Welcome to The Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write a story that starts with the phrase ‘He (or she) faced the new year…’. This week’s story comes from the pen of Phil Yeats. It’s a continuation of his last posting on the Spot Writers blog (January 1, 2026).
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, The Road to Environmental
Armageddon, his trilogy about the hazards of ignoring human-induced climate
change, and his latest, a novella titled Starting Over Again: A
Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy visit his website: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/.
Our
uncertain future
by Phil
Yeats
He faced the new year with trepidation,
maybe even fear. The trepidation part was Glen’s fault. The fear, partly his
and partly President Trump’s. It all started when he accepted a neighbour’s
invitation to a pre-Christmas cocktail party. He almost never went to parties,
but here he was in the early evening escorting prospective tenants, a woman and
her five-year-old daughter, to the basement apartment he thought he’d never
rent again.
After a brief
inspection of the derelict space, she’d it was perfect and offered to
e-transfer her first month’s rent. He declined, saying he wasn’t set up to
accept e-transfers, a lie, but of course, she didn’t know that. They agreed
informally that the apartment was hers if she wanted it, but he was making it
as easy as possible for her to change her mind.
On Boxing Day,
Lizzy Monroe, her daughter Jenn, and Toby, the Carstairs’ Yorkshire terrier, arrived
unannounced to help with the repairs to the apartment. She was wearing
coveralls under her winter coat and came with a cheque for their first month’s
rent. He was committed. He’d have tenants again, starting on January 15th.
After his
previous tenants trashed the place and skipped out owing him a month’s rent, he
was reluctant to take on new residents. She may be more reliable, but she could
become a problem for another reason. She was older, much nearer his own age,
and so enthusiastic about her new apartment. He could ignore university student
tenants, but Lizzie and her adorable daughter were likely to worm their way
into his life. He didn’t want new people in his life and didn’t need the rent
money. So why was he doing this?
Glen unlocked
the apartment door.
“You’ve been
busy,” Lizzie said as she skipped into the apartment. Jenn in her snowsuit and
Toby the Yorkie in a red doggie coat with a white collar went straight to the
backyard to cavort in the snow.
Glen smiled
despite his apprehension. Everyone had secrets—at least, he knew he did and figured others must have them. Her
behaviour suggested that Lizzie did, and her secrets must involve her
enthusiasm about her new apartment. It wasn’t such a wonderful apartment, and
it was his problem to make it livable. Why else would she be here, ready to
muck in and help?
“Making good
progress,” he said, while pointing across the large open space they’d just
entered to three separate rooms—a bathroom and two bedrooms, at the back. “I’ve
replaced the broken mirror, installed a more powerful ceiling fan, and
repainted the entire bathroom. The two bedrooms were in better shape. I’ve
filled and sanded gouges and holes in the walls. They’re ready for a little
touch-up paint unless, of course, you want to change the colours.”
“Sounds great
and the colours are fine. What about this room?” She asked before doing a few
pirouettes with her arms extended. “I still can’t believe how huge it is. And
so bright!”
“Still
working on filling the larger holes. So, more filling, more sanding, and then
painting the fresh Pollyfilla.”
“You can fill
and sand. I’ll paint. If we make like busy beavers, we’ll be done by evening.”
Lizzy, Jenn, and Toby returned on
Sunday, January 4, in a van packed with furniture and other stuff. Jenn and
Toby disappeared into Glen’s backyard, and Lizzie nodded at the stuff in the
van. “All my worldly possessions. Well, almost all. Jenn’s bed at the Carstairs
is ours and a few small things, but basically this is it.”
“And the
van?” Glen asked.
“Borrowed,
and I have to take it right back.”
“Okay. Then
unloading this should be job one. Down the path to your front door and then
through the apartment to the basement area at the back. After we complete
last-minute repairs in each room, we can move the stuff to its final resting
place.”
“Last minute
repairs? I thought everything was perfect when we left last week.”
“If it meets
your approval, we can pass on any more touching up, but there’s dust
everywhere, and I’ve been using the big room as a furniture repair shop.”
Half an hour
later, when Lizzie left to return the van, Glen thought about the stilted
conversation they’d had while they unloaded the van. He lived alone, and he was
happiest when he was alone, but he had no trouble engaging in conversations. That
he couldn’t conduct an easygoing conversation with his tenant-to-be spoke to
his trepidation. It had to be more than his concerns about another
tenant-from-hell who’d trash the place before skipping out on the rent. It
suggested a desire for friendship, but was he ready to consider that, and what
sort of friendship?
So his
personal trepidation could have a bright side, but his fear of the broader
impact of ‘the great disruptor’ as they moved into 2026 had no light at the end
of the tunnel. From the National Security Strategy to the kidnapping of Maduro,
to threats about taking over Greenland, to weaponizing tariffs, and the Board
of Peace, nothing looked safe.
So, as he
waited for Lizzie to return, he reconsidered his ideas about the future he
faced at the beginning of the new year, shifting from one centred on his
personal trepidations to one focused on his fear of the geopolitical chaos
facing everyone, everywhere.
***
The Spot Writers:
Val
Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine
A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com
Phil
Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/
Chiara
De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/
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