Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s post is to write a story that involves a tomato, a cloaked individual, and a missing shoe. This week’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit mystery series Corgi Capers.
Pirate Golf
By Val Muller
Hell hath no fury like a freshly-turned two-year-old missing a plush cow slipper. And thus Missy found herself at Pirate Dan’s Mystical Mini-Golf at 9:47 on a Wednesday. The two-year-old in question was asleep in his stroller, in the hotel, with James. The hope was that Missy and James had was that Missy could go to the golf course, locate the lost slipper, and return before James woke up. He’d fallen asleep while they walked back from dinner to their hotel at the beach, and they hoped to transfer him to his pac-n-play, but they knew that in the jostling, he would awaken, ask for his latest obsession (the cow slippers), and, finding one missing, would fly into a tantrum.
The mini golf course was half lit now, with only safety lights on, maybe for the custodial crew, and the animatronics still glowing, probably to attract tomorrow’s customers. The fence that divided the golf course from the parking lot was low enough to be jumpable. Missy wondered whether she should jump it. She could be arrested for breaking and entering, no? Or—entering, maybe? She wasn’t actually breaking anything. And if a police officer did show up, she could easily explain about the cow slipper. I mean, why else would she be there after hours, at a golf course? Surely any cops with kids of their own would understand.
But she was a full-grown adult. Jumping the fence was something a teenager would do. Instead, she craned her neck. Maybe she could see the cow slipper. At least if she saw it, she could jump the fence, grab it, and hurry away before the cops showed up. She visually traced the dyed-blue shallow river that ran through the golf course. It pirate-themed with dragons and mermaids and the like. The toddler had been fascinated by the blue water and had jumped into it like a puddle. Not only had Missy lost her golf ball in the stream while retrieving him, but somewhere along the way one of the cow slippers had gotten lost.
Now, if you’ve ever had a toddler like Benny, you knew that whatever the current fixation is—whether plush cow slippers or a stuffed duck or a polka-dot ribbon—it had to be around when the toddler demanded it.
“Can I help you?” a gruff voice asked. He was cloaked—a dark hoodie that seemed way too big for his frame. “This place is closed, you know.”
She couldn’t tell if his voice was angry or confused or something else. She was sure she didn’t look like a typical criminal. In fact, with his hood up, he looked more sinister than she did. But still, she was the one thinking about trespassing.
“I know, I—”
“Open at nine, close at nine,” he said. “You’re welcome to come back in the morning if you’re looking to play a round, or—”
She shook her head. “We were here earlier. I had a toddler with me. We lost a shoe.”
The hood came down and an old set of teeth smiled at her. Missy was so tired, she thought at first he was one of those skeletons from the pirate cave at Hole 9 come to life. But then she shook her head and came back to reality. It was an older gentleman wearing a Pirate Dan shirt. An employee.
“I know just the shoe. Come on, meet me at the front gate.”
He disappeared before she could respond, so she walked along the sidewalk to the other side of the golf course, where he waited at the gate. As she entered, a skeleton with glowing red eyes glared at her. A mermaid waved.
The man with the hoodie motioned her inside. She stepped through the gate. There were several empty picnic tables—she vaguely remembered sitting at one of them with Benny earlier today to give him some juice. Now, they were all empty except the one closest to the entrance. A small towel was spread out and a lunch box.
“Just enjoying my supper,” the man said. He held up a sandwich. “Tomato, mayo, white bread. A little basil, this time of year.” He said it like a question, to which she didn’t know the answer.
She shook her head.
“Not from around here,” he said. “Otherwise, you’d know. Now if you’ve never had one, I’m going to have to insist.”
The look on Missy’s face must have expressed her concern.
“Don’t worry. They’re not poisoned or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. I mean, how would I have known someone would show up here looking for a shoe? It’s a cow slipper, by the way,” he told her. “I know because it was the subject of much speculation in the break room today. One of the young ones almost threw it out. I mean, it was saturated with blue water. But those of us who have ever had kids, we knew.”
He sliced a tomato, and the knife flashed across the table, presenting in about thirty seconds a tomato-mayo-basil sandwich on white bread. He left it in her hand and disappeared down the pirate tunnel.
He returned before she could convince herself to take a bite.
“I don’t usually work this late, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’m here to deck out the place. Tomorrow is Craig’s 80th birthday. I’m eight years behind him. I only hope I can make it to 80. Craig’s the one who drives the train.”
Missy remembered the train ride that took visitors around the golf course before dropping them off at the top of the structure. Then, they took a leisurely stroll down the “mountain” through the eighteen mini holes. She’d barely given the driver a thought, having been preoccupied with Benny and his quirks.
She looked around and only then noticed the banners and balloons. Happy Birthday, Craig and Octogenarian Club! It was quite an accomplishment, making it to 80.
She looked down, feeling a weight in her hand. The man had placed the slipper, clean and dry, into her hand. “I washed it and left it in the sun to dry. I knew some young child would be back for it.”
She smiled, then, and took a bite of the sandwich. She looked around once more, taking in the balloons, the banners, and the romanticized pirate and fantasy décor. She hoped she made it to eighty, and she hoped that when she did, she would be so full of youth and imagination and kindness. She realized she hadn’t asked the man his name, so she turned to do so.
The man was gone. The table was empty. Only a skeleton with glowing red eyes and a mermaid greeted her. They seemed to watch her as she left, clutching the slipper in one hand and taking another bite of the best-tasting sandwich she had ever eaten in a closed golf course at ten at night.
The Spot Writers–Our Members:
Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/
