Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby by Leanne Dyck (Ch 9)

 Chapter eight: Do you believe that Kenneth James is making unreasonable demands on Aster? Do you think that it's healthy for couples to have separate interests? Do you believe that Aster's marriage is in trouble? And if it is, what do you think should be done to repair it? Do you believe that their marriage is worth repairing? Who's responsible for repairing it?

photo by ldyck

Chapter nine

A raindrop landed on Aster’s shoulder as she left the bus stop and headed to the school. She climbed the stairs, pushed on the push bar, and crossed the threshold into her domain. Tap, tap, tap. The heels of her flats beat a quick tattoo on the tile floor as she strode down the corridor. Before stepping into her own classroom, she peeked in on her neighbour. She usually diverted her eyes, but today she was feeling magnanimous. “Good morning,” she called, but the room was vacant of any warm bodies.

And what a state the room was in. Books were scattered like autumn leaves around the classroom. Some... Well, some appeared to have been tossed. Tossing books? She couldn’t imagine what would have caused someone to be in that much of a hurry to mistreat books so badly. And on the walls...? Paper hung askew like peeling tar paper. Why the desks weren’t even in straight rows. She’d assumed that the room was ill-kept but had had no idea it was in this sorry state. She felt sorry for the students who were expected to learn in such chaos. Her nostrils caught an unpleasant odour. Mouldy bread? For the sake of the children, she had to take action. No one else had. It was up to her. She began to straighten books, but the smell persisted and grew worse. She needed to find the source. Like a knight doing battle with a dragon, she boldly stepped up to the first desk in the first row and began to search. Her stomach flipped. Feeling nauseous, she braced herself and reached her hand into the dark cavernous compartment under the desktop.

“Hey? Ah, what are you doing?”

Aster straightened to face a young woman who wore a flowing skirt and bangles around her wrists. “Good morning, Bonnie.”

“Bun-ny,” said clearly, with emphasis. “Can I help you, Aster?” The voice was calm—only edged with steel.

“I’m looking for the source of the stench,” Aster explained. “I’m surprised that the janitor didn’t take care of it.”

“Take care of what?” Bunny set the cardboard box she’d been carrying on her desk and then headed down the aisle to Aster.

“The stench.” Aster moved to the next desk in the row. “Surely you can smell it.” She pulled out a binder and flipped through the pages.

Bunny took the binder out of Aster's hands. “Everything is fine. Thank you, but I don’t need your help.”

“Oh, yes. I assure you, you do. If you aren’t aware of the stench, you most assuredly do need my help.” Aster cackled and moved to the next desk. One hand on the chair and another on the desktop, she leaned in and then back. A bank of shelves that stood against the wall caught her eye. The shelving unit was full to overflowing with a variety of items. Aster was appalled at what she identified as a mess.

Bunny rushed over and picked up a lid that rested beside a green plastic box.

The closer Aster grew to the box, the more she knew she was right. “That box is the source of the stench.”

Bunny covered the box with the lid.

“What are you attempting to hide?”

“Nothing.” Bunny removed the lid. “Go ahead, look.”

Black, pebbly sludge, mould, rotten apples—food in all stages of decay.

“That—! That is unhygienic and should never—never! Be in a classroom,” Aster declared with the full force of her conviction.

Observing more closely, Aster noticed something pink crawling through the muck. Was that...? Was that a wor—?

Bunny quickly replaced the lid. “It’s compost—one of our science experiments. The kids find it fascinating.”

“A science experiment? You can’t be serious.” Aster grew silent but only for a second. “I have half a mind to report you.”

“It’s okay, Aster. There’s nothing to get upset about. The principal knows and approves.”

“Well, I never,” Aster huffed. “Imagine expecting students to learn in such squalor. It’s disgusting. Truly disgusting.” She wasted no time in leaving Bunny’s classroom.

photo by ldyck

Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby

Chapter ten

Arriving early for work, school teacher Aster checks in on the neighbouring classroom. What she finds truly upsets her. She leaves in a hurry heading to...? If you were Aster where would you go?

photo by ldyck

On Mayne Island, March came in like a lion. It started snowing on Tuesday, February 28. It

Is the Reverend Dead? Ch 9 (a mystery inspired by remote island life) by Leanne Dyck

 chapter eight: Mrs. Hazelton is appalled when Ms. Matthews delivers the Sunday sermon.

"St. Mary Magdalene Church" oil by

 Mayne Island artist Frances Faminow

Is the Reverend Dead?

Chapter nine

I feed Mr. Wiggles two times a day—wet food in the morning, dry in the afternoon. He licks his bowl clean. He’s not fat, just pleasantly plump.

According to the clock on the stove, it’s time to give him his dry food. Usually, he’s wrapping his body around my ankles, frantically crying—fearful that I’ll forget to feed him.

He’s been inside all day—purring on the end of our bed, curled into a tight ball, his long tail wrapped around his paws. I walk into the bedroom, but he’s not there now. Nor is he under the bed or in the closet. He’s gone.

Arthur is in the living room, reading the paper.

“Have you seen Mr. Wiggles?”

Without lowering the paper, he says, “He’ll turn up.”

“That’s what I thought, but it’s his mealtime. He never misses, and he’s not here.”

I make supper; we eat supper. Mr. Wiggles doesn’t return. I pray that a raccoon hasn’t gutted him. I pray that Ms. Matthews hasn’t filleted him as a warning, as a threat.

I recite the 27^th Psalm, “The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?”

Despite my best intentions, I keep worrying.

As a distraction, I flick on the radio.

“You are the leader of the coven?” an interviewer asks.

Why are they talking about witches? It’s spring, not autumn.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m a Wiccan High Priestess." Explains a youngish-sounding witch.

“Why are you gathering in the park this evening?”

“We’re celebrating Ostara—our springtime celebration of rebirth. Everyone is invited to join us. Please contribute cut or potted flowers and help us construct a labyrinth.”

“So Ostara is a spring-time celebration similar to Easter?”

“Easter?” The witch’s cheerful tone turns sour. “Christians stole our springtime celebration.”

Stole?

I put the plate I’m washing on the dry rack.

“For them, it’s about a man dying on a cross, about a battle between good and evil. But Wiccans recognize the importance of both creation and destruction.”

“Devil worshiper!” I throw the curse at her.

Without waiting to dry my hands, I march over to the radio.

“Light and dark, female and male. One can’t exist without the other. We need both. Balance must—”

With a flick of a switch, I silence her nonsense. How's that for magic?

I must have moved too fast. I feel lightheaded and dizzy and collapse into a chair.

Without fanfare, Mr. Wiggles prances into the room—accompanied by a sleek, midnight black cat. Her fur reflects the light. Like a gentleman, he leads her to his dish. She drinks enough water to sink the Titanic. A low, guttural cough rattles her slim body.

“A hairball? We welcome you into our home, and you repay our kindness with a hairball?”

But what she expels isn’t a soggy clump of fur. It looks more like...like...raw meat. Revolting! I pull over my chair for balance and stoop to pick up… Bone? I feel bone. Slowly unfolding the paper towel, I see a knuckle and a fingernail—? Without further examination, I toss the bundle into the garbage can under the sink.

Princess Grace is unmoved. After licking her paw and smoothing her whiskers, she stretches and slinks over to the door. She sinks her claws into the door frame and tears off a layer of wood. She looks up at me with soulful eyes—seeming to say, Did I do something to offend you, mere human? She stretches a paw, claws extended. Before she can remove another layer, I open the door. She looks back at me before crossing the threshold. I grab my slicker and follow her. The night is as thick as a blanket; the rain falls in heavy sheets. How can I follow a black cat in this?

Meow, she calls. She glows in the rain—like a flashlight beam. Meow. She leads me into the forest—a foreign place that no longer resembles my island home. Meow. Leaves rustle like ghosts. Stinky spiderwebs feel like lace on my hair, my face. Meow. She leads me over roots and rocks.

I stumble.

Meow.

Some force keeps me upright.

The rain subsides. Moonlight cuts through the dark. It shines on… The Reverend. He’s by a tree. No, he’s hanging from that tree. A rope is coiled around his neck. His hands and feet are bound.

My brain pounds with questions—why, how, who?

“Ai-i-i.”

I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Yes, Reverend Paulson, I’m h—”

A thrill cackle takes my breath. “He nay be talking to ye, nor any man.” A figure shrouded in black steps out of the shadows into the moonlight.

“Who are y—?”

“This be me lond.”

“I...followed a cat.”

“There be nay cat here.” She licks the back of her hand and rubs her cheek, like a cat cleaning its whiskers. “This be me craft.” She swings her hand back, indicating the corpse. “Me powers brought him here, into the everlasting darkness.”

“The Reverend is dead?”

“Yey, any man may see.”

“I knew she did it. She had opportunity. She had motive. Ms.—”

“Twas me craft,” she roars.

“You?”

“Yey.”

“But how? You weren’t in the church when he was murdered.”

“Eye of bat. Hair of toad. Me craft is strong.” The witch waves a doll—wrapped in a black robe, with threads of white hair clipped to its head. A needle pierces its chest.

“But why would you kill Reverend Paulson?”

“For the coven, we act as one to save all. Death to we or death to he. He thinketh he could sweep us to the edge of shadows, but we rise again. We will ne’er fall. Hear me. Mark me.” She tosses a grey palm-sized stone to me. “This gave him life, but beats ne’er more.”

I feel no breeze, but I hear… Creek, creek, creek. The Reverend swings back and forth like a pendulum in the windless night. A moonbeam shines through a hole in his chest where his heart had been.

I fall onto the rocky ground.

I wake on a kitchen chair. Henry is watching TV in the living room. Mr. Wiggles rubs against my ankle. His fur is dry.

I push myself up to stand. In the entrance room, my slicker hangs on a hook. Something is weighing down one side of the jacket. Inside the pocket, I find a…grey stone. The Reverend’s heart?

photo by ldyck

Chapter Ten

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The Other Side (short fiction) Ch. 9 by Leanne Dyck

 Ch. 8 When Owen leaves to spend the evening with his friends, Mara runs down to the laundry room. She hears the music again and finds a secret passageway to an exotic world.

The Other Side

Chapter nine

The next day I pushed back the covers before my alarm clock rang. "Feeling groovy," I sang.

"Not," Owen groaned and pulled the covers over his head.

I followed a rich aroma to my first mug of coffee. One tasted so good it led to another. Gazing out the kitchen window, I wondered was there really a bunny living inside my laundry room wall? Exactly where did I go last night?

The clock on the microwave screamed at me, You're going to be late for work. Boogie!

I flew from the bathroom to the bedroom to the front door and down the sidewalk. The bus raced me to the stop, but I won and climbed on.

"Good morning," the driver said.

"Good? It's magical," I told him.

Halfway through the morning, a customer called to thank me for being so patient with her.

"Feeling," I sang in the stall of the woman's washroom.

"Groovy," someone sang in reply.

My...boss...stood at the sink. "So, you're a Simon and Garfunkel fan, too, eh?" She dried her hands. "I heard that a customer called to thank you. Keep up the good work." She smiled...at...me.

I drifted on fluffy white clouds to the end of my shift.

***

My route to the bus stop led me past a mom-and-pop shop, a bookstore, a bank, and a second-hand clothing store. On one day or another, I'd stopped at them all except the rag shop. I always sped past it at a quick clip without even peeking, but not that day. That day I looked. The ivory dress with small purple flowers had a full skirt and wide sleeves. 

Bells chimed as I pushed the door open. I thought the store would be messy and smell like someone's attic, but it was bright and clean. Clothing was organized under calligraphy signs. Baroque music played. Light bounced off the mirrored wall behind the sales counter.

"Welcome to Mary Claire's." The sales clerk was stylishly dressed in what appeared to me to be a look right out of a 1960s copy of Vogue. 

"I'd like to see..."

"Ah, the dress."

Was she a mind reader? Or had she simply noticed me outside transfixed by it?

She removed the dress from the display window and led me past the mirrored wall to the first of three dressing rooms.

I pulled the dress down over my head and the transformation was immediate. My mousy brown hair appeared two shades lighter. My eyes shone and my skin glowed. Of course, I bought the dress.

Chapter ten 

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I will continue to publish installments of 

The Other Side

until...

Sunday, August 29

Book Review

Skinny Legs and All

Tom Robbins