Mrs Coby knocked on the door is a writing prompt from my current work in progress, as yet untitled. The section it comes from is shown below. The story is a sequel to River Witch and a dual timeline – having fun with that!
There is no word from Aaron today. As there has been no word since Hester received his letter from The Royal Oak two weeks ago.
She digs her trowel around a dandelion and drops the plant into a basket along with others.
Mrs Coby knocked on the door this morning complaining of a bloated stomach and no particular reason for her discomfort, such as her monthly course. Hester gave her the last of the roasted dandelion roots with instructions for an infusion to be taken twice a day. She hadn’t realised her stock was so low, hence this foraging along the lane by the cottage.
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MRS COBY KNOCKED ON THE DOOR
Mrs Coby knocked on the door.
“Who’s there?” Hardly a civil tone from her next-door neighbour, but she was used to that.
“It’s me, Mr Smudge, Mrs Coby, I’ve brought you some scones.”
“Go away, I don’t want any of your scones. They taste like cardboard.”
Mrs Coby sighed and left the box at his front door.
A cantankerous old man who had lived his entire life alone, Mrs Coby knew that Mr Smudge would wait until she departed before opening the door, peeking intently in all directions to see if anyone was watching, and then quickly take the box of proffered scones inside.
It was the same routine every time she turned up with an offering at his front door – be it muffins, scones, cakes, or some other tasty morsel.
Sometimes, Mrs Coby wondered why she bothered. She never received any thanks for her efforts and was the only person in the village to even have anything to do with him.
Everyone else gave Mr Smudge a wide berth. If they saw him at the local shops, many of the villagers would cross to the other side of the street rather than having to encounter his irritable temper.
Apart from anything else, his appearance was dreadful. Hair long and unkempt, unshaven, clothes looking like they had never been washed, toes protruding from worn out shoes – and the smell. Like he had never bathed in his entire life.
Ah well, mused Mrs Coby. He might be an undeserving recipient, but she was a kindly soul who never thought harshly of anybody, no matter how badly behaved they might be.
After all, Mr Smudge had no one else to care for him, so the least she could do was take some food to him so he didn’t starve or become ill from not eating properly.
With that in mind, Mrs Coby started preparing her next offering – this time a lovely chocolate cake.
She had just placed the mixture in the oven to bake and returned to the sink to wash the bowls she had used, when she smelled smoke.
Turning, she noticed thick black fumes pouring from the oven and flames licking hungrily at the rangehood above.
Her quick reactions in pouring water on the fire only appeared to make it worse. God, why hadn’t she invested in a fire extinguisher when she had the chance.
The flames were really starting to take hold and pungent smoke totally obscured her vision. Mrs Corby was struggling to breathe as she reached for tea towels – anything – to try and extinguish the fire.
“No! No! Please make it stop!” With a final, strangled splutter, Mrs Corby collapsed unconscious on the kitchen floor.
“Mrs Corby. Mrs Corby. Are you in there?” A frantic cry and a figure trying valiantly to brave the flames and reach the prostrate figure he could just make out through the intense heat and smoke.
Mrs Corby awoke to find herself on a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance.
“Wh..where am I?” she cried as her memory of recent events slowly returned. She looked at the burnt-out shell of her home and burst into tears.
“It’s all right Mrs Corby, you are safe.” The paramedic sounded reassuring.
“B..but, how did I get here? The last thing I remember was the kitchen on fire and trying to quell the flames.”
“Your nice neighbour saved you. Rushed into your house to pull you out.”
“Mr Smudge? B..but how did he, could he?”
“Apparently he saw the flames from his lounge room window and, realising what was happening, raced out to rescue you,” the paramedic explained.
“Oh, my goodness.” Mrs Corby again burst into tears.
“Where is he? I want to thank him.”
“He’s just over there. We are treating him for burns to his arms and legs but he’ll be alright.”
Mrs Corby lay back on the stretcher and, despite all the recent trauma, couldn’t help but smile.
There is a god after all, she thought.