The Spot Writers – “Missing June” by Chiara De Giorgi

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is “June” because it’s… well, you get the idea! 

This week’s contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara is an Italian author and currently lives in Berlin, Germany. She writes fiction, with a focus on children’s literature and science fiction.

***

Missing June by Chiara De Giorgi

When June woke up that morning, she immediately felt that something was wrong.

It was the last week of school at the Boarding School at the End of Dreams, where she was enrolled in tenth grade, and she was looking forward to the last day because in the evening there would be a school dance for students from tenth grade onward. It would be her first prom, she had a beautiful dress, and her friend Ronnie, a werewolf from the World of Fairy Tales whom she really liked, had asked her to be his date.

With a sigh of anticipation, June tore the May page from the calendar hanging on her bedroom door. And a strange thing happened. The first strange thing of the day, actually. The June page was missing: the calendar went from May 31st directly to July 1st.

“Oh, well,” she muttered. She wouldn’t be able to cross the days as they passed, but it wasn’t such a tragedy after all.

But things got stranger and more worrying from there. When she went to class, her desk wasn’t there. No students seemed to recognize her, sending her rushing to the bathroom and check herself in the mirror to see if she had changed overnight. It happened to creatures coming from the World of Dreams like herself sometimes. But no, the mirror reflected the same face as yesterday: her bronze skin, golden hair, and vibrant green eyes were all there.

She went back to class, and the teacher surprised her by asking her to introduce herself.

“I am June,” she said, on the verge of tears. “How can you not remember me? I presented my essay on the ecological balance in the northern regions of the World of Dreams just a couple of days ago!”

“You must have been dreaming,” commented the teacher, shaking his furry head (he was a tall yeti who liked to dye his fur, which was currently grass green). “Did I give you a good grade?”

“Yes, you did,” muttered June, unable to hold back tears.

“Oh, well,” concluded the teacher with a smile. “At least it was a good dream, eh? Why don’t you go to the library and get some rest? I’ve already contacted the secretary and we’ll figure out this mix-up as soon as possible.”

***

The library was a good place to be when you were upset, June was convinced of that.

The silence enveloped her. It was the type of silence that carried meaning, which came from all those books, thousands of pages filled with the wisdom from all the Worlds.

Señor Sebastian Fernandez-Caballero, the centuries-old Talking Turtle in charge of the library, welcomed her. Seeing that she was clearly in distress, he offered her some sage tea and asked her to share her troubles.

Two cups of tea later, June concluded her sad account with tears streaming down her face.

“…I was so thrilled thinking about the end of school, the ball, and Ronnie… and now I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“There, there,” said Señor Sebastian. “You are in a library! Don’t you know that all the answers are found in books?”

June sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Really? But… there are so many!”

Señor Sebastian nodded sagely, then pulled a pipe from his cardigan pocket and winked at June.

“This helps me think better, but don’t tell anyone. One oughtn’t smoke in the library—and on top of that in front of a student… But if we want to solve your problem, we have to be ready to break some rules.”

June widened her eyes. “I don’t want people at school to remember me again just so they can kick me out,” she said.

Señor Sebastian puffed a bit of smoke out of his mouth and waved her worries away. “Just be quiet about my pipe,” he said, and winked again. “Now. Let’s get to the World of Dreams section…”

He made his way to the other end of the library, and June followed, for the first time walking slowly enough to be able to admire the beautifully carved wooden shelves and stuccoed ceilings.

A couple of hours and several cups of tea later, the pipe forgotten, Señor Sebastian finally found what he was looking for.

“There it is!” he exclaimed triumphantly, tapping his finger on the yellowed page of a green leather-bound big book.

“What should I do?” asked June eagerly, dropping the book whose index she was quickly scrolling through.

“You were in someone’s dream, but they woke up before they finished the dream. For things to go back to the way they were, the dream must be completed.”

June was left speechless.

“But… how do I know who was dreaming about me? And how do I get them to complete the unfinished dream?”

Señor Sebastian closed the big book and put his pipe back in his mouth.

“My girl,” he said benevolently, “you come from the World of Dreams yourself… I’m sure you will find a way.”

***

It was a long night for June.

She visited the dreams of her classmates one by one, until she finally found the dream she was looking for. It was Ronnie’s dream! He was dreaming about the dance: June was behind a door and waiting for him to open it, but the poor wolf boy was so excited, that he had an anxiety attack and promptly woke up before he could open the door.

She smiled to herself and tiptoed into Ronnie’s dream. In her beautiful dress, she walked to the door, put her hand on the knob, and opened it.

“Hey, Ronnie…” she called softly.

The boy, who was wringing his hands and whose heart was beating a little too fast, looked up. She smiled at him and reached out a hand. Ronnie returned the smile and took it in his. Soon after, they both woke up.

***

As soon as June opened her eyes, she jumped out of bed and ran to her bedroom’s door to check the calender. The June page had reappeared!

“Hopefully this means that now everyone remembers me!” she muttered as she went back to sleep.

Upon waking the next morning, June found a note that someone had slipped under the door of her room.

I can’t wait for the dance! See you in class. Ronnie.

June pressed the note to her heart and smiled. The last week of school was going to be beautiful!

The Spot Writers:

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.com/

The Spot Writers – “Heatwave” by Melvin MacDonald

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this cycle is “heatwave.”

Cathy’s writings are found in numerous print and online publications. She writes all genres but invariably veers toward the dark—so much so her late mother once asked, “Can’t you write anything happy?” (She can!)

Check out www.writingwicket.wordpress.com for further information on her works.

***

“Heatwave”

by Melvin MacDonald*

“Marie,” Melvin said, when his wife walked into the room, “remember that poem I wrote a couple of years ago?”

“Hmm, can’t say I do.”

Before Melvin could reply, she added, “Oh, do you mean that Valentine’s Day poem?”

“That’s it, Marie.”

“Mel, that poem was atrocious.”

He put on his best pretend-pout face. “But it was written with love. From me to you.”

His wife’s face whitened.

Ha, he thought. Now she feels bad.

“I gotta finish the laundry,” she said, slinking out of the room.

Melvin went into the den and sat at the desk. He pulled up Google docs and stared at the blank screen. Is this what writer’s block feels like? And why was he here? To add more misery to his already failed poetry attempts? He’d written several over the past few years, most of which he hadn’t shared with anyone. The few he had shared hadn’t gone over well.

He swiped at his forehead. “Gah, really wish we had air-conditioning,” he muttered. The heatwave was getting to him. Thirty-plus Celsius temps were beyond his comfort level.

Hmm, a poem about the heat would be apropos!

And then he had a brainstorm…

***

“Hey, Marie, where are you?” He raced out of the den like a madman. “Where the heck are you?”

And then he saw her, sauntering into the kitchen from the deck.

“Melvin, what in the world! Why are you screeching like that?”

“Marie! Marie, listen to this. It’s a poem I just wrote. I really think you’ll like it.”

“I thought you’d given up on poetry.”

“I never said that!”

“Well, your other renditions weren’t so wonderful.”

“But this one is. Listen.”

He clutched the paper the printer had spewed out. His best poem ever. Marie would be so amazed—stunned would be more like it.

“It’s called ‘Heatwave.’ Here, listen up…

“I hate the heat—it makes me sweat.

The sun beats down upon my weary head,

And I long for cool relief but haven’t yet

Found respite from the blazing summer threat.

My clothes cling to my damp frame.

I hate the heat—it makes me sweat.

I dream of snow-capped mountains set

Against a sky of endless blue instead

Of faces flushed with red, but haven’t yet

Escaped this stifling prison where I’m met

With waves of scorching air that suffocate.

I hate the heat—it makes me sweat.

I pray for rain to fall without regret

To cleanse away this oppressive flame

But haven’t found relief as of yet,

So I suffer through each hot day,

Counting down until the season’s end.

I hate the heat—it makes me sweat—

But cooler days will come again.

“So, what do you think, Marie?”

For the first time, his wife was speechless. Well, he remembered other times she’d been stunned, too, but this time was different. She was totally stunned. Totally.

Her eyes were wide with amazement. “Really, you wrote that?”

“I did.”

“I—I don’t know what to say. That was quite excellent.”

“I know, right?” He smiled. She’d never clue in.

***

*Melvin MacDonald (he’s not much of a poet but is sure a great liar.)

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 – “Invasive Species” by Phil Yeats

Welcome to The Spot Writers.

Prompt for June: write a story that involves worms.

This week’s story was written by Phil Yeats. In September, 2021, he published The Souring Seas, the first volume in a precautionary tale about the hazards of ignoring human-induced climate change. The second volume, Building Houses of Cards, appeared in May 2022. He’s now published They All Come Tumbling Down, the final volume in his The Road to Environmental Armageddon trilogy. For information about these books, or his older soft-boiled mysteries, visit his website https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/

***

“Invasive Species” by Phil Yeats

The seventy-five-year-old man strode into his kitchen on an unusually warm April morning. The spring in his step belied his advancing years.

“What’s gotten into you?” his wife asked.

“Chinese jumping worms,” he replied.

“Worms! How can those disgusting things make you happy?”

He sighed. She wasn’t a gardener and failed to appreciate the importance of worms. “As you know, I must create a story every month for my writing group. This month’s prompt is ‘worms’. I hadn’t managed a single good idea until just now when I read about jumping worms on my computer’s news feed.”

“Yuck! What’s so special about these buggers?”

“They’re invasive and harmful, and much more aggressive than our normal worms. The article was about getting rid of them.”

She shook her head before turning toward the kitchen counter. “I don’t see how that helps you generate a story, but you’re the author, so go for it.” She refilled her coffee cup and sat at their kitchen computer. She opened the first of many online games she played.

Later, she encountered her hubby digging in their vegetable garden. “Looking for worms, are you?”

He stopped digging and leaned on the handle of his spade. “Nice day and soon time for spring planting. May still get frost, but I can loosen up the soil.”

She smiled, a mischievous grin, before repeating her question. “Sure you’re not after those stupid worms?”

“Did my homework. Unlike our regular worms, they only live for one season. If we have them, we won’t see any until later in the year, when this year’s crop grows large enough to notice.” He stopped talking and turned over a few shovelfuls of soil. “Bit surprised I haven’t seen any of our regular worms.”

“Aha!” she replied. “The aggressive invaders chased them all away.”

“Doubt it, but the lack of worms is a worry. This soil should have lots. Can’t imagine why there aren’t any.”

A few days later, the summer-like conditions retreated to their more common cold and rainy spring weather. After several days of constant rainfall, our geriatric gardener ventured forth to assess the situation. He saw puddles were everywhere, and in most of them, dead worms flooded from their burrows. He crouched down and inspected several. They were the normal worms he’d seen in the garden for years.

“So,” he said to no one in particular. “All’s well. They must have been deeper in the ground than the foot of so of soil I turned over.”

*****

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.com/

The Spot Writers – “House Upon the Hill – With Burgers!”

Welcome to The Spot Writers.

Along with several short story collections and books of poetry, Cathy has published two novels: WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, and MISTER WOLFE, the darkly dark sequel/stand-alone novel. She has also written two volumes of grief poetry in memory of her son Matthew that she hopes might help other grieving parents: MY HEART IS BROKEN and BROKEN HEARTS CAN’T ALWAYS BE FIXED.

Prompt for April: write a story using the following words: boat, flowers, snow.

Cathy continues with her Melvin saga. She believes this may be the last segment. To be published as a novella in the very near future, after much editing, additions, deletions. Stay tuned!

***

“House Upon the Hill—With Burgers!”

Marie yanked apart the heavy living room drapes. “Look at that, Melvin. The sun is shining. Flowers are blooming. It’s a gorgeous day! Not a speck of snow.”

Melvin looked up from the paper. “Marie, the sun’s glaring into my eyes. Close them. Please.”

She sighed and stared out the window.

Ignoring me, he thought. Just like she always does.

He tossed the paper onto the floor. “If it’s such a great day, I’m gonna go out in the boat.”

Marie turned around. “Now?” She glanced at her watch. “It’s three o’clock. I thought we—you—could put on the barbeque for din. We have those frozen sirloin burgers and—”

“Yeah, I can do that. I won’t be long. I’ll be back before five. We can eat at six.”

“Six? You complain if I don’t have dinner served at five on the dot.”

“Yeah, well, like you said, it’s a sunny day. I should take advantage of it. I won’t be long. Just gonna take the kayak for a quick spin.”

His wife sighed again and faced the window.

Inside, his gut heaved. He didn’t need to be that nasty, did he? No matter. Time to soak up the sun. First nice day in May. Had Marie opened the drapes earlier, he might have gone earlier. Her fault.

***

Melvin grabbed his life vest from the hook on the wall in the cabin. He’d taken the kayak out of storage a few days previously but hadn’t yet had it in the water.

Kailani flashed in front of him. Her gorgeous face. Svelte body. Long blonde hair. “Ah, stuff dreams are made of,” he mumbled.

His promise to his wife from several weeks ago came to mind, but he quickly ignored it. He was due for some excitement. A bit of pleasure in his otherwise mundane life. It was hard—and annoying—to continually provide for a needy wife and son. His deceased daughters had never been like them; they’d been perfect—just as Kailani was. Is, he thought. Is! Kailani is still here—somewhere! “Unlike my daughters,” he muttered, almost as if it were Kailani’s fault they’d died.

He donned his life vest and hauled the kayak, along with the oar, down to the water. The lake was calm, and the sun glistened on its glass-like surface. So unlike the tragic episode when the lake had been possessed by some sort of underwater monster that gobbled up his kids—well, except for William, of course. He didn’t want to remember the details. Had tried many times to block the entire incident from his mind; easier said than done. It had become a topic he and Marie never discussed, but he could see the hurt in her eyes when a trigger caused her to remember. He did have some sympathy and empathy, no matter what she—or anyone else—thought.

He eyed the islands in the distance. One jaunt back and forth, and then he’d pack it in. Cook Marie’s dratted burgers. He licked his lips. Those juicy thick burgers. Great idea to get the barbeque going.

He barely made a sound in the water as he paddled across. Every couple of minutes, he looked to the sky. Kailani, where are you? He’d yell, but he didn’t want to disturb the quiet. Mustn’t bother the mallards, which without a care in the world, floated along, seemingly unaware of his presence.

When he reached the closest island, he pulled in to the rocks, which lined the shoreline.

“I’m here, Melvin. I’m here.”

What? Was that Kailani? He scanned the area. No sign of her—or anyone or anything.

“Over here.”

He gripped the oar. His heart raced. “Where?”

And then he saw a form, high upon a tree. Had to be her, materializing as a good fairy would in time of want. But—

It had been her voice; that was certain. He blinked and peered. Focused on the figure gazing at him. It was her, but…

The “good fairy” swept down to one of the bigger rocks near the kayak. Nearer to him.

“Kailani? Wha—what happened? You look… Different.”

“It is me. Yes, indeed. It’s all to do with time, Melvin. Time takes us all, little by little. Turns out we part-mermaids age faster than other mythical creatures. I’ll be going, very soon, to my forever home.”

“Your forever home?”

“It’s somewhere, Melvin. Not quite sure where. It all depends upon one’s beliefs, right?”

“Like if God really does exist?”

“Correct.”

Melvin adjusted his ball cap. “So… Ah… How much time do you have left?”

Kailani smiled, revealing more wrinkles.

He examined her more carefully. Her hair, though no longer blonde, was still long, still thick, still drifted gently past her shoulders. He could still run his fingers through the white strands, lose them in the thick silkiness. She wore more clothing than previous times. Ostensibly, he thought, to hide a myriad of imperfections. He shook his head to shake away the memory of Marie’s naked bod.

“I can’t believe your time will soon be up.” How could she have aged this fast?

Her bright eyes shone with life. “We go when we’re healthy, Melvin. Before the ravages of time. It’s best this way, for if there’s another world in store, we’re able to enjoy it. Who knows, maybe my next world will be one of eternal life.”

“I can’t go there, though, can I?”

“No, Melvin, humans cannot, not even you. Don’t even ask something so stupid.”

Okay, he thought. I’ll shut up. But—

“Will this be the last time I see you?”

“I’m afraid so.” She swatted at a fly. “Toodle-oo, Melvin. Toodle-oo.”

And she was gone. He had no chance to say goodbye, to say how much he’d loved knowing her, that he wished they could meet again, that he was sorry she was leaving to “who knew where.” He hoped her life “ever-after” would be a good one. He hoped his would be, too!

“Bye, Kailani,” he mumbled, knowing he spoke needlessly. But who knew, right?

He turned, looked at his house upon the hill overlooking the lake, and felt an odd satisfying relief. Marie awaited. So did his burgers.

***

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 – “What? Sending William Away?” by Cathy MacKenzie

Welcome to The Spot Writers.

Catherine A. MacKenzie’s novels, WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, and MISTER WOLFE, the darkly dark sequel/stand-alone novel (18+), are available on Amazon.

Prompt for August/September: “New School Year”

Cathy continues with Melvin and his tales…

***

“What? Sending William Away?” by Cathy MacKenzie

“Melvin, I think we need to consider sending William to King’s.”

I looked up from my tablet to see Marie staring at me.

“Huh? King’s?” I asked.

“King’s-Edgehill.”

“What? Why?”

“He’s depressed. Didn’t do well in school last year as you know, but you don’t seem to care.”

“Of course I care, Marie. He’s my son. Of course. I care. I do!”

“You have a weird way of showing it. I told you ages ago about his depression, not to mention his horrible grades.”

“He’s lost his siblings, Marie. What the hell do you expect?”

“I think he’s in denial.”

“Denial?”

“Yes, I hear him sometimes. He prays for them to return. Kneels at his bed. Clasps his hands together. Like a steeple. Bows his head. Seconds later, he’ll plop to his bed and just stare at the ceiling.”

I couldn’t resist. “Maybe he thinks he can see Heaven if he stares long enough.”

Marie jumped up from the couch and flailed her arms. “Melvin, you’re so exasperating.”

I felt like shit. Knew I was wrong. “Sorry.”

“I really think King’s would help. Give him a fresh start.”

“He’s only ten, Marie. Is he old enough to go there?”

“I think so. I’ll have to check.”

“But do they deal with problem children? Don’t you just have to be smart to get in?”

“Melvin! William is not a problem child. About the grades: I think that’s the purpose of the school. To give children a better education with one-on-one learning. Fewer children for teachers to deal with. I think they have a day program, so he wouldn’t have to board there.”

“Marie, it’s in Windsor. Over an hour away. Too far for us to drive every day.”

“He’ll have to be a boarding student, then.”

“A boarding student?” I groaned. “How much is that gonna cost?”

She threw me one of her Marie-looks. “Melvin, the world doesn’t revolve around money. Well, maybe it does, but we can’t let it affect us. As to the cost, I haven’t a clue. But it’d be worth it to get William back on track.”

I pondered. Yeah, sure, I wanted my remaining child—my only son—to have a good start in life, but boarding school? And the cost? Man, not like I’m raking in the big bucks.”

“It’s still August, Marie. Lots of time to think about this.”

“No, there isn’t. Kings is booked years in advance. It’s THAT prestigious a school.”

“Then he won’t get in this year, will he?” I heaved a sigh of relief. Then, I stared her down. “Why don’t you see about next year?” Give me some breathing room, I thought. Time to make more money—maybe. With two less kids, you’d think our savings account would be higher, but crappy climate change and Russians invading Ukraine… And now talk of a recession? No wonder I can’t get ahead. Does anyone realize how hard it is to be Man of the House? Unless… Was Marie dipping into our accounts? Buying herself fancy clothes and jewels? I made a mental note to check her closet and jewellery box.

She gave me another “look” and emitted a long, drawn-out sigh. “I’m going to call tomorrow. See what the admittance policy is.”

“Yeah, okay,” I mumbled.

“Our son deserves the best we can give him considering all he’s been through over the past year. We haven’t done much for him. Not really…”

She rambled. On and on. I blocked my ears (mentally, of course, so as not to piss her off more than necessary) and concentrated on the positives over the past year. Wracked my brain but couldn’t come up with one except for Kailani. And where the hell’s she been all this time?

***

The next day, Marie informed me that King’s started with Grade Six. William was going into Grade Five. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

But then—

“I’m going to enroll him for next year, Melvin. That way, he’ll be on the list, and we can change our minds if he improves. We’d just have to pay a deposit.”

Change our minds? My mind hadn’t been changed. Would never be. I didn’t want him to go to King’s. The cost. The distance. Marie hadn’t figured out those major details yet. Hmm, I thought. Boarding school. Marie had been talking about the day program. But if we sent William away for the entire school year, what a pleasure that would be. Of course, he’d return home for holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter. Couldn’t let our sweet son be without family on special occasions.

I decided to let the idea fester. We had a year, after all. I could grab some extra shifts at Centrix—that is, if Alexander J. Tupper would cooperate. I could talk to him, explain the situation. He’d understand. He’s always asking how William is. Has sons of his own. Hmm… Might work.

If not, well, a lot can change in a year, right?

***

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 – “The Grass Is Always Snowier…” by Val Muller

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s topic is “The door you locked is wide open.” This week’s story comes to us from Val Muller, and it is a (modified) excerpt from her work-in-progress Corgi Capers Book 4.

“The Grass Is Always Snowier…” by Val Muller

Outside, the snow swirled. Courtney took several deep breaths. The house had been chilly an hour ago, but now Courtney was too hot, like she felt during gym class. Her aunt’s words echoed in her head: “You’re in charge now.”

Those words were everything she would have wished for—a few days ago. But now, especially with the blizzard, the young teenager wasn’t sure being in charge was exactly what she expected.

To calm her nerves, she went through the checklist. Back door: unlocked, drape open. Adam, Toby, and Zeph would have to come in sooner or later. Side door: locked, just like her aunt and uncle instructed. The last thing she needed was for Sapphie to wiggle her way out to find Zeph, not with the snow picking up. She peeked outside, looking over the sink full of dishes. The snow had already coated everything in a thin layer of white. Just a few years ago, Courtney would have thrown her arms in the air and hurried outside to play—like Adam and Toby were, somewhere—but now she was in charge. She didn’t want her aunt to come home to a messy house, so she turned the water on and tackled the stack of dishes left over from last night’s dinner and this morning’s chaotic breakfast.

What else was on that checklist? she thought as she washed the dishes. Heat: on. Check. Phone: plugged in. Nope. Where was her phone? She couldn’t check now, not with soapy hands. She’d have to find it as soon as she was done. Her dad always warned the family to plug in phones and other devices if a storm was coming. “You never know when you’ll lose power,” he would always say.

Or, that’s what he would have said if he were here. Instead of somewhere tropical. Enjoying a frozen drink with mom. While Courtney was coronated as the Princess of Chaos. It just wasn’t fair.

She stacked the dishes in the dish drain. What else? What else? Feed the dogs. Feed the kids. That was later, of course. Assuming they all came home. Which of course they would. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to stay out in a blizzard, right? She craned her neck to peek out the window. The snow was still coming down, and the thin layer thickened while she watched. She didn’t see footprints, human or canine. Where was her brother and cousin? Where was Zeph?

She took a deep breath. Remember, she told herself, Toby knows the area. He won’t wander far. He’s only four.

Okay, so feed the kids. With that went all kinds of things like don’t leave the stove on, or the oven. Clean up the dishes.

Check.

Speaking of dishes, Courtney had been clinking dishes for a while now, and no sign of Sapphie. Sapphie was usually the first to arrive when a single fork clinked against a plate, always hoping for a scrap or two. Where was she?

“Sapphie?” Courtney called out.

No answer.

Courtney finished the last of the dishes and dried her hands with a towel.

“Sapphie?”

Courtney started for the basement—maybe Sapphie got stuck down there. But then she remembered her phone. It was important to plug that in. If only she knew where it was. Let’s see—she had been playing with Toby in his room.

She hurried up the stairs.

No phone there.

Then she’d gone into the front entryway to talk to her aunt. There was nowhere in the entryway to put down a phone. She checked her pocket again. No, of course it wasn’t there. Where in the world could she have put it? She walked back to the kitchen to look out the window. No sign of Adam, Toby, or Zeph. No footprints or anything. Only more snow.

She glanced down at the counter and saw her phone sitting right there, next to the drain of drying dishes. Was she losing her mind? She was acting like her mom, now, scatterbrained. Maybe that’s what being in charge does to people—it heats up the world with so much responsibility that it melts the brain.

But she was too worried to laugh. Instead, she shook her head and went upstairs to plug in her phone. There, she passed the office computer, where Adam had hooked up his wildlife camera. She opened the camera and looked. Nothing but white piling on white. No footprints, no boys, no dogs.

And speaking of dogs…

“Sapphie!” she called.

Her heart skipped a beat. She remembered the time Sapphie was stuck in the office at home. A stack of newspapers had fallen, nearly crushing her. Sapphie’s track record of staying out of trouble was pretty low. A pit of worry formed in Courtney’s stomach.

“Where is that dog?” she muttered.

She ran from room to room, calling for Sapphie and looking for paths of destruction, but everything looked normal. No, not normal. Nothing about this was normal. Her aunt and uncle were gone, of course, but so was everyone else. Everyone and everything she was supposed to be in charge of was missing. Her brother, her cousin, her dogs.

“Urgh!” she yelled.

A strange chill pricked the back of her neck, but this time she wasn’t imagining it. She followed the chill out to the side door. The side door she knew she’d locked.

It was wide open.

And in the dusty snow that had spread onto the covered porch, two pawprints. She’d recognize them anywhere. They were Sapphie’s. Only two prints that disappeared into a fresh layer of snow that was falling way too fast.

So everyone was lost. Adam, Toby, Zeph, and Sapphie.

Courtney had been in charge for less than an hour, and she had already failed. She thought about her aunt and the promise she made to keep an eye on everyone. Her parents, her teachers, everyone who warned her—they had all been right. She was not responsible. She took a deep breath. Her parents were miles and miles away, in a different climate, on a cruise or an island somewhere. Her cousins were miles away. She didn’t know any of the neighbors. She had literally no one she could reach to for help.

She had failed.

No, Courtney hadn’t failed. This wasn’t over. She hurried inside, put on her winter gear, then took her best guess as to the direction of those in her charge. At the last minute, she hurried inside for Toby’s flashlight and backpack kit. She made sure to close the door behind her as she hurried out into the whitening world, feeling more like a space explorer in one of Adam’s comic books than a teenager babysitting her family.

* * *

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 – “One Boring Day” by Cathy MacKenzie

Welcome to The Spot Writers.

The task this month is to write a story where something yellow is important in the plot. It can be any object but using the colour yellow or whatever yellow you can think of.

Catherine A. MacKenzie’s novels, WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, and MISTER WOLFE, the darkly dark sequel/stand-alone novel (18+), are available on Amazon.

Last month, Cathy continued Melvin’s story. If you’ll recall, Melvin was in rant-mode, upset at the world, what with a dragging winter and spring, not to mention Covid and his usual life issues. He was looking forward to summer—to be kayaking and, hopefully, seeing Kailani again…

***

“One Boring Day” by Cathy MacKenzie

I yawned and lazily rolled over, sensing without reaching across the bed that Marie was long gone. A second later, I heard dishes rattling in the kitchen. A little too loudly for my liking, almost as if to tick me off. And on a Saturday when a man should be able to rest in peace!

Despite wanting to satisfy my growling stomach, I pulled the comforter over my head to drown out the echoes in the hopes of another hour of shut-eye.

Didn’t work.

I got up. Joined the dull, gloomy day with its forecast of rain.

The rainy morning passed, as boring as Saturdays always are in this household. The kids were with their grandparents for the day, which gave major respite, and after lunch, Marie left for her quilting bee. Or maybe it was her knitting klatch—whatever it is she does with her group of women. Most likely gossiping and such.

After lunch, I napped on the couch. Woke up around two o’clock to a bright light streaming through the living room window.

I raced to the window. Had to shade my eyes from the blinding ball.

The sun!

The rain had ceased, and the lake was as calm as melted butter on a sweltering summer’s day.

My heart raced! Kayak time? Could it be?

Yes!

My mouth salivated. Would this be the first time this season to see Kailani?

I changed into shorts and T-shirt, grabbed the cabin keys, and sprinted down the narrow path to the lake. All the while, my heart beat a million miles a minute. Anticipation, of course!

I unlocked the cabin door. My kayak, which I had named the “Blue Origin” after Bezo’s rocket ship, rested on the red shag rug, where I’d left it in the fall. I dragged it out of the cabin and onto the lawn. I returned inside for the paddle and life vest. Gotta be safe in the great big sea, right? Can’t take chances on a storm coming out of nowhere. Gotta be prepared at all times. I learned my lesson the hard way though I do believe all three of my kids wore life vests. Whether they did or not, one died: William, my only son.

I looked to the sky, to the ball of yellow that still nearly blinded me. I shook my fist at the heavens, at a god that would take my only son. He—God—wasn’t watching, of course. Never is. Doesn’t pay attention to us atheists; I’m quite certain of that. Never mind. Kailani will make me forget my troubles.

I hauled everything down to the water.

Porters Lake, connected to the Atlantic Ocean near Lawrencetown Beach, was as calm as it had appeared from the house. Looks are often deceiving, but—hurrah!—not on this day. The sun beat down, hot to trot on this early June day. Had to have been close to ninety degrees Fahrenheit. Just as I like it.

I waded into the nippy water and hopped in the kayak. Off I went, paddling into the middle of the lake toward the beckoning myriad of small islands. A body could get lost on one of them—if one so desired—perhaps never to be found again. Even someone not-so-desiring.

A sudden thought! Could William be stranded on one of them? Could he be awaiting rescue by his father? It had been many months since he disappeared—gone all winter, in fact—but miracles happen, right?

I was close to home, not down the lake to the right where we’d had our mishap the previous summer. No way could he be here. He’d be out farther, at the other side of the lake and closer to the ocean, where the waves and wind would have taken him, not in this calm area.

I shook my head. Memories, be gone! Look to brighter things. Kailani—the gorgeous mermaid who’d come to me the previous summer and took me for a soaring kayak ride into the sky and deposited me safely back on ground. We’d soared as if my kayak was Santa’s sled. And me—it was as if I were Santa, high upon the throne! She was like Rudolph, leading the way.

I yearned to see her again. I furiously paddled. Yelled to that ball of yellow in the sky: “Kailani, you there?”

I paused. Let the oar relax in my hands.

Silence.

Nothing.

Alas.

Then—a shadow. Could it be?

I looked around, just having gotten my hopes up, when darkness surrounded me. In the distance, the heavens roared.

I paddled furiously toward shore, against the sudden rain and wind that threatened to overturn the kayak.

Kailani, where are you? I pictured joining William in the depths of the ocean (wherever that was) if she didn’t rescue me.

But, somehow, miraculously, I reached the dock. I hauled the kayak out of the water. My stomach growled even though Marie had prepared me a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. A thick, juicy steak would do wonders to calm my spirit. I can only hope that Marie stopped at the store on her way home. If not, I’ll stick her in her yellow 2012 Kia Soul and point her in the direction of Sinclair’s Meat Market.

God willing, the rest of the summer awaits. I’m confident Kailani will appear another day.

(This was a boring day, but it was the first day of the kayaking season and you can’t expect much on the first day, right? Stay tuned for upcoming amazing adventures.)

***

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 – “It IS Really Over” by Cathy MacKenzie

Welcome to The Spot Writers.

May’s prompt: Is it really over?’ It could refer to the pandemic, or the war in Ukraine if a miracle happens and it’s over by the time you write your piece, or anything else that lingers too long.

Catherine A. MacKenzie’s novels, WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, and MISTER WOLFE, the darkly dark sequel/stand-alone novel (18+), are available on Amazon.

Cathy continues with Melvin. This month, he’s on a rant. Not much he can do but rant and rave…

***

“It IS Really Over”

I’m so done with this world. Can’t think. Can’t sleep. My boss at Centrix is threatening to fire me if I don’t shape up. Marie is threatening to divorce me. My two remaining kids are threatening to leave home, wanting to follow in William’s footsteps.

So many threats. Too many!

Where will that leave me?

I know THAT answer: I’ll be out on the street: no job (ergo: no money), no wife, no kids. No nothing!

I must become a better person. Marie tells me that non-stop!

But how? I can’t stop Covid, which is still prevalent. I’m not a scientist, chemist, or a researcher who’s discovered a magical cure for the virus.

I’d fly to Russia and shoot Putin dead to the ground if I could. Ha! I don’t even possess a gun (guns are pretty well banned in Canada), not that I’d know how to use one if I had access to one.

I can’t control world markets—the sad spiralling descent of the stock market.

None of this is over. Not by a longshot.

On top of all that, it was a long, hard winter. Marie and I, along with our daughters, Sophie and Penny, contracted Covid. Worst flu-type virus ever despite being fully vaxxed. I pray none of us suffer long-term effects. The pandemic is far from over.

But…I do see one proverbial light at the end of the tunnel: summer.

Summer! It IS coming. It’s mid-May. Damp, rainy spring seems to be over though we could use a few downpours for our lawns and gardens. Winter has to be over, right? Enough of minus temps and cold hard snow.

And what does summer bring? Kayaking and Kailani!

Time very soon for my Blue Origin to emerge from the cabin by the lake. And, from the depths of the ocean, my very own mermaid: Kailani. Her name came to me in a dream while I was bed-ridden with Covid. It means “sea and sky,” which is fitting since she lurks at both. If you’ll recall my past adventures, she’s taken me from the sea, high into the sky, and safely back to shore. I have no doubt she and I will have more fun adventures this summer.

Stay tuned! Winter really IS over!

***

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 – “A Dance of Seasons” by Chiara De Giorgi

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The current prompt: write a poem or story in which one of the characters is a weather, personified. 

This week’s contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara is currently in Berlin, Germany, doing her best to catch up with semi-abandoned writing projects. Her YA novel “Mi chiamo Elisa” was published in Italy by “Le Mezzelane Casa Editrice” in September 2020. Coming soon, a children’s book about Quantum Theory: “Chiara e il gatto di Schrödinger”.

***

“A dance of seasons” by Chiara De Giorgi

I bring the frost, the wind, the cold, the snow,

Transparent icicles hanging from the roofs,

I paint the stillness over Night’s moonglow,

My white snowflakes speak unspoken truths.

Winter is my name and here’s my call:

I am the loveliest season of us all.

*

The sun gets warmer when I come along,

I paint fresh flowers on the naked grass,

The birds start singing happily their song,

A glorious tune that nothing can surpass.

Spring is my name and here’s my call:

I am the loveliest season of us all.

*

I offer you the longest of your days,

Sunlight and warmth like no one else,

And fruits that ripen under my own sun’s rays,

The sweetest honey little bees may bless.

Summer is my name and here’s my call:

I am the loveliest season of us all.

*

I give the leaves a thousand graceful hues,

Rust brown and red and yellow green,

I paint with vivid colours all your views,

A chilly rain falls over all that’s been.

Autumn is my name and here’s my call:

I am the loveliest season of us all.

*

No one can win this seasons’ dance,

Because there is no winner amongst us.

The cold, the warmth, the sun, and all the stars

are what gives life her countless charms.

So, winter, spring, and summer and the fall

We are four lovely seasons, and that’s all.

*****

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.com/

The Spot Writers – “Mermaid Calling” by Phil Yeats

Welcome to The Spot Writers. This month’s challenge was a story using these words: leftover paint, mermaid, tide, sun, chilly.

In December 2018, Phil (using his Alan Kemister pen name) published his most recent novel. Tilting at Windmills, the second in the Barrettsport Mysteries series of soft-boiled police detective stories set in an imaginary Nova Scotia coastal community is available on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/Tilting-Windmills-Barrettsport-Mysteries-Book-ebook/dp/B07L5WR948/. He’s currently working on a saga about the hazards of ignoring climate change.

***

“Mermaid Calling” by Phil Yeats

That afternoon he ran several errands and took useless leftover paint to the recycling depot. He’d just finished his last supper in the house that had been his home for fifty years. Tomorrow, a neighbour with a cube van would arrive to cart the furniture and other possessions he wanted at the assisted-living center where he now had an apartment.

Until this year, he’d spent many summer and fall evenings sitting with his wife of forty-nine years in their Adirondack chairs watching the sun set over the far side of the bay. Their children grew up here on the Atlantic Ocean shore, but they were all gone now, to homes of their own. It was unclear what they’d do once the house was theirs.

Today had been a fine fall day, sunny but chilly, as it should be at this time of year. And the tide was high, which made the waves lap invitingly against their dock pilings. He was alone, as he’d been every day since she passed away in the spring. He remembered their good times and the antics of their kids, until, as he often did on these lonely evenings, he fell asleep.

He awoke when the mermaid poked her head, as she had so many times since his wife died, above the waves lapping against his dock. She was young, with long brown hair, and cute, like the girl next door. She reminded him of fifty years earlier when he and his wife lived like vagabonds exploring the world, doing exciting and sometimes outlandish things. So long ago, before careers, marriage, and children changed their priorities.

“Come,” she said as she flexed her powerful tail and propelled her torso from the water. She propped her elbows on the dock. “Your duty here is done. Come with me. We can reconnect with the carefree life we abandoned so many years ago. It’s our time to enjoy ourselves. The kids will be fine without us.”

He sighed, thinking he was too old for the enticing image she presented. His mind wandered, and he imagined being young again, exploring the world together…

*****

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.com/