Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to picture prompts. We are limited to 300 words each. I am still working on my National Novel Writing Month story. It’s a contemporary set in an allegedly haunted house. Our heroine and her dog, along with her friend, have been in the house and experienced some creepy stuff. Sorry I am limited to 300 words so you might be lost here. 🙂

Be sure to check out the other tales here.

“We’re going to go to that coffee shop I saw on our way here. We’re going to eat breakfast and think about all this. There has to be an explanation.”

Sophronia had never seen Alice this way in all the years she’d known her. She was clearly rattled by the events of the day—as well as the banging noises that were about to send Sophronia into orbit—but Alice was nothing if not logical. She would want all this to make sense when all Sophronia wanted was to sit in that turreted room with the flashlight and study that book. Without the sound effects and snake, of course.

Downstairs, Haydn finally appeared to relax. He followed them to Alice’s car in silence. Sophronia was glad he at least wasn’t looking at her as if he was afraid of her—or for her.

She made a point of kneeling by him at the car and patting him. “Good boy. You did well in there. You’re my sweetie. I love you.” She snuggled against his huge head and held him for a few moments.

“If you’re done messing with that creature, let’s go eat. I’m starving.” Alice slid into the driver’s seat as Sophronia opened the door to let Haydn hop in.

As they drove away, she peeked over her shoulder to see if she saw anyone in the window as she had to day before. No one. Only the feeling she needed to stay behind with the book lingered.

They each ordered a breakfast sandwich at the cafe with Alice getting a chai tea and Sophronia a large black coffee and a bottle of water to pour in Haydn’s travel bowl.

Tis time for Tuesday Tales again. I have left the Christmas story for now and am working on my 12th NaNoWrimo story. It is called Sophronia. The name comes from my great-grandmother on my maternal line- she was my grandfather’s mother and died about three years before I was born. I always loved her name so decided to use it for this book. Our word we’re writing to this week is shoe.

Check out the other tales here

At the top of the stairs, Sophronia screeched to a halt. Her door was ajar.

She stopped so fast, Alice ran right into her. “What’s wrong?”

Sophronia stepped aside and pointed. “I left that closed and locked.”

“Let me go in first.”

“Shouldn’t we call the police? Let them check the inside in case whoever it was is still inside?”

“If someone was in there, don’t you think Haydn would be going nuts? I think it’s safe.” Alice looked down at the dog. “See? He’s still only interested in a snack.”

If she’d been home alone, Sophronia never would have agreed to this, but since her pet seemed content—other than impatient for his treat—and Alice was there, she shrugged. “All right, but I’ve got my phone in my hand.” She dialed 911, but didn’t push send. “If I see anything amiss, I’m calling for help.”

“Run first, okay?” Alice said.

“Got it.” The more she thought about it, the safer Sophronia felt. They’d been on the tiny landing for a few moments now and if anyone was still inside, they would’ve heard them by now. Hopefully.

Alice pushed the door open with her shoe.

Haydn galloped in without a second’s hesitation.

Sophronia followed behind the two of them praying that no one was inside with a gun ready to defend themselves from the return of the homeowner.

The place was basically one room and a bathroom. No one was in the main part of the apartment. Alice tiptoed to the bathroom and pushed the door in with her shoulder.

“No one.” She turned back to Sophronia. “Anything missing?”

Sophronia glanced around. The place was immaculate—other than some dog hair the Roomba hadn’t gotten yet.  “I don’t see anything out of place. Maybe I didn’t lock the door after all and the wind blew it open.”

“That’s crazy. Someone had to have been here. Let’s look in your drawers. See if they’ve been disturbed.”

The dresser drawers did show someone had rifled through them. Sophronia’s neatly arranged sock and under garment drawer had been tossed.

She moved to her desk. The papers on top had been slightly shuffled. She also noticed her laptop had been opened and moved slightly to one side. “Good thing that’s encrypted. Whoever it was probably tried to get in. Wonder why they didn’t take it.”

“Trying to be subtle, I guess. I’m glad you aren’t staying here tonight.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt fly. I am still working on the Regency Christmas story.

Be sure to check out the other tales here

Before the door opened, a cawing sound made Charles look up. A group of ravens flew over his head before soaring off into the sky. “Is it a bad omen for that kind of bird to fly almost into you?” He asked himself aloud before turning to walk away.  The black birds could not bode well for the conversation ahead of him. Better it had been doves or bluebirds but it was the wrong season for seeing those in the city.

He was too late to make his escape as he heard the door creaked open behind him. Sighing, Charles turned.

An elderly lady stood staring at him with a frown and a scowl. “How can I help you?”

Charles resisted the urge to ask her why she was being abrupt and behaving as if she had been inconvenienced by his rapping at her door. Instead, he turned on his charm. The one thing that never let him down. “Good day, lovely lady. I’m looking for my friend, Mr. Pettifer. I am given to understand he resides here.” Charles leaned on the door jamb and gave his best flirtatious smile. “Lucky fellow if he does. To have such a kind, gentle landlady.”

The lady in question blushed but frowned even deeper. “Are you trying to flatter me, sir?”

“Of course I am not. I always remark on a lady’s loveliness. I cannot help myself. Ask Mr. Pettifer if you do not trust me.”

She opened the door wider. “I am sure Mr. Pettifer would agree with anything you asked of him. Most all of his acquaintances are as bold as you. Singularly annoying.” She swept her arm to the side to allow him entry. “The parlor is on the left. First door. I’ll send for him to come down.”

Charles followed her inside and watched as she instructed a small, dark-haired maid to fetch George.

The moment of truth was upon him.

Time for Tuesday Tales. This week, the authors are writing to the word prompt Multiply. I had to use the plural to get it to work in my tale. I hope my tale isn’t too preachy, but the hero is talking to a priest. 🙂

Check out the other tales here.

“No one is unforgivable in the eyes of the Lord. All you have to do is earnestly repent and you can find peace.”

Charles could repent of some of his deeds, such as what he did to Lady Cavanaugh when she was not yet married, but his biggest sin in the eyes of the church as well as the law, he could not repent as he would surely sin again in this lifetime. If he ever got over the loss of the love of his life. How does one repent when one is not sorry?  Of course, he could not share that with the priest. “I lost the love of my life.”

“Was it in some way your fault?” The priest’s voice was tender and kind.

“Oh, no. Not at all.”

“Then why feel you are not worthy of forgiveness?”

“At the time of the death, I was so distraught, I tried to harm someone.”

“And did you succeed?” Nothing in the priest’s demeanor suggested he was disgusted with Charles which was a relief.

“No. I was stopped in time, but the person has not forgotten and every time I think about what I did, I am ashamed. I come here to walk the cemetery where my beloved is buried to try to ease my guilt.”

“Your victim likely will not forget—depending on what happened—but have you asked forgiveness from this person?”

Charles nodded. “I have, but it is still awkward.”

“I imagine it will be for a while, but eventually, it will abate. How long ago did it happen?”

“Last spring.”

The priest glanced down at the floor and back up. “It may be too soon for relations to return to normal. Give it time.”

“What about my sense of loss with the death of my beloved? I don’t know how to let the love go.”

“You needn’t let it go. Tuck it away in your heart and you will find it always with you. Love does not change merely because the person is not here on this plane any longer. I am sure you will find love again. You do not need to let one go to find happiness again. Love multiplies. It truly does. Would you like me to pray with you about the things we have discussed?”

Charles, feeling a bit like he was deceiving the priest, nodded his acquiescence and bowed his head.

Time for Tuesday Tales again. I am working on the never ending story- the Regency Christmas story. I chose the picture of a dog (it looks spring, but my tale is winter). .

Check out the other tales here.

The cold air continued to pierce through Charles’ greatcoat but he was determined to check on George. It really was unforgivable of him not to have at least sent a messenger to let George know he was concerned. Determined to confess why he had not done anything since that night, but not knowing how to put it into words, Charles focused on anything besides the upcoming conversation.

“What to name that dog. Yes. That is a way to occupy my mind before arriving at George’s rooms.”

A young girl carrying a basket passed by and cast a quick look at him as if he was not sane as he walked along talking to himself. She sped up and moved along as if she were being chased by a person intent on doing her harm.

Truth be told, he did sometimes feel as if he were one step away from Bedlam. He shuddered. Not from the cold but from the very real possibility of ending up there.

Think about the dog, think about the dog, think about the dog.

Charles tipped his hat to two men walking in the opposite direction and tucked his gloved hand quickly back into his pocket. Maybe I should have stayed with the dog in front of the fire rather than coming on this fool’s errand.

He walked on, increasing his pace and hoping George’s landlady had a nice blaze burning in the grate in her drawing room.

In a few more moments—too fast for his peace of mind—he was at the door to his friend’s lodgings. He sucked in a deep breath and knocked.

This week the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt brown. I am still writing the book that will never end. Sorry it published early. My crazy WordPress got ahead of my setting the timer. 🙂

Check out the other tales here

Charles looked down at the animal. “Come on, Dog.  Let’s get this over with.”

To his surprise, the creature followed him as if he knew where he was going. In fact, the animal reached the front door before Charles and even before the butler opened it.

The butler, Masterson, wrinkled his nose at the dog and glanced from Charles to the animal and back. “What is thins, sir?”

“It’s a dog, Masterson. Have you never seen one before?” Charles laughed at the expression on his butler’s face. The man’s brow as furrowed over his brown eyes so tightly it might have been a caterpillar before the chrysalis phase. All hairy and fuzzy.

Charles suppressed his laughter as it would not do to have Masterson’s dignity insulted. He could tease the man a bit, but he would never want to cause offense. After all, they had only been together since Charles bought the house in town earlier in the year.

“Is the creature to come inside then, sir?”

“Of course. Of course, for you see, I have adopted him. He was a pitiful sight abandoned on the street and I could not leave him there to starve or die of exposure to the elements.” Charles nodded in order to get Masterson to agree with him that he had done the correct thing in saving the animal. “You understand, right?”

“Yes, sir. I do, but would it not be better to take him to the stable to have a bathe and feeding there? It is warm and dry, as you are aware.”

“This dog is going to be my companion. He will live in the house. I have no objection to hi having a bath, but he will be safely ensconced in my quarters when I return from an errand I must undertake at this moment. Do you understand?” Charles realized in that moment that he needed a companion in the worst possible way. He had been too lonely since the death of his beloved. He had almost forgotten what it was like to care for someone else. Furry or not.

“Yes, sir. I meant no disrespect.” Masterson’s face reddened at the censure.

“I know, Masterson. I am in a hurry and I did not mean any harm. I want the dog to have been fed and bathed when I return. That is all I meant.”

Masterson nodded as if he understood, but Charles could see he had wounded the man’s pride.

As he turned to leave to walk to George’s house in the still frigid air, he vowed to try to be kinder to his servants. He was still getting used to being the one in charge of the household. Being the younger son of an earl had not prepared him for such. His army career made him even less likely to know how to run a home. Sleeping in tents in sometimes muddy fields was not the way to learn management of a London residence.