Welcome to The Spot Writers. August’s prompt is to use these five words in a story or poem: besides, fishes, inn, owing, born.
This week’s story comes from Cathy MacKenzie. Cathy’s novel, WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, is available from her locally or on Amazon.
MISTER WOLFE (the sequel) coming soon!
by Cathy MacKenzie
Amber looked up toward the large blue-shingled house, which was so unfamiliar to her. What little they’d moved into the house two days previous was in disarray. The bulk of their furniture and other possessions weren’t due to be delivered for another week. Until then, the family would sleep at the Riverside Inn and spend days at the house.
According to her mother, there was plenty to do at the new house. "Dad has to mow the lawn, and I have to clean," she’d said. "You kids can organize your rooms.” She had smiled. “And play, too. Summer will soon be over.”
Right, Amber thought. Organize our rooms? What is there to organize?
She was thankful she didn’t have to deal with school the same time as the move. But Labour Day would soon be upon them, marking the end of summer vacation. Luckily, her parents had bought a house in the same neighbourhood, so she and her brother, Julien, would still be attending the same schools.
Her mother couldn’t understand why it had to take so long for their furniture to be packed up and delivered. “Spencer, why don’t we rent a truck and move ourselves? This is ridiculous,” she had spouted. “We’re less than ten blocks away, for Pete’s sake.”
Apparently, the end of July was the busiest time for movers in their area, and Amber’s father wouldn’t admit he had procrastinated calling the moving company. She knew he had messed up when she overheard him arguing on the telephone with the company. She was glad he’d apologized or they might never have gotten a moving date.
Amber liked their new house, which was much larger than their previous one. The grounds were more spacious, too. Numerous colourful flowers grew alongside the house, mostly all foreign to her, although she did recognize the daisies.
And, of course, she was familiar with rose bushes that bordered one side of the fish pond.
But what good was a fish pond without fish?
“I can't believe there’s no fish,” she said, glancing at her brother.
“Yeah, according to Dad, the previous owner said they died.”
“I don't know why we can't get more.”
Julien sighed. “Mom can't be bothered. She figures Dad won't help out and then it'll all fall on her. In the spring she said we can get some. She hates the thought of them in the cold all winter. You know her.”
“But goldfish are supposed to survive over the winter. Though I don’t know how.”
“You're supposed to make sure there's a hole in the ice so the fish can breathe while they hibernate.”
“If they hibernate, why do they need a hole in the ice?”
Julian glared at her. “I don't know. Just what I've read.”
“Dad says you read too much.”
“Yeah, well Mom says you daydream too much.”
She ignored him and stared into the pond. She shook the unopened container of fish food, which she had grabbed off the shelf in the garage.
“I'm going to sprinkle some food on the water. Maybe if the other people had fed them, they’d still be alive.”
“No sense feeding dead fish,” Julien said.
Ignoring her brother, she unscrewed the lid and sprinkled flakes on the water.
“It’s probably old. That’s why they left it,” Julien said. “Outdated. Not good for anything. And you know what? If the owners said they hadn’t fed the fish for two years, it’s probably more like five. Everyone lies.”
The flakes floated together for a few seconds and slowly separated.
“The poor dead fishes,” Amber said, swiping at her eyes with her left hand. She'd been teary lately, which was unusual for her, probably owing to the stress of the move. She was only twelve, but her hormones would be raging sooner than later. And more tears, she figured.
She shrieked. “Look! What’s that?”
“There.” She pointed. “Isn’t that a fish?”
While she watched, another bright orange fish swam alongside.
And a fourth.
The last two were a paler orange. Almost translucent.
“I don’t believe it,” Julien said. “They can't have survived for this long.”
“Look, they’re jumping at the food. We have to go tell Mom.”
“No, we can’t tell her. She’s got enough on her mind. Besides, if you tell her, she’ll freak about them all winter long.”
“What, then? We don’t tell anyone they’re here?”
“We’ll just come down and feed them every day. Then, over the winter, we’ll make sure there’s a hole in the ice. We can surprise Mom in the spring, once the snow is gone.”
“Mom wasn’t born yesterday. Don’t you think she’ll find out?”
“How will she find out? Besides, once she knows these fish survived, she’ll be more receptive to getting more.”
“What about Dad? Should we tell him?”
“No, Dad’ll only tell Mom. They don’t have secrets, remember.”
“Yeah, right.” She’d heard her parents talk enough about how marriages shouldn’t have secrets, no matter how small. She giggled. Her father hadn’t shared the moving van story. “Okay, it’s our secret? No one else’s?”
“Yep, it’s our secret.”
“Oh, I love secrets,” Amber said, already anticipating telling her mother. She might even tell her the moving van secret.
The Spot Writers—Our Members:
Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/