Friday, 16 November 2012

What, you missed me?!

 Sorry, Merisi and anybody else who's come calling on the off chance of a Napple Note or two. I've been caught in a whirlwind of writing classes- poetry and prose and editing for other people- and so the days go by with Napple taking a back seat.

And to prove I've been having fun, I'm going to let you read my latest flight of fancy and see if anybody can think up a good plot line for how this yarn might develop?! The working title is 'The Cottage'...

 It started as an ordinary day. Ever increasing daylight infiltrated like a spy, and the room came into focus through the lingering darkness. A chest of drawers cowered beside a Granddaddy wardrobe; a laid back nursing chair as good as yawned at me from one corner, while a swing mirror stood like a sentry in another.  The usual crowd of onlookers was waiting for me to perform my Morning Ritual Dance.

This always started with a Quilt Arabesque, while each foot fought to be the last to touch the cold floor. My Aunt’s cottage was basic. No central heating, but with an afterthought bathroom added downstairs and old sash windows in every room which made sure fresh air was compulsory , day and night.  At least the pump out in the yard was now decorative only, and hot and cold water was on tap. Very civilized.

A quick pas de deux with my dressing gown, once my toes had wriggled into sheepskin slippers, and I was ready to exit left with a bundle of clothes no costumier would countenance: jeans: T-shirt: sweater and as many thermal undies as possible.

But the curtain came down on my light hearted, theatrical mood as I opened the bedroom door, for there on the landing was my Aunt’s body, throat ripped apart and congealed blood puddled on the floorboards. Even if the cottage had been connected to a telephone line, I couldn’t have found the breath to call for help…

The blanket of silence over the cottage reassured me that whoever the killer had been, they were long gone, and I was in no immediate danger, but it was difficult to find courage enough to step round blood and body to get to the bathroom – which I needed desperately now, before I added further to the mess on the floor, either by being sick or wetting myself...

Once I’d made it there and both stomach and bladder were under control, I was thankful for the hot water that helped stop my shivers – at least, those due to the cold; the ones caused by shock were liable to take longer to disappear. But somehow, I dried, dressed and readied myself to run down to the village.  Thrusting my feet into the boots I’d left on the rug below my duffle coat, I grabbed scarf and gloves from the shelf above, and was glad to close the front door behind me.

At the end of the lane, I looked back up the hill.  From this distance, the cottage looked welcoming, but… I knew what lay inside…

16 comments:

  1. "The Visitor" is a possibility. The Cottage is not a gripping enough title for what lies inside its story. My 2 cents :).

    I love the use of verbs for description here.

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    1. I think I can agree there are lies inside this story, never mind what else lies inside! Hehehe!

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  2. She Writes is right.

    And welcome back. :-)

    Pearl

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  3. I would say, "Help solve the mystery of the grizzly murder inside a sweet, quaint village cottage...." Very nice start....I want to read more!

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    1. I wish somebody could solve it for me!

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  4. Welcome back. I have missed you! I think you ought to finish the story before you find a title - as to a plot line - try several in note form and see which works best. I must say that I found it quite gripping so far but have no idea where it should go next.

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    1. I think I might have problems thinking of one ending, let alone several. :)

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  5. "Once upon a time .... " - oh well, just to show that I am trying, "The Visitor" is simply perfect anyway!

    Glad to see you come back and with such a gripping story at that. We are going to hear how this all ends, will we, pleeease?

    Cheers,
    Merisi

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    1. May end with a fizzle, rather than a bang, I fear... :)

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  6. ----- Yet she knew that she had to return to the Cottage, there was this strange feeling tugging at her heart - yet her mind said "no" but she couldn't resist, the force was to powerful. So she started to climb the hill back to the cottage, knowing in her mind, that she would regret it---------

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    1. "May The Force be with...?" Well, ME I suppose! LOL. We shall see...

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  7. I'm thinking on it...and wonder if perhaps the girl knows more than she appears about the demise of her aunt.
    Don't leave us here, my friend...do continue on...please.
    Hugs,
    J.

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  8. I do like the way you write, Jinksy, and any advice I might offer would be paltry.

    The sudden turn your story took in the fourth paragraph made me think of a poem I wrote many years ago and never really finished because I wasn't satisfied with it. It started out as an exercise in iambic pentameter and my imagination just took over. I rummaged around in an old roll-top desk and found it:


    Premonition

    A book has fallen from the highest shelf!
    Or so it seems -- I see one missing there.
    Did this sprawled on the floor remove itself
    Of its own strength and set sail through the air
    Like Icarus of old, in some great plan
    To overcome the chains that kept it bound
    To earth? Ridiculous! And yet, no man
    Has touched this room in months. Last week I found
    This bust of Mozart turned a diff'rent way
    From where it faced when Ellen was alive.
    Can I be going mad? And now, today,
    This volume took an unexpected dive
    From where it sat so long gathering dust.
    Coincidence! Coincidence, I say!
    I do not hold with poltergeists. You must
    Surely refute, as I do, men today
    (And educated ones at that) who hold
    Such superstitious views as these. And yet,
    She did love hearing Mozart. Feel how cold
    This room's become! No, do not stoop. I'll get
    The fallen book and put it back. Look here,
    It fell (how strange!) in such a way, as though
    To point up yonder stair. The chandelier
    Was one she always liked. Come, let us go.
    I do not wish to stay in such a place
    As this. And yet, I linger on because
    In this room I recall my Ellen's face
    Most clearly, and especially the claws
    That marked her throat. They came and shot the beast,
    You know. It stood across her in the door
    Where you are standing now. A gruesome feast
    It made of her -- an arm, a breast. The floor
    Was filled with blood, and her not quite yet dead.
    We watched her bleed to death from where we stood
    In fear upon the stair. Let's go to bed
    Now. Put some milk out for the kitten? Good.

    --Robert H. Brague (May 20, 1977)

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    1. That's not so far off were my mind was heading! I'm still working on the rest of my story, but have emailed you with what I have done to date...

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