Jillian Chantal

Welcome to Tuesday Tales. This week’s word prompt is narrow. I am working on my NaNo story and the heroine has just tried to visit a crime scene. Her love interest, who is also a detective with the police department has called her in this scene about her jaunt to the crime scene. His nickname for her is Mick as when they first met, she was wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt.

Check out the other tales here

As soon as she greeted the caller, Malcolm said, “I hear you’re up to your usual habit of annoying Detective Morgan.” He spoke with a laugh in his voice so she didn’t get offended at his words. She knew he didn’t like the man as much as she didn’t, but he had to work with him.

“You know what’s weird?”

“Good Lord, Mick. What a thing to ask me. When it comes to you, there are so many things that are weird it’s hard to narrow it down unless I have some context.”

“Very funny. What I was going to say is that I was just making a move to call you and find out why this lady’s fall down the stairs isn’t your case since you were at the autopsy and then my phone rang and it’s you. I call that weird.”

“I don’t. You had to know Morgan would call me to complain about you and that I’d have to reach out, as chief detective, to warn you officially not to interfere with his investigation, so your phone ringing shouldn’t have been a surprise.”

“So that what this is then? An official call?”

“Just so I can say I did it.” He sneezed. “I presume you and our friend the general were wanting to go in and inspect the crime scene? How’d you think you’d manage that?  Knock on the door and ask the husband to show you were he killed his wife?”

“You keep sneezing. Are you getting sick?”

“You’re deflecting, Nurse Haverstock. I’m asking a legitimate question. We’re you going to enter the house of a man suspected of violently murdering a woman with only a dead former president to witness this debacle? What if you’d been hurt? How would anyone know you’d put yourself into such a situation?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Nope. That’s your biggest flaw, Lu. You plunge in, head first, not even thinking about the next move and what consequences could come into play. It worries me.”

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 This is the beginning of book three of a series I’ve been working on that are all unpublished as of now.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. 

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt scary. Happy Halloween!!

Check out the other tales here

I moved toward Jacques’ voice wondering what had him sounding so freaked out.

When I turned the corner, I saw him kneeling down with his hand on the floor.

Since it was still so dark, I couldn’t really tell what he was doing. “What’s happening? Where’s Monte?” I asked.

Jacques looked up at me, his face white enough for me to see in the dim light. He appeared to be shell-shocked. Or at least how I pictured someone who suffered from that as looking.

“He’s not here. Gone.”

“Gone where?”

Jacques shrugged. “No clue but there appears to be a puddle of blood here.  Come see.”

This was scary. “What do you mean blood? Are you touching it?” Horror seized me by the throat. I couldn’t swallow. “What is happening?” I took a step back. Not sure I wanted to go forward at all.

“I touched it to see what it was. It’s thick like blood or like melted chocolate. It’s hard to tell exactly what it is in the dark, but is smells metallic and not like cocoa.” Jacques held his hand out. “Come over here and check it out.”

“Shouldn’t we be calling the police? If Monte is hurt and missing, we need assistance in finding him and getting him some help.” A thought seized hold of my brain. “I saw a huge shadow outside a few minutes ago. I wonder if that was someone determined to hurt us. It’s pretty deserted in this area. What if some criminal was hiding out here and we disturbed their lair?”

“I don’t think that’s the situation. My friend who arranged for us to be here has a crew working in the house all week. He’d know if there was anyone hanging around. He wouldn’t send us into danger.” Jacques stood, his knees creaking in the silence between us. Eerily, the rain had stopped and a hush spread over the house.

“I don’t like this. We need to call someone to come help us find Monte.” I didn’t want to get near that puddle of blood. It was freaking me out. There was a lot of it and I was sure Monte had to be hurt really badly to have lost so much. This was not what I wanted to have happen this evening. I thought this would be a fun and eventful learning experience about the old plantation. I wasn’t anticipating one of my friends getting injured or disappearing.

“We have to go outside and look for him.” I turned toward the door. “At least it’s stopped raining.”

“I think you’re right about calling the police.” Jacques hesitated. “And probably an ambulance. This doesn’t look good. Nope. Not good at all.”

This week, the authors are writing to a picture prompt. I chose the one with the moon. I am still working on my spooky story.

Check out the other tales here.

I hung back to wait for the crash and made my way more cautiously, being sure to look out for that step that almost got me earlier when the unseen hands rescued me.

To my surprise, Jacques made it safely to the bottom floor. I was pretty much right behind him by then and, at the moment my left foot hit the bottom step, another huge clap of thunder rattled the windows.

While Jacques headed toward the door to the room where we left Monte, I waked over to the window to peek out at the rain to see how hard it was still coming down. It seemed to have eased off for now but I wanted to check anyway. I also wasn’t; sure I wanted to be in the room while Jacques berated Monte for what he thought might be some sort of gag. I hate drama between my friends. It reminds me of growing up in a house full of people who don’t like, much less love each other. Best to avoid that kind of confrontation.

I leaned close to peer out at the inky black sky. Would that it looked like it had last night with the moon close to full and shining down, giving off beautiful light in the sky. Tonight, it was as if there was no moon at all. Some clouds scudded by, but they still looked as full of rain as they did when we first heard the storm.

I was about to turn away when I saw something dark and massive run past the window, toward the side of the house where we hadn’t been yet.  At the same moment, Jacques yelled, in a strangled screech I’d never heard come from him before, “Get in here, Annika. Now.”