(no subject)
Story: Ice Cream Truck
Flavours: Prune #11 [go with the flow]
Extras: Malt - Summer 2011 #269 ["Once you look into the heart of darkness I think you carry it with you for the rest of your life." - The Exorcism of Emily Rose]
Wordcount: 1,265 [588 added]
I'm also not too sure where this is going, but I like this idea; it's fun! :D From Falootin's piece.
I woke up feeling stiff and shivery, tangled up in one of Drake's wool blankets. I needed something to blow my nose on, but I settled for wiping it on my sleeve. My throat was sore from breathing through my mouth all night. The fire in the stove had long since gone out and I watched my breath cloud up under my nose as I tried to talk myself into getting up: Come on, just do it. It's only going to get colder.
The house was silent aside from the clock in the kitchen and when I sat up I could see that Drake's coat was missing from the hook by the door. It had been there last night.
Still half-wrapped in the blanket, I searched out my boots with my feet. Maybe Drake was out back getting more fire wood. But it was early, and something about his absence made me a little uneasy. By the time I made it to my feet, I'd convinced myself to go look for him.
I retrieved my parka from the back of a kitchen chair and threw it on over the clothes I'd slept in. My shirt was starting to feel like a grimy second skin, but it was too cold to change, let alone think about bathing. I pulled my trapper hat over my greasy hair and stumbled out the front door.
A gust of wind hit me in the face when I stepped onto the porch and I zipped my parka up as far as it would go. Squinting, I couldn't see Drake. The sun was just creeping up towards the tops of the trees and the morning light cast long, purple shadows off the junk scattered around Drake's yard. But his truck was still parked by the wood pile, so I hitched up my shoulder to bury my nose in my collar and trudged around to the other side of the house.
Even with the wind in my eyes, I spotted him almost immediately-out by the tree line with a shovel in his hands. He'd abandoned his coat in a heap by his feet and was out there in his sweater, pink-faced and breathing heavily as he chipped away at the ground.
"Drake," I said hoarsely, then cleared my throat. "Drake, what are you doing?"
He barely looked up as he drove the shovel into the earth again and planted his foot on the blade. "Digging," he said. His hole was maybe a foot deep and the dirt came out in hard little chunks, almost holding the shape of the shovel.
"The ground's still frozen," I said.
"I think it's starting to thaw."
Watching Drake puff and sweat somehow made me feel even colder. He stopped to wipe his brow and I curled my hands in my pockets to see if I could still feel my fingers.
I waited as long as I could before asking, "Are you going to tell me what you're digging for?"
Drake leaned into the shovel and paused. He looked at me over his shoulder. "I had a dream about her."
"Who?"
"You know, her." Drake scrubbed a hand over his stubble. "Patricia."
"Oh," I said.
"It was a significant dream," he said. "I knew it as soon as I woke up. Just listen to the wind. We never get wind like that-it's like an omen. Something's about to change."
"You believe in omens?"
He wrapped his hands around the shovel again. "Anything's possible with her."
"So you had a dream and that made you think…what? That she's back?" Drake had gone back to digging and didn't answered me, so I figured that must have been it. I scraped my heel against the earth to see if I could make a dent in it. I couldn't. "If you think she's back, why are you out here digging? I'd have thought you'd be doing something more like…drinking."
He laughed, but it was a short laugh. "If Patricia's back," he said, "there are some things I need to unearth."
I watched Drake dig for a while more, unsure how to reply to that. When I couldn't feel my toes any more I retreated back inside, closing the door tight behind me. The wind still howled but I could almost ignore it as I slid down the wall, curling my knees up to my chest.
Patricia, I thought, ignoring the thrill that shot down my spine and the shudder that wracked my limbs as I thought of her. God only help us if Patricia was back. Last time we'd seen her, it had taken everything Drake had in him - and I'd only just made it. This time, she'd sure as hell drag me back down with her.
I stared around the room, confused at the sudden blur that had come over my vision; then I felt the heat of tears on my face and scrubbed at it with one frozen hand. There was no point in crying, no point in sitting and hiding in here. Drake was no psychic. It was probably just coincidence.
Just coincidence.
No coincidences, my dear.
She'd said that to me once, the words dripping from her lips like honey, making me believe-
I got to my feet, wrenching open the door and stumbling out onto the frozen ground, making a beeline for the wood pile. I sensed more than saw Drake's head lift; but he knew better and though he paused digging for one heartbeat, he began again straight after. I didn't want to think about what was buried over there.
Wasn't going to think of it.
Instead, I grabbed wood, taking it back into the house and closing the door again, focusing my attention on the stove and my pathetic attempts to relight it. Still, the efforts - and my frustration - warmed me up and by the time I'd got the damn thing lit, I'd thrown my hat on the table and could feel my fingers and toes.
Once the fire was lit, I rocked back on my heels and tried not to think again. When the wind dropped, I could hear Drake still digging, the spade hitting the earth over and over.
My hands tightened around each other, my knuckles turning white.
I knew what was down there, if I really thought about it.
I waited.
*
Drake put the chest on the table and I moved away from it, going to the kettle to look less like I was hiding.
He watched me still; I knew that he knew, but he didn't speak of it - we didn't.
Flakes of dirt still clung to its scorched exterior and I felt a cold sensation crawl up my spine.
"I'll take it back outside, if you want."
I took a breath and shook my head, not saying a word. We didn't speak of it. I wouldn't.
Drake dropped into a chair, his cheeks still pink from the cold. I passed him a cup of coffee, strong enough to keep me up for weeks, making sure I was as far from the chest as possible.
Drake swallowed half the coffee in one go and then put it on the table, staring intently at the chest.
"Are you going to open it?" I asked quietly, gripping my tea in shaking hands.
Drake huffed out a sigh. "You know I won't," he replied. "But we need to keep it close at hand. You know, just in case."
Just in case I do come back, my dear. You know that.
Yeah, I knew that.
Flavours: Prune #11 [go with the flow]
Extras: Malt - Summer 2011 #269 ["Once you look into the heart of darkness I think you carry it with you for the rest of your life." - The Exorcism of Emily Rose]
Wordcount: 1,265 [588 added]
I'm also not too sure where this is going, but I like this idea; it's fun! :D From Falootin's piece.
I woke up feeling stiff and shivery, tangled up in one of Drake's wool blankets. I needed something to blow my nose on, but I settled for wiping it on my sleeve. My throat was sore from breathing through my mouth all night. The fire in the stove had long since gone out and I watched my breath cloud up under my nose as I tried to talk myself into getting up: Come on, just do it. It's only going to get colder.
The house was silent aside from the clock in the kitchen and when I sat up I could see that Drake's coat was missing from the hook by the door. It had been there last night.
Still half-wrapped in the blanket, I searched out my boots with my feet. Maybe Drake was out back getting more fire wood. But it was early, and something about his absence made me a little uneasy. By the time I made it to my feet, I'd convinced myself to go look for him.
I retrieved my parka from the back of a kitchen chair and threw it on over the clothes I'd slept in. My shirt was starting to feel like a grimy second skin, but it was too cold to change, let alone think about bathing. I pulled my trapper hat over my greasy hair and stumbled out the front door.
A gust of wind hit me in the face when I stepped onto the porch and I zipped my parka up as far as it would go. Squinting, I couldn't see Drake. The sun was just creeping up towards the tops of the trees and the morning light cast long, purple shadows off the junk scattered around Drake's yard. But his truck was still parked by the wood pile, so I hitched up my shoulder to bury my nose in my collar and trudged around to the other side of the house.
Even with the wind in my eyes, I spotted him almost immediately-out by the tree line with a shovel in his hands. He'd abandoned his coat in a heap by his feet and was out there in his sweater, pink-faced and breathing heavily as he chipped away at the ground.
"Drake," I said hoarsely, then cleared my throat. "Drake, what are you doing?"
He barely looked up as he drove the shovel into the earth again and planted his foot on the blade. "Digging," he said. His hole was maybe a foot deep and the dirt came out in hard little chunks, almost holding the shape of the shovel.
"The ground's still frozen," I said.
"I think it's starting to thaw."
Watching Drake puff and sweat somehow made me feel even colder. He stopped to wipe his brow and I curled my hands in my pockets to see if I could still feel my fingers.
I waited as long as I could before asking, "Are you going to tell me what you're digging for?"
Drake leaned into the shovel and paused. He looked at me over his shoulder. "I had a dream about her."
"Who?"
"You know, her." Drake scrubbed a hand over his stubble. "Patricia."
"Oh," I said.
"It was a significant dream," he said. "I knew it as soon as I woke up. Just listen to the wind. We never get wind like that-it's like an omen. Something's about to change."
"You believe in omens?"
He wrapped his hands around the shovel again. "Anything's possible with her."
"So you had a dream and that made you think…what? That she's back?" Drake had gone back to digging and didn't answered me, so I figured that must have been it. I scraped my heel against the earth to see if I could make a dent in it. I couldn't. "If you think she's back, why are you out here digging? I'd have thought you'd be doing something more like…drinking."
He laughed, but it was a short laugh. "If Patricia's back," he said, "there are some things I need to unearth."
I watched Drake dig for a while more, unsure how to reply to that. When I couldn't feel my toes any more I retreated back inside, closing the door tight behind me. The wind still howled but I could almost ignore it as I slid down the wall, curling my knees up to my chest.
Patricia, I thought, ignoring the thrill that shot down my spine and the shudder that wracked my limbs as I thought of her. God only help us if Patricia was back. Last time we'd seen her, it had taken everything Drake had in him - and I'd only just made it. This time, she'd sure as hell drag me back down with her.
I stared around the room, confused at the sudden blur that had come over my vision; then I felt the heat of tears on my face and scrubbed at it with one frozen hand. There was no point in crying, no point in sitting and hiding in here. Drake was no psychic. It was probably just coincidence.
Just coincidence.
No coincidences, my dear.
She'd said that to me once, the words dripping from her lips like honey, making me believe-
I got to my feet, wrenching open the door and stumbling out onto the frozen ground, making a beeline for the wood pile. I sensed more than saw Drake's head lift; but he knew better and though he paused digging for one heartbeat, he began again straight after. I didn't want to think about what was buried over there.
Wasn't going to think of it.
Instead, I grabbed wood, taking it back into the house and closing the door again, focusing my attention on the stove and my pathetic attempts to relight it. Still, the efforts - and my frustration - warmed me up and by the time I'd got the damn thing lit, I'd thrown my hat on the table and could feel my fingers and toes.
Once the fire was lit, I rocked back on my heels and tried not to think again. When the wind dropped, I could hear Drake still digging, the spade hitting the earth over and over.
My hands tightened around each other, my knuckles turning white.
I knew what was down there, if I really thought about it.
I waited.
*
Drake put the chest on the table and I moved away from it, going to the kettle to look less like I was hiding.
He watched me still; I knew that he knew, but he didn't speak of it - we didn't.
Flakes of dirt still clung to its scorched exterior and I felt a cold sensation crawl up my spine.
"I'll take it back outside, if you want."
I took a breath and shook my head, not saying a word. We didn't speak of it. I wouldn't.
Drake dropped into a chair, his cheeks still pink from the cold. I passed him a cup of coffee, strong enough to keep me up for weeks, making sure I was as far from the chest as possible.
Drake swallowed half the coffee in one go and then put it on the table, staring intently at the chest.
"Are you going to open it?" I asked quietly, gripping my tea in shaking hands.
Drake huffed out a sigh. "You know I won't," he replied. "But we need to keep it close at hand. You know, just in case."
Just in case I do come back, my dear. You know that.
Yeah, I knew that.