- The Writers Voice -

[shadowlight]

Hi everyone,
Here's another prompt. I'm even a day early. How did that happen? I found the image on the internet. It is not mine. Please use it only to spark your writing.
God bless and have fun,
Marlicia
with God all things are possible

_________________
Be patient with me. Like any good story, I'm a work in progress.

[Harry]

On the Trail of the Cask of Amontilado

Harry Buschman


We had as yet not gotten through half the bottle of Amontillado when Professor Sitges cocked his one good eye and said, “I have not always been a man of inaction you know.”

It was a strong wine and I didn’t quite follow his train of thought. “Is that so,” I mumbled with uncertainty.

“I was sure there was a grain of truth in it somewhere.”

“Oh, come now… bricking a man up in a basement cell. It’s a bit theatrical, don’t you think?”

The professor refilled my glass. “Oh I grant you that old boy, but these were bizarre times you must admit. The inquisition… Spain was in turmoil you know.”

“Yes, but …”

“Would you like a bit of cheese with that, old man?” He smiled innocently. and his good eye crinkled in a most friendly manner.

“No thank you,” I re[lied and polished off the Amontillado with relish. I then rose from my chair and walked with uncertain steps to the ancient, but still visible patch on the masonry wall behind me. “Hmm, I mumbled,” as the image swam in my vision.

“I just happen to have a sledgehammer with me young man,” Professor Sitges piped up. He reached back of his chair and handed me a sledgehammer of enormous proportions, “We can put this matter to rest, once and for all!”

His good eye glittered in the light of the candle…
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We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.
Ernest Hemingway

[shadowlight]

What’s in a Bottle (WC 500)
© Marlicia Fernandez 6-25-14


Sunlight passed through the glass bottle, casting a rainbow upon the deck. The ornate key and heart-shaped lock hung from a delicate chain wrapped around its slender glass neck. A weathered cork kept clear liquid inside and everything else out. Sara crouched in front of it and peered inside. “Should we open it?”

Martin looked up from the box of books and papers he was sorting. “I don’t know, Sari. You know what they said about old lady Matton.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. She was odd, and had a million cats. She was a spy, or a witch, or both. And she was going to live forever.” Sara blew her hair from her eyes and leaned forward. “Except she didn’t. Don’t tell me you believe all that stuff, Mar. I think she was just a lonely old lady.”

Something suspiciously like a snort filled the air. “And yet when the old lady died, the cats disappeared.”

“What’s strange about that? When Mrs. Matton died, they had to leave or starve.”

That wouldn’t be much of a loss. Stupid animals. Martin hefted a large book from the box and blew dust from the cover. “All in one night? Not very likely.” He sneezed. “Even if you’re right, you can’t explain the disappearance of the old lady’s body from the funeral home.”

Sara shrugged and stroked the smooth surface of the glass. “It looks like regular water, or maybe it’s perfume.”

“Probably some sort of potion.” He looked up. “I wouldn’t open it if I were you. Who knows what it could do to you.”

“It’s only water. Or perfume. What do you think it’s going to do? Turn me into a toad or something?

Martin carried the book to where Sara crouched and sat cross-legged beside her. “Who knows? If she was a witch, she might still be able to hurt us. If she was a spy, that might be poison.”

“Oh please, Mar. Usually I’m the timid one. What are you afraid of? Mrs. Matton wasn’t a spy, or a witch. She was a lonely old lady who kept cats so she wouldn’t feel so alone.” Mara lifted the small container. “See, it’s not doing anything to me, just like when we brought it out of the attic.” She glanced at the old house behind them. “I wonder why she left all this to us anyway. Didn’t she have any family or friends at all?”

He followed her gaze. “Maybe we, and by we, I mean you, were the only ones who were ever nice to her.”

“Maybe.” She glanced at the book. “What’s that?”

Martin opened the book to the first page and showed it to her. “I don’t know. It’s old, but the pages are blank.”

“Blank?” Sara looked inside. “What do you mean, blank? There’s loads of words. Listen: ‘For the vial’s keeper nothing is impossible.”

The bottle warmed and smoked filtered through the cork.

“Maybe you better stop reading.” His eyes widened. “Sari? Where are you?”



_________________
Be patient with me. Like any good story, I'm a work in progress.

[shadowlight]

Referencing Edgar Allen Poe, right Harry? I wonder if they'll find the body. What will they do if they do find one? What will they do if they don't? I wouldn't put it past the one-eyed gentleman to brick in his companion, given half a chance. Love this.

God bless,
Marlicia
with God all things are possible
_________________
Be patient with me. Like any good story, I'm a work in progress.

[Harry]

Nothing for it Martin except to uncork that bottle and drink deeply. I guarantee you’ll find Sarah right in the middle of those “million” cats. Maybe the old lady too.

You’ve started the ball rolling Marlicia and where it will stop no one knows. Follow it, there’s a story in it.
_________________
We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.
Ernest Hemingway

[shadowlight]

Thank you very much for your kind words and encouragement, Harry. To be honest, there are a couple of directions this thing could go, and I'm not sure which one to run with. I will sit on it for a while and see what happens. I'd like to know myself, LOL.

God bless and thanks again for reading.
Marlicia
with God all things are possible
_________________
Be patient with me. Like any good story, I'm a work in progress.