The Spot Writers – “The Sighting”

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this cycle is a significant arrival.

Along with several short story collections, books of poetry, and two novels, Cathy has published three anthologies under her imprint, MacKenzie Publishing. The latest one is titled NO ONE SHOULD KISS A FROG, available on Amazon and other retailers—300 pages of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry by 75 authors around the world.  She also has a call out for submissions for another anthology to be published in 2024, to be titled SUCH A LOSS. Contact SuchALossAnthology@gmail.com for submission guidelines.

Cathy continues with Melvin, a character she’s soon going to put to rest…

***

The Sighting

“Wow, there she is…”

“Who, Mel?”

Melvin turned from the window. “What? Uh…nothing. Just a cloud in the sky.”

“Don’t do that to me again. You scare the crap out of me when you blurt weird things out of the blue.”

Melvin glanced at his wife. “Really? Did I blurt?” He thought he’d whispered. How in the world could Marie have heard?

“Yes, really. And who did you see?”

“Just a cloud, I said. A cloud that reminded me of someone.”

“Who, I said? Who did the cloud remind you of?”

“Oh, no one in particular. Just a woman.”

“A woman?” Marie peered at him.

Melvin faced the window. “No one, Marie.” What had he gotten into? Why had he mentioned a woman? He sighed. “Looked a bit like Cindy Day if you must know. You know, the woman who used to do the weather on our news. The meteorologist.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I’m going to start dinner. You think about Day. And night. And clouds.”

He watched her go. In one of her huffy moods, he thought. Women! Can’t live with them; can’t live without them.

Should he go down to the lake? It was cold out. Minus two Celsius. With the wind off the lake, it would be even colder. But it would be worth it if Kailani was there.

“I’m going to check on the cabin, Marie.” He donned his coat, hoping she wouldn’t pry any further.

As his luck would have it, he heard her footsteps coming toward him. “Why are you going down there now? It’s freezing out.”

He remained as he was, facing the door. His escape. “Just wanna make sure the cabin is okay.  You know how the door sometimes doesn’t latch properly.” He slipped on his boots and was out of the house before Marie could add another word.

He shoved his gloved hands into his pockets. The wind whipped across his face. Was that a raindrop on his cheek? Nah, can’t be. Too cold for rain. Wasn’t hard enough for hail. No flakes of snow.

The bitter wind rustled through the trees. The odd sounds coming from the trees to his left as he trekked down the path were more than disconcerting. Almost like voices: blathering, whispering. Reminded him of Marie and her incessant nattering. He half expected several trees to uproot themselves and walk alongside him—or nosey Marie to appear…

“This better be worth it,” he mumbled, glancing at the sky. Where was the “cloud”? It hadn’t been a cloud—that was the thing. It truly looked like Kailani flying high in his kayak. His Blue Origin. Even as far away as she was, he saw the blue. His blue!

Where was she now? He didn’t see anything in the clouds that remotely resembled a mermaid or a fairy or a kayak. She must’ve landed, he thought. She’s down at the shore, waiting impatiently for me. He smiled and quickened his pace.

The shoreline was deserted. The lake was deserted. Every sane person warm in their abodes, he thought. Just stupid me here, hoping—praying—for my love.

Wait—what was that? A flash of blue appeared above him with a great whoosh! A magic poof…

And then: he couldn’t see. A smoke-like substance surrounded him.

He spread his arms, reaching for something. Anything…

“Kailani? You there?”

“It’s me, Melvin. I’m coming down!”

When the haze cleared, he almost pissed his pants.

His kayak—yep, his!—landed on the sand several feet from where he stood.

He could feel his heart rate increase. The pummelling against his chest. “Where have you been all this time, Kailani? I think of you all the time. You’re never here.”

“Melvin, I’m always here. I’m the whisper in the trees. The sand between your toes. The rain upon your cheek.”

He remained rooted, unable to move. “Really?” He thought of his trek down to the lake. The sounds from the trees. The sensation of something on his cheek.

She flitted about, more like a fairy at that moment than a mermaid. Kailani of many talents: flying through the air, swimming in the water. Stealing his kayak!

At that thought, despite his feelings for her, his blood boiled. “Who said you could steal my kayak, Kailani?”

“What? Me!”

“Yes, you.” He pointed. “It’s right there.”

“It’s your imagination, Mel.”

“It is not! There it is.” He pointed again. “Right beside you.”

“Calm down, Mel. I—”

“Don’t call me ‘Mel.’ Only Marie can call me that.”

Kailani stepped back.

He enjoyed the distressed look on her face. The shock. Then the anger. The bulge of her eyes. All of which lasted mere seconds until her expression changed to one of neutrality.

She had no right! No one takes his Blue Origin without his permission.

“Melvin, I’m done with you. Done!” She twirled in the air, resembling a ballerina on land, and then ascended, up and up, twisting like a cyclone gone mad.

He watched in fascination.

But he was done, too. Time to move on. “Bye, Kailani.”

He turned to head home. No! My kayak. I need to rescue my kayak!

He whipped around.

No blue kayak. No kayak at all.

No Kailani, either.

What! Had a drop hit his cheek? He touched his face, but his gloved fingers couldn’t tell if there was anything there. He glanced at his feet. Wearing his heavy boots, there’d be no sand between his toes. He listened intently. Did he hear a whisper in the trees behind him? His hearing wasn’t the best—not that he’d ever admit that to Marie—so, no, that wasn’t a good test.

He sighed. “I think I’ve done it now,” he mumbled.

He trudged up the path to the house.

Always tomorrow, he thought. “Yep,” he muttered, “always tomorrow.” Despite losing his cool, he wasn’t done with Kailani yet. And he was certain she wasn’t done with him.

***

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/

The Spot Writers – “Stains and Spirits”

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this cycle is to use these words: stain, wax, teeth, spirit, quiet.

Along with several short story collections, books of poetry, and two novels, Cathy has published three anthologies under her imprint, MacKenzie Publishing. The latest one is titled NO ONE SHOULD KISS A FROG, available on Amazon and other retailers—300 pages of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry by 75 authors around the world.  She also has a call out for submissions for another anthology to be published in 2024, to be titled SUCH A LOSS. Contact SuchALossAnthology@gmail.com for submission guidelines.

Cathy continues with Melvin, a character she hopes to be soon done with, with this story, “Stains and Spirits”…

***

“Marie!”

Within seconds, his wife was within his view. Almost bowing before him as if he were a king. Well, he was, wasn’t he?

“Melvin, what is it? Are you okay?” Her head rotated left to right, right to left, as if she were a robot. She wasn’t, of course, but he sometimes wished she was so he didn’t have to listen to her incessant nattering. Robots could be turned off with a flick of the switch.

“I just had a revelation, Marie.”

“A revelation?” She peered at him.

“Yes. I think we need to get our teeth cleaned. Bleached, maybe. Wouldn’t you like to have white teeth?”

She stared. “What the hell, Melvin. What’s brought this on?”

Ha, wouldn’t you like to know. “We have stained teeth, Marie. Don’t you think our teeth are stained?”

She glared at him. “What? My teeth are fine, Melvin. I was just at the dentist last week. The hygienist told me she’d never seen such clean teeth.” She paused, examined his face. “Yours aren’t exactly white. Not with your implants. Your teeth are all over the colour map.” She smiled, revealing perfect, pristine teeth.

It was his turn to be stymied. He couldn’t help he’d had a few rotten teeth. But his gums were healthy. He’d had four implants. Couldn’t help the colouring was off.

“You have stains, Melvin. And you leave toothpaste all over the counter.” She sighed. “You’re helpless. Soooooooooooooooo helpless.”

“Marie, what you talking about?”

“Oh, Mel. I truly, truly give up.”

“Marie, don’t do this to me.” He was quiet for far too long. It took every ounce of his energy to not open his mouth and spout non-niceties. Had his idea backfired? He’d thought if he (and Marie) went to the dentist and got their teeth whitened that the next time he went down to the lake that Kailani might appear. Perhaps she was turned on by white teeth. Or was she just a spirit? Maybe not even that: maybe a figment of his imagination. Still…wouldn’t he—anyone—like pristine white teeth? Until this moment, he hadn’t realized his wife’s teeth were that perfect. Thought it might be a bit of a husband/wife bonding, too. Wasn’t all about Kailani.

He opened his mouth. Shut it just as fast. Where the heck had Kailani been? It’d been forever since he’d seen her. He’d almost forgotten she ever existed.

Marie stomped out of the kitchen as if she’d read his mind, that she knew about Kailani.

No, she couldn’t. Marie couldn’t read minds. She’d never even had her fortune told. “I’m safe,” he mumbled. But he’d sure like to see Kailani one more time. It was November. He’d been slack. The kayaks were safely put away in the cabin. If he didn’t see her soon, he wouldn’t see her until the spring or summer of 2024—if then.

He raced after Marie. Found her in the bathroom, where she always disappeared to when upset. “I’m sorry, Marie. I lost my cool.”

“Mel, it’s fine. I’m just in a horrid mood today.”

He pondered. “How about if I light some candles? We can sit around. Maybe neck a bit. William’s not going to be home for another hour or so, right?”

He heard her sigh from behind the closed door. “Not tonight, Mel. The candles you bought are cheap. There’s always too much wax on the counter. I don’t feel like cleaning tonight.”

Really? He was trying to play nice and all she cared about was a bit of wax on the counter? He combed his fingers through his hair, wishing, as always, that he had more and that it wasn’t so grey. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, walking away. Perhaps he’d try again tomorrow. If, of course, Marie got a good night’s sleep. If not, who knows how she’d react.

He peered out the window. Wasn’t dark yet. Was there a chance Kailani might be down on the beach despite the cold weather? It wasn’t quite six o’clock. Still light enough to see her if she appeared.

To heck with Marie! He grabbed his coat out of the closet and a flashlight from the cupboard and headed outside.

The beach was deserted as he knew it would be. Decks & Docks had removed their docks from the water a couple of weeks ago. He stood on the dilapidated floating dock that had been on land for several summers. Next season, he’d have to tear it apart and replace it.

“Kailani, where are you?” he mumbled. He scanned the lake. Looked at the sky. Nothing.

“Kailani!” he couldn’t help but shriek. He looked around, hoping neighbours, if out and about, were out of earshot. They’d think he was crazy if they heard him. He hated to admit it, but perhaps he was. He was beginning to think Kailani had never been real. That he might be crazy.

He sighed and jumped off the dock. There was always next year, albeit an eternity until kayak weather.

To heck with Kailani! To heck with Marie! Tomorrow he was calling Portside Dental. “White teeth here I come!” If nothing else, at least he’d smile more while dreaming of Kailani during the upcoming winter months.

Halfway up the path to the house, he stopped. What was that? Positive he’d heard something, he turned. The shoreline was obscured by trees; he was too far away. But he could see part of the lake that disappeared into the horizon.

What? It looked like a witch. On a broom. Isn’t that how witches travelled? But…Halloween had been on the thirty-first. Today was November second. He looked again. No, not a witch. Wasn’t it Kailani? Yes, it was. And the blue! What? Yes, she was flying high in the sky in a blue kayak.

“Not my kayak!” He flailed his arms. Clenched his fists. “You better not be in my Blue Origin!”

He raced to the cabin. Opened the door.

No blue kayak. Only the two green ones.

***

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/

The Spot Writers – “Halloween Visitors”

Welcome to The Spot Writers.

Along with short story compilations and books of poetry, Catherine A. MacKenzie has published two novels: WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, and MISTER WOLFE, the darkly dark sequel/stand-alone novel (18+).  She has also written two volumes of grief poetry that she hopes might help other grieving parents: MY HEART IS BROKEN and BROKEN HEARTS CAN’T ALWAYS BE FIXED.

This month’s prompt: autumn/Halloween. Write a story where a literal or metaphorical ghost plays a prominent role.

Note: It’s amazing Cathy has been able to complete this task. Moses S. MacKenzie joined her family a week ago today. She thought the sweet little guy would keep her young; alas, she fears she’s aged twenty years. Look for Moses’ Facebook Page: “Moses the Maltipoo.”

Cathy continues with Melvin and his foibles. Melvin has more than one ghost visit him this Halloween…

***

Halloween Visitors

“William, what are you going to be this Halloween?”

“Dunno. Haven’t much thought about it. I have another couple of days.”

“Time’s passing, son. You shouldn’t leave everything ‘til the last minute.”

“Dad, I’m not. Give me a break, will ya!”

“Just checking, William. Just checking.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll come up with something. Going to my room now, that okay?”

“Son, of course. You can go to your room anytime you wish.”

“Okay, then. Bye. I’m leaving.”

Melvin watched his son disappear down the hallway to the bedrooms.

“I’m gone, Dad,” William yelled. “I’m gone.”

“I see, William. You are gone. Sure enough.” Melvin sighed. Mostly for effect. Not that anyone would hear him. Marie was out somewhere—who knew where. William hadn’t heard him. “Goodbye, wife. Goodbye son.” He fleetingly thought of his two girls, both of whom had perished within the deep of the great big sea. He shook his head. That was the previous summer. Enough time had passed. “They” (and Google) say grieving is one year max. Must get them out of his head. Out of his mind. Death’s not an easy subject to deal with, especially when it’s your flesh and blood. And children, at that. Young children who hadn’t even experienced the heartbreaks and highs of life. Two children who wouldn’t be able to dress up for Halloween…

He rubbed his eyes and picked up his phone from the coffee table. Today was Thursday. October twenty-seventh. Halloween but a scant four days away, on Monday. He couldn’t remember what had taken place the previous October. 

Hadn’t Marie talked to William, to get his costume rolling? Heck, Halloween arrived but once a year. Must take advantage of it. If he—Melvin—were shorter (and not so hefty), he would dress up and prowl the neighbourhood. Be a ghost. Jump out at innocent kids. What a riot that would be.

Hmmm, he thought. Maybe I should do it anyhow. But if Marie got aboard, he could ditch the ghost idea, and they could dress as Ginger and Fred, not that she’d much appreciated the Ginger/Fred fiasco during Hurricane Fiona, when they’d danced in the rain. Fred hadn’t minded.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’ll dress up this year. It’ll be fun. William can go as our son. As Fred and Gingers’ son.” Did Fred and Ginger have a son? Hmmm, he thought. No clue. I’ll have to check with Google.

***

In the end, they didn’t want to dress up. Not Marie. Not William. Stick-in-the-muds, Melvin thought. Party poopers and whatever other names I can come up with. Slackers. Duds? Yeah, duds. They’re both duds. Slackers, too.

Melvin wasn’t about to trick-’n-treat alone, not even as a ghost. That would look more than foolish. He’d not look like a teenager. Householders would call him out. He’d feel like The Fool. Nope, didn’t need that stress.

Halloween night dawned dark and dreary. With a slight drizzle of mist-that-might-turn-into-rain. Not as bad as November eleventh, which seemed to bring out weather’s worst. But he and his family dressed for the elements and headed to the local cenotaph anyhow. They’d reverently stand, listen, bow their heads. All in the name of the veterans. A noble cause, for sure. November eleventh was high on Melvin’s list. Should be on everyone’s list, he thought. But, no, young people today can’t relate to horrors of wars.

Back to Halloween…

William wanted to stay home to watch a Halloween movie, the name of which Melvin didn’t catch. Marie said she’d watch it with him. Perhaps she didn’t want him to be scared.

“You can answer the door, Mel,” Marie said. “There’s the candy.” She pointed to a large plastic pumpkin full of wrapped candy.

“Will this be enough?”

“If it isn’t, just turn off the lights and lock the doors.”

“Then what?”

“What do you mean ‘then what’?”

“What do I do then? I can’t sit up here alone in the dark.”

“We’ll be in your man cave, Mel. Come down and join us if that happens. We’d love to have you.”

He looked at the clock. A little after five. He glanced outdoors. Still bright despite the drizzle. He eyed the table: set with food. “Let’s dig in.” He forgot his woes and joined his wife and son at the table.

After Marie cleaned away the dishes and the food he’d accidentally dropped on the floor, she called for William and the two disappeared down the stairs.

Melvin pulled apart the living room drapes. Kinda dark out there, he thought. Where is everyone? I should scoff all the candy for myself. And/or take a sheet from the closet and prowl the streets. Do my own thing: scare the kids and—

The first doorbell of the night.

He raced to the door. Opened it. Faced two costumed kids. “Where’s your parents?” he asked.

“Home,” the smaller kid said.

“Dangerous to be out here alone at your ages, you know.”

“Hey mister, I’m fifteen. He’s sixteen. We’re good. Where’s the loot?”

“Okay, then.” Melvin scooped out a fistful of treats and dumped them into the two sacks. He tried to make sure he gave less to the mouthy kid. What the heck! Such misbehaviour. “Take care,” he added, happy to see them turn and disappear into the night.

“Marie,” he screeched. “I don’t like doing this.”

He listened intently. No reply.

The bell rang again.

He raced to the door. Opened it. Faced two young females who reminded him of his deceased girls. Similar colour hair peeked out from their masks. “Sophie? Penny? My daughters?” He reached out to touch—

“Heck no, we’re not your daughters, mister. You a pervert? I’m gonna report you to my father when we get home.”

Melvin dumped the pumpkin holdings into their bags, not caring whether he’d divvied it up equally, and slammed the door.

“Sure looked like Sophie and Penny,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. What the heck! Had he had one too many beers?

When the bell rang seconds later, he ignored it. “Go away,” he mumbled. “Candy’s all gone. I had some weak moments.”

“Melvin, it’s me.”

He stopped in his tracks. Looked around. Had the voice even come from the door? “Me? Who is ‘me’?”

“Me. Kailani.”

“Go away!”

He had almost reached the stairs to HIS man cave (why the heck were his wife and son there and not him? What gave them the right?) when he heard the voice again.

“Let me in. I miss you.”

What? Someone misses me? Yeah, okay…

He slowly approached the front door. Took a deep breath and opened the door to face a beautiful woman. In costume, of course. A mermaid costume. “It’s me. Kailani.”

“Yeah, right.” He slammed the door. Locked it.

He raced to the linen closet. Grabbed a white sheet. Ambled to the full-size mirror and draped it over himself. Couldn’t see, of course. He yanked it off. Found a pair of scissors on the dresser and, after much ado, managed to cut out two holes for eyes. “This’ll do,” he mumbled.

Wearing the “costume,” he slipped out the back door and headed around to the driveway. He’d turned off the outdoor lights (as Marie had so sweetly suggested), and headed to the road, which had few streetlights. He turned right. Glanced back toward his house shrouded in darkness. No kid would go down that long driveway, not without beckoning lights at the end.

A parade of kids strolled on the opposite side of the road. He ducked behind a tree until they passed him. He darted out. Crossed the road and followed. When the last bunch turned down a driveway, he traipsed after them for a few yards and then hid behind another tree. He waited impatiently for their return—when they would receive the Halloween Fright of Their Lives.

He took a deep breath. There they were, sauntering along, carrying their pillowcases of loot. Wonder if they stole Marie’s pillowcases. Look just like my sheet.

He jumped out. “Boo!”

He giggled. How funny was this?

“Boo!” he shrieked again.

The three kids (a pirate, a superman, and a mermaid) backed up like petrified puppies. Even behind their masks, he sensed their fear.

“What?” He took another look. A mermaid?

“Kailani, what you doing here?”

The pirate took off his mask.

Superman took off his mask.

What the heck! Girls: his daughters. Had Kailani, the magic mermaid, managed to bring them back to life?

He rubbed his eyes. Clutched his belly. How did they even know who he was? He was hidden within the sheet, with only his eyes exposed.

“We see you,” they all chimed. “We see you. We have X-ray vision.”

Melvin turned. Sped across the street. Sped past neighbours’ houses. Sped down his long, winding driveway. Sped around to the back of the house.

He collapsed, so out of breath he didn’t think he’d ever see next day’s light. His chest pounded.

He closed his eyes. Saw his girls. Saw Kailani.

No, those trick-’n-treaters weren’t his girls (Marie made four, but she was safe in his man cave); they were simply tricksters. It was Halloween, after all. That’s what kids did. Pretended to be who or what they weren’t.

And that’s what grownups did: jumped out at kids to scare them shoeless. That’s what Melvin had done. And his father before him. “It’s your fault, Dad. It’s your fault.” Would he see his father next? He’d been gone over twenty years. Would the next trick-or-treater pretend to be his dear departed Dad?

He clutched his belly. Give your head a shake, Melvin. Wake up! You’re in a dream.

He pinched his arm. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Pinch your arm to wake up from a nightmare? Yes. But no—no dream.

He tossed the soiled sheet into the green bin and headed indoors. He’d join Marie and William in his man cave, where he’d be safe from Halloween demons.

***

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/

The Spot Writers – “When Kayaks Fly” by Cathy MacKenzie

Welcome to The Spot Writers. This month, centre your story around an absurd detail (for example, people walk on their hands or hedgehogs fly).

Cathy’s novels, WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, and MISTER WOLFE, the darkly dark sequel or stand-alone (18+), are available on Amazon. MY BROTHER, THE WOLF, the last of the series, is scheduled for release in 2022/2023.

***

“When Kayaks Fly” by Cathy MacKenzie

I survived to tell this tale…

One Friday evening, shortly after dinner, I was out in my kayak, enjoying the tranquility of the Atlantic Ocean. My wife and I live in a sheltered area, where I can paddle for hours without a care, exploring small islands, coves, and inlets. On occasion, I venture into the vast expanse of the great big sea, cognizant it could turn ballistic at any moment.

That particular night, not a ripple marred the water. Not a cloud dulled the azure sky. Deathly still yet peaceful. I paddled to my usual places. Sat and reminisced. Enjoyed alone time away from my nagging wife and responsibilities.

But when I pulled out from my favourite inlet—

The sky darkened. Black clouds descended. Nothing much scares me, but I shuddered and wished I was back on shore. How could the evening change so drastically, so quickly? 

Waves became wild and ferocious. The wind lashed against my face. I tasted salt.  

One paddle forward. Gusts pushed me back two paddles.

Fog was settling. I could no longer see my house. So much for our protected cove.

I remained calm. I possessed an excellent sense of direction and could easily find my way home.

I paddled and paddled, going nowhere. My arms were tired. Numb. I pressed my feet against the foot braces as if I could propel the kayak forward.

Then—

Out of the fog, she appeared: the most gorgeous mermaid I’d ever seen—not that I’ve ever seen a mermaid in real life before that evening—more beautiful than Natalie Portman or Halle Barry or Scarlett Johansson. Prettier than any of the fifty-three woman I’d bedded.

The mermaid drifted behind the gauzy haze while the furious sea raged. Waves lashed against the kayak. I imagined myself looking down: my kayak and I a mere speck.

The kayak rocked to and fro. Back and forth. Frontward to backward.

“No,” I screamed. “No!” My words disappeared into the night as had other words in the past.

I prayed. Wished I had a rosary to clutch instead of my paddle. I’m not Catholic yet I wanted that assurance of life after death. But what do I, an agnostic, know about religion?

I was a goner. It’s true what “they” say: your life flashes in front of you. You see every reel. Every bad thing. Every good thing. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see how I’d raped a fellow student in high school, how I’d defrauded my partner at Mullin & McCracken, how I’d cheated on my taxes. The list was endless…

But not only did I see my past, I saw my future. Scenes I’d never experience. “They” never tell us about our futures, do they?

Even today, I’m uncertain what happened next, but the scene is as clear as Windexed glass. My kayak ascended into the air. Flew—flew as in flying! No wings magically appeared, but I soared upward, clutching the paddle as if it were a life preserver. I screamed obscenities. Wished I were dead. Waited for death. Hoped for death…

I saw our house below, albeit faintly through the haze. Tiny. Obscure. As inconsequential as I’d been previously in the water. The kayak whirled like a whirligig.

Again, my life flashed in segments. I closed my eyes. Wished for death to relieve me of certain excruciating death.

The kayak tottered. My stomach lurched. The feeling was as I’d imagined if standing in a free-fall elevator, but I had no way to jump—jumping so I’d be safely in the air when the elevator hit, thwarting death.

“I’m sorry, Marie.” I screeched. I silently prayed. Bellowed prayers. I don’t remember everything that transpired, everything I did. It happened within minutes. Seconds, maybe. A bad dream. Yet, this wasn’t a dream for when I closed my eyes, I was awake. And when I opened them, I was still immersed in the dream.

No dream. This was reality!

The kayak plunged. Spray soaked my upper body. Pinpricks battered my face as if I were caught in a hail storm.

The kayak and I submerged into the water, sinking to the bottom as if an elevator gone awry. This was it. Vanishing into the depths of oblivion. Another second, I’d face my maker, who’d slam and lock the pearly gates.

I opened my eyes to the ocean’s darkness.

And then—as if Rudolph directing a sleigh—the kayak took flight. Cold air accosted me when we lifted. I was still in the kayak—the kayak full of frigid water.

I prayed again. Shrieked. “No.”

I closed my eyes for the millionth time.

A whoosh.

A jolting thump.

I opened my eyes.

I was sitting in my water-filled kayak, safely back on shore. The sun shone brightly upon my house. The air was still.

I rubbed my eyes. Surely, I was in the throes of a dream. I’d wake in the morning, forgetting the nightmare. Life would be back to normal.

I extricated myself from the kayak, splashing water on the dry sand while doing so. I felt like a wet dog, wishing I could shake the water off me. An impossibility, of course, yet with all that had transpired, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find myself morphed into a rabid wolf.

Shivering, I trudged up the mulched path. I couldn’t wait to walk into the house, kiss Marie, clutch her to my chest. In that second, I vowed to be a better husband. I’d buy her every jewel I could afford. I’d make passionate love to her every night—every night she wanted it, of course. I suddenly knew the meaning of “no.”

I’d contact Liz Griffith. Finding people today was easy, what with social media. I’d apologize profusely for that afternoon when I didn’t listen to “no.” I’d contact Edward, my ex-partner. I’d work my butt off, pay back every penny I embezzled from him.

Despite my wanton ways, I’d never confess to my wife that I cheated on her. She’d never in a zillion years forgive me for that. 

This should be the end of my story, but it isn’t even though it seems a fitting ending to a tall tale. I won’t reveal the details of my life over the past twenty years except to say that I lived up to my promises and enjoyed the future screened before me that night in the kayak—the future I thought would be denied me.

That night, Marie greeted me when I entered the house. “You weren’t gone long.”

What the fuck? I’d been gone forever. I didn’t question her, though. I gave her a huge hug, breathed in her sweet scent of apple blossom shampoo, rubbed her back. “I’m tired. Going to get a shower and go to bed.”

She examined my face. Stared straight into my soul. “Really? It’s only seven.”

Seven o’clock? Hadn’t I gone out around 6:30? “Yeah, not feeling well.”

She shooed me off to bed, adding, “I’ll join you later.”

I snubbed the shower and collapsed into bed. I massaged my throbbing temples while the evening’s events washed over me. No way did any of that happen. Kayaks don’t fly. Mermaids don’t exist. Not in real life. I combed my fingers through my hair, searching for the lump to indicate a fall. I had obviously hit my head and passed out.

No lumps or bumps, though.

The next morning, after Marie prepared her signature omelet, I wandered down to the shore. My kayak sat in the sand, several feet from the water’s edge, where I’d left it, the paddle resting alongside as usual.

All was well.

“Fuck,” I mumbled. “Fuckin’ dream.” Why did I even question it? Of course, it was a dream. Kayaks don’t fly, especially not when filled with water—seawater or otherwise. And mermaids don’t exist. And—

I gasped. My legs turned to putty.

What the fuck…

The kayak was full of water. Completely full. Seaweed floated on top.

It hadn’t rained in days.

***

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/