to sweep away some of the brush. I saw her leg pull back out of sight. Relief flooded through me. I found Emily and she was still alive.

“Sweetie? It’s me, it’s okay.” My voice was raw.

After a few seconds, I heard movement, and she crawled to the front, her face contorted with terror and exhaustion. “Thank God it’s you,” she whispered.

“Let me get you out of here before they find us,” I said in a hoarse whisper. “Come. We need to go.”

She nodded, reaching for me. I gently picked up my sweet daughter, glanced behind me, and ran forward as fast as I could.

My heart swelled with love for this sweet six-year-old girl. Feeling her warmth against me, I continued down the path. I would never let them hurt her again.

I knew I would reach the hut in another mile or so — that was our only chance. I had to get there before the men reached us, or they would kill us on the spot. I knew I was leaving footprints and would be easy to track, but that couldn’t be helped. They would easily follow me to the hut, and I hoped I was enough ahead of them to make it in time.

I bit the inside of my cheek and hoped at least one cop was in place at the hut. If no one was at the hut to help me, we would die there. It was that simple.

I knew the cops were not yet expecting me for at least another hour. Everything shifted and the intensity grew when the thugs changed the timing of their game of terror, and I could barely breathe. I was desperate to save my daughter.

After following my ex-husband earlier, I saw him release my daughter in the woods in a cat-and-mouse game. It broke my heart. My sweet Emily, tears running down her face, took off down the snowy path in the woods, hoping to escape, not knowing this was all part of their sick game. I couldn’t let her go alone. Even if I would be gunned down as well, I had to help her.

The cops were not due to be in position for a while yet, but I couldn’t think about that now. A sob escaped me and I quickly stifled it as I forced myself forward. My body shook from both cold and fear as I ran. My sweet Emily bounced in my arms with each step, and I could feel my body growing stiff with the frigid air. How much farther? I hoped it wasn’t too far.

Another branch cracked. They were getting closer. Panicking, I tried to pick up the pace, stumbled, and quickly caught myself before I fell. Terror threatened to overtake me, but I could not give in to it. I was risking my own life as well, but I had to save my daughter, even if I died trying. My ex-husband would not get away with kidnapping my daughter and terrorizing us, and neither would the thugs who were helping him and now chasing us in their terrifying game of death.

Breathing hard, exhausted and desperate, I hoped I could reach the hut in time and that at least one cop was already there. Where was it? Was it this far? Had I passed it? It felt like I had already run miles. It was hard to determine distance in the snow.

The path curved slightly to the left and then to the right. Just as I reached the first curve, the hut appeared, set back about twenty feet on the left side. Safety was just steps away.

Footsteps pounded behind me. They were almost here. A gruff voice shouted at me from a short distance back. “Hey! Amanda! Where do you think you’re going?” He barked a laugh. “You think you’ll get away? Not a chance. The game still stands. C’mon, the cat is about to catch the mouse! Give up now or we’ll kill you both where you stand.”

I hugged my daughter tighter to my body and stumbled toward the hut entrance. Were the cops here? They had better be, or we would be dead within minutes.

My hand shaking, I reached forward and tried the doorknob of the hut. Unlocked.

“Hey, miss bitch, I’m talking to you. Amanda, you hear me? Stop right there.” I heard the sound of a gun being cocked.

I couldn’t stop. Desperate, I pushed the door forward and rushed in.

A deafeningly loud shot rang out and I jumped. Expecting to feel pain, I fell forward into the room, gasping and sobbing. Strong arms grabbed me, and the door closed behind me. I could still move and there was no pain. I was not hit. Either the guy missed or it was a warning shot. I had no idea which.

Someone held me. I recognized the blue of the officer’s clothing and felt a rush of relief mix with the terror still flooding me.

The officer pulled me to the back of the hut and led me to a small wooden chair in the corner. I turned to the officer and he peered at me. “Are you okay? Were you shot? Are you injured?”

I shook my head. “I’m okay. But they are right outside.”

“We know. We didn’t expect you this soon. Stay here, stay down, and don’t move. You’ll be safe here.”

Gratefully sitting down, my sweet Emily on my lap and tightly clutching me, I looked around. Two officers stood in front of me, and six other officers filled the room, covering the two small windows and the two doors. The officers had their weapons drawn, and I held onto Emily, rocking her, singing to her gently.

The front door suddenly burst open, and three large, burly men entered, guns drawn. “Okay, Amanda, we’re—”

Intense gunfire cut off his words.

I closed my eyes, grimaced, and held Emily tightly to me, rocking back and forth, tears running down my face as my daughter whimpered in my arms.

Silence. I opened my eyes and looked around. Three beefy men lay sprawled on the floor, blood pooling under them. The officers inspected them, made sure they were dead, and searched for identification.

One of the officers turned to me. “Are there any more men out there?”

I cleared my throat and could barely talk. “Just my ex-husband.”

A shout came from outside. “Hey! Moose? Tony? Mason? You guys okay? Where are you?” My ex-husband’s deep voice. I’d know it anywhere, and it sent chills up my spine. “Did the cat get the mouse? Where’s my prize?”

The cops took positions. I tightened my grip on Emily and held my breath, my eyes glued to the open front door.

My husband’s voice again. “C’mon, guys. Did you find Amanda and the kid? It’s cat-and-mouse pay-up time.” His footsteps approached the hut and then stopped as he got close to the door and could see the bodies of his friends inside. “What the—”

Gunfire erupted. I squeezed my eyes shut and held Emily against me. Rocking. Back and forth.

Hearing movement, I opened my eyes. Three cops went outside. One called back to those still in the hut. “He’s dead.”

Sobs erupted from me. It was over. We were still alive. And we were safe.

One of the cops kneeled in front of me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded.

“Can you come to the station with us and answer a few questions?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, of course.”

Emily stirred in my lap and looked up at me. “Mommy? What does cat-and-mouse mean?”

I gazed into her sweet, innocent eyes. “It was just a game, sweetie. But you’re safe now.”

She scrunched up her face. “I don’t think I like cats or mouses. That was not a fun game.”

“No, that was not fun. I agree.”

She thought about that, then turned her innocent eyes up to me. “But not all cats are bad, are they? Our cat is still a good cat, right?”

“Yes, sweetie. Buttons is still a good cat and loves you very much.”

She was quiet a few moments and then looked at me. “Daddy was a bad man, wasn’t he, Mommy?”

I looked at her, wondering what to tell her. “He loved you as best he could, sweetie.”

Her voice sounded small. “I know. Was it my fault? Am I a bad girl?”

My throat felt too thick to speak, but I stroked her soft hair and answered. “No, sweetie. You are the best girl ever.” I choked and could barely speak. “Some people just find it harder than others to love.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m glad you’re my Mommy.”

My heart both swelled with pride and broke for her at the same time. “I love you, sweetie. You are always safe with me.”

“Can we go home now, Mommy?”

“Soon, sweetie. These nice officers will help us first, and then we’ll go home.”

I glanced at the officer in front of me who was silently watching us, and I saw his eyes were wet. Another tear spilled down my cheek as I hugged Emily and kissed her cheek. “You are very special, Emily, and you are very loved. Please don’t ever forget that.”

—————————————–

Copyright © 2021 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 visit her Amazon author page at – https://www.amazon.com/Lynn-Miclea/e/B00SIA8AW4

Marian Wood: My Loss In a Cold Lonely Winter

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, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Please note: the images used are free-use images and do not require attribution.

My Loss In a Cold Lonely Winter

Marian Wood

My Loss

As the garden became a cold white carpet and the trees battled with the ice wind, I stirred my hot chocolate, grateful that today I’m at home. After all my stress headaches of the last month, things need to get better. How can they though? Things will never be the same ever again. Losing Sophia was a tragedy. I can’t leave the house, my feeling of loss is too much. Too tied up in my lake of tears, I can’t continue anymore. Comfort eating, I’m getting chocolate delivered, my tyre is steadily growing around my waist, but it doesn’t give me a headache like alcohol.

So, what happened? Sophia was my best friend, my confidant. I’ve known her all thirty years of my life. It had always been Sophia and Emily, and now I’m alone. The night her mum phoned me sobbing, my world ended. We said we would be sisters forever, but now someone had killed her. Seeing her face on the news was devastating, but worse, her killer is still out there. How am I supposed to get through this? The cold wet snow fits my mood.

Hearing my mobile buzz, I knew who it was. Weezley Wayne was not someone I wanted to talk to. The day Sophia told me about him, she spoke as if he was the one. I’d never trusted him, I thought she deserved better. The police had interviewed him as a suspect, but had then let him go.

Terry

With everything that has happened, he was struggling to focus on his work. Fixing cars was all he wanted to do, but the events of the last few weeks had changed things, maybe forever. Sophia was dead, a special lady now gone. Their small group was broken. Wayne was not taking calls and he didn’t want to see the others. A murdered girlfriend changes a man. Terry didn’t know how to help him.

Watching the news reports, Terry had his suspicions. Tonight he would begin his own investigation and the Red Griffin would be the start.

The Red Griffin

Once a place for families, new ownership meant it was the roughest place in the city. All the gangs meet there and fights are frequent. There is talk of the council closing it, but it’s just talk.

As Terry arrived, snow was falling thick and fast. A stabbing pain went through his chest, was the murderer in the pub? Ordering a beer, he gasped as it seared his throat on the way down. Needing courage, he ordered another. Watching the ‘Blue Cobras’ arrive, he ordered a shot of whisky. Listening to them laughing, he realised he needed to slow down on the drink.

The reputation of the ‘Cobras’ was that they were the toughest brutes in the city. It was just a few weeks ago that Wayne angered their gang leader. He knew they were likely to be the murderer. Stories about them made others run away from them. Wayne had instigated a fight, he had suffered threats and a broken arm. Terry knew they had to be the perpetrators.

The bell ringing last orders signalled time to finish his drink and grab his jacket. Watching the gang leave, he wondered what he was doing. He had no fighting skills so if they caught him, things would not go well.

Following at a distance, he could hear their screams and shouts. Full of beer and confidence, nothing was getting in their way. On reaching the deserted scrapyard, Terry was surprised to see them climb over the high metal fence. This was surely not a meeting place but there they were. Deciding that following them would not be wise, he pulled out his phone and sent a message. Hesitating, he heard a loud scream as his head suddenly hurt and the world went black.

Evening

It had been a long day of eating chocolate and depression. As I was considering giving up and going to bed, I heard my phone. Checking my messages I saw it was Terry, it read,

“At Bridgeport scrapyard, followed the ‘Blue Cobra’ gang from the ‘Red Griffin’ pub, I think they know who killed Sophia.”

I messaged back,

“Terry be careful, don’t be stupid.” I felt sick, what if they had killed Sophia? Terry could be next and now he was not responding.

Not sure what to do, I dialled 999.

The ‘Blue Cobra’ gang

Under the police radar, Detective Inspector Mills was desperate to find something to bring the ‘Cobras’ to justice. They were wanted for crimes but there was never enough incriminating evidence. As his police mobile rang, he took a deep breath. Looking at his beautiful wife Miranda sleeping soundly, he knew she would be waking alone again.

News on the ‘Blue Cobras’ in the scrapyard filled him with excitement. Then the news of something maybe happening to Terry, nausea swept over him. Holding his head, he hoped tonight they would finally be able to lock them away.

A while later he arrived at the yard. Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. As the snow was steadily falling on the scene, it should have been calm. Instead it was the shouting of police officers and gang members being handcuffed. A tall brown-haired man lay outside in a lake of blood, he presumed this was Terry. He wasn’t prepared for the two further bodies. This was it, they were going down for years.

As the officers investigated, they found Wayne, dead, linking the gang to Sophia. However, the evidence still didn’t add up. Why was Sophia not found in the scrapyard? And who whacked Terry? The gang were denying knowledge of killing Wayne. The other was a dead gang member found in the yard office. There was more to this case.

Emily

So here I am, a week later, the police have been here again. I’m angry with myself for ignoring Wayne and now he and Terry are dead. As the police and forensics further checked the yard, more information came to light as it always did.

Sophia and I didn’t know much about Wayne, and this now proved it. It was found that the gang had killed a fellow “Cobras” but they were innocent of the other murders. Wayne we have learnt was married, and his wife has a psychotic brother called Mark. The brother killed the lover Sophia, and then Wayne. Terry, it’s assumed, got in the way. Mark didn’t want him entering the scrapyard and finding Wayne. He didn’t count on Terry messaging me before he was killed.

The snow is now clearing and my garden no longer looks like a picture postcard. I’m never going to forget Sophia, and one day things may seem better. They say time heals. I’m not so sure, but I’m glad that her murderer is being brought to justice. I regret not talking to Wayne. Maybe he had already worked it out before he was killed, I will never know. For now, I need to get myself off my settee, put on my warm coat, scarf, and hat, and go for a walk. I need to get on with my life, despite my loss, a day at a time, which is all I can do.

Please visit Marian’s blog for more great stories: https://justmuddlingthroughlife.co.uk/

Lisa Criss Griffin: The Sky Angel

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, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Please note: the images used are free-use images and do not require attribution.

The Sky Angel

Lisa Criss Griffin

Young Isadora blinked her eyes open sleepily, surprised she was the last chicken left on the roost. Daylight had arrived, but it seemed to have a strange quality to it. She jumped down into the pine shavings gingerly, eagerly awaiting her turn to exit the hen house through the small door. Maybelle, who was making her way through the doorway suddenly stopped. Isadora squawked at Maybelle softly, impatient to get out of the house and stretch out her young legs on the cold grass outside.

Not one to be ignored, Isadora firmly pecked her sister’s fluffy beige butt to get her going. Maybelle jumped out of the doorway in surprise, scolding Isadora as she staggered into the large group of her sister chickens clustered underneath the roof of the spacious run. There was much clucking, scolding, and fowl language as Isadora also waggled her way into the tightly huddled flock of confounded chickens.

“What in the world is going on out there?”

“Well, look at it. The sky is falling!”

“We’re DOOMED!!!”

“I don’t understand. Why are we doomed?”

“Because, you ninny, the sky is falling!!!”

“The sky is falling and the grass, the trees and everything is disappearing!”

“I’ve never seen such a thing! What can it possibly mean?”

“Does it mean we will also disappear if we go out there?”

“It means we are doomed! No more drinks of water or tender blades of sweet grass. No more delicious kibble from The Caretaker! No more delightful hours of chasing those darting, yummy snacks all over the yard and through the air….”

“Look…The Caretaker’s house is disappearing too. It is covered with fallen sky, and so much of the sky is still falling, we can barely see her house!”

“Listen to how quiet everything is. The falling sky has silenced the world!”

“Are you saying everyone out there, in that stuff…has been snuffed?”

“The falling sky is smothering everything out there. I’m not going out there!”

“No, me neither!”

“Then we’re all going to starve to death right here! I like to eat! I’m not picky. I will eat almost anything! I don’t want to starve!”

“I’m not a picky eater either! I’ll peck anything! I’m a spring chicken. I want to live, lay eggs and chase snacks! I don’t want to be smothered to death, but I don’t want to starve either!”

“We’re too young for the end of the world! This isn’t fair!”

“No more delicious mealworms. No more jumping or flying snacks….”

“Look at it! Just look at it! We’re all going to die!!!”

“Beauregard! Let’s ask Beauregard what we all should do! He knows everything!”

The girls sighed collectively in adoration and reverence as Beauregard, their brave Rooster, strutted past the hysterical hens to the open doorway of the protected run. The doorway led to their large chicken yard surrounded by electrified fencing. He had seen this happen several times, but certainly not to this extent. His gorgeous girls were all spring chickens and had never experienced the sky falling before. He surveyed his kingdom with trepidation. The freshly fallen sky was deep, deeper than he had ever seen in his four years of Roostering. 

He remembered the story his father used to tell, of the day the falling sky had almost killed them all. At the time, he had rolled his youthful eyes at the tale. His father used to tell the story after dark if they had all behaved themselves that week. It was a tall order for the youngsters, but it helped contribute to maintaining order in his Roosterdom. All the skinny-toed Grandmas would nod their feathery heads and cluck their agreement when he would share that outlandish tale. He had always thought it was a ruse to keep everyone in line, but now Beauregard was reassessing his opinion. He could still hear his father’s commanding voice, whispering to them all in the dead of night about that horrible day….

“We were all outside eating our grains and minding our own business when the sky started to fall. Nobody paid much attention to it at first. It was cold and wet, like rain, only light and fluffy. I had seen the sky fall before, but it always stopped so we could walk around in it if we wanted to. And as you know, as chickens, it is our duty to walk around and eat everything we can find in our chicken yard on a daily basis. It is what we do. Well, that, along with all the magnificent egg laying in here, and the prolific fertilizing you ladies do so well out in our glorious chicken yard!”

The skinny-toed Grandmas giggled in adoration, wiggling closer to their beloved Rooster on the roosting pole as he continued his story for the benefit of the younger generation. 

“The next day, we all went outside as usual. The sky was still falling, but we were able to make our way through the sky covering the ground to the Dining Area for breakfast. We ate our fill and huddled together as the wind picked up. It was mid-day when I decided we should make our way back to the warmth of the chicken house. Everyone made it…everyone that is, except for Madge and Gracie!”

The Grandmas gasped in unison, having heard what was coming next, several times before.

“As the Head Rooster and the Protector of my girls, I bravely struggled back out into the chicken yard to help them in. The sky was falling so hard, I could barely see Madge and Gracie. Something was horribly wrong! They were screaming at me and flapping their wings. It looked like they were disappearing into the sky covering the ground! I ran to them as quickly as I could. I was almost to my girls when the sky on the ground sucked my legs down…all the way to my gorgeous tail feathers! And then, I was stuck too! Just as helplessly stuck as they were!!!”

Disconcerted murmuring enveloped the darkened chicken house. The younger chickens shuffled nervously on their roosting pole. The atmosphere was somber as Beauregard’s father continued his story.

“The girls and I struggled valiantly to free ourselves from the drift of fallen sky, but to no avail. We were hopelessly trapped. I sang songs of encouragement to poor Madge and Gracie as the three of us began to disappear under the pieces of the sky landing on top of us. I sang until I was hoarse. I could see the hope fading from their eyes as the day went on. I reminded them even though we were in quite a jam, we were all together, and I wouldn’t leave them.”

The skinny-toed Grandmas jostled each other as they enthusiastically cooed and purred their unanimous approval of the bravery of their heroic Rooster.

“Then, out of nowhere, the legendary Sky Angel appeared! She reminded me a little bit of The Caretaker, but She had a strange, colorful comb that jingled when She walked, and giant iridescent eyes…sort of like those big eyes on the yummy flies we like to snack on. She sang a soothing song and gently lifted me straight out of the quicksand of fallen sky. I looked down when She tucked me under her warm arm. All I saw were two deep, narrow holes where my legs had just been. She freed poor Madge and Gracie too, and made sure we all made it safely back to the warmth of the hen house. I watched in awe as She magically made a pathway from the Dining Area to our house. It was almost dark when She glided away, disappearing into the silent pieces of lightly falling sky….”

An air of reverence permeated the chicken coop. Beauregard’s father rose to his full height as he made his final statement.

“Any Rooster worth his wattles will look after his beloved flock, and give them guidance in times of trouble. Remember, there is a Being greater than ourselves who cares for us. Some day, one of you youngsters may have the great privilege of seeing the Sky Angel too.”

Beauregard moved his magnificently feathered head from side to side, trying to see through the thick, fluffy pieces of falling sky. He stepped out onto the covered ground and quickly backed up. He felt the cold, fallen sky begin to sink in around the tops of his legs. The legend of the sky quicksand was true! He began to crow, singing a fervent song for the Sky Angel. Would she hear him? He continued singing to Her, hoping his plea for help would be as beautiful and eloquent as his father’s song had been. If his voice pleased Her, maybe She would come! He sang and sang, hoping the Sky Angel would hear his earnest appeal.

The spring chickens huddled behind their Rooster, unsure of what he was doing. But, he was a good cockerel, and they trusted him. A hush came over the group as the faint sound of bells jingled in the shrouded distance. A figure slightly resembling The Caretaker was barely visible through the falling sky, gliding slowly towards the chicken yard. 

“What is THAT???”

“Look at that crazy, colorful comb! Listen…it jingles!”

“Those are the biggest, most iridescent eyes I have ever seen in my whole life!”

“Look! She is magically moving the fallen sky from around the Dining Area.”

“Is that food? Are those…MEALWORMS???”

“Mmmmmm…mealworms. I love mealworms!”

“I would be happy with pellets at this point.”

“Or even some crumbles.”

“Maybe we aren’t going to starve!”

“Ooooooo, She is making a path for us to the Dining Area!”

“We’re going to get to eat!”

“We aren’t going to starve. We aren’t doomed today after all!”

“Hey girls, who or what is She?”

“Well girlfriend, I really don’t know. But I have to say, there is something strangely familiar about Her…just can’t quite put my chicken finger on it.”

Beauregard turned back towards his young charges authoritatively. His brilliant plumage was a striking contrast against the white background beyond the doorway leading to the chicken yard. The Rooster’s commanding presence silenced the discussion between the babbling hens immediately. He cleared his throat to be sure he had everyone’s attention for his impending announcement.

“You are currently in the presence of the legendary Sky Angel, my dears. She is a Being greater than ourselves, who has answered the song of our people for generations when we have needed Her. She answered my passionate song today, and a similar song my father sang for Her when I was but a young poult. Count yourselves blessed to have seen Her come to our aid today. Tonight, I will tell you the story of my father and his exciting adventure with the Sky Angel, IF you behave yourselves. Shall we go to the Dining Area now, my sweet hennie pennies?”

“I told you Beauregard would know what was going on.”

“Yeah, he knows everything!!!”

“Last one to the Dining Area is a rotten egg!”

The Rooster stepped aside as the huddle of hungry hens broke and made a mad dash down the pathway to the Dining Area. He chuckled to himself as he watched them obliviously pecking away at the treats the Sky Angel had scattered on the ground before She left. He watched as She left the chicken yard and made her way back towards The Caretaker’s house, the jingling of her colorful comb fading into the distance. The suspicion that The Caretaker and the Sky Angel were somehow related, niggled in the back of his bird brain. 

Beauregard pecked at the mealworms by his feet thoughtfully. His speculation concerning The Caretaker and the Sky Angel had the makings of an unexpected, mysterious slant to the story he would be telling his innocent spring chickens for the first time this evening. The exuberant Rooster hoped the heavenly spirits of his beloved father and all the old skinny-toed Grandmas who knew the legend of the Sky Angel, would be pleased by his storytelling ability in the dark of the hen house tonight!

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