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
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| 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/
