It's been a while since my last post, but I've been busy earning a crust!
Here's another Work in Progress for you to help me out with. I'm juggling two writers' groups at the moment, with one setting homework as a Ghost story, and the other on travel, so I have attempted to write something I can share with both groups. What do you think? Please Comment below!
Kismet
Sheila had not felt this uncomfortable since her car broke down on the way home from her 50th birthday party, when she had to walk home, facing her fear of the dark.
This time she couldn’t blame the car. It was her satellite navigation system that was letting her down. She had little faith in ‘Jane’, the disembodied voice of her satnav, but she was determined to embrace new technology, and equally resolute in her belief that the universe would deliver her to her destiny, so she complied with Jane’s instructions despite her misgivings.
“In 300 yards turn left.”
Wondering where Jane was leading her, Sheila scrutinised the display. At ten yards she squinted through the windscreen and sure enough, she saw a narrow lane. As she turned the steering wheel Jane announced, with more than a hint of triumphalism, “You have reached your destination.”
Sheila stopped the car and the outline of a small cottage glowed faintly, as if it was an afterthought of her imagination. As she opened the door the glow increased in intensity until she had to shield her eyes from the bright light.
“Hello m’dear. Lost are we? Do you need any help?”
Sheila stumbled behind the apparition into a tiny kitchen. The table, already laid for two, was warm and welcoming. Sheila visibly relaxed.
“Yes, I think I am lost. I’m looking for a holiday cottage called Kismet. It’s not around here, it’s in a village called . . . .”
“This cottage is called Kismet m’dear. So you’re not lost after all.”
Sheila was momentarily confused but, distracted by the smell of a casserole, she allowed herself to be led to the table. Fate, thought Sheila, it must be fate.
The next thing she remembered was waking up in a strange bed with a teddy bear in her arms that closely resembled her childhood companion, Tedward, so she held him close, and dozed. She became aware of a low humming that grew louder until she couldn’t stand it a moment longer.
She tucked Tedward in, and tiptoed down the stairs into the kitchen. The sound was coming from a large refrigerator. She knew that opening the door would silence it, so she did, and found herself staring into a large cavernous yellowish-white interior. Her eyes focused on the empty egg rack on the inside of the door and she was immediately transported to the dark days of her adolescence.
She was fourteen again. She was back on the industrial wasteland near home with Billy, a strange boy who lived next door. They were sharing an illicit cigarette and joking around. As they gently pushed each other she stumbled backwards into an abandoned industrial sized fridge. Billy was forcing her inside and in her panic she reached out for something to defend herself with. She picked up a broken bottle and lashed out, stabbing Billy on the wrist. He recoiled, his eyes ablaze with fury, and slammed the door shut. Placing her hands on the egg rack Sheila pushed and screamed, and screamed and pushed ,but the door stayed shut.
Sheila ran her fingers around the oval recesses as it all came back to her. The darkness. The silence. The fear. The acceptance that she was going to die. The door opening. The policeman. The light. The ambulance. The police station. The court. The judge and the jury. And the look of hate and contempt in Billy’s eyes as they led him away, ranting, “I’ll never leave you Sheila. I’ll always find you.”
Sheila jumped at the sound of someone approaching the kitchen.
“Hello m’dear. It looks like you’re ready for breakfast. I’m afraid we’ve no eggs till we collect some more but I can make you a nice bacon sandwich.”
By the time Sheila had showered, dressed and eaten a hearty breakfast she had regained her composure. She drove into town, visited a museum, had a light but satisfying lunch, and bought presents.
Returning to Kismet she was greeted in the kitchen by a tall smart-looking gentleman tucking into an enormous slice of cake. He stood up and shook hands.
“Hello. I’m William. I’ve just arrived. I’m staying in the room next to yours I think. You must be Sheila.”
They sat at the table for the next two hours, helping themselves to more tea, and left it as friends. It turned out they had a lot in common, with many shared interests. William even knew a little about her home town, sharing her distress at the demise of local landmarks.
As they climbed the stairs to their rooms William asked “Are you going to the bonfire tonight? We could go together, if you like.”
Sheila had forgotten it was Guy Fawkes Night. She normally ignored it, treating it like any other winter’s evening, staying safely inside, away from intimidating crowds, so she surprised herself when she heard her own reply.
“That would be lovely.”
Several hours later Sheila and William had shared a fireworks display, hot chocolate, and a gentle stroll into the woods where they could observe the celebrations from afar as they kissed and cuddled.
Sheila was stunned at the weekend’s turn of events. She was sure she was not in the cottage she had booked, and was shocked at her behaviour with this stranger, but she felt so content. It felt so right.
William bent down to kiss her forehead.
“You look pensive. Seen a ghost?”
“No, not tonight. My ghosts are all gone.”
As she leaned up to kiss him on the lips her hand brushed his wrist and her fingers followed the trail of a long scar.
“Are they Sheila? Are you sure your ghosts are all gone?”
He held onto her hands as she struggled to get free. Her eyes met his and she recognised the hate in his eyes.
“Yes Sheila. It’s Billy. You sent him away but he’s come back, just like he said he would.”
