Trevor was a cheeky little lad. Squirt, his schoolmates called him! True to his nickname, his lifelong job involved maintaining the fountain and hosing flower beds in the park.
The day he retired, he threw a coin in the fountain and made a wish. It never came true.
On his ninetieth birthday, he went back. The fountain stopped flowing years ago. Down among the dead leaves, he found his coin.
‘It’s soiled and worthless now’, he thought, ‘a bit like me’.
Wrapped in my warmest coat, a woolly scarf around my neck, I wished my colleagues farewell and headed off into the wrath of a winter’s night.
The freezing wind assaulted me, and a shower of hail struck my cheeks like a thousand icy needles. A car’s headlights blinded me as a frustrated driver honked his horn. My heart missed a beat. Noise, hail, light, dazzling light. If I wasn’t awake, it would be a nightmare.
Two more corners and the bridge would be in sight. As I crossed the river, the street light beside my cottage would glow like a beacon, drawing me home. A few steps more, then I’d be safe. Safe from the hostile world that surrounded me.
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The door closed behind me, and for a moment or two I stood in the hallway, my eyes closed. It was warm. It smelt lovely. It was quiet. It was good.
As I sank into my chair, a log hissed and crackled in the hearth, and the flames that embraced it sent an orange glow around the room. My shadow flickered upon the wall like a faithful best friend. Drawing my legs up beneath me, I hugged my favourite cushion.
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Two worlds. One beyond the curtains, chilling, harsh and forbidding. One within, welcoming, snug and cosseting.
Nobody knew Mollie and I were lovers, not her husband, not my wife. Who would have suspected it of two doddery old folk like us? We felt not a glimmer of remorse nor fragments of regret for what we got up to. However, we hoped not to suffer penance when we knocked on heaven’s door.
We are both dead and buried now, but we don’t mourn, we don’t pine for each other. Because here in the shadowy graveyard we can do as we wish, unseen by the living, getting up to whatever ghostly goings-on we fancy!
Rest in peace? No way! Isn’t death wonderful!
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Thanks to Brenda for hosting The Sunday Whirl, where this week’s given words are – dead pines penance mourns folk glimmer graveyard remorse ghostly fragments lover and shadowy
You never know what to expect when Connie turns up, one day she’ll be vivacious, the next, vile!
One day a year she’s both; she’ll gatecrash a Halloween party dressed as a smiling sorceress. She’ll frolic, dance and kiss people’s cheeks, then suddenly her inner witch erupts, and believe me, you would not wish to witness that!
With Halloween just days away, Landlord Len had decorated the Baamy Inn with ghosts, ghoolies and cobwebs; he’s not keen on having kids in the pub, but once year he welcomes them; they surge in wearing their creepy costumes then go from table to table shouting and pulling funny faces then stop and begin to sing the song their teacher made up for them …Mary Mary, you’re quite scary, why does your red hair glow… then they are handed treats before exiting the bar and heading off to knock on doors in the village – Albert admits to being a little frightened of them so this year he’s decided to get his own back by dressing in a black robe and painting his face, “you hardly need to”, said Ted, “since you stopped cutting your hair and shaving, you look scary enough already!”.
Over at the knitting circle, Lucy was telling them about when she visited her mother in the retirement home, “Mum’s friend Sally said she’d always wanted to run naked through a crowded place, and she thought this might be her last opportunity, so surged with excitement she stripped off and tottered through the lounge and into the games room where two men were playing snooker; one said, ‘what was that?’ and the other said, ‘I don’t know, but it needs ironing’! “.
“I bumped into my ole mate, millionaire Marcus ‘tother day”, said Arthur, “he told me he’s getting married to a pretty twenty-three-year-old; he even asked me to be his best man, well, I said yes hoping it might encourage him to leave me something in his will; then I asked him how he managed to attract such a young lady, after all, he’s in his seventies, and he said, ‘simple, I told her I was ninety-eight!’ “.
“I saw Surge this morning”, said Babs, “the tree surgeon from down the lane, he told me he took on an apprentice last week and on his first day he handed him a chain saw and told him to practice by cutting down the dead tree behind the barn; half an hour later the boy came back and said he’d tried sawing it without success, well, Surge took the chain saw from him, pressed the start button and it went, vroom, vroom – the lad stuck his fingers in his ears and shouted, ‘wow, what’s that noise?’ “.
“I made up a joke about a skeleton for halloween”, said Colin, “but it wasn’t very humerus – there’s one thing I hate about halloween, which is… – never marry a tennis player, love means nothing to them – how to get a farm girl to marry you, first a tractor – the invitation said, ‘your presence itself is a present, we don’t want any presents at the wedding’, so I assumed that meant I wasn’t welcome – another invite said ‘black tie only, when I got there everyone else was in tuxedos – my mate said I was the worst best man ever, I was speechless – an attracive lady said ‘every time you smile I feel like inviting you to my place’, I asked if she was single and she said, ’no, I’m a dentist – since the price of insurance has surged it’s cheaper to get robbed – I know an insurance saleman called Justin Case – I foresee a surge in the sales of citrus fruit next yer, Kumquat May – my doctor said the eye surgery was a success, and I said, ‘so I see’ – the last thing you want to hear a surgeon say is ‘ooops’ – the expert in keyhole surgery studdied at Yale – a trainee tree surgeon couldn’t hack it to he was given the axe – a lumberjack got promoted, now he’s a branch manager…..”
Before turning out the lights, Len looked around the creepily festooned bar; his dearly departed Maggie would have loved it, “I miss you, my little pumpkin”, he muttered, ‘I’m still here, my love, you just can’t see me’, she whispered as the decorations quivered for a second or two.
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Thanks to Denise for hosting Six Sentence Stories, where this week’s given word is Surge
I’d been invited to one of those battle reenactments where grown men put on pretend suits of armour and play soldiers. I knew when and where, but little else.
I certainly wasn’t expecting to be handed a Medieval outfit and a sword when I arrived; I assumed I’d just be looking on!
I shook in my boots as the enemy came ashore. We charged down the beach, then seconds later an unfriendly foe poked me in the eye.
This eye patch is quite cool. I wonder if they do pirate reenactments.
Wilhelmina led a lonely life. The closest thing she had to a companion was the skull that sat on her dresser.
Most of her friends had settled down with witchers, wizards or warlocks; many now had witchlings. Perhaps it was time to find herself a partner. She wondered which way to go about it.
In her younger days, she frequented a pub in Witchleton called The Cauldron. There, she enjoyed brews and potions with her mates. That was probably the place to start.
She straightened the point on her hat, shook the dust from her most bewitching gown, then set off on her trusty broomstick.
The first person she came across was witcher Whitaker, who was on a similar mission!
Wilhelmina’s wish was granted. They became a couple and lived witcherly ever after!.
On this very day, 20 years ago, I launched Keith’s Ramblings. 3674 short stories later, it’s still going strong! Thanks to those who’ve stuck with me over the years, I couldn’t and wouldn’t have done it without your support!
Now, where were we? Oh yes! Time for short story number 3675!
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Crouched in a hollow, they were fully prepared, an arsenal of ammunition at hand. Soon their foe would appear.
However, the attack was sudden and unexpected. They were bombarded with soggy sprouts and rotten tomatoes. They retaliated with stale cupcakes and mouldy bread rolls. It was bedlam.
However, minutes later they admitted defeat. Their punishment was to clear up the battlefield and return the spent weapons to the supermarket bins from whence they came.
