Nelson Mandela once said, “A winner is a dreamer who never gives up.”

Richard Branson said, “If your dreams don’t scare you, they are too small.”

Amelia Earhart once said, “The most effective way to do it is to do it.”

Nike simplified it even further. Just do it.

Over the last few years, I put aside my desire to write. I could give excuses – COVID-19, deaths, and illnesses in my family, my own dislocated shoulder/broken arm last year, a fear of failure. But ultimately, I only have myself to blame. I stopped writing.

So, I have decided I need to ‘just do it.’ The remainder of 2024 will be my reintroduction to my writing side. I intend to nurture this shriveled dream. Even if much of what I produce is only seen by my eyes, I want to get that desire back.

One way to conquer my ennui/trepidation is to start getting my writing out into the light of day. Instead of sharing a book review with you, I have decided to share a short story of my own.

I hope this is okay, Jennifer! I have started a dozen reviews on different books in the last few weeks and couldn’t get excited/interested in any of them. (I have also lost much of my reading desire. I intend to get that back also.)

In my writing group, the Lawrence County Writer’s Guild, we will sometimes give each other a prompt. The goal is to write a short story, a sentence, or a whole book. Sometimes we have only a list of words (I have a Christmas story based on Santa Claus, lime green flip flops, and rubber ducks floating around somewhere!) Our goal was to inspire each other out of our comfort zones, and then compare the wildly differing tales we each created.

Our prompt for this story was the first line. I created two stories, this horror-based one, and one about a small, slice-of-life moment with a woman facing a broken engagement. This was my favorite.

Please indulge a discouraged/hopeful/struggling wanna-be.

My story…………….

On New Year’s Eve, I pulled back the smoky gray curtain covering my lone living room window and stared at the glow coming from across the road.

Just like clockwork.  Every four nights for the last eight months.  Closer this time, just fifty yards or so into the woods.  Every time drawing closer.  Just a great glowing ball of light that lit up the woods. 

I eased the window open enough to catch the breeze.  No humming tonight.  That was different.  For the last several weeks I had heard a low, throbbing tune drift from the woods: a deep steady hum, like an old printing press, but much louder.  It was quiet tonight.  Not even the tree frogs were chiming.

Should I take pictures again?  I wanted some kind of proof of what I was seeing.  So far, everything I had taken just showed blurs and distortions.  I had called the police the first time, convinced squatters had taken up residence in the trees, but the officers couldn’t find any evidence.  No fire pits, no disturbed ground, no tents.  Not even a candy wrapper.  After the third time I’d called and the police had found nothing, I got the message.  Without evidence to prove anything, I was in danger of being labeled the crazy lady on Barley Road. 

 I didn’t see any hooded figures lurking in the shadows, but it was early in the evening.  Last time they hadn’t shown up till just before midnight.  I had taken to calling them Shadow People, even though I realized giving them a name made them more real.  But they were real, right?  I had seen them.  Hadn’t I?  My pictures of them just showed dark blotches.  Nothing concrete.

Was the light getting bigger?  As in closer?  I strained my eyes but I couldn’t pierce the thick canopy of cedars, pines, and scrub.  Maybe this was all in my mind, as the young cop hinted.

I screamed and swung around as a loud crash hit the back of the house.  Was that from the kitchen?  I abandoned my post and ran through the house, skidding on an old rag rug.  I slammed into the kitchen door frame just in time to see a shadow figure dart past the back window.  At the same time, another crash reverberated from the front.  I had left the window open!

Tripping and slipping and splaying, I made it back to the living room.  The narrow gap I had left to let in a cool breeze had widened to a chasm, big enough to let in a person!  This was not my imagination!  Someone had opened that window!

I stopped, my chest heaving with hoarse gasps of air.  With those harsh rasps filling the air, I couldn’t hear.  Was there someone in the house with me? 

The glow was definitely brighter now.  White light pierced the front window, throwing halos and prisms around the room.  Still no sound, nothing but my desperate breathing.  I squeezed my eyes shut, but the glow pierced my eyelids.  Despite the intense brightness, I felt cold. I covered my eyes with my hands as the glow continued to brighten.  Desperately I threw my arms up to shield my sight from the blinding light. 

I touched something.  When I threw out my hand, my fingers brushed something soft.  I staggered forward.  What had I touched?  The couch?  No, too tall.  But not the hutch, too soft for that.  A person?  Was this the person who had opened the window?

I cracked my eyes and stumbled forward, struggling to see through the whiteness.  I grasped in front of me.  The coffee table barked my shin, I tripped on the ottoman.  I touched nothing, yet I felt things brushing against me just as I reached in each direction.  I can feel the slightest touch on my cheek.  The hair on the back of my neck was stirred by a breath or a breeze.  A small tug on my shirt collar.

“Who are you?  What are you doing?”  I screamed out my fear, my terror.  “What do you want?’

Still, silence surrounded me.  I fell to my knees and cried out once more, “Why?”

With that simple question, the light went out.  Complete darkness.  But something touched my cheek again.

The End

Next month I promise to review a good book. See you then!