Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt run. I’m taking a break from the story I’ve been sharing as I started a new story for National Novel Writing Month. This is the beginning of book three of a series I’ve been working on that are all unpublished as of now. The protagonist has the gift of seeing and speaking to spirits. I used a form of the word run.

check on the other tales here.

A deep quiet floated on the air under the dense fog hanging down in the predawn darkness. Lula Mae Haverstock didn’t usually venture out at this time of the morning. Working twelve hours shifts from three p.m. to three a.m. usually saw her cuddled up in bed once she arrived home and settled in from her work day. But today was different. She’d been awakened by a spirit at her bedside letting her know there was someone in danger who needed her assistance. This wasn’t unusual—well the spirt part wasn’t—after all, she was able to communicate with the dead. What was unusual was she didn’t normally have the spirits invade her home. 

This time, it was a gentleman named George Barkley. He was sort of a neighbor. If you could call someone who drowned himself in 1854 a neighbor. 

Startled awake by him, Lu immediately pulled on her jeans and sneakers. She didn’t waste time taking off her nightgown. She pulled a puffer jacket over it and grabbed her phone.  Once she was ready, she made her way out the back door and toward the bay. The same bay where George committed suicide after some financial setbacks. 

He led the way across Bayfront Parkway, moving much swifter than she could since she still had mortal feet and had to watch for whatever traffic might be out this time of day. 

As soon as she was over the seawall, she saw the person floating in the water. 

“Geez. It’s got to be thirty degrees out here. I have no choice do I, George?”

“Sorry, Miss Haverstock. I do not think so. I know how this goes. Best to hurry.”

She threw off the jacket. It would need to stay dry. 

Running toward the water, she dove in, hoping for the best. The icy water nearly took her breath away but she swam out to the body face down in the little bit of waves formed by the wind whipping over the water. 

The water was cold enough that there was a slight chance the woman could still be resuscitated. Cold helped the body’s organs from completely shutting down.  No way to know how long the woman had been out here, but she was pretty sure George moved swiftly since he spent a lot of his time here in the water as well as the house he built looking over the bay. He was buried at St. Michael’s cemetery but liked to hang around the house and the scene of his death. He sure loved his home. 

Lu dragged the body toward the shore. When she was able to get the woman clear of the water and flip her over, she realized it was actually a young man. All the long brown hair floating around him like seaweed had resulted in her missing that fact.