Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt, lamp. I am working on the Halloween plantation story.

Check out the other tales here

“You got that right,” Monte said.

I stepped carefully onto the porch and, avoiding the holes I could see, made it almost to the door without a mishap. Except it was pretty dark the closer I got to the entryway. I had a flashlight but it had dimmed significantly since we’d gotten out of the car. Almost as if something was draining the batteries.

A crunching sound under my left foot brought me to an abrupt halt.

Jacques bumped into me. “What the hell, Annika? You can’t just stop mid-stride like that.”

“Watch me. It was either that or lose a foot in this hole that opened up under me.”

“Good grief. Be careful. Why aren’t you pointing your flashlight down to avoid the hazards?”

I shook my light. The batteries rattled around. “It’s dead.”

“I thought you said you put in new batteries before we left New Orleans,” Monte said.

“I did. Size Ds even. They aren’t cheap either. I’m pretty peeved they’re already dead.”

“Let’s get inside. Then we can light that kerosene lamp I brought. Step gently aside and let me shine my flashlight to lead the way.” Jacques turned his on just as another screech rent the air.

“I swear that’s a damn panther. Let’s get inside. People are afraid of ghosts but I’m afraid of big cats.” Monte put his hand on my back. “Move it, Annika.”

“Careful. I don’t want to leave part of my leg out here. Or lose my sneaker in this rotten piece of wood.”

“That panther might decide your whole body is a tasty snack.” Monte pulled me toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Jacques turned the knob. “It’s definitely dark in here. No electric is on.”

“How did they refinish the floors you said were done in the parlors if they didn’t have electricity?” I asked.

“Generators. But they don’t leave them out here when they aren’t working.”

“Huh. You’d think your friend would’ve arranged for us to borrow one,” Monte said.

“He offered but I said no. I wanted to experience the place as it was when the slave revolt took place. Remember, I’m researching this for a book. Publish or perish is the mantra us university professors must live by.”

“That’s all well and good, my friend, but nowhere in that mantra does it say you have to sit in the dark on the edge of a creepy swamp with gators and panthers wanting to make you their prey.”

“Don’t forget the ghosts, Monte. It’s like the lions, tigers and bears from the Wizard of Oz except it’s gators, panthers and ghosties, oh my,” I said.

“Very funny, Annika. How ‘bout you go outside and call for the critters? See how fast you run to safety.” Monte crossed his arms and scowled at me.