MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “mystery”

Swimming counter-current

©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

He entered the swimming pool area a couple of hours ahead of the competition and the other contestants.

There was a strange tranquillity in the still waters and the silence. Everything was ready, preparing for a festival, excitement, cheering and action.

But, he remained calm. His breathing rhythm had not increased a single beat. As if he didn’t care.

It was the biggest race of his life so far, yet he remained motionless, unaffected by it all. The only thing he could not shake off was that something wrong was about to happen.

He later wished he had been wrong.

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Suspicious clues

©Dale Rogerson

There were three clues that raised Mrs Harris’ suspicions that night. Firstly, the whole town was snowed-in for two days. That would have been almost “normal” had it not been the middle of April. Then, when the snowplow finally passed through, it was accompanied by the police, firemen and an ambulance. They all had their sirens off.

In fact, the entire town was plunged into silence that night.

The third thing that was out-of-place was a black garbage bag, tightly sealed and thrown out of the opposite window right on to the packed snow.

And then a power cut occurred.

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Road Trip

©MCD

It was still dark outside when the suitcase was pulled out from under the bed. A change of clothes and some basic toiletries were thrown hastily inside and the zip closed.

The dream had woken him almost in shock. It was as if something was calling him there.

In his sleep he had seen a puppy, a months-old dog that had found him by chance when he was staying for a while at his uncle’s farm. They bonded in a way that seemed karmic. And then, just two days before his rural stay ended, his four-legged friend disappeared. The sadness that had overwhelmed him made him not want to return to that farm since.

Until today. Now something was pulling him there.

There was no time to dwell on the thought. The impulse was enough to get him going.

It was a drive that lasted almost all through sunrise to sunset.

It was a lonely road trip, dominated by scenic valley views, week-old snow and lots of fog. Driving through the mist, he arrived at the farmhouse with his heart pounding. He hadn’t told his uncle he arrived. He was ecstatic with the surprise.

But someone else was even happier. Jumping up and down next to the horses and wagging its tail rapidly with joy.

It was a grown dog now. And he remembered. Because when it’s meant to be, it lasts a lifetime.

The mended glass door

©Dale Rogerson

There was only one room in the house that was forbidden. In fact, he had never seen anyone trespass it.

It was the first thing anyone who would stay there for a night or more would be “advised”. To “avoid the mended glass door”.

No explanations were given. They were considered superfluous.

Ben was the only boy who dared break the rules. He was considered a “problematic” child, one tormented by inner demons crated by the unhealthy environment in which he was raised.

His lifestyle was reckless because he had nothing to lose.

Not even when he opened the door.

Where a bridge could lead

under-bridge

©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

It was under the rubble of an old bridge that it all started. A bright rainbow-filled day that followed a rainy all-nighter. The clear, still water under the bridge reflected their smiling, still shy, faces.

No-one ever really knows what they’re getting themselves into.

At first sight it was all ideal. It was a meeting dominated by charm, delight, humour and those sneaky butterflies that roam around in your stomach when you’re super excited about something.

Intuition was asleep. Or, like us all, wasn’t sure about where all this would lead.

A bridge, though, is symbolic. It joins two parts.

 

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The tenant of the clock

jhc-clock

©J Hardy Carroll

It was a present from the global travels of a great uncle. It was a gift passed down each generation. It was one that carried the history of its owners with it.

It was finely crafted and had an essence of another era. It stood out in every home it was placed. But that was its point after all: to remind you that you should stand out of the crowd.

One night in its new location, a faint scratching woke everyone up. It wasn’t the clock ticking.

It was something hiding inside the clock-tower: a tiny kitten seeking a home.

 

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A vintage outfit

©MCD

©MCD

The rattling outside his window in the middle of the night did not wake him. Nor did the scratching of the metal on the pavement disturb his sleep. He paid no attention whatsoever to the movement on his front yard at the break of dawn.

But when he woke, he found it there. Right outside his garage door.

It was just as he imagined it would be. Light brown with silver, red, blue and yellow lines and a green and gold rim round the wheels.

A motorcycle with a sidecar.

It was vintage but he had always dreamed of one. He even knew the little-known fact that “a motorcycle with a sidecar is sometimes called a combination, an outfit, a rig or a hack”.

In his head, he was already racing in the countryside with the “outfit”, among green trees and pick-nick perfect valleys. Driving like in those old movies he used to watch, and hoping he wouldn’t hit a tree and split from his other half.

But… he lacked the company. The one to sit in his sidecar.

Just at that moment, someone made their presence felt.

A gentle bark and a wagging of its fury tail as it approached was all he needed to persuade him to let his fleece-golden Labrador be his sidekick in this new adventure.

Reflecting feelings

nathan-sowers-dawn-millers-friend

©Nathan Sowers

It was the only thing left over from the yard sale. And she didn’t understand why. If she could afford it, it would have been the first thing she would spend her money on. It was plain and “normal”, but sometimes what looks simple is more than that. Plus, it definitely had a story. It must have. Nothing so “ordinary” was every what it appeared to be.

As the sun set, she found herself mesmerised by it. The clear reflection of the garden shed had captured her attention.

Or perhaps it was the flickering light that appeared at its window.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

 

Mystery Eggs

https://www.preparedpantryblog.com/the-best-way-to-color-easter-eggs/It appeared suddenly when he was a child. Ever since he could remember, it was present. Every Easter Sunday, it would leave two Easter eggs by his bed, resulting in that he would always awake with enthusiasm that morning and a smile that rejuvenated his entire existence. As he got older, he tried to uncover who the Easter Bunny – or maybe Duck, or whatever other animal it may have been – was. But it was not easy. It wasn’t his parents. Nor his grandparents. So who was it? No matter how much he stalked and staked out or tried to stay awake, he would fail in finding out who the mystery Easter-deliver came from.

It was an exhilarating and at the same time exciting tradition.

When it was his turn to become a parent, the eggs didn’t stop coming. They just switched destination and now appeared at his children’s bedsides.

He never found out who the source was; but he certainly cherished the fact that it revived in him a sense of gratitude and desire to do more for his fellow citizens who may not be as lucky as he. Easter, after all, was a time to cherish that we’re alive and to be grateful; to resurrect the life we hide inside and to gather the strength to carry on.

The thrill of a parcel

http://www.chopra.com/sites/default/files/field/image/8giftsthatfosterkindnessandcompassion.jpgThere is something inexplicably intriguing with finding a parcel in the post addressed to you. Even if you know what is in it and you’re expecting it, you’re always filled with excitement at the mere sight of it. But when it comes as a surprise, a flood of enthusiasm fills your inside.

Tina found the parcel around noon. She had just returned from work and was looking forward to lying on the couch for the next couple of hours doing nothing, perhaps even dozing off a little. It was a medium-sized brown box. It could contain pretty much anything. But what was in it? And who was it from?

Tina examined it from all sides, but she couldn’t find an answer.

She took it into her flat and began to investigate how she could open it the fastest without causing too much damage to it. She took a scissors and ripped the packing tape holding the two box sides together. Inside was another package. This time in the form of a black-and-white paper envelope. She ripped it open to find a pair of purple woollen mittens.

Tina could barely contain her delight. Mittens for her meant one thing: snow. And as a December child, she loved this delicate white blanket that made everything seem all so magical.

In between the mittens was a small handwritten festive card. Tina read it and began to jump up and down with exhilaration. It was clear whom it was from and she couldn’t wait.

The card said, “are you ready!?

 

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