So I Have Decided To Branch Out And Expand My Writing Horizons. I Have Been Inspired To Write Historical

So I have decided to branch out and expand my writing horizons. I have been inspired to write historical fiction, but I have no idea how to research. If anyone has any ideas about where to find info on 1930s immigration to the US or the life of a 1930s immigrant the US, I would be very thankful.

Myrtle’s Cove

Good day, good evening, good night everybody I hope everyone who is reading this is having a very good time. Before we get into the story that I am very excited for I have to apologize. When I began this blog many months ago I originally planned to upload a new short story at least every month if not every two week. But life never exactly goes as planned. School started and debate season and swimming season took up most of my time. The rest of my time was rapidly absorbed by my longer wip which I am very excited to share with you all once the first draft is done. Anyone I hope that winter break will give me the time I need to prepare some more content for you all. And without further ado I present to you 

Myrtle’s Cove

13k words

Historical~ish Fantasy

The sand was rough, that’s true. Clouds blanketed the sky casting everything in a grayish glow. Drops of water sprayed from the waves every few minutes, covering Myrtle's face in their cold salty embrace. Still even though it was a bit gloomy Myrtle wouldn’t give this up for anything. Hidden from the rest of the world by the rocky cliffs that covered the rest of the shore this was her home away from what should have been her home. This was her safe place. This was her cove. The only thing Myrtle wished was that she could stay here forever. Collecting pretty shells and sea glass, away from the world. But her wish could never come true, even though she wished it extra hard today.

For the few hours that Myrtle managed to steal from her day she could be whoever she wanted at the cove. Laughing and shouting loudly, knowing no one could hear her. Every so often stopping to pick something she saw glittering half buried in sand. It seemed like the cove held hundreds of possibilities that Myrtle could enjoy. Myrtle was happy. But only for a moment.

Seeing that the sun was starting to appear on the horizon Myrtle knew that it was time to go. She walked to the back of her cove and retrieved her basket and shoes. Taking some time to deposit the new treasures she had found along the shore in her basket, Myrtle started the trek back up the cliff and into reality. Stopping only once when she was back up the cliff to wipe all incriminating grains of sand from the new black dress that she wore.

The walk back to town was a somber one. With every step she took the weight of her life seemed heavier and heavier upon Myrtle’s shoulders. Until when she was finally in sight main street and her back had returned to it’s usually curved posture, all the energy and life she had on the shore drained away. The spring in her step replaced by a slow methodical shuffle, which got slower and slower the closer she got to her destination.

Footprints stood out in the mud around Myrtle’s house. Though it had rained the day before and it seemed like everyone in town had come, and those who didn’t sent a card. Giving Myrtle and her family their deepest sympathies, even though no one bothered to ask if she had wanted them. Hoping that her absence had been unnoticed Myrtle went around the back. The door was open, it always was. Though a shrill voice immediately called out to her from the kitchen when she stepped into the house. Myrtle didn’t know what she wanted sometimes. Would it be better if they hadn’t noticed she was gone, if her family had gone on with it’s new normal without her. Years of them not really paying her much mind had solidified it in her mind that them noticing her was what she was after. But it seemed like the only reason that they didn’t just let her do whatever is because they needed Myrtle to do something for them. This time was no different.

“Myrtle Mae come here this instant!” her mother called from the kitchen.

Myrtle, resigned to her fate, removed her shoes and left them in the mud room, knowing how much trouble she would be in if she tracking something in and left stains on the rug. Though hearing her mother’s tone it looked like she was already in trouble. Myrtle had to go through the living room to get to the kitchen and who should she find lounging on the sofa like he had no care in the world but her older brother. Who even though had been taking a break from university to come visit was still reading one of his textbooks. Though Myrtle didn’t blame him for that. Books were to him like the cove was to Myrtle, a temporary escape from all that weighed down on him. The only difference was that he could escape with their mother knowing, and no one alive could know about Myrtle’s frequent visits to the cove. 

Trying to push all thoughts of where she had been out of her mind as she entered the kitchen, Myrtle hoped that she had the right expression on her face. Caught doing something that she wasn’t supposed to do, but not too guilty. If she walked in looking too guilty Myrtle’s mother might think to look on her shoes, and seeing the grains of sand mixed with mud she would know exactly where Myrtle had gone. So this encounter with her mother was crucial, Myrtle had to act like she had acted dozens of times before. Although this time may be different, seeing as all the other times Myrtle had had her grandfather standing by her side, and now he was gone. Of Myrtle wished that they didn’t need to have this encounter at all. But for the life of her she couldn’t imagine her life without the cove. She had tried it many times before but never could she make it stick. It seemed that no matter how iron her resolve Myrtle always left a part of herself at the cove, and she was always dispirit to get it back.

“Yes mother?” Myrtle asked as she came into the kitchen to see her mother standing by an open refrigerator, arms crossed, a look of annoyance on her face. Myrtle’s tone was intentionally fake innocent, if she acted too well her mother might get suspicious. But if she came out and told a lie about where she had been her mother would know that she was not telling the truth. The line was thin, but Myrtle had years of reluctant experience walking it.

“We are out of eggs, Myrtle Mae,” her mother said, in a tone that told Myrtle all she needed to know. It was her job to go get new eggs every couple of days and she had neglected it, that was clear. Her job and she had failed. It seemed no matter how hard Myrtle tried to be the perfect daughter she ended up failing her mother in one way or another. The conversation would eventually turn to Myrtle going to the market to buy new eggs, but first they had to address where Myrtle had been.

“I went to your bedroom to tell you Myrtle Mae,” her mother continued, “But you were not there. Nor were you in the dining room, nor the living room, nor the kitchen. In fact you were not in the house at all. Would you be so kind as you tell me where you were, and do not lie to me Myrtle Mae I can tell when you are lying.”

That’s what you think, Myrtle thought to herself, then hated herself for thinking so. It wasn’t her mother’s fault that she thought that,the blame fell squarely on Myrtle’s deceitful shoulders. She had been lying to her mother for years, and still she could count the number of times she got caught in one hand, a talent for lying was just one of the many things Myrtle hated liking about herself, “I was just out for a walk.”

Her mother’s scowl grew deeper, “Your lying Myrtle Mae! I told you I could tell. You were with that boy again weren’t you!”

Myrtle bowed her head in response and her mother took her silence for a confirmation. Her mother always thought that she was with “that boy” and Myrtle let her believe it. She didn’t want to worry her mother with the truth, at least that was what she had always told herself. In truth there was no boy, there had only been and always would be the cove. But Myrtle had learned that the best way for her to lie was to let her mother believe something else. Telling her mother that she was on a walk over and over again would just make her suspicious. But being with a boy, that was scandalous, that was something that she should try to hide. The year before Myrtle had actually tried to get a boy, to make her lie into a truth. That was when an idea that had long flitted in Myrtle’s mind cemented into something concrete and woeful. There would never be a boy, because no boy would want her. All she had was her family, and one of them was gone. So Myrtle let her believe that there was a boy in town that she smitten with, it was easier for both of them than the truth. 

Myrtle’s mother’s anger subsided a little bit, “Oh I know it must be hard for you Myrtle Mae, but you have no idea what it’s been like for me. With both your father and grandfather dead I have had to sacrifice so much for this family. Oh how they look down upon us. When your father went into the ocean and never came back, I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

Myrtle had to stifle a cry of frustration. Who was she to try to escape anything when her life was so good. But her poor mother had to support them all. And even with all her sacrifice Myrtle still couldn’t manage to buy eggs when she was supposed to. Myrtle tried and tried to be better, but seemed like it was her fate to fall short.

This was not a commentary about her father however. What followed next was a long talk about how much she had to work to support not only her and Myrtle but her brother and his studies as well. And oh hard it is for her, how she didn’t plan for this to happen, how much she wished for her husband to be here. Myrtle listened to all of this with rapt attention, trying to cement all of her mother’s woes into her head.  Week after week Myrtle had heard this speech, but still it didn’t seem to really matter to her. Even though Myrtle had it memorized it still failed in its intended effect.Especially now after the funeral, every time Myrtle had thought that something was too difficult or had broken a plate her mother had to remind her of the truth of the situation. Myrtle’s woes were nothing compared to what her mother went through, Myrtle had nothing to complain about.  That Myrtle should be more appreciative of all her mother did for her. And in a way she was, Myrtle did know all her mother did for the family, but she couldn’t stop her rebellious mind from thinking that things were hard for her as well.

Once her mother was finished Myrtle was back outside, this time through the front door. With money in her pocket and an empty basket in her hand Myrtle headed to market, happy to be out of the house at least for a little while. The roads were dirt for the first part of Myrtle's walk with only the occasional evergreen to break up the monotony.  And it was only when she reached the paved main street did she allow herself to think of how much mud she would have to wipe off of her shoes. 

The market was what people called the ever changing series of stalls that stood in the town square. If someone’s chicken had an unusual amount of eggs they would get a stall in the square and sell the extras, just bought another cow and now you have too much milk you sell it in square. Even Myrtle had sold something in the square. Every Valentine's Day her and her grandfather would gather all of the best flowers they could find in the woods and make bouquets. And for the next month and half Myrtle would have pocket money enough to buy some pastries from the bakery. Tears came to Myrtle’s eyes as she realized that last year was the last time she would have done that. But she quickly brushed them aside as someone came up to speak to her.

It turns out that they just wanted to offer condolences, the next person was the same, the next person also the same. Every person at the market seemed to want to tell Myrtle how sorry they were for her loss. To tell her that they were available if she ever wanted to talk. One person even told Myrtle that if her mother was struggling with money, that they could give them some money. Myrtle took all these offers in stride. Politely declining, but telling them thanks all the less. These were the same people who ignored me just two weeks ago, Myrtle thought as she finally reached the stall she was there for after some delay, and now they would let me live in their house. Something about that entire situation just screamed irony to Myrtle.

Even though most people sold eggs one day or another, there was just one person Myrtle loved to buy from. Mrs. Tout was a widow about the age her grandfather would be if he was still alive and she came to the market every few months to sell her overabundance of eggs for cheap. With shoulder length white hair and metal framed glasses. No matter when Myrtle was at her stall it seemed like she always had a kind word or a joke for her. It seemed almost fate-like that she would be here when Myrtle needed cheering up the most. 

“Myrtle I’ve been expecting you,” she said with all the cadence and glamour of a roadside fortune teller.

In spite of herself Myrtle laughed, even though she knew this was all a show she decided to play along. If nothing else it would cheer her up, “Have you suddenly become a prophet since the last time I saw you a few months ago?”

This time it was Mrs. Tout’s turn to laugh, a rich warm sound that seemed to resonate from her and into Myrtle making her forget her misery, “Nothing so grand Myrtle I just know how long eggs last. Anyway enough about the future, how many eggs. The usual dozen and a half.”

As she spoke she gestured to the many eggs laid out on the stall. Speckled ones, brown ones, and just plain white ones, Mrs. Tout always had a variety. If some people were cat ladies then Mrs. Tout was a chicken lady. All around her fenced in yard roamed chickens and roosters of every shape and variety. She even let her favorite ones into the house. But she wasn't very practical because even though she sold most of their eggs she couldn’t bear to eat any of them. So she let them live out their lives and held a tearful funeral when one perished. Myrtle couldn’t count the number of tiny gravestones in the woods behind Mrs. Tout’s house.

Myrtle shook her head, and the smile that had formed on her face left it suddenly, “No only a dozen, our biggest egg eater isn’t here anymore.”

Mrs. Tout didn’t offer her condolences, or tell Myrtle that everything was going to be okay. Instead she told her a story.

“Yes I remember when your grandfather and I were younger. Everyone would see him come and go from my house at all hours. Even my own husband thought that we were having an affair. Really he just bought eggs,” Mrs. Tout laughed, “But imagine us trying to explain that to everyone.”

Myrtle chuckled, but paid for the eggs and made sure they were secure in her basket before heading home. As much as she wished she could stay there and chat about all the fun things her grandfather had done she needed to be heading home. If her mother thought that she was dautleing even a little bit in the market then she would think that Myrtle’s supposed “boy” was becoming a distraction. She may try to find out who the boy was, and finding nobody she would know where Myrtle was really spending all of her free time. And Myrtle couldn’t for her mother to find out about the cove. So Myrtle hurried home, fast as her black mary janes would carry her. 

Even though Myrtle wanted to be home quickly she didn’t run or even jog , just walked faster than she normally would. Not only because  she didn’t want to jostle the fragile cargo in her basket, but because she didn’t want to give people another reason to stare at her. Unlike the adults in the village kids her own age didn’t readily step forward to offer their sincerest sympathies. Even before the funeral they left her alone. But now they saw her black hair, black mourners clothes, and pale face and something about her entire appearance uneased them. As Myrtle briskly walked home they stopped their street games and chatter as she passed, but Myrtle had learned not to mind. Her grandfather had always said not to dwell on her isolation, the only thing she needed was herself. But she had never really internalized that as much as she thought she had, Myrtle realized after he had passed, the only person that she thought she needed was her grandfather and now that Myrtle only had herself she couldn’t help but feel alone. 

As she walked back home through the familiar path passing all the familiar trees and bushes Myrtle’s mind wandered to the basket worth of new trinkets that she had let in the mudroom. Even though a shred of shame of having collected them in the first place ran through her. After she deposited the eggs in the ice box Myrtle was looking forward to putting all of them away. Thinking they are pretty half buried in sand in the cove was something different than really examining them in the safety of her bedroom. Myrtle always loved discovering something that she hadn’t noticed before. Even though she would never admit it to anyone this activity was what drove Myrtle through her days. Aside from actually going to the cove, this was the only thing that she looked forward to anymore. 

Myrtle got home without incident, but when she was finished putting her muddy shoes away and she didn’t hear anyone calling for her she smiled. Being constantly needed by her mother was both a blessing and a curse. And when she could manage it Myrtle loved the time she could spend alone, even if she always worked extra hard to make up for her pleasure afterwards.  A quick check of the living room and the kitchen confirmed her suspicions. No one was home, Myrtle smiled, this meant that she had free reign of the place and she intended to use this opportunity. First she put the eggs away and got started on lunch. When her mother and brother did get back they would be expecting food, and Myrtle knew she couldn’t afford to slip again today. She didn’t want to see the disappointment and repulsion in her mother’s eyes if she saw that Myrtle messed up something again. Preparing some soup wasn’t hard, in fact thanks to everyone being so generous lately Myrtle had more ingredients than usual to work with. Once a pot of fragrant soup was being kept warm on a low stove Myrtle retrieved her beach basket from the mud room and went upstairs. 

Knowing that being caught wasn’t an option Myrtle first checked her brother’s room. The dust that had collected on the wooden floors when he had been at university had disappeared, and the dresser that was usually left empty was full of clothes. But for the moment the room was empty, and once she checked her mother’s room as well and found it similarly free of its occupant did she finally go into her own bedroom and lock the door behind her. Even though her mother had the key to the lock, it still felt good. Like she was shutting out the rest of the world from her space. And besides Myrtle had a key of her own.

Myrtle had inherited her grandfather’s love of all things ocean and her room reflected that. Wall painted blue and curtains that depicted a nautical setting defined the space as strictly Myrtle’s and she loved being in here. Diving under her wrought iron framed bed (which similarly had a blue bedspread) Myrtle pulled out a chest. In a pirate lair maybe the chest wouldn’t have looked out of place with it’s bronze fastening and water-warped wood but here in a small seaside town it did look a little out of place. Myrtle remembered when her grandfather had given it to her, and he had spun her the story of how he had come to acquire it. 

Being only seven at the time Myrtle had sat on his knee entranced at the story, “This happened during my time on the Wave’s Bounty. My buddy Liam was captain, but I had a more important job,”

“You were first mate!” Myrtle said excitedly, after hearing so many stories from his time as a sailor Myrtle could almost taste the seawater when he told her tales, “You managed everything on ship. All of the other guys respected you and Liam always came to you for advice.”

Her grandfather laughed, “My, my, Mae it’s almost as if I’ve told you this before or something.”

Myrtle joined her grandfather and her high child laughed mixed with his rough elderly one as they shared in the joke. Eventually though her grandfather wiped the tears out of his eyes and continued, “Yes, I was first mate. Now even though we were a humble trading ship pirates roamed the sea from here to the continent, so we were all prepared to be attacked at any moment.”

“Yeah,” Myrtle interjected again, not being able to hide her excitement, “And you all carried swords, and Liam had a pistol, and once when you were a cabin boy, you defeated a pirate captain with nothing but a broom!”

Her grandfather had rubbed his grey beard thoughtfully, “Well I’m not sure that it was a pirate captain. More like a pirate wizard! That dastardly fellow could call up storms that could swallow boats whole, just like a siren.”

“Whoa!” Myrtle said, knowing that the story was a bit embellished, but still being very, very impressed, “What’s a siren?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older. Now back to the tale at hand,” he said, clearing his throat to continue, “Right we all knew that pirates could be anywhere so on a drizzly day, when night was just beginning to fall when the spotter spotted a black ship with a skull flag we all knew what was coming.”

Myrtle gasped, “A skull flag! But doesn’t that mean..”

Her grandfather had nodded gravely, and the story that had seemed so fun to Myrtle a minute ago taking a scarier turn, “Yes, this ship was a part of BloodBeard’s legion.”

Myrtle wrapped her arms around her grandfather, because to a child especially one that was fed with a new pirate story at least once a week BloodBeard was something to be afraid of, “He didn’t really bite people’s ears off did he?”

“No he did. That’s why he was called BloodBeard because the flesh and blood of his victims got caught in his beard staining it a deep red,” said her grandfather, patting her on the back while he told her, “Though you don’t have to be worried about him. One day I’ll tell you the story of how he died, though today is not the day.”

Myrtle relaxed a little, “So was the ship that was coming his ship?”

Her grandfather had laughed abruptly, “No, no if it was his ship we all would have been on the deck praying for mercy. No it was just one of his enforcers. A chap that called himself SoulEater, though his real name was Micheal.”

Myrtle laughed in spite of herself. Seeing her grandfather calm down helped her terror quite a bit, “Why did he call himself SoulEater?”

“Because when you hang out with the likes of BloodBeard and SteelTeeth, you have to distinguish yourself. And no one is going to run in terror from Micheal,” he explained, “Anyway we knew who was coming, so we got ready. The cannons were manned, Liam was on the top deck pistol at the ready, and the rest of us had drawn our swords.”

Myrtle was on the edge of her seat, literally her grandfather had to stop her from falling off his knee. But when the battle started Myrtle was as still and silent as a ghost, “They boarded and it was like a wave of black clad enemies splashed onto our ship. The mist made it hard to see, but that didn’t stop me. I must have dispatched five, no ten within the first few minutes. But then I heard the gunshots that had been raining down from Liam’s hand suddenly stop and I looked up. SoulEater had Liam on the robes, and he had taken his pistol.”

Myrtle gasped, “No, not his pistol!”

“Yes his pistol,” her grandfather continued after a pause, “I knew that if Liam fell that it would all be over, so I raced up there not caring about the danger and confronted the bastard myself. He tried to shoot me, but the ocean herself must have been watching out for me because he was out of bullets. Abandoning the pistol SoulEater leaped upon me with his serrated blade, and I counter with my short sword. We fought. Metal clashed. Rain mixed with the blood that oozed out of our wounds. I was fighting with tooth and nail, while he was leisurely batting away my every attack. If not for the rain he could have killed me with ease, and he almost did.  I would have died, and with no regrets if not for Liam. Quietly as a mouse he had picked up his pistol and reloaded it. One shot to the back and SoulEater was no more.”

“Hurrah,” Myrtle cheered, happy that the story had a happy ending, “But grandpa, how did you get the chest?”

Her grandfather stroked his beard thoughtfully, “Oh yes, yes the chest. We defeated the rest of the pirates and boarded their ship. We found that chest in SoulEater quarters chock full of gold and other treasures.”

“Did you get to keep the gold.”

“No, no Myrtle we gave all of the spoils to the proper authorities once we reached port. But by some magic some of the gold transported itself into our pockets,” Myrtle laughed and her grandfather acted bewildered. As if completely stumped as to how gold had ended up in his pocket, “I used that gold to buy the very house we’re sitting in. And I took the chest home with me and since when they found it, it contained no gold the authorities let me keep, as a spoil of the battle.”

He had told her the story ten years ago, and it was still fresh in Myrtle’s mind. As were all of his tales. When Myrtle looked at the weather beaten chest she could almost hear the clashing of swords, and see the skull flag atop the pirate ship. Her grandfather had been a master storyteller. Even years later each tale was as vivid and fresh in Myrtle’s mind as when she heard it. Unlike many of the other memories of her grandfather this one didn’t bring tears to Myrtle’s eyes. Just a nice warm sense deep in her soul. 

Using a key that she kept tucked into the bodice of her dress Myrtle opened the chest with a creak. Even though it had used to contain gold, Myrtle thought that what she filled the chest with was as much of a treasure as what the pirates had kept in there. Sea shells, smooth sea glass, and any other pretty knickknack she found while combing the shore, they all ended up in her chest. And each once came with a memory. On just the top of the pile of knick knacks was a shell that Myrtle remembered quite vividly. 

It was just after her brother had been accepted into university, and realizing that he would be gone left Myrtle with mixed feelings. On one hand he was her only sibling and even though he was no grandfather, she felt like she could talk to him. On the other hand her mother had a habit of comparing her two children and usually Fredrick came up on top. With him gone maybe Myrtle could stop the deplorable feelings of jealousy from worming their way into her mind. On that day Myrtle had gone to the cove to sort all of those feelings out, and had returned with a few shells and better mindset. 

As she looked upon her treasures Myrtle spotted many memories encased within shells and glass. Like the time her mother had rightfully denied her food for an entire day because she had forgotten to wash the rugs. Or when her grandfather took her brother to the city and left her all alone with no one but her mother and herself for an entire weekend. Her entire life seemed to be captured in this chest, and Myrtle was adding to it every week. 

From her basket Myrtle picked without looking and smiled when she saw what was in her hand. A simple shell piece, full with jagged edges, ribbed a bit but otherwise ordinary. Myrtle hadn’t been sure by she picked it up in the hazy light of the cove it looked like just a regular beige shell, but in her bedroom it came to life. Turning it this way and that Myrtle saw that it was iridescent and showed her beautiful colors when she held it up to the light. And what Myrtle thought were ridges were really deep scores and scratches that crisscrossed the entire shell. Myrtle saw it’s jagged edges and combined with the scratches reasoned that it must have broken off a larger shell. Maybe it was a fight, Myrtle imagined, completely lost in the story this one shell held, a big undersea battle. Her daydream turned vivid and by the time Myrtle but the shell piece away in her chest she had choreographed exactly what had happened. Sharks were involved, obviously, but also the narwhals that roamed the northern waters. Her mind even added some of the most vicious sea monsters her grandfather had told her about. 

Myrtle did this with each and every thing she had collected. Imagining the far off and exciting places they must have come from. Pitying them a bit, because from Myrtle’s perspective fate must have been cruel for them to wash up unknown in Myrtle’s bland slice of the world. Still she didn’t get sad, the stories she envisioned lifted her spirits tenfold. And for a while she could forget her life, her struggles, and just live in the reality these little things had brought to her. 

Eventually though all good things had to end. Half an hour after she had first opened the chest she heard the door open, and the tell tale steps of her mother, and assumed her brother was home as well. So even though there were still items in the basket yet to be put away Myrtle locked up the chest and stowed all of her things beneath her bed. Pausing only to straighten herself up in her mirror before going downstairs to inquire as to where they gone, and if they needed anything. 

Evidently her mother was home, but her brother wasn’t. Fredrick was nowhere to be found, but her mother didn’t sound worried. In her words. 

“Fredrick hasn’t been home since summer break, he has people he needs to catch up with.”

Myrtle wasn’t disappointed that she didn’t get any praise for buying more eggs, but she wasn’t surprised. In her mother’s world there was no praise when things were done, just punishments when things weren’t. The only praise Myrtle told herself that she needed was her mother eating a bowl of the soup she had made. Her walks to the cove and village had left Myrtle hungry, especially because she hadn’t eaten breakfast, though she didn’t dare touch any of the soup. Myrtle knew that as the youngest in the house it would be disrespectful of her to eat before her elders. So even if her brother came back at dusk, Myrtle wouldn’t be able to eat until he had his fill. As Myrtle watched her mother eat she willed her brother to get home quick so she herself could have a bowl.

Luckily Myrtle got to eat before sunset because just a few minutes after her mother started on her soup she her brother returned from wherever he was. Myrtle didn’t even wait for him to come into the kitchen before she dished him up a bowl of soup. Fredrick was very happy when he got home and immediately got handed some food but not as happy as Myrtle was when he finished. Her hunger having grown watching her family eat the food she made Myrtle started devouring the food. Though she must have been eating a bit too loudly because after just half a bowl her mother stopped talking to her brother and instead turned her attention towards Myrtle. 

“Myrtle Mae did I raise you in the woods,” she scolded, and Myrtle tried to work out if she could look apologetic while still eating, “Honestly, why can’t you be more like you brother. Did you see Fredrick slurping like he hasn’t even heard of etiquette. No he ate his food normally. I shouldn’t be able to hear you when you eat. It is an insult to the food that I provide for you.”

Knowing that this was deserved, but still being very hungry Myrtle willed her scolding to be brief. So Myrtle listened to her mother’s impromptu speech about manners and how she should be more like Fredrick, silence. Not really processing her mother’s words, so great was her hunger. Basically tuning it all out until a familiar name snapped her out of her stupor.

“Your grandfather would be rolling around in his grave if he heard you eat like this,” her mother said, trying to make Myrtle feel as guilty as possible, “You disgrace his memory by ignoring you manners Myrtle Mae.”

“Grandfather ate even louder than I did!” Myrtle couldn’t help but say, though she regretted it the moment the words left her mouth. Not only was it disrespectful to contradict her mother, it was exceptionally rude because she was right. Myrtle had just enough to flinch before she got what was coming to her. 

She was out of her chair and on the floor of the dining room. Cheek smarting, and her mother looming over her looking much taller and ominous than she usually did. Fredrick was sitting in his chair a not even looking at Myrtle as if she hadn’t just been slapped out of her chair.

“Never, I mean never, speak back to me Myrtle Mae,” her mother sneered, “I am your mother, you will treat me with respect. Now I want you in your room right now Myrtle Mae. And you will stay there until I think you have learned your lesson.”

Without or word of protest or even a glance at Fredrick for help Myrtle left the dining room and headed up the stairs. Even though a dozen come backs awaited on her lips, like asking her brother for help she had long learned that they were ineffectual. Instead Myrtle laid on her bed, trying to sleep but knowing that she couldn’t. Usually she didn’t talk back to her mother, but when she did she wouldn’t be let out of her bedroom at least for hours. On some occasions she had been trapped in here for a day and a half, though Myrtle prayed that her mom would cool off a bit in a few hours. If her mother did leave her in there for the entire day she was prepared. There were some snacks hidden in her dresser for this very situation so Myrtle wouldn’t starve, though hunger wasn’t what consumed her thoughts right there and then. Even though she told herself that her mother’s opinion of her didn’t matter, Myrtle still could never stop the tears from flowing every time she slapped her. And this time was no different. As she tried to wipe away her pain with a handkerchief Myrtle decided to remember one of her grandfather’s stores. The memory would undoubtedly cheer her up. 

Myrtle had been thirteen years old and even though she had grown out of sitting on her grandfather’s lap she still loved listening to his tales. This one had started when one of the kids at school had called her siren, and then seeing as she had no idea what they meant had called her stupid. But at that point Myrtle hadn’t been listening, she had been remembering that her grandfather had mentioned sirens in several of his tales. Though he had never elaborated, always saying that he would tell her some other time. Myrtle had decided that the time had come for him to finally tell her so as soon as school let out she had raced home. Determined not to go to bed before knowing about sirens. 

When she told him what had happened and demanded to know what sirens were he had gone silent. Myrtle, who had been expecting protest and “I couldn’t possiblys” was rather disappointed. She had been looking forward to protesting and pleading her case. Instead her grandfather had looked a bit scared. His body had frozen and his eyes trembled with some unseen fear. Eventually though he calmed down enough for Myrtle to lead him to the sofa, and try to rescind her demand.

“It’s okay grandpa you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Myrtle had said, feeling very bad about the fact that she had put him through some pain.

“No, no that’s not it,” he had said quickly, patting a spot on the sofa where Myrtle could sit down, “You just surprised me is all Mae, of course I’ll tell you.”

Feelings of remorse temporarily abandoned Myrtle had sat down eagerly and waiting for the tale to begin. 

“Now I’ll get to the specifics in a bit but first let me tell you about the first time I laid eyes on a siren, “He began, his voice taking on the weight and depth it always did when he told Myrtle a story, “It had been a bad journey. The Waves Bounty had been caught in three storms and the rest of the time the wind had been perfectly still. So when we were not fearing for our lives and our cargo being thrashed by fifty foot waves we were bored out of our skulls sitting dead in the water. And not only that but the storms had blown us off course and the lack of wind had left us two weeks behind schedule. Already this was a perfect way to maximize misery, but combine all that with the fact that we were starving.”

“But I thought that you said the ship always had extra rations in case something like that happened,” Myrtle protested, “Shouldn’t you have had enough food.”

“Yes but we had exhausted all of the extra rations the week before when we had all got the sea fever, “ he had explained, “So not only were we living off of nothing but hard tack, barnacles, and barrel scrapings we were also recovering from an illness.”

“Now the only reason I’m telling you this is to illustrate why I doubted myself when I first saw the siren,” he explained, “I was tired, hungry, and bored out of my skull, it was enough to make any man see stories. But when I rubbed my eyes and looked back along the sea it was still there.”

Myrtle couldn’t hold herself back anymore, “But what did you see grandpa! What did it look like!”

“At first I saw it’s hair. Long and dark like my wife’s was, then it got closer and I saw it’s skin, Tanned and shining like it spent it’s days in the sun, then I saw it’s face. Despite some of the myths it had a face like you and me, and despite some of the other myths it wasn’t some beautiful temptress. It scared sadness it's eyes, though joy and freedom were also there in great amounts. The moment I looked it’s it’s eyes, I envied it. I had never seen a creature more content and free. I was almost about to call out to it when Liam pulled me up by the back of my collar.” 

Her grandfather’s laugh was infectious and even though Myrtle didn’t get the joke she found herself laughing along with him.

“Can you believe that Mae,” he told her, “Me a seasoned sailor about to jump ship at the sight of a siren. Anyway once I explained that no I wasn’t suicidal and pointed out the siren the others could see her as well. Lucky for me because that meant that I hadn’t gone mad. The siren stayed by the side of our ship for weeks, only to disappear the moment we got to port. Liam and the others reasoned that she must have been some sort of mass hallucination, but I knew the truth. The creature we had seen was as real as I was. There was no faking the freedom in her eyes, or the way that she swam through the ocean without a care in the world.”

“Wow, grandpa,” Myrtle had gasped, hearing the solemness and conviction in her grandfather’s tone, “Are all sirens as free as the one you saw?”

He stroked his beard thoughtfully as if Myrtle had just given him a particularly hard crossword, “I would think so. You see Mae sirens aren’t born, and they aren’t created, they choose. If someone gives themselves up fully to the ocean they become a siren. The ocean takes their legs and gives them a tail, replaces their sorrow with wonder, and their fears with freedom. I never saw another siren ever again, but I would be my beard that all of them are as free as the one who almost got me to jump into the ocean.”

That was the end of that tale, but Myrtle heard a lot more about sirens after that. One kid at her school said that they ate the brains of people who wandered into their lairs. Another girl said they all had bird beaks and drank blood. But no matter how many legends Myrtle heard about sirens, the one thing that stuck with her was what her grandfather had told her. That they were free.

As Myrtle lay on her bed her mind wandered again and again to sirens. She imagined what she would do if she fell asleep and woke up in the ocean with a tale. One thing is for certain, Myrtle thought feeling the light from her window grow ever dimmer, I wouldn’t come back here. That thought stayed in her mind no matter how much she tried to chase it out. No matter how much she told herself about how wonderful her life was, and that if she simply tried harder her mother would never had warrant to hit her again that thought stayed in her mind. In her heart Myrtle knew though she refused to accept it, that she would give anything to be anyone but herself.

Apparently Myrtle’s mother had thought that it would take her some time to learn about respect and manners because she didn’t come to let Myrtle out of her bedroom until well into the morning the next day. And even then it was only because they needed someone to make breakfast. By that time Myrtle imagined that she had been as bored and hungry as her grandfather was in his siren story. Though she had nibbled on some of the snacks that she had hidden in her dresser. Even so when Myrtle’s mother opened the door and demanded that she make breakfast she didn’t even blink before jumping off of her bed and launching into her prepared apology.

Bowing her head, Myrtle began, “Please forgive me mother. I disrespected you and I disrespect the food that you work for. I know now that grandfather would be disappointed in me. I thought long and hard about his memory and knew that if he were here he would tell me to act better. If not for his sake then for yours.”

After taking a moment to judge the sincerity of her apology her mother nodded her head, the symbol in her family that the apology was accepted. Without another word on respect and manners her mother told Myrtle that she should hurry and make breakfast. Knowing that it would be better not to push the subject Myrtle simply went downstairs and made a mental note to refill her snack stash. Fredrick wasn’t in his customary place reading on the living room couch so Myrtle assumed that he must still be asleep. Though if she was still sleeping at this time of morning her mother would have sure given her an earful. 

By the time Myrtle was done making a simple breakfast of oatmeal and coffee Frederick was awake, though barely. He was nodding off in his elbow as she served his food in the dining room. Despite his weariness he finished his bowl rather quickly and thanked Myrtle when she served him another one. 

“No problem,” Myrtle said to this, making sure to smile extra wide for she knew she should try to get into her older brother’s good graces if she really was going to do what she wanted to do.

The time finally came for Myrtle to execute the plan that she had been wishing about for months when her mother finally finished her oatmeal and left the dining room. Quickly, but not too quickly, Myrtle served herself a bowl and began eating leisurely. Though she could have swallowed the entire pot then and there given that she hadn’t eaten since the previous day. Myrtle tried to look casual as she ate. Staring lazily out the window and upon the scratches on the antique dining table. Knowing that if she didn’t ask then and there then she would never, Myrtle asked the question that had been coloring her daydreams for months.

“Hey, Fred,” she said, using the nickname in the hopes that it would make him feel closer to her, “Could I come visit you down at university some time.”

Immediately he perked up and smiled which lifted Myrtle’s spirits considerably, “Really I would have thought that it would be too boring for you. How long would you visit anyway, don’t you have school?”

“Just for a week or two,” though Myrtle hoped that it could be much longer than that, “And university is not boring, I can learn stuff that I’ll never learn in school there. And besides I thought that it might be good to get out of the house for a change.”

Another laughed raised Myrtle’s hopes, though what her brother actually said dropped her mood considerably, “Myrtle the stuff at university is too advanced for you to really learn anything. And besides a week is way too long, I don’t want to have to look after you for that long. And another thing. Mother said that she is constantly having to send you to your room, and just yesterday you were out with a boy when you should have been here.”

By this time Fredrick had finished his oatmeal and had risen from the table. Though he stopped to lovingly pat Myrtle on the head before leaving.

“Your place is here Myrtle, and I think you should try to improve your behavior before you go looking for somewhere else to go.” 

He said it kindly and with a smile on his face, but the words still cut Myrtle to her core. And in that moment if only for a moment she hated both of them. Her mother who kept her confined that place and her brother who would accept whatever she said without a second thought. If Myrtle had her way that moment she switched places with her brother forced him to only cook, clean, and shop without even a grandfather to tell him stories. While she could learn about whatever her heart desired far away from the place that gave her so much grief. For that moment Myrtle really felt all of this but after a second all of that was gone and Myrtle was left thinking what a fool she had been. Her mother provided her everything and her brother was working hard. Fredrick had been right, she thought, she really needed to try to be better before looking for some other place to escape to. 

Myrtle calmly ate the rest of her oatmeal, even though her appetite was gone. When she finished she cleaned up all of the breakfast dishes, and began to wash them at the kitchen sink. As she stared out the window, letting her hands move independently she sighed. Myrtle didn’t even notice that she was crying until her mother called out to her. And even then Myrtle idea what made the tears fall down her face.

“Just because your grandfather passed doesn’t mean that you can lose focus Myrtle Mae,” she snapped at her, right before she headed out. 

Myrtle brushed the tears out of her eyes and started attacking the dishes with renewed vigor. On the outside she looked as if she was working harder, trying to push all thoughts of her grandfather out of her. But on the inside she was dwelling on them. What her mother said had stuck with her for some reason. And with a slight shock Myrtle realized that she was wrong. She wasn’t crying for her grandfather, she was crying for herself. Though what about herself made her cry, Myrtle didn’t know. Even before her grandfather died when Myrtle found herself alone and doing something without thought sorrow always came to her. Usually her grandfather would be there to tell her a joke, or sing her an old sea song so she never had to deal with these sad moments for very long. But now that he was gone Myrtle was left with nothing but her melancholy and a sink full of dirty dishes.

Once she washed her dishes she peeked into the living room to find Fredrick eyes deep in a book. Myrtle wondered what he was reading about, but she dared not ask. Not only could she not bare to face him after what happened at breakfast, but if he thought that she was bothering him, he would tell their mother. And their mother would do much more to Myrtle than musee up her hair and tell her that she was being silly. So instead of that Myrtle went up to her room, not even one glance at her brother as she crossed the living room. Thankfully she still had some knick knacks to put away, so that would entertain her for a while. If Myrtle couldn’t go to the cove, then at least she still had a part of it with her.

Myrtle spent the morning putting away the objects on her basket. Making up increasingly elaborate and fantastical stories for each of them. She only stopped when she heard the slamming of the back door and the footsteps of her mother up the stairs. Reluctantly Myrtle hid away her basket and her chest and went downstairs, knowing that her mother would want to speak with her after getting back. If not to actually tell her to do something than to just complain about her day. When Myrtle got downstairs and saw her mother laid out on the couch eyes closed she knew it was the latter.

Fredrick stared at her then shot a bewildered glance to Myrtle. It made sense that he would be bewildered. Usually he only came back on holidays and a brief time during the summer. None of these visits lasted longer than a week. A week, coincidentally was the maximum amount of time the their mother could take off of work. And even before Fredrick had gone to university he usually wasn’t there when their mother got off of work. While Myrtle was confined to the house he was free to visit the town library, or meet with one of his friends. No it was Myrtle, always Myrtle who would sit at her mother’s side and dutifully figure out what was vexing her.

And that was what Myrtle did. She knelt down by the couch and took her mother’s pale hand into her matching one, “What was it today Mother. Did Mr. Harrison tax you too much, or was a customer being silly?”

Myrtle’s mother had worked for as long as she can remember at the local grocery store. It was owned by an old bachelor called Herbert Harrison VI. He had inherited it from his father Herbert Harrison V. Since he had no children, nobody was sure who would inherit next, and that was a thing that weighed on the collective mind of the town. Since the passing of Myrtle’s grandfather three weeks before her mother had been on leave. But now that the funeral has long passed, she has gone back to work much to her dismay. Myrtle knew how much her mother loathed working. 

“Never get a job Myrtle Mae,” her mother said, the start of a speech that Myrtle had heard many times, “Get that boy of yours to marry you and be his wife until the day he dies Myrtle Mae. Oh I wish that could have been my path. Your father would roll in his grave if he saw me like this…”

Myrtle’s mother continued in this fashion. How work just wasn’t for her, that she wished her husband were here. She went on to describe to Myrtle every annoying thing that happened in her day. From how a customer just refused to back down about a price to how Mr. Harrison had told her to lift empty crates in the back. 

“Can you imagine Myrtle Mae!” she exclaimed, “Me, lifting crates!”

Never mind that they were empty. Her father in law had just passed and he expected her to lift crates. Myrtle’s mother had never been so insulted.

“Oh if I never had you Myrtle Mae I would still have some of your father’s life insurance money, and I could quit this infernal job” she said, looking at Myrtle with regret in her eyes, “I hope you are grateful with how hard I work for you.”

Myrtle nodded, and her mother seemed satisfied. And it was not until half an hour after she stepped into the house that she retired to her bedroom to rest and Myrtle was finally free. Though free to do what she didn’t know. Since both her mother and brother were in the house she couldn’t risk putting away her shells. And going to the cove was already out of the question. Times like this Myrtle would have usually gone to her grandfather’s room and asked him to tell her a story, but those days were long passed. It was now sitting in her bed that Myrtle really realized how much her grandfather had been to her. He had patiently listened to her when she was upset, covered for her when she was at the cove, entertained her on gloomy rainy days. He hadn’t just been my grandfather, Myrtle thought a pang of longing that seemed to chime through every cell in her body, he was her everything.

Knowing that if she kept on this train of thought for any longer she would have a breakdown Myrtle decided that if she couldn’t have her grandfather there, she could at least have his stories. So she went back to a time, six months ago to be exact, where even though things weren’t perfect she at least had someone to rely one. Myrtle went back and remembered one of the last stories her grandfather had ever told her. Somehow in this moment it just felt right.

Her mother had just gone to work and finishing all of her chores hadn’t taken Myrtle nearly as long as she thought it would have. As usual, she was left with nothing to do so she went into her grandfather’s bedroom. If Myrtle’s bedroom had been a shrine to her cove then her grandfather’s bedroom was a shrine to the sea itself. With walls painted a deep sea blue and bookshelves that still smelled of salt lining one of the walls if Myrtle hadn’t known any better she would have said that she was deep in the hold of a ship. The only thing lacking was the rocking of the waves outside the walls. 

As usual her grandfather sat upon his beaten up leather chair under the far window. No book in hand, just smiling at her not like she was annoying him, but as if Myrtle was welcomed. That was one of the things that Myrtle appreciated about her grandfather’s disposition. In his company Myrtle never felt like she was intruding, she always felt as if she belonged. 

Not wanting to waste anytime, Myrtle launched straight into her request, “Tell me a story grandpa, please?”

Even if he was doing something her grandfather was kind enough to always oblige when she spoke those magic words. He ,more than anyone, knew how much Myrtle needed this.

“Hmm,” he said stroking his beard that was more white than grey, “I fear that I’ve already told you all of my stories, Mae.”

Shoulders dropped, Myrtle didn’t know if she was joking or not but still she played along as if he wasn’t, “Oh no, what will my life be without your stories.”

Her grandfather had clapped his hands as if he just thought of the perfect solution, “I know! I’ll tell you a story, though it isn’t my story it is sure to please you just the same my dear Mae.”

Smiling Myrtle took her seat on the floor next to her grandfather’s chair, knowing that it would be worth a little discomfort.

“A little background,” he began, “I know you’re mind won’t be able to rest if you don’t know the whole story Mae. The day we found the man was an odd day. Not only were we sailing without cargo, but the weather was like nothing we had ever seen. Yellow tinged clouds completely covering everything, and light so dim we couldn’t tell whether it was day or night. The wind was brisk so that was a plus, but we were all a little on edge.”

Myrtle pictured it in her mind’s eye. A yellow sky and chopping black waves. Tension coming from somewhere, and a ship full of men that were wary though they didn’t know what of.

“We were patrolling on the deck, the waters had been chock full of pirates when we say a shape in the water,” he stated, “I was the first one to turn a spyglass on it. Even though I hadn’t seen her for many years on a tension filled day such as this, I thought of her. Though it was not the long dark hair and tail that I had wished it to be. On the waves was a man, his arms flailing his mouth open, shouting for help. I must have shown my disappointment on my face because Liam laughed and do you know what he said to be. “Not what you were expecting Delany?” he had been looking for the siren too, but both he and I were too proud to admit that.”

“Too proud?” Myrtle asked, wondering why it would be shameful to want to see the siren again. She hadn’t even seen the siren and still she dreamed of girls swimming free as fish in the ocean, she would give her treasure chest just to see a siren, “Why were you too proud.”

Her grandfather cleared his throat and spoke slower so that she might understand, “You must understand Mae. We were seasoned sailors with wives at home. Not only would be swear on our mother’s graves that we had seen a fairy tale creature, but she had also been a woman. Why after we got to port the time we had seen the siren we never spoke of her directly again.”

Myrtle nodded, it was exactly what she would have done if she saw a unicorn in the woods. Though she may think about it often, it would be weird to talk about it.

“Anyway we slowed our pace a bit and allowed the current to bring him closer,” he said, getting back to the story, “You should have seen the moment we lowered the rope he was climbing as if the ocean was made of fire. After we gave him some water and made him swallow some soup he seemed eager to share his tale. As if he was proud of getting lost upon the waves.”

“What was his story grandfather.” Myrtle asked, anticipating the tale greatly.

“He had fallen off a boat an hour before,” her grandfather said, and then upon seeing Myrtle’s crestfallen face laughed, “Just kidding Mae, his tale was much better than that.”

Myrtle resisted laughing along with him, “Don’t joke with me grandpa.”

“Alright, alright Mae. I’m just about to tell you,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes, “He said that he had grown up poor, his family had struggled to get by. Seeing how his mother and father toiled on his behalf did not make him grateful however, it made him resentful. Hateful of the life he was sure to inherit that he didn’t want. So he did what all ill content folk do when they want a different life, he signed up to be a cabin boy on a trading ship.”

Closing her eyes Myrtle took another moment to picture the scene. A boy not much older than herself in some distant land, with parents that loved him and a life he hated. Myrtle wondered if he had any siblings, any friends. But apparently the man had chosen not to share that with her grandfather, either that or he didn’t mention if he had.

Her grandfather went on, “I knew the captain of that ship, by reputation though we had been in the same port from time to time. He was brash and reckless, and made ludicrous gambles setting sail during hurricanes and taking shortcuts through pirate territory. Though more often than not these risks paid off and he was rich beyond his wildest dreams. I don’t think that’s why he still operated his ship though,” her grandfather pondered, “Like some men this captain was just in love with the thrill of risk and danger, I knew that before long his luck would run out. Unfortunately for the teller of this tale the captain’s luck ran out just six months after he had been on board.”

“During one of their jolts through pirate seas they were attacked. Though not by the pirate who lay claim to the waters, no it was a fellow interloper. A different pirate by the name of Pig.”

Even though she had been raised to fear pirates Myrtle laughed. Throughout the story her grandfather’s voice had been growing deeper and scarier. All of that tension just for the pirate’s name to be Pig, at the time it seemed like the silliest thing in the world to Myrtle. 

Her grandfather put on a show of annoyance, “Don’t you laugh Mae, I’ll let you know Pig went on to be one of the most feared men in the west sea. He earned a reputation of crushing his victims with his enormous girth. They called him the Crusher Pig, the Fire Pig, the…”

“The Smoked Pig?” Myrtle guessed, barely keeping her amusement out of her voice. 

This time it was her grandfather who couldn’t keep up his facade. He roared with his laughter and Myrtle joined him. When they were together it seemed like even the most dangerous and frustrating things could seem hilarious. 

“Anyway Mae,” her grandfather continued once he had regained his composure, “They were attacked by Pig and the captain ended up being fed to the waves. The crew along with our narrator got taken as hostages and forced to work for the monstrous Pig. As Pig’s wealth and fame grew the man’s life grew harder and harder. Forced to toil day and night aboard Pig’s growing fleet the man found himself longing for his family. They had worked almost as hard as he was, true, but they had worked for themselves. As the man scraped barnacles and cooked meals he realized the difference between where he was and where he had been. His parents had been poor yes, but now he had nothing. They had worked hard, true, but now he slaved away, they had lived in a dingy house, that was putting it mildly, but at least it had been their house.”

Myrtle thought of her own life as her grandfather said this, realizing how lucky she had it. A bedroom of her own, and even if her mother was harsh at least she had a mother. Sometimes her grandfather tried to teach her a lesson with his stories and she thought she knew what the lesson in this one was. No matter how hard life was, it could always be worse. 

But her grandfather went on, “Then one fateful day years after the man had first been captured by Pig fate came for him. A bloody battle erupted between the entire Pig fleet and a smaller fleet led by a lieutenant of BlueBeard. Even though Pig held the most ships and had the most cannons, he was struggling. BlueBeard’s fleet had tactics and skill that Pig could only dream of. They were being boarded and gunshots rained from the sky. Our narrator was in just the right place at the right time because one of those bullets cut right through his chains.”

Myrtle always loved these parts of the story. A battle, clashing sword, ripped flags. One moment that could change everything.

“At first he didn’t know what to do,” her grandfather said, perfectly imitating the indecisiveness of the man, “If he stayed on the ship he would surely be captured by BlueBeard’s fleet and be forced to work even harder for a much harsher man. He gazed down at the waves. If he jumped he might die, he might be eaten by some creature. And even if he was saved he could have been saved by another pirate who would force him to work.”

Her grandfather cleared his throat, clearing trying to impart something in Myrtle though she didn’t know what, “But as soon as he saw the first of BlueBeard’s men step aboard the ship he jumped. Hitting the icy waters his thoughts cleared into one warming thought. He might die yes, he might end up exactly where he started true, but at least he would do all of this knowing for at least a few moments he was free.”

As always when one of the grandfather’s tales ended Myrtle wanted to know more. All through lunch she asked him what he had done once they reached port, if he had stayed on in Liam’s crew, anything about his family. But her grandfather responded not in his usual way of sprinkling in some extra information here and there but by saying one thing.

“You have all of the important parts Mae.”

As Myrtle sat on her bed in the present she still wondered what her grandfather had meant by that. But she didn’t have time to ponder because remembering that story had taken more time than she had thought and it was now time to start cooking. Once she got downstairs she found her brother gone and even though she felt bad about it she was relieved. One less person meant one less meal to cook. 

The rest of the day went as normal. Myrtle cooked, Myrtle served the food, Myrtle washed the dishes. Her mother had some things to take care of in town so for an hour Myrtle was left to her own devices. Reveling in her alone time Myrtle make up stories for the rest of the cove knick knacks that she had not put away. These ones were inspired by the tale her grandfather had told her. Brave sea creatures and people who abandoned comfort for freedom on the high seas. On one partially opalescent piece of sea glass she imagined it had come from a siren. A girl much like Myrtle herself but she was free to collect messages in a bottle and bring them to their proper recipients. These fantasies carried Myrtle until dinner where she sat in silence as her mother and brother chatted about his return to university. A journey that Myrtle couldn’t accompany him on. 

When that meal ended her brother returned to reading on the couch and Myrtle joined him. She had finished putting away every last thing she had gotten from and cove and consequently she had nothing to do. It wouldn’t be all bad since she could ask her brother about his book, but her mother dashed those plans right away.

“Myrtle Mae,” she exclaimed clutched her chest as if she was about to faint, “Look at the state of this house. How can you expect your brother and I to relax in a house this filthy. Clean up at once!”

Fredrick shot her a kind of pitying I told you so glance and Myrtle felt a bit of rage bubbling up. She knew what he was thinking, that she shouldn’t try to visit him when she doesn’t even clean the house. Even though she would have liked to wipe the smirk off her brother’s face, Myrtle had cleaning to do. Myrtle knew that she would hear an earful from her mother if even a sock was out of place. So she zeroed in on every speck of dust, every stray crumb, every spot of dirt. Myrtle wasn’t anything if she wasn’t good at her chores and this was no exception. In the matter of a few hours the house was gleaming from top to bottom. The only exception to this was Myrtle. Whose clothes were wrinkled and hair was out of place. Though she would have liked a nice long soak her mother would be back soon and she would expect dinner to be cooking. 

The rest of the day went at the rest of Myrtle’s days went . More cooking, serving more food, washing more dishes. And it was only when she finally collapsed in her bed did she finally rest. Dreams providing comfort that reality couldn’t.

Myrtle woke up late the next morning and immediately knew why. Today was the day her brother left, the first day she would be alone with her mother. Judging from the silence in the house her family had already left, but Myrtle knew that she couldn’t afford to rest any longer. When she got back her mother would be in state, and since she never cooked it would be up to Myrtle to make breakfast. 

And what a state her mother was in. She entered through the front door tracking in mud that it would surely be Myrtle’s job to scrub away and immediately collapsed in a well of sops on the sofa. Myrtle held her hand while she cried over her departed son.

“Oh Myrtle Mae, what shall I do without Fredrick!” she cried, “You certainly can’t fill his space, given how lazy and flighty you are. But Fredrick is intelligent and polite, no doubt he gets it from me.”

Her mother continued as all of these speeches continued. Part insults at Myrtle, part praising Fredrick, and a lot of self pity. The only thing that got her to stop was the smell of the food that Myrtle had cooked, and she ate two servings before going to take a nap. Insisting that she couldn’t go to work today, and that her boss would just have to understand. So Myrtle was left in a nearly empty house without even her brother to keep her company. It wasn’t the first time since her grandfather’s passing that she had felt truly alone, but it was perhaps the most true instance of it. 

The days with her mother passed like a collage of blandness. Afternoons and evenings blended together in a mess of cooking, cleaning, and wishing for something better. Myrtle’s mother never left her alone and as a result Myrtle wasn’t able to go to the one place her heart yearned for. Though she didn’t make any mistakes Myrtle could feel her soul slipping away. As if the next time she woke up, she would be just another pot in the kitchen or tool on the dining table. Even her treasure chest didn’t provide her any relief. Her mind was so full of what chores she needed to be doing next, or when her mother would be home that she found herself not remembering the stories at all. Not even the memory of her grandfather provided some warmth. All Myrtle could think about was that he was gone, and she was alone. 

Myrtle found herself resenting that sameness. The same paths, the same market, the same town. Nothing even changed and she started to think that nothing would ever get better. It was as if she was the one who had died rather than her grandfather. Sure she ate, she brushed her teeth, she talked when it was necessary, but Myrtle had stopped feeling the day her brother left. After a while even frustration at the sameness of it all became just bored acceptance. 

Until one day months after her brother had left and even more months after her grandfather had died Myrtle was left really and truly alone for the first time. Her mother had to go to a bank in the city and would be gone all weekend. At first Myrtle didn’t know what to do about this revelation. Not until her mother was actually gone did she think of going to the cove. But as soon as that thought blossomed in Myrtle's mind it was all she could think about. Even her past reservations about how she was needed at home couldn’t keep the desire out of Myrtle’s mind. As a result it took her twice as much time as to her usual chores. The cove, the cove, was all she was thinking. Even though the sun had already mostly set Myrtle knew that she couldn’t live another second away from her beloved place. 

She ran.

Not even bothering with the basket, not even bothering to lock the back door. If she was discovered she would be punished but in the moment she didn’t care. It was the cove or nothing. All of the emotion that had been lacking in Myrtle the past few months exploded out of her when she finally reached the sandy shore. She fell to her knees and cried, knowing that she couldn’t go back home. As the sand ran through her hands she finally felt something that had been missing since her brother left. Going back home would mean returning to her emptiness and giving up on everything she didn’t know she wanted. Though she didn’t know why Myrtle knew that if she went back home she would come to her cove again. In her mind she thought that wasn’t what her grandfather would have wanted. Like the man that had drifted to their boat after jumping from a ship, she should just be content with what she had and stop chasing after dreams. But in her heart she realized something at that moment at the cove with the sun setting in front of her.

“You have all the important parts Mae.” that was what he had told her.

As she looked at the waves she pictured the siren that her grandfather had seen. A face beautiful in it’s freedom and powerful in herself. Before she even knew what she was doing Myrtle was walking into the ocean. Cold foamy waves beat against her legs she didn’t stop, she didn’t hesitate. If she did either Myrtle knew that she would go home. This is what her grandfather had been telling her with all those stories. This is what he had been telling his granddaughter Mae who he hoped would someday get the message.

The man was right to jump ship.

Even though the outcome was uncertain he had to try.

The water was up to Myrtle’s neck now, though she felt no fear only hope. That maybe if the water was kind to her she could become like the siren.

Free on the waves, with nothing stopping her but herself.

Not wanting to wait any longer Myrtle dove into the water and didn’t even try to hold her breath. With every second that passed Myrtle felt herself getting fainter and fainter. But she hadn't died, when she opened her eyes night was all around and she was reborn.

Free.

Last Line Tag

Thank you greatly @a-tiny-daydreamer for tagging me.

Rules: Share the last line of your writing, then tag as many people as there are words in the line.

It was Alaina’s own hands that painted the clear glass black that night, though it was Remalda’s that finished the work. By the time they were fast asleep in their beds back at the manor there was a sliver of the moon emblem slashed into the door of the church. An emblem that Alaina was sure she would never forget after that night.

This is the newest short story that I am working on. By the grace of any god that is out there, I will post it before the end of the month. Hopefully, you will all become as enamored with the story as I am.

@cjjameswriting @annoyingwritingtrash @teashadephoenix @raevenlywrites @livvywrites @the-modern-typewriter @leave-her-a-tome @tiawithhoney @firesidefantasy @nectargrapes @cookiecutterwrites @dreadwvlfscript @lady-redshield-writes @andiwriteunderthemoon

My very sincerest apologizes if you have been tagged before. As always, feel free to ignore or block me as you see fit. Have a stellar day. :)

Rika smirked as she looked at the screens. Destruction, death, and chaos ruled throughout the subway system. It wasn’t exactly what she would have wanted, but it would do. As she was checking in on the rapidly unfolding situation, there was a tentative knock on the door which she ignored. Not having their knock answered, one of her sidekicks burst into the room. 

“You have to do something, people are dying down there!” the originator of the knock pleaded to her. A girl named Silky if Rika’s memory was to be trusted, and it was.

“I fail to understand why any of this should make a difference to me,” Rika replied almost lazily, never taking her eyes off of the monitors.

Silky clenched her fist, “.....I swear you have about as much compassion as a rock. I don’t even know why I bother anymore, you’re nothing like I thought you’d be. It’s like you don’t even care about all the innocent lives out there!”

With that, she stormed out of the room. Leaving Rika with her monitors and a creeping feeling branching out in her mind. Everything had gone as plan. Thanks to her deception techniques, her opposition was destroying the city subway network. Effectively bombing their own reputation and ruining millions of citizen’s daily commutes. All because Rika’s spies had suggested that she might have somehow hacked the underground security.

Looking back at the monitors, Rika witnessed the battle, though it would really be better described as a massacre. Anyone who got in their way was crushed in the most ruthless way possible. Having abanded their morals long ago, their only goal was to stop Rika, no matter how many “innocent people” got in their way.  Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered her. No matter what her carefully curated public perception was, Rika didn’t have a special connection to the innocent. She had become a hero because of one particular moment, one particular motive, and one special person. None of which she had ever shared with anyone. 

Still, as she watched the monitors for a brief moment Rika saw the situation as Silky saw it. People being crushed underfoot, broken bones and spilled blood. And Rika just watching it with a smirk on her face. 

“What Silky said was a bit concerning,” Rika said to herself, a habit that she had adopted to organize her many, many complex thoughts, “If I really am disappointing her so, I can’t have her defecting. The opposition would my enemies throw her a parade if she went to them.”

Once her mind got rolling, it was unstoppable. Suddenly everything she would have to gain from going down into the subway was evident. Rika going down to the subway was so evident to her then, she wondered why she had ever been content to sit in her chair. In a blur of movement, Rika collected the equipment that she would need. To an outside person, it would have seemed random. This knife and not that knife, a half-empty clip instead of a full one, but Rika was choosing everything in service to her larger purpose. Though she was going down to the subway, Rika had no intention to win the fight.  Having her enemies destroy the underground was her plan after all. No, Rika was going to be overwhelmed by their numbers, her knives will break after slashing through endless flesh and bone, and eventually, she will have to flee. Taking civilians and her own injured sidekick in a desperate retreat. 

“But I will have tried,” Rika declared to herself, the image of her battle playing out in her mind, “When they see me fleeing they will see themselves in me.”

When Rika strapped the last brittle knife to her belt, attached her body armor a bit loosely, tied her boot laces irregularly, she smirked.

“My approval ratings will go up at least 5%.”

Thinking of the battle Rika pressed the button on her intercom. Hearing the panic on the other line as everyone tried to determine who would pick up, Rika stifled a giggle. Normally Rika would have never used the intercom, but she liked to keep her people on their toes. Once someone did pick up, however, Rika kept her message brief.

“Tell Silky I need her in the City Room,” Rika said, and then for effect, “Now!”

Less than a minute later Silky burst into the room once again, this time not bothering to knock. Her eyes were red and she was sniffling a bit, though she was trying desperately not to. 

“Aww,” Rika thought to herself as she turned around, “She’s been crying, how cute.”

Wiping the last remnants of tears out of her eyes Silky spoke, “You wanted me?”

Rika stepped forward. Looming over Silky and smiling. In an almost motherly gesture, Rika handed her sidekick a handkerchief.”

“Dry your tears Silky,” Rika said pointing to the violence that was still unfolding on the monitors, “We’re going to save them.”

Silky brightened up almost immediantly. Drying her tears with Rika’s handkerchief and putting on a hopeful smile.

“All of them?”

“All of them,” Rika lied.

Person A: “I fail to understand why any of this should make a difference to me.”

Person B: “…..I swear you have about as much compassion as a rock.”

The (Not So) Haunted Apartment

My apartment is haunted. Every tenant had complained about their food disappearing, their lights turning on during the night, and the sound of footsteps when they were home alone. It was a nice place, one bedroom with a walk-in closet, exposed brick, a skylight in the living room and even a dishwasher in the full kitchen. But no tenet had lasted longer than three months, and the landlord had to void many leases. Because of the ghost the rent was amazingly low so we were never short on tenants and a new one always moved in less than three weeks after the last one. But I couldn’t really complain about the high-turnover rate, I was living there for free after all. 

When I was a baby my mom forgot to feed me a lot. She said that I didn’t cry, but the truth was that she just couldn’t hear me. They went on three vacations without me because they simply “forgot” I still have the stuffed animals they gave me as a congelation prize. By the time I was ten they had forgotten me entirely. I tried to wave my arms in the air and yell and knock things over, but they just thought it was a ghost. My parents sold the house and I didn’t try to follow them. I continued going to school, although my teachers couldn’t see me, and even moved myself up a grade. The new couple who moved into my house could afford to replace the food I took and they didn’t use my room. When I was eighteen I moved out and started sitting in on college classes, I was trying to major in sociology.

She was the fifth tenant that year and was going to the same college that I was. That was fine, her being a college student just meant that I would have to steal my own food from the supermarket instead of eating hers. I watched her unpack from the kitchen counter, and when she looked up at the skylight she made that face I knew so well. Wondering how she had gotten such a good apartment at such a good deal. The landlord told people about the ghost, but they always underestimated how creepy having another roommate they didn’t know about was. 

I had to resist jumping down from the counter when I saw her putting together a pull out sofa. My sleeping bag was great, but nothing could replace the feeling of sleeping on an actual bed. Well, sort of a bed. It would be nice enough. I was just thinking about how great it would be to have a new roommate ,it felt weird to live alone, when she started unpacking something else. 

A sonogram, a thermal camera, audio recorders, and an EMF meter. Top of the line ghost hunting equipment that would definitely be able to detect me. I’m very visible on cameras and I do make noise, but the reason that I was still able to live there rent free is because even though people can see and hear me, they don’t realize that I’m there. Technology can’t lie, but the human eye can be very, very mistaken. It was fun watching her set them up though, and I realized that the look in her eyes hadn’t been because she was happy about the price it was because she was happy that I was there. All of those pieces of equipment were custom painted and looked well worn. My new roommate was a ghost hunter, it seemed, and a good one at that. I had met ghost hunters before, many, many had been called on me even before I moved out of my parents house, but this was the only one that had moved in just for me. I was flattered. 

I had to go shopping so I didn’t get to see her finish packing up, but I was thinking about her while I loaded potato bread and vegan salami into my cart. With her setting up that equipment I should have been extra careful, making sure that she didn’t get creeped out enough to move out like all of the others, but I couldn’t help wanting someone to notice me again. To look at me and tell me that my eyes were dark brown, something that my parents had stopped being about to do when I was seven. 

When I got back to the apartment she was still awake and finishing setting up things in her bedroom. She heard the door slam shut but when she got there it was closed and she didn’t notice me putting my food away in the fridge. What she did notice was the fridge door shutting , fully stocked fridge, and the empty paper bags in the kitchen. My new roommate smiled like it was christmas morning and immediately got out her phone and dialed someone from her contacts.

“Mom?” she practically screamed into the phone, “Mom, it’s real there’s really a ghost here.”

By this point I was so close to her that if she calmed down a bit she would have feel my breath on her neck. I heard a sigh on the other end of the line and some babble that I couldn’t decipher. Her mom must have been at work or just woken up to be talking so quietly. 

My roommate placed her phone on the counter and stuck her head in the refrigerator, I noticed some of her black kinky hairs got stuck on the freezer door, I would need to clean after she went to sleep. 

“Potato bread, kale, mangos, frozen pineapple, baby spinach, fresh tomatoes, vegan salami,” she listed off the things I had placed in the stainless steel fridge like she was reading an acceptance letter, “VEGAN salami, mom, vegan salami! I’m not vegan, I don’t eat vegan food. Why would there be vegan food in my fridge?”

Another sigh, “You mentioned your landlord volunteers at an animal shelter. Maybe she stocked your fridge, there’s no such thing as ghosts, Kim.”

“Kimani,” she replied as a reflex.

 Kimani continued arguing with her mom, trying to convince her that I existed. But eventually they both remembered that they had things to do and after an entire hour ended the call. My new roommate sat against the fridge on the kitchen floor and rubbed her temples, like just speaking to her mom had given her a headache. When I was ten I had felt a little weird eating my lunch in the classroom because my teacher couldn’t see me anymore but now I’ve gotten over my apprehensiveness. I watched Kimani wipe away tears without feeling the least bit awkward, only sympathy for her. Still sniffling she opened the fridge and took out some of my vegan salami and started munching on a slice. Once she tasted the salty mock-meat, felt it’s rubbery texture, and made sure it was real she got up and went to her bedroom.

The next day we both needed to get to classes. My routine hasn’t really changed since I was twelve years old and really accepted that no one would ever know me again. When my roommate was just out of the shower I give myself a sponge bath so they wouldn’t notice the water running, get my clothes from my hiding spot and try out a new outfit (I pretty much change out my entire wardrobe every four months, the clothes are free why not), and put on the gaudiest makeup I can think of. Before I used to hate drawing attention to myself but since no one can pay attention to me anymore I just wear whatever. And a sparkly purple eyeshadow gradient with steel gray eyeliner isn’t that gaudy, just uncommon. 

While Kimani was getting dressed I packed myself a sandwich and loaded it along with my water bottle, textbooks, and laptop into my backpack. Kimani and I ate breakfast together, by which I mean I ate out of the box of frosted flakes she left on the counter. Making sure to only grab a handful when she started reading a book on exorcism that she had open on the counter. It was really funny actually, if there was anyone who had a demon inside them it was me.

I took the same bus as her onto campus and it turned out that we had the same first class. History of Psychology. Kimani was paying more attention to her exorcism book than she was to the lecture but I was religiously taking notes. College is much easier if you're actually choosing to be there. Exams are easier if you know your grades don’t matter, and getting dressed is easier if you know that no one is looking at you. My life is easy, nothing matters , but I wished that I could trade places with Kimani and face consequences for the first time in eight years. 

For the first time since I started college I decided to skip my afternoon classes and follow my roommate around. She seemed to be doing well in college, happiness wise that was. Her grades seemed mostly average, except in her history classes those she was perfect in. But she waved to a lot of people on campus and ate with a big group of other students at the dining hall around lunch time. And she stayed behind to ask questions to most of her professors. Making connections, forming lasting friendships, and learning what the real world was like; Kimani was doing college perfectly.

At around the end of the day Kimani went to the library and sat at the table studying for half an hour. That seemed odd to me. Despite reading an actual physical book for most of the day she didn’t seem like someone to study at a quiet library to me. It turned out that I was right and she was just killing time. Around five, when the sun was starting to set and even the most dedicated students were starting to file out and go home when Kimani finally turned around in her seat. 

I hadn’t heard it but apparently Kimani noticed the footsteps coming up behind us. Kimani, still turned around in her seat, watched as a guy walked towards us. At first he looked scarier than people thought I was but when he took down the hood on his navy and yellow school sweatshirt he was smiling excitedly. Kimani said that she had been waiting for him and that she was happy that he had come. Turns out that he would be spending the night at her place, if I had known my new roommate had a boyfriend I would have fallen asleep earlier. They left the library together and I followed behind them. I didn’t pay much attention to their conversation, instead I watched how he and Kimani acted together. 

He looked to be the same age as Kimani and me, a college freshman, but he had a youthful jubilance that told me that he hadn’t gotten out of the highschool mindset yet. His skin had the natural tan of someone who played an outside sport of some kind. His hair was light brown with natural highlights and slicked back with gel, I didn’t think he was good for Kimani. She did most of the talking while they were walking to the bus stop that would take us back to the apartment, and he wasn’t even looking at her. Instead his eyes wandered to the campus, and normally that wouldn’t be a problem because it was beautiful. Native trees burning red and orange surrounded by native flowers lining every path and the occasional bench, and everything smelling lightly of coffee, rain, and overpriced textbooks. 

We got to the bus stop and they both sat down while I stood up and kept watching them. Kimani drifted off while talking about what she had read in the exorcism book and finally asked what I had been curious about the entire walk there. 

“What do you think?” finally asking him a question that he could only answer if he was actually listening to her, “Is Graeson or Robert’s theory more correct?”

He stroked the non-existent beard for a second before answering, I thought it was because he needed to come up with some bullshit to spew but then, “Graeson, definitely. If a ghost were to possess you it would be really hard to tell because the ghost’s spirit is influencing everything about you, even your thoughts. If you were possessed you wouldn’t be able to tell but I would because I wouldn’t be influenced by the ghost.”

They continued talking about ghosts and possession with such an authoritative tone that I thought I was in a lecture. But more importantly I realized that maybe staring off into space was his way of concentrating. The bus came and we all got on and they kept on talking about ghosts and possessions. By the time we got to our stop I wasn’t the only one on the bus staring at them. On our walk to the apartment Kimani kept talking and her boyfriend kept looking at the buildings, the sidewalk, the Subway while she talked. I wondered if she was the one who was un-noticeable and not me. 

We finally got home but the boyfriend collapsed on the couch before I was able to and asked Kimani if she had gotten any food yet. She went to the kitchen to find some and I thought that even if he listened to her didn’t make him a good boyfriend. Of course since she hadn’t any real food yet, and she didn’t seem like the type to serve a guest frosted flakes, so she got him some of my canned soup. I pouted a bit when I realized that they were eating my food but that gave me license to eat some of Kimani’s food later so I didn’t try to stop them.

I had just gotten home too so I went to the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of soup too and by the time I got back to the living room they were watching an episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved on Kimani’s old flatscreen tv. They were taking up the couch but that I was fine, I was used to sitting on floors. We watched and ate in silence, the sound of me slurping my soup covered up by the sound of them slurping their soup. The living room was pretty cozy with us eating in silence, the only problem with the apartment that I know of is that the heater is a little cold but Kimani had bought a little space heater so it was almost like having a fireplace in the room. Her little succulent on the scratched up wooden coffee table brightened the entire space and comforted me when the episode got too creepy. Even though I was accused of being a ghost I couldn’t really handle anything scary. 

The soup was done when the show was done and that’s when the real action started. Kimani put their bowls in the skin, without rinsing them or anything, while her boyfriend checked out the equipment she had around the living room. Once I had gotten back from putting my bowl in the sink the boyfriend was setting up an ouija board on the coffee table. The stars had just become visible, although there was so much light pollution in the city it was hard to see them, and it seemed like that was their que to get started. 

“Spirit, if you’re there give us a sign,” the boyfriend proclaimed. They were on the floor next to the coffee table, their hands on the little glass and wood slider that the ghost was supposed to move and I was sitting on the couch behind them. 

Once a single dad had stayed in the apartment. The rent was cheap enough for him to afford while paying lawyers fees and babysitter costs on a plumbers salary. He decided to play around with an old ouija board one night with his daughter. I liked hanging out with them, and made sure that the little girl stayed out of the trouble when the babysitter took a nap. When they asked if the ghost was there I moved the marker and told them yes. Each of them thought the other one was moving it, and we had a fun time together. The little girl bragged at school about having a ghost in the apartment and the dad was just happy that his daughter was happy. They moved out once he got a raise so his little girl could have her own bedroom.

This time I didn’t move anything, just let them sit in the silence and semi-darkness waiting for nothing to happen. Kimani already set up ghost hunting equipment and I didn’t want to confirm what she already thought. I had dealt with excrosists before, watched them deprive my roommates of food to “starve out of the ghost” watched them kick my roommate out while they did nothing but shake a cross around for days to “call the holy ghost”. Once any of my roommates got the idea that there was a ghost in the apartment they either moved out or were scared to be in their own home. Kimani was already setting up ghost hunting equipment, I didn’t want her to move out. Not when she had just gotten there. 

They waited an entire six minutes, the sun kept setting, the room kept getting darker. 

The boyfriend started to get up, I guess he wasn’t as patient as Kimani, “There’s obviously nothing here…”

Kimani pulled him back to the floor and he landed on his butt and shook the floor, “Come on, five more minutes. The landlord swore that every other tenant said there was a ghost.”

“Did you tell her that you were in the Paranormal Investigation Club before or after she said this?”

Kimani didn’t answer for a while and I slid onto the floor. Even if he was a bad boyfriend I couldn’t let this guy disrespect my roommate like that. She wasn’t grasping for straws and the landlord hadn’t scammed her, I was there I just wasn’t a ghost. 

“Just five more minutes, please?” Kimani looked at her boyfriend like she was a kicked kitten. Her dark brown eyes were big and watery and her kinky hair framed her head like a halo.

He sighed, but put his hands back on the ouija board. They asked the same question again, only this time Kimani sounded like she was begging. I moved the slider to the word yes. 

The boyfriend’s eyes narrowed at Kimani, “Stop moving it.”

She didn’t seem to register that he was annoyed with her instead she said, in almost a whisper, “I’m not.”

He didn’t believe her I could tell that he was doubting her. To prove that Kimani wasn’t moving it I decided to ask a question. The ouija board that the boyfriend had brought didn’t have many pre-made answers. Just yes, no, and all the letters of the alphabet. It was going to be hard to ask a longer question, but I had to defend my roommate. 

W-H-A-T I-S Y-O-U-R N-A-M-E

I had wondered if they would be able to keep up with what I was saying. But even though Kimani hadn’t been taking notes in class she seemed to be able to keep up really well. Putting together the letters and then excitingly moving to shout out her name. I already knew her name, though. What I really needed to know was what the boyfriend’s name was. Again I put my hands on the glass and wood slider and started moving it around. All the while the boyfriend looked a little bored. 

N-O-T Y-O-U H-I-M

His hands had been on the slider as I was moving it around but eyes had been elsewhere. But when Kimani read out my next message he seemed to jump out of his skin. For a ghost hunter wannabe he was scared easily. 

“You already know my name, Kimani,” he said, and I wondered why he was avoiding the question. 

She rolled her eyes and sighed like she was babysitting toddlers, “I’m not moving it, just tell it your name.”

“Julian,” he mumbled. 

Before they had moved out my parents had taught me to be polite. So even though I resented his attitude I had to say it.

T-H-A-N-K Y-O-U

Kimani and Julian waited a bit for my next question, but my hands weren’t even on the slider at that point. Instead I was cracking my knuckles and stretching my hands in preparation for my next question. A quick neck crack later I put my hands back on the slider and started to ask the big question. 

H-O-W L-O-N-G H-A-V-E Y-O-U T-W-O B-E-E-N D-A-T-I-N-G

“How long...have...you two...been...d..atin…?” Kimani didn’t even get to the end of my question before both she and Julain jumped up off the floor and started arguing. 

Instead of the shock that he had shown at my previous question Julain seemed angry. At Kimani. They started arguing about what I had asked while I was just trying to come up with a way to set them both straight. The gist of what they were saying was that both of them thought the other was moving the slider. But what the question meant coming from the other was different for both of them. 

Kimani was close to tears, “You know that me and Ryland broke up last month, why would you say that?”

Julian rolled his eyes, “You were planning on breaking up with him anyway. And by the way I didn’t move it, you did! Do you have a crush on me or something? Just tell me if you do, and don’t get my hopes up by saying there’s a ghost here!”

“I WASN’T MOVING IT!” Kimani was raging with tears in her eyes, “You just don’t want to believe they’re a ghost here because you’re only in the club so get close to Cameron!”

By this point I was panicking, and seriously questioning my judgement. Why had I assumed that they were dating? Just because they were hanging out together at her apartment? I was berating myself trying to figure out how to restore what I had broken, I was such an idiot. My life had no meaning, but if I made a mistake I had to fix it. 

S-O-R-R-Y

Both of their hands had been off the board but the slider was moving. Julian instantly looked up to the ceiling. But no clear fishing wires hung down from the vaulting ceiling, even the skylight was closed. Kimani instantly kneeled back down, her eyes glued to the board. Her hands stayed at her sides though. Julian was still looking for hidden wires while I spelled out my next message. 

I D-I-D-N-T K-N-O-W

“There are no wires,” once Julian realized that he knelt down to the table to watch me write the rest of my message but he didn’t stay there for long, “You haven’t been punking me.”

I had already exposed myself so I just couldn’t resist being a little snarky. 

Y-E-A-H

Even though I was being rude to him Julian smiled like it was Christmas morning. As soon as he got it through his skull that I was really there he jumped up along with Kimani and they hugged very platonically. Kimani was just exuberant but Julian was full on crying and I wondered if I shouldn’t have been so hard on him. Once the hug was over Julian raced over to the coat rack and put on his sweatshirt. Kimani barely had enough time to tell him not to leave her alone with the ghost before he was out the door. Leaving her with only a promise to return with the others...Whoever they were.

 I guess living in a haunted house was more fun when there was a friend over. Kimani looked at the board and outside at the last remnants of the setting sun, instead of staying in the living room she went to the kitchen. I had wanted to tell her that I wouldn’t hurt her, but just thinking about that sentence gave me the creeps. 

Instead I followed her into the kitchen and watched her use my water filter to pour herself a glass of water. It felt good to interact with her and Julian, but I hadn’t thought my first social interaction in years would be through a ouija board. When I realized that my parents were moving out I had tried everything to tell them that I existed. Writing on the walls, sending them emails, even arranging scraps of magazines on the counter to form words. But they scrubbed out my marks on the wall before reading them, their eyes told them that the emails were blank, and didn’t see any words in the scraps of paper. If I had known about ouija boards back then maybe I would have gotten one to use because even though people never notice me or my actions they always notice the ouija board. 

Kimani hung out in the itchen for a while. Turning on all of the lights and staying in the exact corner of the room, so she could see everything in the kitchen. She did turn her head a lot though, just so she could see if anything had emerged from the counter behind her. Once Kimani was sure that she would be able to see any ghosts that came into the room she waited, and I waited too sitting on the counter right next to her. 

We had been waiting for a while, Kimani playing a little game on her phone and me looking at her screen over her shoulder, when Kimani got a text. I only go to see the ID, Just the J, I wonder who that could have been, before Kimani opened her phone and turned away from me to read it. It was such a deliberate turn that I wondered if she sensed that I was looking over her shoulder, but that wasn’t the case. As soon as she read the text she turned back towards me with a face that told me all that I needed to know about the text. They weren’t coming. But her eyes still had some hope in them, so there must have been a promise of coming see the ghost on some later date. Promises could be broken though, after all my parents told me that they would never leave me. 

Once my roommate knew that there would be no more guests over that night she yawned. Communicating with me was tiring I guess, or maybe it was all of the yelling. Either way without bothering to clean up with ouija board Kimani changed into her pajamas, I didn’t watch that part, and went to bed. Even though I can’t communicate with anyone through technology either I had a smartphone, and I tended to read comics before bed. Kimani woke up once while I was scrolling but her mind told her that the weak light of my phone were just moonbeams and she headed back to sleep without any trouble. 

The next day I think Kimani dressed up a little. Her normal attire seemed to be jeans and a t-shirt, and a jacket of course because it was getting cold. But that day she wore tights with a long knitted cardigan and a jean skirt. She was planning to go and talk to her paranormal club so I assumed that she wanted to impress them, but I had to wonder if there was someone at the club that she had a crush on. That didn’t seem right though, she didn’t sound mad or incredulously enough at the prospect of her dating Julian to have a crush on someone else. 

I didn’t have time to follow my roommate around campus that day, but I made sure to check out where the paranormal club was located. Just in case I had some time after my classes. 

In most of my lectures it didn’t make much of a difference that I wasn’t noticeable. The professor just talked and me and everyone else in the lecture room just listened. But in symposiums where it was a small group and we were supposed to be asking questions or in labs when we were supposed to be interacting or with partner work I knew I wasn’t getting the education that I wasn’t paying for. I still went though, because knowing what I was missing was better than blissful ignorance. 

That day our classroom style lesson was going amazing. Lots of discussion that I wasn’t a part of and amazing participation. We were discussing the first DSM and debating the merits of the DSM in general and I wanted to know what the professor thought about it. He had been alive and practicing when it was published and I needed to know how it had affected his practice. There was no way I would be able to do it, no way they would be able to hear me but I tried anyway. 

“HOW DID IT’S PUBLICATION AFFECT YOUR PRACTICE?” I screamed at the top of my lungs. 

The person in front of me turned around, probably because they felt the air of my screams on the back of their neck but no one noticed the actual noise. But again I screamed, and again and again and again. Stopping only to listen in on any great discussion I heard.  At a couple of points the professor came close to answering my question, but he stopped short. I knew it was because he was baiting the other students to ask it. But none of them did, they were so focused on their own discussion and opinion that they barely noticed him. I wondered how they would ever become effective psychologists if they couldn’t notice the people right in front of them. The hour and a half finished without me getting an answer to my question. 

It was a warmer day than the previous one so I decided to eat outside. I never ate in the cafeteria anyways, being unnoticed in such a packed place was like a curse on my mental health. Normally I ate on the floor in my next class or ate in one of the many, many cafes on campus, but that day after looking at the weather I decided to do something different. 

I laid out the blanket that I had brought right in the middle of one of the busiest paths on campus. Took out my sandwich, my water bottle, and the other snacks I had brought and had a picnic. Right in the middle of the path. Those are the experiences that made me think that people had been pranking me for eight years. I was unnoticed, but still somehow everyone stepped around me. Their eyes slid off of me and my blanket but they still walked on the grass next to me instead of just running over me or my neon yellow blanket. 

And I watched and waited but no one’s eyes lingered on me and no one ever stepped a centimeter over my blanket. That was how my state worked. I was there and on some level people knew I was there. When I stood in place people went around me, when I wrote on the wall they scrubbed it out, but they couldn’t really understand why. As my picnic went on people kept routing around me and my blanket and I kept watching them. I had a smartphone that worked and I had Youtube videos that I could have been watching, but I had found in my eighteen years that real, live people provided the best entertainment. 

For the second day in a row Kimani and I rode the same bus home, though I almost missed her. It seemed that her classes finished for the day earlier than mine did so by the time I finished lunch and my next lecture Kimani was already done meeting with her paranormal club and was waiting at the bus stop with a group of five people that included Julian. I had to run to make sure I was on the same bus with them, but the exertion was worth it. The talk in the bus was very lively and it continued way too loudly for the entire twenty minute ride to our apartment. 

Everyone was excited to see the ghost but some were more Kimani excited and others had more Julian levels of scepticism. In between the thoughts of what questions to ask on the ouija board were questions of what equipment Kimani had set up in her apartment and if they had actually checked the readings from the previous night. But even if they were sceptical of the ghost everyone on the bus was excited to go to Kimani’s new place, well everyone except the people just trying to go home and were stuck listening to a bunch of college students talk about ghosts like it was an election. 

They all got off at the same stop and we walked together, it was really nice being part of a group for once. Even though I hated being unnoticed in big groups especially, just walking quietly with the paranormal club was nice. There were a few people talking sure, but most of everyone was just like me. Walking quietly in the back just trying to get to our destination. It was like hanging out with friends for the first time in a while. 

Even though I didn’t want to give them more proof of my existence I didn’t want a repeat of the previous night. Kimani needed her friends to believe that she lived in a haunted house so I was going to help her. I ran ahead and managed to catch the elevator before they were even in the building. Once I was up to the top floor I used my key to open the door and leave it slightly ajar. I was waiting just inside the door for them to come in, but I thought the open door would give everyone a slightly spooky vibe. Robberies aren’t that common in our city so I was crossing my fingers that they wouldn’t call the cops for a suspected break in. 

 I got to let out the breath I had been holding once they got in. A couple of whispers about how Kimani definitely had locked the door before she left, and a few seconds of silence listening for a burglar. Once they were sure that there was no one in the apartment they went in to find the lights off, but they flicked the switch they saw it. Kimani had packed up Julian’s ouija board the night before but I had just enough time to unpack it, and put it right on top of the box, the wood slider already on YES right in front of the welcome mat. Their smiles were like toddlers on christmas day, although I think they would have liked Halloween better. 

Kimani didn’t have to explain herself or convince the other club members that there was really a ghost in her apartment so they got an early start to all of it. And what a start it was. It was like a swarm of bees. Everyone was everywhere doing something. A guy with a henna tattoo on his forearm was checking the food I had brought from Whole Foods with some kind of black light, trying to look for ghostly residue or something. There were fingerprints on the food, but even though his eyes saw it his brain didn’t register it.  A girl with amazingly dyed hair was up on a step ladder checking the cameras and sensors that Kimani had mounted everything, making sure they were functional I guess. Kimani was looking at Julain’s ouija board and Julian was checking for wires in the ceiling and conspicuously open windows. A lanky guy with big glasses was going room to room, supervising I guess. 

It seemed like the sun had to go down before they started on anything concrete so they had some time to kill. The girl with the purple dyed hair swung her blacklight along every surface in the apartment, and the tattooed guy even had some time to make sure the thermal goggles they had brought were working. And after all that it was still light outside so they put something on Hulu, Kimani excitedly said that she had a student package, and ordered some pizza. 

Twenty minutes later two pizzas were delivered and we all dug in. Luckily there was no meat on any of the pizzas so I got to eat as well. They were so focused on their show that they didn’t even notice extra slices going missing. But by the end of it the could tell that something was off. The sun was down at that point so they turned off the lights and Kimani and the guy with the henna tattoos put on the thermal goggles and Julain and the girl with dyed hair were continuously checking the cameras and sensors. 

I wasn’t worried. Even with the thermal cameras and sensors their brains still couldn’t register me being there. They could see me but they couldn't really register me being there. It was the most fun ghost hunt I had ever been a part of though. Normally it was some old priest or shady exorcist closing their eyes and “listening to the ether” or something like that. But this was different, they were walking around looking at things in the dark sure, but they were also talking, laughing, joking. It was a bunch of friends hanging out first and a ghost hunt second.

Even though they didn’t notice me there I couldn’t let them find nothing. I had helped Kimani out so far and I couldn’t just stop when I was already in so deep. So every couple of minutes, when the hunt was getting boring and Julian suggested the theory of wires in the ceiling again I did something noticeably ghostly. Throwing up a few pieces of paper, knocking on the underside of the pull out couch, and just generally being a very good pretend ghost. 

They looked until the early rays of the morning, but they didn’t find anything other than a few pieces of tissue paper and the occasional knocking on the walls.

“So now do you guys believe me?” Kimani asked at the end of the night when her friends were about to go back to their own beds.  

The purple headed girl who I now knew was named Taylor laughed a bit, “Yeah you definitely have some sort of ghost in here. But it seems pretty benign.”

“Benign? It was banging on the couch!” said the guy with the henna tattoos, who I had learned was named Cameron.

Taylor stood her ground, “Yeah but it didn’t really hurt or anything. And those tissues made me think that it was messing with us.”

Kimani laughed nervously, “I really hope that it’s just messing with us. I mean I have to live with it after all.”

They discontinued the ghost talk after that but with promises to look up ghost repellent or something that would keep me away from her while she was sleeping. It was an empty promise though. Since they didn’t have to live in the haunted house, I could tell they weren’t going to put their full attention to it. Kimani seemed optimistic though so I wondered if my intuition was wrong again, maybe her friends were that good of people. I wasn’t the one who really knew them after all

But once the door closed and their sound of the footsteps faded down the hallway Kimani looked up at the early sunlight filtering through the skylight. She seemed small in that big space. I sat down on the couch while Kimani went into the kitchen. When she came back she had a glass of light red colored liquid that was slightly bubbly that I was sure had some alcohol in it. 

Kimnai sank into the couch next to me and took a sip. And maybe she was tired or maybe the alcohol just affected her that fast but a few minutes into nursing her drink she put the glass on the table and spoke.

“You want some Casper?” she half said, half yelled out into the room, gesturing to the glass, “It’s CranGrape juice, club soda, and vodka.”

I picked up the glass and took a swig, Kimani’s eyes didn’t leave the spot where she had put the glass down originally but her dark brown eyes glazed over and she seemed to pause. Between the carbonation and the vodka the cocktail went down rough, but it was actually pretty good. Once I had taken my drink I put the glass back down on the coffee table and Kimani resumed blinking. To her it must have seemed like the glass had magically lowered in volume, because she couldn’t notice me drinking it. But she smiled nonetheless and raised the glass in a toast to us. 

I hope you guys like it (honestly, I’ve started and abandoned three short stories since the last one) it’s not my best but at least I had fun writing it. Have an amazing beginning of September and hang in there until Halloween.

Since it started it's become a bit of a town landmark. People come from all over the country to see the candle in the jar. The candle that burns despite all odds. An affront to nature, two opposites clashing.

The rumors of mermaids on our shore had almost faded from memory but the candle had reignited them so to speak. Men and women alike come from all over to try and catch a glimpse of the mermaid who set down the candle. And others have even greater ambitions, to win the mermaids heart and be wisked off to Atlantis.

Before we were nothing but now we're the town where fire and water meet and neither seem to win in this ultimate battle.

The shore guard is officially there to prevent anyone from tampering with the candle. It never goes out, but the major is very afraid of someone blowing it out. He attributes the candle's everlasting nature to mermaid magic, but I know the truth.

I've been at the beach after midnight. I've seen that liar open the jar and replace the candle. Every night at midnight for four months I've watched him. But what no one knows is that it wasn't mermaids who placed the original candle in the beach. And the real candle maker isn't happy that their message isn't being heard.

Introducing Photo Prompt Thursdays

Are you feeling uninspired, or unhappy because no one seems to read your work? Fear not, Photo Prompt Thursdays is here!

How it works:

- every Thursday I’ll post a picture, either from Pinterest or a photo hosting site

- it’s your job to look at the picture and write something about it. It can be a poem, descriptive prose, a character sketch or short story…any form of writing

- please remember to tag me when you post your writing so I can read your lovely work!

- at the end of a week, a masterlist with links to everyone’s writing will be posted. Us writers do like having our work featured somewhere, right?

- there are no deadlines. Whether you do this a day after the prompt was posted or a year, just remember to tag me so I can see your story and I’ll add it to the masterlist for that prompt

So for this week’s prompt, take a look at the photo and write what you think is the story behind it. Have fun!