The Sunday Whirl with Magpie Tales...

Photo prompt supplied by Magpie Tales

The patron warned, "That place is a ticking time bomb."  

Ignoring the warning and laughing about a need for rescue, I attended with a certain amount of humility.

The place was thought by many to be haunted but I did not measure these rumors that had spread like wild fires in the canyon.

I waited in anticipation working myself into quite a state before the guests arrived. Do I act as if I believe?   

I thought perhaps I had fallen asleep and was dreaming.  As the sixties music filled the room I recognized Sharon Tate dancing with Jay her partner for the night. I saw others as though I were looking through a cloud  into the past.

My accommodating  host smiled as if  to say, "This is nothing...just wait".  My race to spend the day and night with my host seemed totally crazy now.  

I realized in my eagerness to witness the paranormal I had been tricked.  I must stay forever watching this repeating tragedy until I could "invite" someone to take my place.

My host laughed when leaving.  At last he was free.

Word prompt supplied by The Sunday Whirl Weekly Wordle

Mag 116 Escape

 River Irwell by R.A.D. Stainforth

She had been carrying water from the river when the camp was attacked.  Hiding she knew there was nothing she could do to save her family.  It was over almost as soon as she heard the war cries.

With nothing but a bucket and the brown calico dress she wore, she quietly swiftly pushed the canoe into the water.  She lay hidden in the canoe as it floated down the river, her only escape. 

The trees and the sky were her view for miles as she silently cried for her lost family. 

Day turned to night and she viewed the stars, allowing the river to carry her where it would.

She heard children playing in the distance and hoped maybe she had reached a settlement.  The current moved toward the bank here.  Exhausted with no paddle she simply lay in the canoe.  Her fate was in the hands of the river.

Splashing, splashing, then hands on the canoe pulling her toward the shore.  Feeling the canoe dragging on solid ground she struggled to sit after so many hours of hiding curled in the bottom of the canoe.

Rising, there were tepees as far as the eye could see.  From a distance she heard the same war cry.  She answered it with her own screams.

The Old House Still Stood

smothered in the fog of a cold winter morning.  It was vacant and stood in my memories as long as the mountains around it.

Approaching carefully, knowing this ramshackle old house was empty, I stepped up and through the open door.

The kitchen lean-to was filled with old kitchen things and an antique wood cook stove…I smelled coffee.

Embarrassed by my trespassing, I  turned to leave when a voice, as ancient and rusty as the stove, spoke from the other room.

“Sit a spell”, the  voice said, “Pull up a chair” as he pointed to an old hickory cane bottomed chair. 
Handing me a tin cup, full of hot coffee, he spoke again, “Black’s all I got, but you’re welcome to a cup.”

I sat, I sipped, as the coffee made my taste buds dance, I waited for him to speak again.

The rocking chair creaked as he rocked, slowly. I waited for him to speak, to shout about my intrusion, to say something to absolve me of my guilt.

“The weather’s turning”, he mentioned casually as if I were a long time friend.  “How’s the coffee?” he enquired.  “I like a touch of chicory, takes me back to a time when we didn’t have coffee.”

Speechless, I nodded in agreement as he rocked and rocked, always keeping his cup balanced, never losing his rhythm.

Comfortable enough to face him, Irish Blue eyes looked straight through me, filled with nothing but kindness and welcoming.  The craggy, yet boyish, face was surrounded by blonde hair turned older.  The face sported a full, thick beard as elegant as Santa’s.

Age was not a question, nor did it seem to matter.  Speaking again in that ancient voice, he asked, “Need me to warm your cup, Ma’am?” 

I offered my cup for topping off as he spoke again.  “I was born here, in that very room.  Nineteen seventeen was a long time ago.”

My voice was not needed, only my presence.

Bit by bit, he talked as if there was nothing but time.  I listened, I learned and was mesmerized by his gentle voice telling of his youth and his experiences through the years.  I could only listen.

The rain began to fall, pinging on the tin roof. I sat, he rocked.

Somehow, I dozed, waking with a start, I looked around for the gentleman I had visited with for hours.

Gone, except for the coffee cup, I called out his name.  No answer.

The rocking chair was dusty, the wood stove was cold and the open door remained open.

I think of this often as my walk takes me by the cabin.  I smell no coffee and the house remains the same.

I check, time to time, for him, but he’s never there. I only have that afternoon, in the rain, and the coffee cup as I continue to search for Chicory growing wild.

The Legend And The Sink Hole...Ends

In total shock, I watched as the flash light floated swiftly away, spinning in the current, trailing a faint glow. It took a split second for me to know the light was my only hope.  Running, slipping, falling and rising to run again, I could not lose the light!

The dogs thought it was a glorious game, splashing, jumping, and sometimes, even swimming, they followed me.

I could see the faint glow from the flash light but something else,too.  There was a lessening of the darkness.  Little by little, even though I still had the flash light in view, there was other light joining it, growing.

The water began to slow as the light increased.  If there was light, there was a way out. 

The water pooled below the opening several feet above me.  I could see daylight.  Leaves from the trees above had collected in the water below.  The sun's light also revealed a crevice where the water retreated underground.

The fear left me as I looked around.  A recent cave-in had opened the under ground cavern, with edges sloping down to the pool, laced with tree roots still holding the sides in place.  I circled, grateful for the sky's light, checking possibilities of escape.

My loyal terriers stayed close, exploring. 

A straight unnatural edge drew my attention, half buried, it appeared to be some sort of box.  Working gently, using my shovel and my hands, I slowly uncovered the box.  It appeared, at one time, to have been covered with canvas,  remnants of leather straps and iron works were still clinging to the box as was a rusted lock and hasp.

The box lay before me. I slowly lifted the fragile lid.  Gold and silver coins, gold nuggets and what remained of a man's pocket watch lay within.  Time had removed the sacks that once held the treasures. It lay loosely, piled in the box, catching the light and sending it back to the sun.

Although exhausted, soaking wet, and cold, I fashioned a harness for the box. While holding one end of the rope, I grabbed tree roots and slowly worked my way up.  I reached the top and lifted the box after me.  The terriers scrambled up the slope with more ease than I.

I had reentered the world of light, scraped, bruised, but still excited from my dangerous adventure.

I had discovered the treasure, we had searched for endlessly and collectively for over a hundred years.

Returning home, my family asked, where you been?  I smiled as I simply answered, Diggin'.

The Legend And The Sink Hole...Still Continues

The floor of the cave began to slope as the water sounds increased.  I was headed downward, not steeply, but  definitely down.  The floor was quite moist and had changed to solid, slick rock, coated with mineral deposits and something that looked like algae.  After a few slips, I slowed.  I don't know how far I had descended but all was without rope. The going was tricky but still safe. 

I had passed through narrow passages, to wide areas and some places I had to go to my knees again.  The allure of the cave had me in its grip...and the sound of the water beckoned me.  I had a sense of false security with my dogs and my flashlights.  I was invincible! I was an explorer is what appeared to be a virgin cave.

The water came into view around the next turn.  Wonderfully clear, rushing, fresh, cave spring water!  I knelt, cupping my hand to taste the water, ah, sweet and clean.  I refilled my water bottle, taking in the beauty around me and sat for a moment to rest.  The dogs lapped the water and, following my lead, they rested.

As far the light could reach, there was water,  a wide stream, crystal clear and moving swiftly into the darkness of the cave. Maybe this was the source of our valley of springs!  Maybe this cavern ran under the entire farm, bubbling up when it was close to the surface.  The stalagmites weren't as plentiful here because of moving water. 

Testing the darkness, I turned off my light.  The sounds enveloped me.  The running water, the panting of the dogs, the creaking of the floor boards (just testing you!) seemed to echo.  I can say, I truly did not know the dark until that moment.

The dogs moved close to me and we just sat, I scratched and rubbed them and when I spoke, good boys, they whined their thank yous. 

Okay, time to go, boys, as I turned on my light...damn!  I shook it, I tested the button, I shook it again but it was dead as a door nail.  No problem, I reached in my bag and pulled my second light out, pushed the button...and light filled the area.

I stood, looked left, looked right, which way to go?  Upstream, downstream or back the way I came?  I had no idea of the time, my watch lay in my drop spot at the house, even my camera had no time set on it.  Weighing all possibilities, probabilities, gauging my distance and time as best I could, I then made a brilliant decision...to follow the dogs!

Okay, boys, lead on.

They headed down stream.  Slanted, rocky, slick, narrow edges bordered the stream.  As the water narrowed and turned, it deepened, the narrow banks disappeared and we walked in the cold cave water.  I am still taking photos every few feet and my camera starts flashing, low battery!!!  So much for that light, it joined my worthless flashlight in my canvas bag.

Oh, the wonders I saw!  The ceiling dripped with rock icicles and the walls reflected and multiplied the light. There was no time, just me and the dogs, the water, and the light.

I should have been watching my feet instead of over head, I stumbled, fell, and dropped my light.  The light bobbed as it floated down the stream, still lighting its way...

How Do You Know???

The muffled thump-thump of the heli-blades vibrated the ground as it repeated the search pattern, although none of their special devices could detect the location of our carefully constructed shelter.  Inside we were quiet as if we could be heard, holding our breaths until the sounds retreated, even then, we spoke in whispers as the group made plans.

We had no defense except our intelligence.  Those above had made certain of that during the last days, the mass government movement to disarm the citizens had been successful.

It was down to them against us, "us" wasn't faring so wonderfully but we survived.  Knowing how to simply disappear, that was how we survived, the five of us...

Smacks a little of Red Dawn, doesn't it?  How do you know, when you write, it's not something you have read and filed away without a marker?

If I wrote a story of a child following an Armadillo down its tunnel, we would immediately think of Alice In Wonderland. If I wrote of three cowboys sons growing up motherless on a large ranch with their father, most would think of Bonanza.  If I wrote of one surviving sailor adrift at sea with a dead bird, we remember The Ancient Mariner...so how do you know when it is memory or it is your thoughts???