Today’s writing prompt and my response.
Day four of this week’s challenge! The tale begins here.
Picture prompt – mouse – see below
Miriam couldn’t sleep. The warm, sticky August night suggested a pending storm. She shoved her pillow this way and that, pushed off her cotton blanket, wriggled into a cooler space in the hot bed. For the first time, she was grateful she no longer shared her bed. A little grateful anyway. Thoughts of her sweet husband, dead these five years, made her even more restless.
Finally, in the wee hours, Miriam sat up and, without turning on a light, slipped her summer dressing gown and slippers on and went downstairs.
A cup of tea was what she needed. And then back to bed. She was about to turn the kitchen light on when the side of Dorothy’s garden shed caught her eye, faintly lit by moonlight. Just for an instance, before the moon disappeared behind louring clouds.
The shed, the blue plastic. They were the reasons Miriam couldn’t sleep, not the heavy air.
She walked to the back door, unlocked and opened it, stepped outside from darkness into darkness. There was enough light from distant street lamps for her to cross the grass and lean again on the fence. She peered at the gap in the wall, at the tell tale dark bump which showed the blue plastic was still there.
It was too much. Like a thief in her own home, Miriam went to her own garden shed, scrabbled around for the short ladder and brought it back to the fence. His house remained in darkness. She climbed the ladder, hitched her nightie and dressing gown up and scrambled down the other side. She stopped there, silent and still. Two steps to the wall. She grabbed at the plastic, tugged. It came away with a jerk, large and heavy in her hand, and Miriam cried out, her legs scrabbling for purchase. She grabbed at the branches of the dying bush, steadied herself, peered at the house. Had He heard? For an age she stood there, sweaty with the heat and effort. A dog barked, too far away for her to worry. The house remained dark.
Miriam hefted the blue plastic bag she’d torn from the wall, took the two steps back to the fence and gently dropped it to the ground in her garden. A pile of old stones gave her enough height to haul herself to the top of the fence, swing around most inelegantly, and drop down after the blue plastic.
She bent to pick the bag up. It moved. Miriam jumped back. Nothing in there could be alive, not after all this time. Perhaps she should leave it, at least until daylight. The bag lay still now. She’d imagined the movement, it was erratic moonlight, shadows playing games with her.
She bent again. No movement. But she wouldn’t take it into the house. The shed was a better idea.
Five minutes later, Miriam was in her kitchen, lights on, boiling the kettle. The tea helped, but she only dozed, waking to a wet morning, still humid. Rain poured all day, and Miriam found herself reluctant to explore the contents of the blue bag. But when the storm passed in the late afternoon, her curiosity returned with a vengeance.
She threw on her summer mac, wellies, and squelched through puddles down to the shed. She opened the door, and gasped.
‘Come in, come in!’ a high voice beckoned her. ‘Taken me all day, but I’ve finally got this place just the way I like it.’
(Read Day 5 here)
Follow the daily writing prompt on Facebook or Instagram.
Find Cheryl’s flash fiction and short stories here!