Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to write a story that starts with “The stranger appeared…” This week’s contribution was written by Phil Yeats.
In April, 2024, Phil published The
Body on Karli’s Beach, the third book in his Barrettsport Mysteries, a
series of soft-boiled mysteries set in a fictional South Shore Nova Scotia
town. For information about these books, and The Road to Environmental
Armageddon, his trilogy about the hazards of ignoring human-induced climate
change, visit his website: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/
*****
The
Stranger on the Beach
The stranger appeared on the beach
beside the island’s only decent harbour. It was midwinter and several days of
particularly harsh weather had closed it to all marine traffic. The fog lifted
for a few moments. George, the village drunk, waiting on the harbour pier for
the pub to open, noticed him.
He headed
toward the village, and George followed. He only occasionally glimpsed sight of
the stranger in the fog, but had no trouble following as the interloper cursed
loudly as his hard-soled city-slicker shoes slipped and slid on the icy road.
They
progressed through the village and up the road, turning onto the long drive to
the island’s largest house. It belonged to a summer visitor. The fog thinned as
they approached the house, so George stopped well back, hidden by a large tree.
He watched the stranger unlock the door and let himself in. There was no way
this young stranger was the homeowner, the old fart who spent his summers
criticizing George’s depraved lifestyle. He checked his watch before hurrying
away.
The pub would
now be open, and he had a compelling story to tell. One that would surely keep
him well-supplied with beer for the evening. George got his fill of beer, all
paid for by others, and everyone else, their fill of skeptical speculations.
Most focused on how someone could appear on their beach in such inclement
weather.
The next
evening, Charles Abercrombie visited the pub. He was the self-declared mayor of
the island’s unincorporated village, but seldom entered the establishment.
“I’ve visited
the stranger at the hill house,” he said. “His name is Daniel Smith. He has a
letter of introduction. He’s here to do some repairs in the house before Mr.
Wentworth arrives in the spring.” Charles turned and left the pub without
engaging in conversation. He was a teetotaller and wanted out of such a den of
iniquity before the patrons, led by George, insisted he buy a round.
Over the next
weeks, strange things happened. Mrs. Weebly’s missing cat returned. He was thinner
than when he disappeared ten days earlier, but that was a good thing. She
overfed the poor beast and kept him cooped up inside her winterized cottage.
One morning, the postman found old Mr. Dobson’s tumble-down front fence with a
gate that wouldn’t close upright with a smoothly functioning gate. The Brown’s
wayward daughter, who’d left home at seventeen ten years earlier, returned
cradling a baby with a husband in tow. The raucous-sounding motor on George’s
fishing boat suddenly sounded smooth as siIk. I could add more examples, but
you get the idea.
The nightly
conversation in the pub became increasingly animated, and the tone changed to a
mixture of skepticism and wonder. All these positive events happened after the
stranger arrived in the hill house. He remained in residence—lights
went on and off in the evening and the early morning—but none other than George
the drunk and Charles the mayor had seen him. Neither was a reliable witness.
George would do anything for a free drink, and Charles, anything to puff up his
feeling of self-importance. Was he real or an apparition?
Nothing
was resolved until Mr. Wentworth arrived in the spring. He told the pub’s patrons
he found no evidence of anyone living in his house over the winter and denied
hiring anyone to work there. “But,” he added, “several problems I planned to tackle
in the coming weeks have mysteriously righted themselves.” He bought a round
for everyone in the crowded watering hole and joined the conversation. The
skeptics were silenced. Wonderment ruled.
*****
The Spot Writers:
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/
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