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    • Cracked

      Posted at 8:46 pm by writergherlone, on November 6, 2017

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      *Unfortunately, to date, the following story has not made it into the literary pages. It is an old-fashioned story in feel, but a particular favorite of mine, so I thought I’d share.  I hope you enjoy it too! While this one won’t be seen in the magazines, I do have three more that will. “The Forest Fire,” will appear in Edify Fiction on December 29, 2017. “No Parking,” will appear in Fiction on the Web on December 11th, and my new story ( a comedy), was just accepted by Defenestration Magazine. I’ll announce the date for that one as it gets closer. Also, my story, “The Falls,” is now available in print through Wild Women’s Medicine Circle Journal and you can find it on Amazon, if you are interested.

       

       

      Cracked

      By Kristy Gherlone

       

      There were cracks in the driveway. Deep, ugly grooves that marred the surface of the inky pavement.

      Janice cried out in shock. It wasn’t so much the cracks that bothered her. It was that the cracks had weeds growing in them.

      “Honey? Better get those paver fellows to come back. We have cracks…”

      She set her purse and coffee down onto the top of her car, and plucked a lime green shoot from a crevice.

      In disbelief, she held it up to her eyes, squinting as she rolled it back and forth between her fingers. “What in the Sam holy old hell? How is this even possible?” They’d only just had the driveway done a couple of days before.

      She shook her head and threw it down. She crushed it under the heel of her shoe for good measure.

      “Make sure you call them today, too! Those scamming little bastards are not going to get away with this. We paid good money for this driveway, and they’re going to fix it or we’ll sue!”

      She opened the car door. “Did you hear me? I’ve got to get to work. I’m late!” She jumped in and tore away.

      Later that afternoon when she arrived back home, nothing had been done about the driveway.

      I bet Jack didn’t even call, she thought, fuming.  That man is as useless as tits on a boar hog.  If Tommy was home, he would have made sure they’d come right back over.  Such a good kid, Tommy… nothing like his father.

      She sat, holding the keys in her hand, and wondered about her son. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d left for his cross-country trip to college out in Utah. She was beginning to worry that something was wrong. It wasn’t like him not to call.

      Suddenly, there was a rap on her window. She jumped and whirled around. The afternoon sun had dropped below the horizon! It was nightfall!

      “Who’s out there?” she cried.

      “It’s me, Mrs. Sanborn. Your neighbor, Ted Gatsby.”

      “Who?”

      “Ted Gatsby. Don’t you remember me? Is everything alright?”

      Janice felt foolish. Relieved, but foolish. She rolled down the window. “Of course I remember you. How could I forget? You must think I’m some kind of nut, sitting out here like this. I was tired after work. I guess I must have dozed off for a minute.”

      “I was surprised to see anyone over here this morning. I tried the front door when I saw a car in the driveway, just now. I knocked but no one answered. I was about to leave, but then I saw you sitting inside. You scared me half to death. I thought…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

      “No, no. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” She rolled up the window and opened the door, “Jack didn’t answer when you knocked?” She scoffed, struggling to get out of the seat.  “That man, I swear to God! All he does is sit in that chair and watch television. I have to light a fire under his ass to get him to do anything.” She swung one of her legs out, but couldn’t go any further.

      “Jack? You mean your husband, Mrs. Sanborn?” Ted asked, bewildered.

      “Of course my husband! Who’d you think I was talking about?”

      Ted’s mouth fell open. He didn’t know what to say.

      “Never mind. Give me a hand, will you? I can’t seem to get out of this thing.” Janice laughed, embarrassed.   “Imagine a forty-year-old woman having so much trouble.”

      Ted chuckled awkwardly, but reached in to take her by the arm. Gently, he pulled and managed to get her out. Her legs quivered beneath her as she stood, clinging to his arm.

      “Is there someone I should call for you?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

      “Call? Heavens, no! Who in the hell would you call unless it’s those damn pavers? Did you see my driveway?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “A kindergartener could have done a better job!”

      “But…” Ted stammered.

      She rolled her eyes and waved him away. “I’m fine. Just a little unsteady. I don’t know what’s gotten into me today, but I’m sure it will pass.   Probably just a bug or something.” She started for the house, but stopped and turned back around. “What did you want, anyway?”

      “Want, Mrs. Sanborn?”

      “Yes, why did you come over?”

      “Oh, yeah,” Ted said, suddenly remembering the reason for his visit.  “I thought, maybe, since you were back, you could use some help fixing the old place up again. I could put a coat of sealant on that driveway for you. I have some left over from a job I did over in Chickory. It might keep the weeds from sprouting up.”

      “So that’s why you’re here?” Janice cried, insulted.  “There is nothing wrong with this house other than that blasted driveway. Old place, indeed! What a thing to say! Our house is the nicest one on this block and you know it! I bet you’re in cahoots with those pavers, aren’t you?”

      “I…well, no! Of course, not,” Ted stammered.

      “I’m not an idiot, so don’t take me for one,” she said, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I happen to know a thing or two about contractors. Never met a single one I could trust.”

      “Mrs. Sanborn, please…I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just that it’s been a while since anyone…you’ve been gone…”

      “Well you can forget it,” she snapped, cutting him off. She turned on her heels, “I paid good money for that driveway not even a week ago, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay you too. They are just going to have to come back and fix it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a husband to attend to.” She stormed into the house and slammed the door behind her.

      She threw her things down onto the table and stalked into the den. Jack was sitting in his chair. The television was blaring.  Janice walked over and turned it down. “Can you imagine the nerve of some people? You’d think you could trust your own neighbors! Ted Gatsby thought he was going to con us into paying him for something that should have been done right in the first place. Well, I’ll tell you! It’s a good thing you’ve got me around. I set him straight. And where the hell were you when all of this was going on? Sitting right here, just like always. You know, I’m sick of doing everything by myself. I have a good mind to take Sal Eames up on his offer to run away with him.” She smiled smugly and went off to make dinner.

      The next morning, when she stepped into the shower, she noticed the tiles right away. They were cracked. Not all of them, but quite a few. Splintery cracks feathered the delicate flowered porcelain.

      It wasn’t the cracks that bothered her so much. It was the black mold peppering the rubbery grout that baffled her. She scraped some off with her fingernail. “Jeez Louise!” she muttered.

      “Jack!” she hollered over the rush of running water. “What on earth happened up here? The tiles are cracked! I bet you busted them up when you were trying to replace that shower head, didn’t you? I told you to be careful. If water gets in behind those cracks, we’ll have a mess on our hands for sure. There’s already mold growing. Replace them today while I’m gone, will you?”

      She finished with her shower, dressed, and grabbed her lunch out of the fridge. “Well, I’m off. Don’t forget about those chores,” she told Jack before stepping outside.

      She started down the walk, but something on the side of the house caught her attention. She whirled around and froze.  There were cracks in the foundation! Deep fissures ran all the way from the bottom edge of the siding to the ground. Gaping, jagged edges of concrete. Lush green moss clung tightly to the rough gray surface. It was unsightly. Horrified, she dropped her lunch.

      “Jack? Jack! Get out here! We have real problems.”  Stunned, she staggered over to the foundation and dropped to her knees. She began pulling the moss out in clumps. “Did we have an earthquake?  Did you see anything about an earthquake on the news?”

      When Jack didn’t answer, she got up and went back into the house. “Jack?” she yelled, going from room to room.  “Jack?”

      She found him in the den.  “I’ve been shouting for you. I should have known you wouldn’t hear me over that stupid television.”  Exasperated, she snapped it off. “Don’t you ever do anything else besides watch TV?  Did you hear me? I think we’re going to have to call the insurance company. I think we’ve had an earthquake. I’ve got to get to work. Make sure you do it today and get an estimate.”

      She hurried back outside.

      “Mrs. Sanborn?” A voice called to her.

      Janice’s head snapped up. She shielded her eyes from the morning sunlight.

      “It’s just me, again, Mrs. Sanborn,” the voice said, getting closer.

      Janice recognized the voice as Ted Gatsby’s. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she snapped. She hurried over to her car, opened the door, and threw her purse inside.

      “Mrs. Sanborn, I called Gloria. Just sit tight, okay?”

      “Gloria?” she croaked, her anger momentarily forgotten. “My Gloria? Whatever for?”

      “Yes, your Gloria. Your daughter! She was glad to hear that you’re okay. She was very worried about you.”

      “Worried? What on earth for? You didn’t drag her into our spat, did you? You had no right! She needs to be studying instead of worrying about what’s going on here. Why don’t you just mind your own business, Mr. Nosey.” She scowled and got into the car.

      All the fuss and bickering made her tired. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. A few minutes later, she felt herself falling and nearly toppled out of the car. “What on earth!” she bellowed.

      “Mama! Oh, mama! You can’t imagine how sick I’ve been with worry,” Gloria wailed. She grasped her mother’s shoulders, and tried to right her again.

      “What?” Janice demanded, confused. She looked up at the sky. The position of the sun told her it was late afternoon! She’d fallen asleep again!  She shook her head, “Gloria! My God, girl, what are you doing here?”

      “I’m sorry mama. I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s just that when Ted called…” she began to cry, “I’m just so glad to see you.”

      “For crying out loud! It’s only been a couple of weeks since daddy and I dropped you off at school. The way you’re carrying on, you’d think we hadn’t seen each other in years. Well, never mind. Give me a hug you foolish girl.” She rolled her eyes, but smiled as she let Gloria help her out of the car.  “I can’t believe you let Ted Gatsby talk you into coming home from college for something so ridiculous. Well, daddy will be glad to see you anyway. Let’s go in and say hello.”

      Gloria sniffled as she led her mother up the walkway. “Mama, I think we should talk,” she said, helping her mother inside and onto the couch in the foyer.

      “You didn’t flunk out already did you?” Janice tsked. “Is that what all this blubbering is about?”

      “No mama. I…”

      “Something worse then,” she pursed her lips and frowned.  “Well, go and get your father. Whatever you have to say, he should probably hear too. God! I hope you’re not pregnant,” she huffed, clutching her chest.

      Gloria searched her mother’s eyes.  “Please tell me you remember about daddy, mama. And Tommy. You do remember, don’t you?” She reached up to cup her mother’s cheek.

      “Remember what? What has gotten into you today?” Janice said, pushing her hand away. “You just go and get your father, like you’re told.”

      “Mama,” Gloria began gently, “Daddy isn’t here. He’s been gone since the week after Tommy left us.

      “Gone? What are you talking about? He hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s right in the den.” She got up and started down the hall. “Jack! You get out here and see your daughter.”

      “He isn’t here,” Gloria said again.  She got up too, and hurried after her. “He couldn’t be.” She caught up and reached for her mother’s shoulder, trying to stop her. “Daddy’s been dead for nearly thirty years.”

      “What?” Janice yelped, pulling away. Her face flushed scarlet. “Why would you say such a thing? Have you gone mad? He’s watching television, the old fool.” She made it to the entrance of the den. She stopped and thrust a finger towards her husband’s chair. “See?” she said. “He’s right there.”

      Gloria followed her in. She walked over to the chair. She held her breath, and turned it around. Other than an old drop cloth, it was empty!

      “What in the world?” Janice cried. Her eyes were frantic as she searched the room. She ran around, opening all the closets, and checking behind all the furniture. “Jack? Don’t play games now! Your daughter is here and wants to see you.”

      “Mama, stop. Please, just stop. Daddy isn’t here. He’s gone. He died of a heart attack. And Tommy died in the accident on Route sixty-six on his way to college.”

      Janice’s hand flew to her mouth. “No! That’s not true! You’re lying,” she rasped.

      “I’m so sorry, but it is true. You have to believe it. You have to remember!”

      Janice began to shake. A flood of horrible memories rushed into her brain, though she tried to push them out. “No!” she wept. “I don’t want to remember!”

      “You have to. I need you! Your grandchildren need you”

      “No, no, no,” Janice shook her head. Her legs gave out and she sat with a slump onto the couch.

      Gloria went and sat next to her. “I thought when Ted called and told me that you were here, that you were starting to remember again. Was I wrong?” she asked.

      “Here? This is my home. Where else would I be?”

      “At the center, mama. We had to take you there after daddy died. You’ve been there all this time.”

      “It can’t be,” Janice said with horror. “It just can’t be.”

      “But it is.  They called when they couldn’t find you yesterday. They didn’t know where you’d gone. We’ve all been so scared. You can’t imagine my relief when Ted called. I thought, then, that you were starting to come back to us.”

      “Come back to you?”

      “Come with me mama.” Gloria got up and held out her hand.

      Janice hesitated, but finally took it and followed her out into the hallway. Grandma’s antique mirror still hung crookedly on the wall, next to the back door.

      “Turn around, mama. I want you to see yourself.”

      “See myself? I’ve seen myself a million times,” she said, but turned towards the mirror anyway.  The woman she saw starring back at her was old. An old woman with crazy, deranged eyes!

      Frightened, she took a step back. Her hands reached up to feel her face. Deep cracks and creases lined her cheeks and forehead. Her lips were dry and puckered. Crinkles erupted next to her eyes as she stood there grimacing. “I’m old,” she whispered. “I can’t be this old. I was just forty a few months ago…”

      Gloria reached over to rub her mother’s back. “It’s been thirty years since you were forty, mama. You’ve been gone a long time, too.”

      “Am I back now?”

      “I hope so, mama. I really hope so.”

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged age, family, fiction, grief, illness, loss, mental, shortstory
    • Sassafras Makes a Jack-o’-Lantern

      Posted at 12:12 pm by writergherlone, on October 19, 2017

      Sassafras Makes a Jack-o’-Lantern

      (story and pictures by Kristy Gherlone)

       

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      “May I try on my Halloween costume and can we make a Jack-o’-Lantern?” Sassy asked one October morning.

      “Hmmm,” Sassafras’s mother smiled, noticing that Sassafras had already put on the costume, and had already gathered the pumpkins. “I guess it is almost Halloween. I suppose so. Let me get a knife and the things we’ll need.”

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      “I can get the knife!” Sassafras offered. She was excited and eager to help.

      “No. You’d better let me get that,” Sassafras’s mother said. “Knives are sharp. You should never carve a pumpkin unless there is an adult around to help you.”

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      Sassafras’s mother got the knife and stuck it into the top of the pumpkin. Sassafras began to cry.

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      “What’s the matter Sassafras? Why are you so sad?”

      “I didn’t know you were going to kill the pumpkin!” Sassafras wailed, quite upset.

      “Aww, it’s okay,” Sassafras’s mother said, giving her a hug. “This pumpkin is not alive. I promise, I’m not hurting it at all.”

      “Are you sure?” Sassafras asked, still sniffling.

      “I’m positive. Pumpkins are vegetables. People grow them in their gardens for food and decoration. They are not like people and ducks.”

      “Oh. Okay,” Sassafras sighed with relief.

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      Sassafras’s mother finished cutting a hole into the top of the pumpkin and Sassafras helped to remove the seeds that were inside.

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      “These seeds are slimy, but they taste kind of good,” Sassy said.

      “Don’t eat too many,” Sassafras’s mother cautioned. “You’ll get a bellyache.”

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      “I think there are more on the bottom.”

      “You are doing a great job. Make sure the pumpkin is nice and clean,” Sassafras’s mother said. “If you leave too many of the fibers inside, the pumpkin won’t last very long.”

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      “I think that’s the last of them,” Sassafras declared. She had created quite a pile of seeds and fibers on the plastic bag.

      “We can roast some of the seeds later, after they dry out,  if you like. I think you will like those,” Sassafras’s mother said.

      “Yummy!” Sassy cried happily. Roasted pumpkin seeds sounded delicious.

      When Sassafras and her mother were finished carving the face on the Jack-o’-Lantern, Sassafras helped to carry it onto the porch.

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      “Our Jack-o’-Lantern came out nice,” Sassafras said, proudly. “And now everyone can see.”

       

      I hope you enjoyed my story.  Sassafras is a wonderful pet and has a lot of patience for my nonsense. She is always paid for her participation in the form of worms and hugs.

      This was last years costume.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childrensstory, costumes, ducks, familyfriendly, fiction, Halloween, pekinduck, pumpkins, shortstory
    • Doorways

      Posted at 12:55 pm by writergherlone, on October 14, 2017

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      Doorways

      by Kristy Gherlone

      Under the glow of a waning harvest moon, enveloped in the scent of decaying leaves, and to the din of feasting coyotes, earthly beings light fires to steel themselves against the frosty autumn air. They unwittingly open doorways to hell, allowing entrance to demons that rule October nights. On All Hallow’s Eve when Satan begs their return, they gather their captured souls and spirit them back through the entrance, slipping unnoticed through the safe passage we have created.

      Sleep tight, everyone!

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged autumn, campfire, creepy, fiction, Halloween, october, shortstory
    • Daddy’s Coat

      Posted at 4:19 pm by writergherlone, on August 19, 2017

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      Daddy’s Coat

      by Kristy Gherlone

       

      “Mom, you gave me an extra again,” Katie said as she placed the last setting at the table, only to realize she still had a plate in her hand.
      She glanced briefly, but painfully, towards her dad’s chair. Her heart squeezed at the sight. His olive colored winter coat, puffy with downy feathers still hung over the back as if at any moment he’d be coming in to put it on.
      “Just habit, I guess. I’m sorry. Bring it here,” her mom said.
      Katie, lost in a memory, didn’t hear her.
      **
      “What do you want for Christmas daddy?” Katie, at fifteen, had asked her dad that year. She’d taken a part time job a few weeks before, and was proud that she’d finally be able to purchase the gifts for Christmas all on her own.
      She didn’t know, at the time, how tight her parents’ budget was, and what a relief it was for them. She couldn’t know. Her dad never deprived her of anything and never let on how much he went without sometimes.
      “Oh, I don’t know. How about a tin of those peach blossoms I like?”
      “But daddy, I meant a real gift. I always get you candy. I want to get you something you really want.”
      “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t want you spending your money on me. Save it up! Get yourself something special,” he’d said, ruffling her hair as he headed off for work.
      She’d had to ask her mom later what he wanted.
      “Well, you know… there’s this coat he’s been wanting. He saw it in the Sears and Roebucks. Said it looked real warm. Supposed to be filled with goose feathers or some foolishness, but don’t worry about it. His coat’ll do another year. That one’s too expensive, in my opinion. Ninety-nine dollars!” Her mother clucked and shook her head.
      Katie knew the coat he had been wearing was dangerously worn out. Many years of harsh Maine winters and several dozen washings had left it thin and faded, but he never complained no matter how cold it got. He used to say, ‘I’m tough I is I am I are, and when I’m mad I spits tar.’ It used to make Katie giggle when she was little, and her eyes roll when she got older.
      He probably could have bought a new coat the year before with the money he had in savings, but Katie had needed braces.
      “Ninety-nine dollars?” Katie asked nervously. She had one hundred and fifty saved up. Ninety-nine was a lot of money… Nearly all of her Christmas budget.
      “Yeah. That’s why I said don’t worry about it. He’ll manage.”

      Her mom had married him when Katie was just eight years old, so he wasn’t her real dad then. He’d only become he real dad by the way he treated her, and by the way her heart felt about him. He became as real as anyone else’s. They’d been so poor before. Never enough food, or anything else for that matter.  He’d taken them in, and treated her like she was his very own daughter. That first Christmas he’d bought her every single thing she’d scribbled down on her list. She knew he wanted her to know how loved she was and that she’d never have to worry again.
      Katie went off in search of the catalogue and looked it up. It was nice. It was rated to forty-five below. He could use that, working outside like he did a lot of the time. He was getting old. His hair, gone gray years before, had thinned to unmanageable wisps, and his hands, all gnarly from arthritis, could barely hold a wrench anymore. She knew the cold bothered him, though he’d never admit it.
      Katie studied the picture again.
      Ninety-nine dollars! She sucked in her breath. It was a lot of money. There were so many things she could buy with that!

      Without any more hesitation, Katie called the number on the catalogue.
      Christmas morning, she watched as he opened the big brown box. She’d never seen him cry before, but as he unwrapped the tissue paper and pulled the coat out of the box, his eyes were misty. He choked up as he reached over to hug and thank her.
      He wore that coat every winter day until the last one, and every time he put it on, he’d say the same thing, “Boy oh boy this is a nice coat. So sturdy and warm.”

      **
      “Katie! I said bring it here!” Her mom’s voice, tinged with annoyance, brought her back to the present.
      Katie snapped to and handed the plate back to her mother.
      She turned around and went over to her dad’s chair. She ran her hand over the soft fabric of the coat. She lifted it up and held it to her nose, breathing in deeply.
      It smelled of tobacco and mint. Of wood shavings and oil. There was a whiff of coffee and just a hint of cologne. Everything that was her dad was captured in that coat. There were a thousand memories wrapped up in there; of him pulling her on the sled, the year he taught her to drive a snow mobile, that fall he took her hunting, and of him chopping down countless Christmas trees. The threads that ran through the length of that coat, holding it together, were like the threads of their relationship. Sturdy. Just like her love for him would always be, even though he was gone.
      “I can put it away in the closet if it will make you feel any better,” her mom said.
      “No, don’t!” Katie said quickly. After all, she liked to pretend too.

      There would always be a place at the table, even if only in their memories

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childhood, family, familyfriendly, fiction, flashfiction, shortstory, stepdad
    • The History Lottery (excerpt)

      Posted at 12:39 pm by writergherlone, on August 8, 2017

      IMG_0135This is a busy time of year for magazine submissions and contests. Please accept my apologies for the dwindling posts, as I have been working on completing my short story selections.

      Be sure to look for “Ice Cream or Moxie,” in Short Fiction Break this Friday, August 11, and the entire version of “The Falls”, coming up in the print version of Wild Women’s Medicine Circle Journal.

      For today: Here is an excerpt from one of my novels, which you can find on Amazon and Barnes & Noble:

      This novel has had excellent reviews and is a favorite with my readers.

       

      “Maize Getchell was just ten years old the night she went missing from the small town of Carlton, New Hampshire, where she lived with her father, Raymond Getchell, former Chief of Police. Rachael Somes, a clerk at the store from which Maize was taken, was only nineteen when she was shot and killed that same night by the man who is presumed to have taken Maize.”

      Raymond turned up the volume, put the footrest up on his chair, and took a giant swig of his beer. It always caught him right in the gut every time he saw a picture of her. It took his breath away. He’d chosen the picture to be shown every year. It was his favorite. She’d been caught in mid-laugh. He loved the way her nose had wrinkled in that way, and the way the sun caught the highlights in her orange-blonde hair. She had a lot of her mother in her. It was a picture he’d taken of her on their trip to the beach the summer before she went missing. The last vacation he’d had with her. She’d told him that it had been the best vacation of her life.

      “On April sixteenth, seven years ago tomorrow, Maize was taken from Beale’s Hillside Convenience at approximately eight o’clock in the evening by an unknown man. She would have been seventeen this year.”

      The news played a brief clip from a surveillance video that had been shot from outside of the gas station. They paused the frame on the abductor, but it wasn’t a clear shot.

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged fiction, government, grief, loss, lottery, love, murder, mystery, novel
    • Sometimes the Sun, Sometimes the Rain

      Posted at 12:30 pm by writergherlone, on July 28, 2017

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      Sometimes the Sun, Sometimes the Rain

      By Kristy Gherlone

       

      Ah and Bao were two little slippers, crafted on a day so fine, the sun glimmered in the sky like a brand-new penny. Ah saw it shining boldly over the tops of the adjacent buildings when the factory lady carried her over by the window. She took it as a sign of good luck. She was sure it meant that she and her sister Bao were destined for great things.

      The factory lady held her up to the light. Her eyes squinted as she finished the last of the hand stitching. “You sure are a cute little thing,” she grinned, pinching her nose, “some of my very best work,” she said proudly, snipping the last of the stray threads. “I bet you’ll go to a good home. Some little girl will be happy to have you.”

      She brought Ah back over to her work table and set her down next to Bao.

      “Where do you think we’ll end up?” Bao asked excitedly as soon as the factory lady walked away.

      “I don’t know,” Ah whispered back. Her tummy was full of butterflies thinking about all the possibilities.

      “Maybe Australia, or Mexico, or even Italy! It could be anywhere!”

      “Yes,” Ah said, speculating, “maybe.” Her mind wandered to exotic places where the breezes were warm and the wild animals napped under the shade trees.

      “Do you think we’ll go by plane or by boat?” Bao asked.

      Ah didn’t have the chance to answer, not that she knew the answer, because the factory lady had come back. In her hands, she held a polka dot box.

      Ah was fidgety with nervous excitement as the factory lady scooped them up. She twitched and accidentally jumped out of lady’s hands. She landed with a soft thump on the floor. She held back a sneeze as the dust kicked up and tickled the inside of her nose.

      “Oh goodness,” the factory lady said, quickly picking her back up, “I hope you’re not hurt.”

      She turned Ah over in her hands. “No. Just a little dirty,” she seemed relieved. She brushed her off and set her into the box next to Bao. “You two stick together, now. No matter what happens, you must promise me that you won’t get separated,” she tucked them in securely with a piece of soft, pink tissue paper. “You won’t do anyone any good if you’re apart,” she added, closing the box.

      It was cozy and warm in there.  Before long, despite the excitement of the adventure ahead, Ah and Bao fell fast asleep.

      They slept all through the long and choppy boat ride across the ocean. They slept all through the narrow channels and passage ways that led into the shallower rivers, and they slept through the grating, grinding noises of the boat crashing against the city port dock.

      Ah and Bao didn’t wake up until the deck hands picked them up and hurled them onto the rough, wood- planked pier.

      “Are we here? Can you see anything?” Bao asked Ah, rubbing the sleepy bugs from her eyes.  She wiggled around, trying to see out, and rustled the paper.

      “Rats!” The deck hand hollered in surprise, seeing the box move.  He kicked it. The top flew off and Ah went soaring into the air. She landed in the mud very close to the edge of the water.

      “Huh,” the deck hand said shaking his head, when he didn’t find any rodents, “I guess not.” He went to retrieve Ah.  “It was probably just the wind,” he brushed her off, but she was dirty and a bit scuffed. He stuffed her back into the box and drew and X across the top with a black marker.

      “Is this box no good?” The sisters heard another man ask. They felt themselves being lifted into air.

      “They’ll be alright. Send ‘em over to discount. They’ll sell.”

      “Okay, boss.”

      Ah and Boa were tossed onto a truck. The smell of diesel and wood smoke was strong as they drove along. Ah’s dreams of wild animals and tropical places diminished with each passing mile. She shivered within the box. “It’s cold here,” she remarked.

      “It is,” Bao agreed, “but I guess we wouldn’t be needed in too warm a place.”

      “I suppose you’re right,” Ah sighed.

      The truck’s tires screeched as they came to a stop. The doors crashed open.

      “What do we have today?” A woman’s voice asked.

      “Just a bunch of slippers. Some of ‘em are damaged, but they’ll sell. Don’t you worry.”

      “Okay. Bring them on in.”

      Ah and Bao felt the warm air of the shop keeper store as they were brought in and placed on a shelf.

      All through the night Ah couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen to them. What kind of child would want her now that she was dirty and bruised?

      The next morning Ah and Bao heard the shop open. Voices chattered as people flooded in. Their box was opened and closed so many times, Ah was dizzy with it all. The many faces became a blur and to her dismay, no one wanted them.

      Day after day they sat on the shelf, looked at but never bought and each day their price was marked down a little further until they could be had for a mere fifty cents. Ah was starting to lose hope they would ever find their forever home.

      The sun shone brightly one morning after a long period of rain. Someone had left the box open just a tad, and Ah could see out. She took it as a good omen that it would be the day they would be going home, but just like the days before, their box was opened and shut. Opened and shut.

      Ah was starting to get sleepy about mid-afternoon when she heard the chimes on the shop- keeper’s door. She heard to approach of tiny foot prints.

      Their box was opened. Ah nearly gasped at the sight of the child’s face peering back at her. She was the most beautiful child Ah had ever seen, but she somehow she seemed so sad. It hurt Ah’s heart to see such suffering from such a small little girl.

      “Daddy?” Ah heard the little girls say in a small voice, “Daddy, look at the cute kitten slippers.”

      “Close that box,” he boomed, “we can’t afford such nonsense.  You’re getting new shoes for winter and that is it.”

      “But daddy, I’ve always wanted slippers,” the child’s voice was wistful, but defeated.

      “I told you no!” The father scolded. He snapped their lid shut. Ah heard the child sniffling as she was taken away.

      “It’s okay if she wants the slippers,” the shop keeper said kindly, “there’s no charge. They’ve been here a while and I don’t think they are going to sell after all.”

      Ah heard the little girl’s feet running towards them. She felt the sway as their box was lifted off from the shelf.

      “Bao!” Ah cried, “We’ve found a home! Isn’t that wonderful?”

      “Yes!” Bao said. “I’m so happy I could cry!”

      “You better not do that,” Ah laughed. “What good is a soggy slipper?”

      The little girl opened the box when she got home. Carefully, she took Ah and Boa out. She admired them. She smiled broadly before putting them on her feet.

      Each day, Ah and Bao shuffled up the stairs and down. Out to the mailbox and back again. Into the kitchen and into the bathroom. Into a sister’s room and into a brother’s. Never had Ah and Bao had such a time!

      Ah loved the little girl. She loved her giggle and her gentle touch. She loved the way her tiny little toes tickled her belly and the way she stopped to smile down at them throughout the day. Ah knew her life couldn’t have been any better if they had been shipped to a tropical oasis.

      One night, just before the little girl went to bed Ah heard her say a prayer., “Dear lord, please bless daddy, and grandma. Please bless mommy up in heaven and give her a kiss for me, and please keep my new kitty slippers safe because I love them. Thank you, Amen.”

      Ah got teary eye-d. She hugged the little girl so tightly before she jumped into bed, the little girl couldn’t get her off. She had to wear Ah and Boa while she slept!

      Later that evening, long after the stars and moon began to shimmer in the sky, and long after the little girl was fast asleep, Bao smelled something awful. It was a smoky, poisonous odor. She woke Ah up. Something was wrong!  Ah could tell that the little girl was still asleep. She wouldn’t normally act out, but she was worried. She folded herself in and bit the child gently on the pinky toe.

      “Ouch!” the little girl cried, awakening with a fright. She sniffed the air and jumped out of bed. “Daddy! Daddy!” she screamed. She smelled what Ah and Bao did! “The house is on fire!”

      Ah and Boa were hustled out into the cold, dark night. They rushed down the street and away from the heat.  Ah was shaken loose and slipped off the little girl’s foot. She could hear Bao and the little girl crying for her as they hurried away.

      The next morning Ah woke up on the cold, dirty pavement. She was alone and scared. She remembered what the factory lady had told them: “Don’t get separated. You won’t do anyone any good if you’re apart.”

      Ah didn’t care about herself, she could only think about the little girl and Bao. Ah knew she would be very sad without her, as she didn’t have very much to begin with and Bao wouldn’t be any good alone. She might even be thrown away!

      A steady rain began to fall. It collected on the streets and formed rivers on the sidewalk. Ah was nearly washed down a drain! She took it as a bad omen that all was lost. Her tears mixed in with the rain and were washed out to sea.

      “Daddy!!” Ah heard a small voice squeal. “I found it! I found my lost slipper!”

      Ah’s heart leapt as she sailed up into the sky!  The little girl had found her! She held Ah up and covered her with kisses. “I’m so glad I found you,” she whispered.

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments | Tagged children, childrensstory, familyfriendly, fiction, rain, sales, shortstory, slippers, sun
    • Speed Limit 25

      Posted at 10:20 am by writergherlone, on July 11, 2017

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      Speed limit 25

      By Kristy Gherlone

       

      Old Speed Limit 25 had seen a few things in his thirty years of keeping guard just on the outskirts of Zephyr.

      The highway man had stationed on a fickle stretch of road that didn’t have the sense to know whether it wanted to be straight or curvy.

      He stood day after day next to the fields that, back in the day, used to hold flowers. They were pretty little things, delicate and bright as they sat preening in the sun, and he didn’t mind admitting, even as modest as he was, that they used to flirt with him on occasion, powdering him with perfumed kisses in the springtime. Now the fields had gone to hay, and all they did was sneeze turbulent fluff his way whenever the mood would strike them.

      When the summer would wane, and the days would grow shorter, the chill air from the east would grow bored from being so idle and kick up a spat with the west. They’d throw dusty words around, stinging him as they flung their insults. Eventually, though, the rains would come and cool things off a bit, or if the time was right, winter would be the one to settle in, scolding with icy fingers, leaving feathery prints on his face and sending blankets of snow to smooth things over.

      In his time on his stretch of the road, Old Speed Limit 25 had seen his share of accidents. The screeching tires and twisting metal made his post ache and his bolts go to rust. Some were worse than others, and though he tried to prevent them, all he could really do was give his advice. It was up to them whether they wanted to follow it or not.

      He’d seen wild fires blow in and scar the landscape with their meanness, promising to melt him with their anger. He’d felt the wrath of thundering storms that tried to push him over or rip him from the ground, but he dug in further and held fast. He had a job to do.

      Back when Zephyr buzzed with life, local kids would drive by him, music thumping so loud it would nearly shake him loose. Sometimes in their youthful aggression they’d chuck rocks at him, dinging his metal and leaving a few dents here and there.  He’d even been shot once or twice, but the highway man would always come and patch him back up. He was a nice old sort with a gentle touch. He’d brush him with a new coat of paint and set him straight whenever he needed it, and sometimes he needed it a lot.

      In the heat of the summer the highway man would hack away at the once innocent fronds that grew around him and playfully tickled his feet in their delightful infancy, but became poisonous devils as they grew, snaking up his post and threating to choke him. He’d even give him a shine now and again when he was feeling a little dull, and nowadays that was more often than not.

      It had been quite a time since he’d seen any real traffic. Just an occasional car that whizzed by, completely ignoring him. No one really came by to visit him anymore, with him being so far off the main road and the town dying out. Even the highway man, eventually, had stopped coming by. There was a fence post that sat up a little ways and he’d talk to him every once in a while, but he didn’t know much.

      He missed the family of five that used to live nearby. They always visited him whenever they walked by. The big kids would hold up the little ones so they could trace over him with their chubby fingers, reciting each number and letter in turn, before skipping off again.

      The truth was he wasn’t much needed anymore, and he knew it. There wasn’t enough traffic to warrant a speed limit of 25.  He supposed he’d be retired and sent off to scrap before too long.

      Sure enough, one morning, just after the first dew frost of the season began to melt into tear drops, Old Speed Limit 25 heard the rolling of familiar tires coming his way. It was his time. Some things he would miss, and some things he wouldn’t, especially the loneliness.

      The highway man got out of his truck. His wrench glistened in the sunlight as he walked on towards Old Speed Limit 25.

      “Come on, old feller. You’ve done your time. You’re coming home with me.”

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged familyfriendly, fiction, highways, nostalgia, shortstory, travel
    • Introducing Sassafras!

      Posted at 12:16 pm by writergherlone, on July 7, 2017

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      I’m not sure of how serious a venture this is, but I do enjoy writing small stories about my duck, Sassafras. 

      She is a willing participant and has been very popular on Facebook! I hope you find these occasional small stories enjoyable as well.

      Sassafras and…

      Home Is Where The Love IS

      by Kristy Gherlone

       

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      “Mama, I have a question. Does everyone live in a house like ours?” Sassafras asked one spring morning.

      “Goodness, no,” her mama answered. “There are many different types of houses. Let’s take a walk around and see what we find.”

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      “I think I found a house!” Sassafras called out excitedly. “At least it looks something like a house, but it’s very small.”

      “Right you are!” Sassafras’s mother said. “That is the chickadees house.”

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      “I found another, but this one is blue!”

      “Very good! That is where the thrushes live.”

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      “What about this, Sassafras? Do you think this could be a house?” Her mama asked.

      “Hmm,” Sassafras pondered, looking at the big pile of sticks. I didn’t look like any house she had ever seen. “I’m not sure.”

      “It is.” Her mama said. “This house belongs to a raccoon. Some creatures use leaves, sticks, and mud to make their homes.”

      Sassafras wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound very comfortable.”

      “Well, I’m sure they think so,” her mama laughed.

       

      IMG_9170

      “I know this is a house!” Sassafras exclaimed proudly. “I’ve seen Mrs. Robin sleeping here.”

      “Great job, Sassy! You are right! You have found the Robin’s house.”

      “When her eggs hatch, maybe Mrs. Robin will let me babysit,” Sassafras giggled.

      IMG_9152

      “There is a hole in the ground. Could something live here?” Sassafras asked.

      “Watch for a moment and see if anything comes out,” her mama said.

      Sassafras stood over the hole and waited. “Ants!” She cried. “I think this is an ants house!”

      “Very good, Sassafras!”

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      “I found our house again!” Sassafras cried. “I like it the best.”

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      “Just remember, Sassafras…It doesn’t matter where you live as long as you are loved.”

      Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments | Tagged childrensstory, ducks, education, familyfriendly, fiction, nature, pekin, picturebook, shortstory
    • Cold Comfort (Conclusion)

      Posted at 6:09 am by writergherlone, on July 3, 2017

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      *I thought I would try my hand at a ghost story. While not my usual genre or style, it was fun to write! I especially enjoyed the research that went into it to make it as authentic as possible.

      This story was delivered in parts, as it is a bit long and still needs a little work.

      I try to use all of my own photos, but this proved difficult for this piece. For parts III and IV, and the conclusion, I was able to snag photos from my own stock! III and IV is a picture taken by my daughter’s friend, Sierra Palmer. The photo featured on the conclusion is my grandson.

      Also, my editor is usually not on duty for my blog posts. If you happen to find any errors in spelling or grammar…I’m sorry! I do what I can, but often miss things. Thanks for your patience!

      I truly hope you have enjoyed reading my first ever ghost story!

       

       

      Cold Comfort

      The Conclusion

      by Kristy Gherlone

      San Diego California-Present Day

       

      “You made your bed, you lie in it,” Victoria Combs griped into the phone. She lit a cigarette, though she’d just butted one out not even a minute before. She sat with a grunt in the cheap, aluminum lawn chair she’d thrown onto the beach and lathered on a glob of tanning oil with her one free hand.

      “Mother, I’m not asking for a whole lot. I just need to get some sleep tonight. All I need is for you to come over and give me a hand for one stinking night! I’m not asking you to raise him!”  Shelby Combs argued.  Her mother was ridiculously selfish. She always had been, but Shelby was exhausted. She had to try. She never knew that having a baby would be so absolutely draining. She’d only been home from the hospital for a couple of days, but it was already taking a toll. Not that her mother would be a whole lot of help, but it would have been something.

      “I told you having a baby was a bad idea. You know what the cards said. I don’t know why you never listen. They were pretty friggen clear,” Victoria scolded. She began to cough loudly and was forced to wait until it subsided before adding, “We both knew your man wouldn’t stick around.”

      “Sometimes they’re wrong.” Shelby sighed. She knew she was fighting a battle that couldn’t be won. Born into a family of clairvoyants, Shelby had learned from a very young age to ask the tarot cards before doing anything of importance. They didn’t always give her the answer she wanted, but they were almost always right.

      “Ha! Not in our family. Grow up, Shelby! Accept your responsibilities. Bye.” Shelby heard the phone click. Her mother wasn’t coming. She never could count on her and didn’t know why she expected any different this time.

      “Damn it!” Shelby screamed into the air. She almost threw the phone, but stopped.  She’d need it to call a nanny service if things didn’t get any better. She could deal with just about anything except for that incessant crying! That’s all Joshua ever did, it seemed. He was fine at the hospital, but as soon as she’d brought him home… day and night! It didn’t matter if he’d just eaten or been changed, or was being held. He cried until he lost his breath and Shelby couldn’t take it.

      She wanted the baby. It was as simple as that, which was probably why she didn’t listen. She was getting older. At thirty-four, the chances that she was going to marry were getting slim. The chances of having a baby were even slimmer. She felt like if she didn’t do it, she never would. She’d wind up a childless cat lady even worse off than her own mother.

      Shelby went to the freezer to take out a dinner that one of her customers had prepared for her for after she’d had the baby. She was grateful for the gesture.

      Cecile Craig, the one who’d provided her with all the food, was a sweet lady, but a bit of a kook. She was a religious follower of Shelby’s, coming in to her office once a week to have her palm read, or in dire circumstance, to have the tarot cards read.

      Shelby often wondered what went on in her head to think that she needed so much help from beyond. A woman of eighty years shouldn’t need so much guidance, but she’d come in and ask for advice about which brand of dog food she should get, which program she should watch on TV, or who she should vote for in the election. Shelby suspected she came in out of loneliness, but it wouldn’t have been good for her pocketbook to set her straight and she didn’t really mind the company.

      As she stood waiting for the microwave to ding, she felt a whiff of cold air. She’d been feeling it off and on since she’d brought Joshua home from the hospital, but she’d been too tired to address it.

      “I know you’re here and I want you to leave. I don’t need your kind of help,” Shelby called out with agitation.

      The spirits often came to her in bursts of cold. It was how she knew they were there. If she didn’t ignore them, they’d get worse, bugging her all hours of the night.

      Joshua began to fuss loudly. Shelby could hear him starting in, in the living room where she’d set up a portable bassinet. He’d hadn’t even slept an hour. She was tempted to let him cry it out. She’d fed and changed him before putting him down so he couldn’t possibly really need anything.

      He wailed fiercely. It set her nerves on edge, but then he suddenly stopped.

      Grateful, she went back to seeing about dinner but something about his silence bothered her even more than the crying.

      The dinner forgotten she hurried into the living room. It was freezing! She could hear the whispers of a song. A lullaby lingered in the room so faintly, it almost wasn’t there at all.

      “Get out!” Shelby screamed. She reached in to snatch the baby out. He was shivering, but relatively ok. “Go away. You can’t have him,” she said into the air.

      A shot of frigid air reached out and touched her cheek. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Joshua began to fidget in her arms. His lips puckered into a horrible little pout before beginning to cry again.

      “You may not know it, but you’re dead! This is my baby and you can’t have him.”

      Dinner could wait. This was too important. This one meant business, and if she didn’t do something about it…

      She set Joshua down and opened the drawer on the coffee table, pulled out the tarot cards and then ran back into the kitchen. She picked up the phone. “Cecile? Can you come over? It’s an emergency. I need to do a séance.”

       

      Later that evening, after Cecile had left, Shelby placed Joshua in his crib. She turned on the baby monitor and went to lay down in her own bed. She wished she had someone to watch over him while she slept. She didn’t trust that spirit. Something about her aura seemed too desperate.

      She’d just drifted off when the sounds of a lullaby woke her. She knew immediately what it was. She raced into the baby’s room.

       

      Isabelle held her baby and gazed lovingly into its little face.

      “Don’t you cry, now. Mummy is here. Mummy will never leave you,” she soothed.

       

      “Isabelle? Isabelle Hackney?” Shelby called out into the freezing darkness.

      Isabelle startled. She heard her name. Someone was calling her name, but it sounded so far away. So very far away. She ignored it, lost in maternal bliss.

      “Isabelle? That is not your child. He is mine. Yours was lost long, long ago. You’re dead, Isabelle.”

      It can’t be! Isabelle thought, continuing to rock. This baby is mine. Of course this baby is mine.

      “Mummy will never leave you. Anything you need, I’ll be right here.”

      “You’re dead Isabelle and your baby is long gone. Please leave before you kill him!” Shelby begged.

       

      For the first time, Isabelle took her eyes away from the baby. She looked up and only then did she notice how very different everything was. How strange. This was not her house!

      It was so cold there. She shivered despite the coat and scarf. She was so cold.

      She gazed down into her baby’s eyes. It wasn’t hers. She knew then that it wasn’t hers.

      Oh dear God, the morphine!

      “You’re killing him. You’re stealing the warmth right out of him with your touch and I have a terrible suspicion that in your ignorance, you may have done the same with others.  It’s cold where you linger. It’s always cold where the dead roam. Let him go, Isabelle, and don’t ever walk this way again. Your baby is gone. She cries for you from heaven.”

      Isabelle knew then the mistake that she’d made.

      “Oh my poor baby! Mummy is coming, little one. Mummy is coming.” She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged conclusion, fiction, ghosts, paranormal, shortstory, supernatural
    • Cold Comfort Parts III & IV (Cont.)

      Posted at 12:04 pm by writergherlone, on July 1, 2017

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      *I thought I would try my hand at a ghost story. While not my usual genre or style, it was fun to write! I especially enjoyed the research that went into it to make it as authentic as possible.

      This story will be given in parts, as it is a bit long and still needs a little work.

      I try to use all of my own photos, but this proved difficult for this piece. For parts III and IV, I was able to snag a photo from my own stock! This picture was taken by my daughter’s friend, Sierra Palmer.

      Also, my editor is usually not on duty for my blog posts. If you happen to find any errors in spelling or grammar…I’m sorry! I do what I can, but often miss things. Thanks for your patience!

      I truly hope you enjoy reading my first ever ghost story!

       

       

      Cold Comfort Part III

      by Kristy Gherlone

       

      London England 1947

       

      “What are you doing about, my love?” Thatcher James frowned as he walked in the door after a day looking for work. His wife, Elizabeth was in the kitchen, looking quite pale and tired.  He kissed her cheek and waited for an answer.

      “Effie’s left us. She was only paid up ‘til Tuesday. She stayed an extra day as it was. Anyway, she’s confident that little Thames is in good hands now,” Elizabeth stated, trying hard to sound positive, but knew she fell short. She turned her head away and held back the exhausted tears that threatened to betray her.

      At least she’d had enough sense to send Effie off to market before she took her leave. With the amount of rationing coupons she’d saved, she was able to secure dinner for the two of them anyway.

      “I’m sorry, my dear. I’ll scrape enough together to hire another mid-wife. You’re not ready for all of this yet after losing so much blood. You need to get some strength back. The doctor said it would take some time…”

      If they’d had the money, he would have taken Elizabeth to the hospital to deliver Thames. She’d never been a very strong woman. A bout of rheumatic fever as a child had left her a bit on the frail side.

      “No. Don’t,” she said quickly. “I’m actually looking forward to seeing to him myself. At least I won’t have anyone here telling me all of the things I’m doing wrong,” she chuckled thickly. She knew they couldn’t afford it, and there was no use in making him feel bad.

      “But how will you manage?” Thatcher asked, moving in to take over the dinner preparations.

      “Give me a little credit,” Elizabeth cried in mock indignation. She shuffled over to the table. She lit a cigarette and sat, grateful for the help.

      “One potato?” Thatcher questioned, looking around for another.

      “Yes, that’s to be the last of them too. There’s to be a ban soon, I hear.”

      “Where is the little monster anyway?” Thatcher grinned, asking of their week old son.

      “Napping in the pram.  I’ve set him out on the back stoop for some air.”

      “I don’t mean to sound like Effie, but isn’t it a bit cold?”

      Elizabeth rolled her eyes and gave him a look of exasperation. “Not at all. He’s in his bunting. My mother did the same with me, as I’m sure yours did with you. Babies need air.”

      “I’m sure you’re right, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to see the little fellow.” Thatcher set down the paring knife and went to get him.

      “Of course, but if you wake him, you’re changing him!” Elizabeth called out teasingly.

      Later that evening, Thatcher and Elizabeth sat in the living room listening to the The Adventures of Leonidas Witherall, as Elizabeth nursed Thames.

      As much as Elizabeth loved the mystery, she fought to keep her eyes open. She dozed off and on, giving in to pure exhaustion, as Thames suckled noisily.

      The episode ended and Thatcher got up to switch off the radio. “Let me carry him up.”

      “Fine by me. He’s eaten his weight,” Elizabeth laughed tiredly, as she handed little Thames off to her husband.

      “You go and get some rest. I’ll stoke the fires and put him down.”

      “There may not be enough coal to last until morning. You may want to start the electric fire,” Elizabeth suggested. “I’ll be glad when this blasted winter is over,” she added as she yawned, heading up the stairs to bed.

      The next morning Elizabeth woke feeling a bit stronger, but oddly at unease. She could tell by the light streaming in through the window that it was well past seven. She was alarmed that Thames hadn’t woken her in the night. It was quite unusual and all at once troubling. She got up quickly and went to check in on him.

      As soon as she entered his room, she could tell something wasn’t right. It was cold in there. Much too cold! Thames was unmoving. So still, and of peculiar color. She held her breath, fear and feelings of resounding dread washed over her.

      “Thatcher!” she screamed. “Get the doctor! Get the doctor quick! Something’s wrong with Thames!”

      An hour later, Elizabeth’s heart felt like it would never recover as the doctor delivered the news.

      “Classic case of crib death, I’m afraid,” he told them solemnly, listening with a stethoscope for any signs of life and finding none. “You mustn’t blame yourselves. There’s nothing you could have done. Third one I’ve had this year. Tragic.” He shook his head sadly and packed up his kit.

      Thatcher walked the doctor to the door, who then fished a bottle of medicine out of his bag. “Give her one teaspoon of this every few hours. It’ll help her sleep,” he said, eying him with meaning. He tipped his hat and took his leave.

      Elizabeth was inconsolable. “My baby. My sweet little baby,” she cried as Thatcher tried to comfort her. She buried her face in his chest, deep sobs wracking her body. He carried her off to bed as the doctor ordered.

      “There, there, now my love. He didn’t suffer. We can always have another,” Thatcher said, but he knew it wouldn’t be true. Elizabeth wouldn’t survive another.

      She blinked up at him, the tears unstoppable. “It was so cold in there this morning. He froze didn’t he? We’ve killed our son!” she cried.

      Thatcher wrinkled his brow in confusion. “My love, it was as warm as toast in there this morning. As warm as toast…”

       

      Cold Comfort Part IV

       

       1998 Maine

       

      Abigail and Jackson Shaffer were beaming with happiness. After nearly four years of marriage, a half a dozen fertility treatments, and two miscarriages, Abigail had just successfully given birth to their first child. Emory Rose was just about the most perfect baby they’d ever laid eyes on, and she was all theirs. They were taking her home after spending four days in the hospital as Abigail recovered from her C-Section.

      “The sweetest and most perfect baby there ever was,” Abigail whispered lovingly, planting a kiss on top of Emory’s nose as she carried her into their house for the first time.

      “Abs, let me help you into the living room and then I’ll make you something to eat.” Jackson smiled, guiding his wife towards the couch. He held onto her elbow as she eased down into a sitting position. She clung to their baby, unwilling to put her down for even a minute, though it was obvious that she was still in a fair amount of pain.

      “Thanks, baby. Isn’t she perfect?” Abigail asked, grinning proudly, not taking her eyes off from Emory’s face. Though she’d asked that question a million times already, Jackson readily agreed.

      “Yes, she is. She’s just like you. Perfect and beautiful and wonderful,” he confirmed seriously, kissing her on the cheek.

      Jackson saw Abigail’s face pinch with sudden discomfort as she adjusted her position.

      “I should probably get you some water to take your pills with. You don’t want the pain to get ahead of you, like the doctor said.”

      “No,” she protested. “They’ll make me sleepy. What if I fall asleep?” she asked, pursing her lips with concern. She clutched Emory in a protective hug.

      “That’s what I’m here for babe. I can wake you up if she needs to be fed. Abs, you need to take them. Doctor’s orders.”

      “Okay, okay. But you better make sure you wake me up if she cries in the night. And can you turn on the air? It’s hot in here.” Mid July in Maine could be a lot hotter and more humid than one would think. She unwrapped Emory’s blanket, checking for any sign that she was getting overheated.

      Abigail woke up with a panicky feeling the next morning. She reached out to feel around the covers for Emory. She vaguely remembered going to bed and Jackson placing Emory at her breast for her nighttime feeding.

      “Jackson! Where’s the baby?” she cried. She sat bolt upright and shook him. She leaned over and peeked at the floor next to the bed, terrified at what she might find. She was relieved that to see that the baby wasn’t laying there broken, having fallen off the bed in the night.

      Jackson rolled over and gave her a sleepy smile. “She’s in her room, in the crib. I figured since you both were sleeping so soundly, I’d put her in there and let you get as much rest as possible.”

      Relief flooded in, quickly replaced by anger. She gave Jackson a scathing look.

      “Don’t give me that look Abs. She’s gonna have to get used to it, eventually.”

      “Jackson!” Abigail protested loudly. “Not her first night!”  She jumped out of bed and was immediately sorry that she did. Pain ripped through her stomach. She doubled over.

      “Back into bed before you rip your stitches,” Jackson ordered, getting up to help her. “She’s not even fussing yet Abs. Calm down. I’ll go and get her if you want, but you’re going to have to learn how to relax.”

      Yawning, Jackson went first to the bathroom. He did feel a little guilty about having slept so soundly, but he hadn’t gotten a whole lot of sleep for the last week.  If the baby had cried in the night, he hadn’t heard her. He was both grateful and sorry at the same time.

      He flushed, washed his hands and went to Emory’s room.  He opened the door and was blasted with a burst of cold air. It couldn’t have been more than fifty degrees in there!

      He knew he turned the AC down just after he’d put her in her crib. He hadn’t wanted her to get too cool in the night.

      He half jogged over to her crib, holding his breath. Something about her didn’t look right. She wasn’t moving. She was just too still.

      He reached out to turn her over.

      Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus…

       

      Stay Tuned for the final chapter!

      Side note: This week I received word that a short story I wrote has been accepted by Short Fiction Break! It(Ice Cream or Moxie) will appear on Aug 2nd. Additionally, The Mystery Tribune read another story of mine(Thief) and requested it for their magazine. It is featured in their magazine now!

      Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments | Tagged fiction, ghoststory, paranormal, shortstory, supernatural
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