| Supernatural Fiction posted February 19, 2022 |
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A messenger finds the way to move on.
When The Drought Broke
by LisaMay
“C’mere, cupcake.” Grampa held his arms wide as Julie dashed into the room, leaving the door to bang shut. He could tell immediately something had unsettled her.
He scooped up the four-year-old and dandled her on his knee. While sitting in the sagging old armchair, he bucked her up and down as if she were a mini rodeo rider. Her gasping breaths gradually settled and she lay her head against his chest, snuggling into his whiskey-breath whiskers.
“There now, darlin’ Juju. All better?” he said with tender concern. “What was it that scared you?”
Julie raised her tousled head and surveyed her grampa with wide eyes, trying to find words to explain.
“I’m not scared. I’m a big girl. You told me don’t talk to strangers unless you know them. I was at the woodshed. She spoke to me. She touched me and looked sad.”
“Did you see anybody else?” Grampa asked hesitantly.
“Yes. A man was there, too. They were both misty.”
Grampa glanced out the window pane, grimy from the drought’s windblown red dust, to the dark beyond. The crops had withered months ago, giving up the ghost at any semblance of thriving vigour. At the thought of ‘ghost’, regret played across his lined face. Ghosts – the family farm had seen more than its fair share of them. He was still coming to terms with their presence.
It was not at all easy. When Tanya and Stuart, his daughter and son-in-law, had been killed in a rural helicopter accident a few scant months after his own beloved Edna had passed, he was overwhelmed with grief. He was left holding the baby: little Julie.
He’d always enjoyed a ‘tipple’; his red nose was testament to that. Spirits had held him captive after his loved ones’ deaths. He was lucky to have supportive neighbours to care for him and Julie til he'd gotten back on sobriety’s track.
Love sure messes me up. It hurts so bad. And it won’t let go. These visitations by his dear departed kept tormenting him. It felt like they were blaming him for not keeping them safe. They were buried physically, but kept coming back. He knew Edna hadn’t wanted to stay on the farm because of the drought, so why did she keep returning? She was the one he saw most often, but he’d also seen Tanya and Stuart several times.
What had to happen to settle his nerves, or to settle theirs?
One evening, several days later, Julie came in from playing on the swing Grampa had made for her. “I saw those people again. With an old lady. I asked them: Do you know my grampa?”
He was in awe of how calm she was. Those visits always spooked him. Julie continued: “Now I know them, too. They have a message. You must forgive yourself, they said.”
Bestowing an angelic smile on her grampa, she held his hand and said reassuringly: “All is well.” Outside, nourishing rain began to softly fall.
Supernatural Fiction Story writing prompt entry
“C’mere, cupcake.” Grampa held his arms wide as Julie dashed into the room, leaving the door to bang shut. He could tell immediately something had unsettled her.
He scooped up the four-year-old and dandled her on his knee. While sitting in the sagging old armchair, he bucked her up and down as if she were a mini rodeo rider. Her gasping breaths gradually settled and she lay her head against his chest, snuggling into his whiskey-breath whiskers.
“There now, darlin’ Juju. All better?” he said with tender concern. “What was it that scared you?”
Julie raised her tousled head and surveyed her grampa with wide eyes, trying to find words to explain.
“I’m not scared. I’m a big girl. You told me don’t talk to strangers unless you know them. I was at the woodshed. She spoke to me. She touched me and looked sad.”
“Did you see anybody else?” Grampa asked hesitantly.
“Yes. A man was there, too. They were both misty.”
Grampa glanced out the window pane, grimy from the drought’s windblown red dust, to the dark beyond. The crops had withered months ago, giving up the ghost at any semblance of thriving vigour. At the thought of ‘ghost’, regret played across his lined face. Ghosts – the family farm had seen more than its fair share of them. He was still coming to terms with their presence.
It was not at all easy. When Tanya and Stuart, his daughter and son-in-law, had been killed in a rural helicopter accident a few scant months after his own beloved Edna had passed, he was overwhelmed with grief. He was left holding the baby: little Julie.
He’d always enjoyed a ‘tipple’; his red nose was testament to that. Spirits had held him captive after his loved ones’ deaths. He was lucky to have supportive neighbours to care for him and Julie til he'd gotten back on sobriety’s track.
Love sure messes me up. It hurts so bad. And it won’t let go. These visitations by his dear departed kept tormenting him. It felt like they were blaming him for not keeping them safe. They were buried physically, but kept coming back. He knew Edna hadn’t wanted to stay on the farm because of the drought, so why did she keep returning? She was the one he saw most often, but he’d also seen Tanya and Stuart several times.
What had to happen to settle his nerves, or to settle theirs?
One evening, several days later, Julie came in from playing on the swing Grampa had made for her. “I saw those people again. With an old lady. I asked them: Do you know my grampa?”
He was in awe of how calm she was. Those visits always spooked him. Julie continued: “Now I know them, too. They have a message. You must forgive yourself, they said.”
Bestowing an angelic smile on her grampa, she held his hand and said reassuringly: “All is well.” Outside, nourishing rain began to softly fall.
He scooped up the four-year-old and dandled her on his knee. While sitting in the sagging old armchair, he bucked her up and down as if she were a mini rodeo rider. Her gasping breaths gradually settled and she lay her head against his chest, snuggling into his whiskey-breath whiskers.
“There now, darlin’ Juju. All better?” he said with tender concern. “What was it that scared you?”
Julie raised her tousled head and surveyed her grampa with wide eyes, trying to find words to explain.
“I’m not scared. I’m a big girl. You told me don’t talk to strangers unless you know them. I was at the woodshed. She spoke to me. She touched me and looked sad.”
“Did you see anybody else?” Grampa asked hesitantly.
“Yes. A man was there, too. They were both misty.”
Grampa glanced out the window pane, grimy from the drought’s windblown red dust, to the dark beyond. The crops had withered months ago, giving up the ghost at any semblance of thriving vigour. At the thought of ‘ghost’, regret played across his lined face. Ghosts – the family farm had seen more than its fair share of them. He was still coming to terms with their presence.
It was not at all easy. When Tanya and Stuart, his daughter and son-in-law, had been killed in a rural helicopter accident a few scant months after his own beloved Edna had passed, he was overwhelmed with grief. He was left holding the baby: little Julie.
He’d always enjoyed a ‘tipple’; his red nose was testament to that. Spirits had held him captive after his loved ones’ deaths. He was lucky to have supportive neighbours to care for him and Julie til he'd gotten back on sobriety’s track.
Love sure messes me up. It hurts so bad. And it won’t let go. These visitations by his dear departed kept tormenting him. It felt like they were blaming him for not keeping them safe. They were buried physically, but kept coming back. He knew Edna hadn’t wanted to stay on the farm because of the drought, so why did she keep returning? She was the one he saw most often, but he’d also seen Tanya and Stuart several times.
What had to happen to settle his nerves, or to settle theirs?
One evening, several days later, Julie came in from playing on the swing Grampa had made for her. “I saw those people again. With an old lady. I asked them: Do you know my grampa?”
He was in awe of how calm she was. Those visits always spooked him. Julie continued: “Now I know them, too. They have a message. You must forgive yourself, they said.”
Bestowing an angelic smile on her grampa, she held his hand and said reassuringly: “All is well.” Outside, nourishing rain began to softly fall.
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Writing Prompt Supernatural Fiction Story Word count 450 minimum-500 maximum No vulgar words, profanity, or sex/sexual terms/ sexual innuendos implied or hinted at in dialogue/scenes No animals/No satire/No scripts or plays |
 Recognized |
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