Elsa Mon in: The Strange Case of the Missing Cucumbers

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to write a story that involves a tomato, a cloaked individual, and a missing shoe.

This week’s contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara is an Italian author and currently lives in Berlin, Germany. She writes fiction, with a focus on children’s literature and science fiction.

 

Elsa Mon in: The Strange Case of the Missing Cucumbers

by Chiara De Giorgi

Created with DeepAI

On a bright late-spring morning, Elsa Mon, the beloved paranormal romance author, sat before her laptop, a mug of orange-and-cinnamon latte and a raisin bun within easy reach.

A perfect setup for a productive day of writing, she thought approvingly.

She had just begun working on her new book, titled Bernie and Barney in the Barn, and she could hardly wait to write the scene where Barney—the scarecrow to whom the naïve and blonde farm girl Bernie had affectionately given a name—came to life and appeared as a jacked Adonis.

Ever since meeting the Stranger, Elsa had wanted to include a character in one of her novels who could change shape and appearance. The Stranger was a special, one-of-a-kind creature: able to assume the form of any living being—or non-living thing. Once, she had even turned into a sparkling pink school bus!

After taking a sip of her latte, which left frothy whiskers above her lips, and just before she could type the first word of the day, someone knocked at the door. Irritated by the interruption, she went to see who it was.

It was her neighbor, Lisa, visibly upset.

“Come in, sit down,” Elsa said. “I’ll make you a cup of tea right away. In the meantime, tell me what happened.”

“Every morning I go to my garden and pick a cucumber. I always do! For my detox water, you know? A whole pitcher of cucumber water a day… I drink it all. Keeps my skin soft.”

Elsa nodded. She had once tasted Lisa’s cucumber detox water and said, “Delicious!” to avoid hurting her feelings, but she thought it tasted like a salad-bowl rinse.

“But for three days now, whenever I go into the garden, I find cucumbers are missing!”

“What do you mean, cucumbers are missing?”

“I know every single plant personally. I talk to them, you know. Makes them happier, and the cucumbers taste better.”

Elsa nodded again, this time thinking of Bernie in the barn. If she had given a name to her scarecrow, she surely talked to her plants too. For example, she might confide her troubles to the strawberry seedlings and—

“But for a few days now,” Lisa interrupted sharply, cutting off the vision of Bernie gossiping with the strawberries, “cucumbers have been disappearing from my plants. One or two every morning. Someone is stealing my cucumbers in the night!”

“Outrageous!” a voice shouted from the doorway, and immediately a shoe—a size 43 moccasin, battered, mismatched, and looking utterly outraged—hopped toward the kitchen. Elsa caught it out of the corner of her eye and rushed to intercept it, and most importantly, to shut it up before Lisa had a heart attack.

“Stranger! I’ve told you a thousand times! You cannot do this in front of people!”

A mouth appeared on the moccasin, along with a little hand that zipped it shut. Then, the zippered-toe moccasin hopped through the cat flap.

Elsa returned to the kitchen and laid a hand on Lisa’s shoulder.

“It is outrageous!” Lisa agreed. “Help me find out who’s stealing my cucumbers at night!”

“Um, yes, of course,” Elsa replied, secretly thinking she had absolutely no desire to spend the entire night staring at Lisa’s cucumber plants.

At that moment, there was another knock at the door.

Elsa went to open it and found herself face-to-face with a lady wearing a flashy, flame-red cloak and a wide-brimmed hat of the same color, partially hiding her face.

“I’m Detective Romualda!” the woman exclaimed in a clear, ringing voice. Then she winked at Elsa and whispered, “It’s me!”

“Stranger!” Elsa whispered back. “What are you doing?”

“I’m here to help you solve the mystery of the missing cucumbers!” she exclaimed, stepping into the house.

Before Elsa could say or do anything more than, “I’ll put on another pot of tea—would you like some cookies too?” Detective Romualda, aka the Stranger, and Lisa had already made plans for the night.

***

As darkness fell, Elsa peeked out of the living room window and saw the Stranger arrive at Lisa’s house and exchange a few words with her on the doorstep. Then, as Lisa went inside (Elsa followed her movements, watching the lights flick on and off as she moved from the entrance to the stairs, up to the bathroom, and finally the bedroom), the Stranger circled the house to head for the garden—red cloak, wide-brimmed hat, and all.

After several moments of internal debate and some very nervous nail-biting, Elsa decided she had to see what the Stranger was up to. Could she trust her? Probably not. Was she curious? Absolutely. It was also a golden opportunity for some fresh inspiration for her book.

Earlier in the day, she had written plenty, but had gotten stuck on a scene where the scarecrow Barney lost a moccasin, and Bernie found it near the cowshed. Elsa could not imagine a farmer putting moccasins on a scarecrow, and besides: why on earth would Bernie even have old size-43 moccasins lying around the house? Clearly, a plot hole of epic proportions. Perhaps the Stranger’s nocturnal activities could help her fill it.

So Elsa hid her long red hair under a black burglar cap, slipped into her yoga outfit (which allowed for maximum stealth and happened to be also black), and sneaked into Lisa’s garden.

The Stranger—or Detective Romualda, as she was presently officially known—was nowhere in sight.

Elsa moved cautiously among the cucumbers, carrots, lettuce, and thyme until she reached a patch planted with tomatoes. One of them, big, red, and perfectly ripe, was lying on the ground. And… had it just winked at her?

“Stranger, is that you?” she whispered, kneeling among the tomato plants and leaning in close.

In response, a splash of ketchup hit her square in the face.

“Splut!” Elsa exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing?”

The tomato sprouted two eyes and a mouth, which made it decidedly terrifying.

“I’ll be on night watch in the form of a tomato,” explained the Stranger. “That way I’ll see who’s coming to steal Lisa’s cucumbers.”

Mmm, thought Elsa. Not a bad plan at all.

She was also starting to get an idea for her moccasin problem in the novel. A thief could sneak into the farm, one wearing old size-43 moccasins. Barney the scarecrow would transform into the ripped Adonis and chase him off. The thief would run for it (who wouldn’t, seeing a scarecrow turn into a bodybuilder?) and lose the moccasins, which Barney could then keep for himself. Yes, yes… that could work… Although… now she was facing a new problem: Bernie would be frightened too, seeing the scarecrow come to life. Hm. One plot hole closed and another opened…

“Tomato calling Elsa, come in!”

The Stranger’s voice brought Elsa back to reality.

“You need to leave,” said the tomato. “Otherwise, the thief won’t come.”

Right. Elsa got up and returned to her own house.

***

The next morning, Elsa was awakened by furious knocking at the door.

She rushed down the stairs to open it: the Stranger and Lisa, overexcited, were loudly talking over each other as they came in. Lisa held a pitcher filled with water, slices of cucumber floating inside.

The two of them marched straight into the kitchen without stopping their chatter, while Elsa, her hair flattened from a night’s sleep and pillow creases still stamped on her cheek, stood at the doorway, bewildered.

“Care to explain what’s going on?” she managed to ask after her first cup of coffee had kicked in.

To make a long story short: Detective Romualda, aka the Stranger, aka the tomato, had kept watch over the cucumber patch all night and discovered that the cucumber thief was… Lisa herself! Due to repeated and periodic sleepwalking episodes, she would get up at night, wander into the garden, and pick one or two cucumbers, which she then nibbled slowly before returning to bed.

Lisa laughed. “Who would have thought! All that worry for nothing. My cucumbers are safe!” she exclaimed, pouring herself another giant glass of detox water.

Elsa wasn’t entirely sure that finding out you were a sleepwalker counted as “nothing,” but she let it slide. Her mind was already racing with story ideas. What if Bernie were a sleepwalker? It would be a perfect way to meet Barney-the-muscle-mountain without having a heart attack!

***

Later that day, Elsa finally managed to write the central scene of her novel. And she was very proud of herself.

 

Bernie’s heart galloped like a thousand wild stallions as she tiptoed into the moonlit barn. Every creak of the wooden roof boards was like a drumbeat of destiny. Her breath caught upon laying eyes on him—Barney, the humble scarecrow, now transfigured into a prodigious colossus, eyes smoldering with untold secrets.

 

 

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/