Thanks for stopping by. Today I am joining several other authors for a Winter Story Hop. All the stories have a winter and/or holiday undercurrent. In my case, the actual title of the story is Winter. No, I've never been accused of being subtle. Hope you enjoy the stories. Please scroll down to get started with my story, and then click the link to go to Tim Hemlin's blog for the list of other authors and their stories. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
as the new flakes drift down, the old woman sweeps them away.
thin white hair stands out against the early morning blackness like a frothy halo.
I want to get out of my car and take her by the hand, lead her inside, tuck her
into bed where she belongs.
it’s three a.m.I’m afraid she will
scream or run away.
black door wreath has faded to no color, but I think for her it hasn’t been
that long. I slow the car and toss the newspaper gently into her periphery.
broom halts in mid-arc.
smile, wave, and goose the accelerator with the toe of my boot.
the mirror, she resumes sweeping, but her eyes follow my car.
If she’s still out when I make the block, I
will call someone.
I throw the other low-rents
hurriedly, parking to hand-deliver the disabled units.In number fifty-six, someone is playing the
piano in the darkness. I stand until my own fingers are frozen, listening to
the melancholic opening of Beethoven’s Moonlight
Sonata. The notes hang on the cold air. When the pianist stops, I hurry
back to my still-warm car.
image of a person sitting alone at a piano in the dark stays with me until I glimpse
the 7-Eleven in the distance. It beckons like a snow-globe of light behind the
tumbling flakes. It is always my last stop. Especially on cold winter nights.
turn the corner and breathe a sigh of relief.
is gone. Perhaps someone is staying with her now. Maybe they woke and found her
Is that a slipper in the road?
there’s her broom.
press nine one one on my phone and cruise the curb, watching for a bare
footprint in the snow. Should I go to the door and ring the bell? I don’t want
to scare her even worse. I think if someone were there, they would feel the
draft of that open door.
I’d better just chill until the cops arrive. I’m sure it won’t be long. Last
time they were here in minutes.
make a careful U-turn and park a few houses down, holding my numb fingers in
front of the heater vents.
thought of hot coffee is so strong I can smell it.
I hope you enjoyed my little winter's tale,
Click HERE to head over to Tim's blog for more stories.
The press dubbed him the killer cartographer because he carves the map coordinates of each victim on the femur of the one before. Then he tattoos the information on his skin. Can Detective Kendra Dean bring him to justice, or will she become his next tattoo?