Val Muller

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write a story that involves worms. Today’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers mystery series.

Served

By Val Muller

It was June 2—exactly two days of school left after today. Marsha had been a menace all year. It was time for Lisa to take matters into her own hands. Mom and Dad had were so old school. “Just punch her once, just once,” Dad had said. Even mom had agreed. “You’ll get in trouble once, but she’ll leave you alone forever.”

Maybe in their day, but nowadays, fighting was serious. Students plummeted in teachers’ opinions after a fight. Privileges were lost. Unwritten penalties were assigned. In the great unfairness of life, psychological and emotional torture happened on a daily basis, but physical torture was met with quick reproach.

No, a fight would not solve this problem. At least not that kind of a fight.

But this kind, Lisa’s kind of fight…

Her mother opened the opportunity in the most perfect way during their weekly trip to the grocery store that evening. “Honey, what do you want to pack for your lunch the last two days of the school year? Something special you’d like?”

Lisa nodded. She already had the idea, and this was her opportunity.

“Spaghetti with meatballs,” she said without a pause.

“For lunch? You’d have to eat it cold,” Mom said.

“That’s okay. I like cold spaghetti—with lots of sauce.”

Mom shrugged.

“Can we get the really thick kind, actually? Linguini, maybe?”

Mom shrugged. “Sure, honey. You do know what you want, I guess.”

Lisa packed her lunch early that Sunday, put it in the fridge with extra care. Got on the bus with a spring in her step.

And just as she thought, Marsha was there on the bus, waiting to torment her. “What’re you so happy about, Leeeeeesa?” she taunted.

All year it had been one thing or another. Her hair ties. Her pencil. Her mermaid bottle of hand sanitizer. Her first-place art contest entry. Of all the things Marsha had taken from Lisa that year, it was her confidence and peace of mind that seems the most unfair to lose.

The adults were all useless. Her parents’ advice to blatantly use force was just as bad as the grownups at school, who seemed to want Lisa to be a perpetual snitch.

“The adults can handle it, but they need to know it’s happening in the first place,” the teachers always said. The adults always spoke in such friendly ways, like they didn’t know what secretly happened to snitches on the playground, on buses, and in the halls.

But this plan—it was snitch-proof. In theory, Lisa wasn’t doing anything wrong. And in theory, Marsha would be so embarrassed by what was going to happen, and so guilty because of how it happened in the first place, that she wouldn’t snitch. Or if she did, she would incriminate herself.

Either way, Lisa would achieve her goal—walk into summer knowing that the next year would be free from bullying.

It happened just as Lisa imagined. Entering the bus, Lisa admitted to Marsha the reason for her smile was her lunch. She talked it up, describing the luscious noodles, the sweet and tangy sauce, the delectable meatballs. The tears were real when Marsha took the lunch from Lisa, promising to eat it in the cafeteria while Lisa watched. These were pent-up tears from months of bullying, but they served Lisa now, empowered Marsha. At lunch, when Lisa went hungry, she repressed a smile when Marsha said, “This spaghetti is so good. Tell your mom to pack me more for tomorrow, will ya?”

Lisa spent a long time playing outside that night. Monday, June 5. It was the perfect summer evening. She got so dirty digging in the mud that Mom insisted she needed a bath.

“My goodness,” Mom said. “I don’t remember the last time you got so dirty. What were you doing out there?”

Lisa smiled. “Looking for worms.”

Lisa woke extra early on June 6 for the last day of school. She snuck out back with her spaghetti lunch, bringing it to the bucket of worms she’d caught the night before. She put so much sauce on her pasta that the worms blended right in.

At lunch, Lisa waited until Marsha had eaten all but a few bites.

“How is it?” Lisa asked, surprised at the confident sound of her own voice. Marsha didn’t answer. Lisa’s confidence threw her off balance, so Lisa said, “I added something special.”

Marsha looked down. Lisa smiled. One of the worms squirmed just enough. Marsha knew. Next to her, Brandon knew. And Camden. And Ellie. They all knew. Marsha wretched and threw up all over the table.

“Kids!” the lunch attendant admonished as she ushered them away from the soiled table. “You should have some compassion. It’s unkind to laugh at someone who’s sick, especially on the last day of school, when she’ll have to be sent home before the class party.”

As the rest of the class hurried to cupcakes and prizes, Lisa watched Marsha slump down the hall to wait for her mother to pick her up. Maybe Marsha was the same height, but her stature had shrunk since that morning, and Lisa had a feeling that Marsha wouldn’t be taking down any more kids the following year.

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This months prompt is “expectations for spring.”

Today’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers mystery series.

April Fool
Val Muller

Milton Miniver planned eveything, from what he would eat each week to when he would take off the storm windows and replace the screens. He loved cable TV despite all the modern alternatives because it kept to a schedule, just like him.

April 1 was screen day. It worried him a little that this year, the switch from winter to spring behaviors coincided with April Fools Day, possibly his least favorite holiday, but it couldn’t be helped. Rules were rules, and his rule was that the first Saturday in April was the switch.

It couldn’t be worse than last year, he reminded himself. Last year, the first Saturday in April brought an unexpected 8 inches of snow, and his fingers turned bright red trying to change out the storm window panels for screens.

This year would be unseasonably warm. In fact, for two weeks now the weather spoke more of late spring than the end of winter. But that was okay. He never changed to screen windows before April.

The night of March 31, he took out his box of spring clothing–the light pants, lightweight shirts, and thin rain jackets. He packed away winter sweaters and corduroy pants and wool socks and tucked the box nearly next to “summer” in his closet.

He woke to moonlight shining right in his eyes, so brightly he thought he’d overslept. So he hurried to the bathroom. By the time he realized it was only 4:30, that it was moonshine and not sunshine that woke him, he was so full of adrenaline that there was no going back.

He had never changed out the screens before sunrise, but it had to be done. It was a before-breakfast task. By the time the windows were switched and he had eaten breakfast, the sun had barely risen. He dressed and did some light weeding around his home. The warm weather had brought out all the flowers and more weeds than usual.

By the time he was finished, he worked up quite a sweat; his spring clothes were a bit too warm. It was nearing summer temperatures, pushing beyond 80 degrees. But all his shorts were still neatly tucked away in his closet. They were not to be unpacked until the first of June.

He was about to go inside when screams from down the street caught his attention. A small dog came charging across his yard, followed slowly by a screaming woman.

“Milton! Milton!” she shouted.

Milton startled. He didn’t recognize the woman or her dog, yet clearly she knew him.

“Milton, stop!” she was saying

Milton had bent down to try to catch the runaway pup, but clearly she didn’t want him to.

He stood again.

“Please, stop him!” she shouted.

Confused, Milton crouched again. The dog leapt into his arms.

“Milton, stay, you naughty boy!” she screamed.

Milton’s face turned red at her words, then even redder when he realized his confusion. The dog’s name was also Milton.

He explained the mistake to her as he tried to cover his embarrassment with laughter. But the woman–Summer was her name–was too relieved to notice. She was busy alternatively hugging him and the pup.

“We were on our way to the park for a hike on such a nice day,” she explained once she and the dog settled down. “Milton got a little too excited and slipped his collar.” Then she looked the human Milton in the eye. “Why don’t you come with us? Go for a little hike and then I’ll buy you lunch as a thank you.”

This was most unorthodox. Dates had to be planned in advance between people who clearly knew each other. And who heard of a first date on April Fools Day?

Milton opened his mouth to refuse, but the words that emerged surprised him. “I’d love to. I only just need to change into some shorts.”

He could barely believe it as he climbed the steps to his bedroom and pulled open the summer box. His heart skipped as quickly as he did as he re-emerged in shorts and a polo–a June outfit–for his hike.

April Fools, he told himself as he locked the door behind him and stepped forward into the smile of Summer, the barking of the dog, and the whisper of the unknown.

The Spot Writers:
Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

Welcome to the Spot Writers! This month’s prompt is to an unexpected phone call. Today’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers kid lit mystery series.

 

Light

By Val Muller

 

Her alarm went off again. Jenn reached her hand out from the warm covers. The cool air of the house was like a thousand pins against her skin as she hit the last of her allotted snoozes. The darkness of the room could have meant midnight or five in the morning, it could have meant early evening. Hell, it could have meant high noon in these doldrums.

 

Winter was like death. Like every day, fighting a slow death. How did no one else feel it? The cold, the darkness, the struggle just to do anything…She’d tried hot showers, she’d tried altering bedtime, she’d tried spending as much time outdoors as the measly light would allow. She had even tried those special bulbs that were supposed to mimic sunlight.

 

Laughable.

 

Halloween was always fun. Christmas was terrible, but at least the stress of pulling it off kept her busy, running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

 

I bet chickens hate winter, too.

 

After the holidays, there was a horrific lull that lasted until at least March, when the ground woke up. March snows were powerless, even the big ones. They might last a day or two, but the sun was mostly back by then. It was strong enough to counter the cold. Then April would follow, and as soon as the leaves were back…

 

There was a word for what she missed. Psithurism. The sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. Someone had loved that sound enough to make a word for it. Psithurism. That’s what she missed. Sometimes she would Google the word and listen to videos that people had made during the warm months, simply pointing their cameras up at the trees. The sound of the wind through the live green leaves brought her goosebumps, and for a few dream-like moments, she pretended it was summer.

 

But then she remembered she was under the covers, hiding from the dark, from the cold. There were no leaves on the trees. The only sound the wind offered was the clickety-clack of dry bones knocking against each other, against houses. The clack of death.

 

She shivered as her phone sounded again. But this was no alarm. This was the ringer. Who in the world would be calling this early?

 

She chuckled softly. Maybe it was a surprise snowstorm, and work was cancelled for the day. The only thing winter was good for.

 

One can hope…

 

It wasn’t work, but it was her coworker. Shane. An acquaintance more than a friend. They all programmed each other’s numbers into their phones in case they had to call out and seek replacements. But why would Shane be calling her now? If he had to call out, he surely would have seen her name was already on the schedule.

 

“Hello? Shane?”

 

“Jenn, are you outside?”

 

“Outside? Now? No, I…”

 

“Go now! Go.”

 

“Outside?”

 

“I’m out here walking my dog, and you have to see this.”

 

Jenn hopped out of bed, the adrenaline spike an armor against the cold.

“What are you—”

 

“You have to go now,” he said. “I remember what we talked about, with winter. I thought of you.”

 

“Shane, what?”

 

“Just go!”

 

The call ended.

 

Jenn grabbed a pair of sweatpants that were pooled on the floor and pulled them over her pajamas. Then a bathrobe. Downstairs, she pulled on boots and her coat. She hurried out the door, pulling on gloves and hat as she went. Out the front, the darkness still lingered, but the lighting was different. Rosy.

 

She hurried to the back of the apartment complex, where a splattering of clouds was painted pink and orange by a rising sun that had not yet met the horizon. Her amazed breath left in ghostly puffs, but the cold didn’t bother her. The wave of adrenaline took her as she jogged up the hill at the edge of the property.

 

The sun was peeking over the horizon now, just a little slice of an orange sitting on the hill. Incredibly, it rose by the second. It rose and rose and rose. It was telling her something. This planet was moving, increment by increment, it was bringing her closer to spring, to summer.

 

To psithurism.

 

The sun was impossibly orange. No, orange did not do justice to this glowing orb. Gold? Not even gold… it transcended color. She tried not to look at it too much. Couldn’t she blind herself?

 

To be safe, she took out her phone, swiped into camera mode, and watched the run rise through the screen, clicking pictures as it went. The splattering of clouds ignited from pale pink and orange to fiery orange, yellow, gold, red. Colors impossible to describe. Melted gold poured in the heavens.

 

This was not the white winter sun she had come to despise.

 

The sun danced through the clouds, a sole ballerina doing an arabesque against the sky, the clouds accentuating her reach. Now a quiet moment, a lull of color, but the sun wasn’t finished. She was just preparing. She reached her arms out again, but a thick cloud blocked her majesty for a moment. Jenn snuck a peek with her eyes, and just then, the sun rose an inch more, leaping over the offending cloud. In an impossible grand jeté, she leapt into the world as if she had no idea it was winter.

 

This was no pale sun, no sun that would tolerate snow. This was a summer sun allowing herself to perform on this cold January day. She was performing, and perhaps Jenn was her intended audience. Jenn snapped a few more pictures, but then she simply stood in awe. She watched the sun filter through the winter branches, but she concentrated even harder.

 

Her mind took her back to summertime, and the dead branches filled with greenery. The winter silence filled with the whisper of living leaves speaking to each other in a warm breeze. She inhaled, and the air felt impossibly warm. A bird chirped, and Jenn startled. This was not in her mind. Not three feet away, a bright red cardinal and his lady had landed in a branch, eating some of the berries left over from the fall. They sang to each other, or maybe they sang gratitude to the dancing sun as she reminded them that life thrived even in the winter’s gloom.

 

She snapped one last picture.

 

She couldn’t wait to show Shane.

 

* * *

 

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/