The Sighting

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this cycle is a significant arrival.

 

Along with several short story collections, books of poetry, and two novels, Cathy has published three anthologies under her imprint, MacKenzie Publishing. The latest one is titled NO ONE SHOULD KISS A FROG, available on Amazon and other retailers—300 pages of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry by 75 authors around the world.  She also has a call out for submissions for another anthology to be published in 2024, to be titled SUCH A LOSS. Contact SuchALossAnthology@gmail.com for submission guidelines.

 

Cathy continues with Melvin, a character she’s soon going to put to rest...

 

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The Sighting

by Catherine A. MacKenzie

 

“Wow, there she is...”

“Who, Mel?”

Melvin turned from the window. “What? Uh...nothing. Just a cloud in the sky.”

“Don’t do that to me again. You scare the crap out of me when you blurt weird things out of the blue.”

Melvin glanced at his wife. “Really? Did I blurt?” He thought he’d whispered. How in the world could Marie have heard?

“Yes, really. And who did you see?”

“Just a cloud, I said. A cloud that reminded me of someone.”

“Who, I said? Who did the cloud remind you of?”

“Oh, no one in particular. Just a woman.”

“A woman?” Marie peered at him.

Melvin faced the window. “No one, Marie.” What had he gotten into? Why had he mentioned a woman? He sighed. “Looked a bit like Cindy Day if you must know. You know, the woman who used to do the weather on our news. The meteorologist.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I’m going to start dinner. You think about Day. And night. And clouds.”

He watched her go. In one of her huffy moods, he thought. Women! Can’t live with them; can’t live without them.

Should he go down to the lake? It was cold out. Minus two Celsius. With the wind off the lake, it would be even colder. But it would be worth it if Kailani was there.

“I’m going to check on the cabin, Marie.” He donned his coat, hoping she wouldn’t pry any further.

As his luck would have it, he heard her footsteps coming toward him. “Why are you going down there now? It’s freezing out.”

He remained as he was, facing the door. His escape. “Just wanna make sure the cabin is okay.  You know how the door sometimes doesn’t latch properly.” He slipped on his boots and was out of the house before Marie could add another word.

He shoved his gloved hands into his pockets. The wind whipped across his face. Was that a raindrop on his cheek? Nah, can’t be. Too cold for rain. Wasn’t hard enough for hail. No flakes of snow.

The bitter wind rustled through the trees. The odd sounds coming from the trees to his left as he trekked down the path were more than disconcerting. Almost like voices: blathering, whispering. Reminded him of Marie and her incessant nattering. He half expected several trees to uproot themselves and walk alongside him—or nosey Marie to appear...

“This better be worth it,” he mumbled, glancing at the sky. Where was the “cloud”? It hadn’t been a cloud—that was the thing. It truly looked like Kailani flying high in his kayak. His Blue Origin. Even as far away as she was, he saw the blue. His blue!

Where was she now? He didn’t see anything in the clouds that remotely resembled a mermaid or a fairy or a kayak. She must’ve landed, he thought. She’s down at the shore, waiting impatiently for me. He smiled and quickened his pace.

The shoreline was deserted. The lake was deserted. Every sane person warm in their abodes, he thought. Just stupid me here, hoping—praying—for my love.

Wait—what was that? A flash of blue appeared above him with a great whoosh! A magic poof...

And then: he couldn’t see. A smoke-like substance surrounded him.

He spread his arms, reaching for something. Anything...

“Kailani? You there?”

“It’s me, Melvin. I’m coming down!”

When the haze cleared, he almost pissed his pants.

His kayak—yep, his!—landed on the sand several feet from where he stood.

He could feel his heart rate increase. The pummelling against his chest. “Where have you been all this time, Kailani? I think of you all the time. You’re never here.”

“Melvin, I’m always here. I’m the whisper in the trees. The sand between your toes. The rain upon your cheek.”

He remained rooted, unable to move. “Really?” He thought of his trek down to the lake. The sounds from the trees. The sensation of something on his cheek.

She flitted about, more like a fairy at that moment than a mermaid. Kailani of many talents: flying through the air, swimming in the water. Stealing his kayak!

At that thought, despite his feelings for her, his blood boiled. “Who said you could steal my kayak, Kailani?”

“What? Me!”

“Yes, you.” He pointed. “It’s right there.”

“It’s your imagination, Mel.”

“It is not! There it is.” He pointed again. “Right beside you.”

“Calm down, Mel. I—”

“Don’t call me ‘Mel.’ Only Marie can call me that.”

Kailani stepped back.

He enjoyed the distressed look on her face. The shock. Then the anger. The bulge of her eyes. All of which lasted mere seconds until her expression changed to one of neutrality.

She had no right! No one takes his Blue Origin without his permission.

“Melvin, I’m done with you. Done!” She twirled in the air, resembling a ballerina on land, and then ascended, up and up, twisting like a cyclone gone mad.

He watched in fascination.

But he was done, too. Time to move on. “Bye, Kailani.”

He turned to head home. No! My kayak. I need to rescue my kayak!

He whipped around.

No blue kayak. No kayak at all.

No Kailani, either.

What! Had a drop hit his cheek? He touched his face, but his gloved fingers couldn’t tell if there was anything there. He glanced at his feet. Wearing his heavy boots, there’d be no sand between his toes. He listened intently. Did he hear a whisper in the trees behind him? His hearing wasn’t the best—not that he’d ever admit that to Marie—so, no, that wasn’t a good test.

He sighed. “I think I’ve done it now,” he mumbled.

He trudged up the path to the house.

Always tomorrow, he thought. “Yep,” he muttered, “always tomorrow.” Despite losing his cool, he wasn’t done with Kailani yet. And he was certain she wasn’t done with him.

 

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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/